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diff --git a/46926.txt b/46926.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5f8139d..0000000 --- a/46926.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14657 +0,0 @@ - THE VIRGIN IN JUDGMENT - - - - -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: The Virgin in Judgment -Author: Eden Phillpotts -Release Date: September 21, 2014 [EBook #46926] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VIRGIN IN JUDGMENT *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - THE VIRGIN IN JUDGMENT - - - BY - - EDEN PHILLPOTTS - - Author of "The Portreeve," "The Secret Woman," - "Children of the Mist," etc. - - - - NEW YORK - MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY - 1908 - - - - - Copyright, 1908, BY - MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY - NEW YORK - - - Published, October, 1908 - - - - - *CONTENTS* - - - *BOOK I* - -CHAPTER - - I. Crepuscule - II. Warren House - III. Harmony in Russet - IV. Coombeshead - V. The Virgin and the Dogs - VI. The Host of 'The Corner House' - VII. Dennycoombe Wood - VIII. In Pixies' House - IX. The Dogs of War - X. Some Interviews - XI. Mr. Fogo is Shocked - XII. For the Good Cause - XIII. The Fight - - - *BOOK II* - - I. 'Meavy Cot' - II. Bartley Doubtful - III. Preparations - IV. The Wedding - V. Arrival of Rhoda - VI. Repulse - VII. Eylesbarrow - VIII. Triumph of Billy Screech - IX. Common Sense and Beer - X. Crazywell - XI. Reproof - XII. The Courage of Mr. Snell - XIII. Rhoda Passes By - - - *BOOK III* - - I. Mystery - II. A Pessimist - III. The Voice from the Pool - IV. Points of View - V. End of a Romance - VI. Virgo--Libra - VII. A Sharp Tongue - VIII. Under the Trees - IX. Darkness at 'The Corner House' - X. Third Time of Asking - XI. Bad News of Mr. Bowden - XII. Rhoda and Margaret - XIII. The Search - XIV. David and Rhoda - XV. Night Tenebrious - - - - - *BOOK I* - - - - *THE VIRGIN IN JUDGMENT* - - - - *CHAPTER I* - - *CREPUSCULE* - - -Night stirred behind the eastern hills and a desert place burnt with -fading splendour in the hour before sunset. The rolling miles of -Ringmoor Down lay clad at this season in a wan integument of dead grass. -Colourless as water, it simulated that element and reflected the tone of -dawn or evening, sky or cloud; now sulked; now shone; now marked the -passage of the wind with waves of light. - -Ringmoor extends near the west quarter of Dartmoor Forest like an ocean -of alternate trough and mound, built by the breath of storms. This -region, indeed, shares something with the restless resting-places of the -sea; and one may figure it as finally frozen into its present austerity -by action of western winds that aforetime laboured without ceasing here -on the bosom of a plastic earth. Only the primary forces model with -such splendid economy of design, or present achievements so unadorned, -yet so complete. The marvel of Ringmoor demanded unnumbered centuries -of elemental collaboration before it spread, consummate and -accomplished, under men's eyes. Rage of solar flame and fury of floods; -the systole and diastole of Earth's own mighty heart-beat; the blast of -inner fires, the rigour of age-long ice-caps--all have gone to mould -this incarnate simplicity. Nor can Nature's achievement yet be gauged, -for man himself must ascend to subtler perception before he shall gather -the meaning of this moor. - -The expanse is magnificently naked, yet sufficing; it is absolutely -featureless, but never poverty-stricken. To the confines of a river it -extends, and ceases there; yet that sudden wild uplifting of broken -hills beyond; their dark, rocky places full of story; their porphyry -pinnacles and precipices haunted by the legends and the spirits of old -strike not so deeply into human sense as Ringmoor's vast monochrome -fading slowly at the edge of night; fading as a cloudless sky fades; as -light fades on the eyes of the semi-blind; fading without one stock or -stone or man or beast to break the inexorable tenor of its way. - -Upon some souls this huge monotony, thus mingling with the universal at -eventide, casts fear; to others it is a manifestation precious as the -presence of a friend; and for those whose working life brings them here, -the waste's immensities at noon or night are one; its highways are their -highways, and indifferently they move upon its bosom with the other -ephemeral existences that haunt it. Yet by none of these people is -Ringmoor truly felt or truly seen. Cultured minds weave pathetic -fallacies and so pass by; while for the native this spot is first a -grazing ground and last a recurrent incident of stern spaces to be -compassed and recompassed on his own pilgrimage--to the young a -weariness and to the old a grief. - -Now light suffered a change. There was no detail to die, but a general -fleeting radiance failed swiftly to the thick pallor that precedes -darkness. Each perished grass-stem, of many millions that clad the -waste, reflected the sky and paled its little lamp as the heavens paled. -Then sobriety of dusk eliminated even the sweep and billow of the heath, -and reduced all to a spectacle of withered and waning grey, that -stretched formless, vague, vast, toward boundaries unseen. - -It was at this stage in the unfolding phenomenon of night that life -moved upon the void; a black, amorphous smudge crawled out of the gloom -and crept tardily along. At length its form, as a double star seen -through a telescope, divided and revealed a brace of animals, one of -which staggered slowly on four legs, while the other went on two. A man -led a horse by a halter; and the horse was old and black, bent, -broken-kneed and worn out; while the man was also bent and ancient of -his kind. Neither could travel very fast, and one was at the end of his -life's journey, while the other had a small measure of years still -assured. - -Death thus moved across Ringmoor and trod a familiar rut in the -wilderness; because, under the darkness eastward, was a bourn for beasts -that had ceased to possess any living value. Through extinction only -they served their masters for the last time and made profitable this -final funeral march. The horse stopped, turned and seemed to ask a -question with his eyes. - -"Get on!" said the man. "There ban't much further for you to go." - -The brute dragged towards peace and his hind hoofs struck sometimes and -sounded the dull and dreary note of his own death bell; the old man -sighed because he was very weary. Then from the fringe of night sprang -young life and met this forlorn procession. A tall girl appeared and -three collie dogs galloped and circled about her. Noting the man, they -ran up to him, barked and wagged their tails in greeting. - -"Be that anybody from Ditsworthy?" asked the traveller of the female -shadow. - -"'Tis I--Rhoda Bowden. I thought as you might be pretty tired and came -to shorten your journey--that is if you'm old Mr. Elford from -Good-a-Meavy." - -"I am the man, and never older than to-night." - -He stopped and rubbed his leg. The girl stood over him by half a foot. -She was tall and straight, but in the murk one could see no more than -her outlines, her pale sun-bonnet and a pale face under it. - -"Have you got the money?" said the man. - -"Yes--ten shillings." - -She spoke slowly, with a voice uncommon deep for a young woman. - -"Not twelve?" - -"No." - -The ancient made a sound that indicated disappointment and annoyance. - -"And the price of the halter?" - -"We don't want that. One of my brothers will bring it back to you next -time they be down-along." - -He handed her the rope and took a coin from her. Then he brought a -little leathern purse from his breeches pocket and put the money into -it. - -"You're sure your faither didn't say twelve?" - -"No." - -"He's a hard man. Good-night to you." - -"'Tis the right price for a dead horse. Good-night." - -The ancient had no farewell word for his beast, and the companions of -twelve years parted for ever. The girl took her way with the old horse; -the man turned in his tracks moodily, chattering to himself. - -"Warrener did ought to have give twelve," he said again and again as he -went homewards. By furze banks and waste places and the confines of -woods he passed, and then he stopped where a star twinkled above the -gloomy summits of spruce firs. Beneath them there peered out a thatched -cottage, but no light shone from its face. The patriarch entered with -his frosty news, and almost instantly a female voice, shrill and full of -trouble, struck upon the night. - -"It did ought to have been twelve!" - -Owls cried to each other across the forest and seemed to echo the -lamentation. - - - - - *CHAPTER II* - - *WARREN HOUSE* - - -A river destined to name the greatest port in the west country, makes -humble advent at Plym Head near the Beam of Cater in mid-Dartmoor. -Westward under the Harter Tors and south by the Abbot's Way to Plym -Steps the streamlet flows; then she gathers volume and melody to enter a -land of vanished men. By the lodges of the old stone people and amid -monuments lifted in a neolithic age; beside the graves of heroes and -under the Hill of Giants, Plym passes and threads the rocky wilderness -with silver. And then, suddenly, a modern dwelling lifts beside her--a -building of stern aspect and most lonely site. Round about for miles -the warrens of Ditsworthy extend, and countless thousands of the coney -folk flourish. The district is tunnelled and tracked by them; the -characteristics of the heath are altered. For the turf, nibbled close -at seasons, shows no death, but spreads in a uniform far-flung cloth of -velvet, always close shorn and always green. Its texture may not be -rivalled by any pasture known, and so fine has it become under this -cropping of centuries that the very grass itself seems to have suffered -dwarfing and reduction to a fairy-like tenuity Of blade. Grey lichens -are woven through the herbage here and there, and sometimes these -silvery filigranes dominate the turf and create fair harmonies with the -rosy ling in summer and the red brake-fern of the fall. - -Inflexible Ringmoor approaches Ditsworthy on one side; while beyond it -roll the warrens. Shell Top and Pen Beacon are the highest adjacent -peaks of the Moor; and through the midst runs Plym with the solitary, -stern Warren House lifted upon its northern bank. - -A gnarled but lofty ash has defied the upland weather and grown to -maturity above this dwelling. It rises wan in the sombre waste and -towers above the squat homestead beneath it. Granite walls run round -about, and the metropolis of the rabbits, with natural and artificial -burrows, extends to the very confines of the building. A cabbage-plot -and a croft or two complete man's work here; while at nearer approach -the house, that looked but a spot seen upon such an immense stage, is -found to be of considerable size. And this is well, because, at the -date of these doings, it was called upon to hold a large family. - -Fifty years ago Elias Bowden reigned at Ditsworthy, and with his wife, -nine children, and ten dogs, lived an arduous, prosperous existence on -the product of the warrens and other moorland industries. Rabbits were -more valuable then than now, and Mr. Bowden received half a crown a -couple, where his successors to-day can make but tenpence. - -Elias and his boys and girls did the whole work of Ditsworthy. All had -their duties, and even the youngest children--twin sons now aged -nine--were taught to make netting and help with the traps. There were -six sons and three daughters in the family; and the males were called -after mighty captains, because Elias loved valour above all virtues. -Such friendships as happen in large families existed among the children, -and the closest and keenest of these associations was that between the -eldest boy and second girl. David Bowden was eight-and-twenty and Rhoda -was twenty-one. A very unusual fraternity obtained between them, and the -man's welfare meant far more to his sister than any other mundane -interest. After David came Joshua, the master of the trappers, aged -twenty-five; and he and the eldest girl, Sophia--a widow who had -returned childless and moneyless to her home after two years of married -life--were sworn friends. Then, a year younger than Rhoda, appeared -Dorcas--a "sport" as Mr. Bowden called her, for she was the only red -child he had gotten. The two boys, Napoleon and Wellington, aged -thirteen and fifteen, shared the special regard of Dorcas; while the -twins were mutually sufficing. One was called Samson and the other -Richard--after the first English monarch of that name. Mrs. Bowden had -lost three children in infancy, and deplored the fact to this day. When -work at the warren pressed in autumn, and the family scarce found -leisure to sleep, the mother of this flock might frequently be heard -uttering a futile regret. - -"If only my son Drake had been spared," she often cried at moments of -stress; and this saying became so familiar among the people round about, -that when a man or woman breathed some utterly vain aspiration, another -would frequently cap it thus and say, "Ah, if only my son Drake had been -spared!" - -A distinguishing characteristic of this family was its taciturnity. The -Bowdens wasted few words. Red Dorcas and her father, however, proved an -exception to this rule; for she chattered much; and he enjoyed a joke -and could make and take one. Of his other girls, Rhoda was most silent. -She, too, alone might claim beauty. Sophia was homely. She had a -narrow, fowl-like face inherited from her mother; and Dorcas suffered -from weak eyes; but Rhoda, in addition to her straight and splendid -frame, was well favoured. Her features were large, but very regular; -her contours were round without promise of future fatness; her nose and -mouth were especially beautiful; but her chin was a little heavy. -Rhoda's hair was pale brown and in tone not specially attractive; but -she possessed a great wealth of it; her feet and hands were large, yet -finely modelled; her eyes had more than enough of virginal chill in -their cool and pale grey depths. David somewhat resembled her. He was -a clean-cut and sturdy man, standing his sister's height of five feet -nine inches, and having a slow-featured face--handsome after a -conventional type, yet lacking much expression or charm for the -physiognomist. He shared his thoughts with Rhoda, but none else. -Neither parent pretended to know much about him, but both understood -that it would not be long before he left Ditsworthy. David was learned -in sheep and ponies, and he proposed to begin life on his own account as -a breeder of them. At present his work was with his father's sheep and -cattle, for Elias ran stock on the moor. As for Rhoda, her duties lay -with the dogs, and she usually had two or three galloping after her; -while often she might be seen carrying squeaking, new-born puppies in -her arms, while an anxious bitch, with drooping dugs, gazed up at the -precious burden. - -Sober-minded and busy were these folk. Elias had few illusions. In -only one minor particular was he superstitious; he hated to see a white -rabbit on the warrens. Brown and yellow, grey, and sometimes black, -were the inhabitants of the great burrows, but it seldom happened that a -white one was observed. Occasionally they appeared, however, and -occasionally they were caught. Elias never permitted them to be killed. -The master's lapse from rationality in this matter was respected, and if -anybody ever saw a white rabbit, the incident was kept secret. - -Enemies the warren had, and foxes took a generous toll; but the hunt -recompensed Mr. Bowden for this inconvenience, although it was suspected -that his estimates of loss were fanciful. Once the usual fees had been -delayed by oversight, and Sir Guy Flamank, M.F.H. and Lord of the Manor, -was only reminded of his lapse on meeting Elias at "The Corner House," -Sheepstor. - -"Ah!" said the sportsman, "and how's Mr. Bowden faring? I've forgot -Ditsworthy of late." - -"Foxes haven't," was all the warrener replied. And yet a sight of the -honeycombed and tunnelled miles of the burrows might have justified an -opinion that all the foxes of Devonshire could have done no lasting hurt -here. In legions the rabbits lived. They swarmed, leapt from under the -foot, bobbed with twinkling of white scuts through the fern and heather, -sat up, all ears, on every little knap and hillock, drummed with their -pads upon the hollow ground, scurried away in scattered companies and -simultaneously vanished down a hundred holes at sight of dog or man. - -This, then, was the place and these were the people, animals and things -that Plym encompassed with her growing volume before she thundered in -many a cataract and shouting waterfall through the declivities beneath -Dewerstone and left Dartmoor. Much beauty she brings to the lowlands; -much beauty she finds there. The hanging woods are very fair; and the -great shining reaches where the salmon lie; and those placid places -where Plym draws down the grey and azure of the firmament and spreads it -among the water-meadows. She flows through Bickleigh Vale and by Cann -Quarry; she passes her own bridge, and anon, entering the waters of -Laira, passes unmarked away to the salt blue sea; but she laves no scene -more pregnant than these plains where the stone men sleep; she passes no -monument heavier weighted with grandeur of eld than that titan menhir of -Thrushelcombe by Ditsworthy, where, deep set in the prehistoric past, it -stands sentinel over a hero's grave. Great beyond the common folk was -he who won this memorial--a warrior and leader at the least; or -perchance some prophet who wrought men's deeds into the gaunt beginnings -of art and song, fired his clan to the battle with glorious fury, and -welcomed them again with paean of joy or dirge of mourning. But one -chooses rather to think that these tumuli held ashes of the men who -fought and conquered; who lifted their lodges to supremacy; who bulked -as large in the eyes of the neoliths as their gravestones bulk in ours. -The saga and the singer both are good; but deeds must first be done. - -Of Plym also it may be said that nowhere in all its journey does it -skirt a home of living men more sequestered and distinguished than the -broad, low-roofed and granite-walled Warren House of Ditsworthy. -Notable and spacious mansions rise as the stream flows into -civilisation; abodes, that have entered into history, lift their heads -adjacent to its flood; but none among them is so unique and distinctive; -and none at any period has sheltered a family more eager, strenuous and -full of the strife and joy of living than Elias Bowden and his brood. - - - - - *CHAPTER III* - - *HARMONY IN RUSSET* - - -Sheepstor lies beneath the granite hill that names it like a lamb -between a lion's paws. Chance never played artist to better purpose, -for of the grey roofs and whitewashed walls that make this little -village, there is scarcely one to be wished away. Cots and -farm-buildings, byres and ricks cluster round about the church; a few -conifers thrust dark spire and branch between the houses, and fields -slope upward behind the hamlet to the shaggy fringes of the tor. A -medley of autumnal orange and copper and brown now splashes the hills -everywhere round about; and great beeches, that hem in the churchyard -and bull-ring, echo the splendour of the time and spread one pall of -radiant foliage on all the graves together. Behind the church, -knee-deep in thick-set spinneys, ascends the giant bulk of Sheep's Tor, -shouldering enormous from leagues of red brake-fern, like a ragged, grey -dragon that lifts suddenly from its lair. The saddle of the hill falls -westerly in a more gentle slope, and sunset paints wonderful pictures -there; while beyond, breaking very blue through the haze of distance, -Lether Tor and Sharp Tor's misty heights inclose the horizon. - -A river runs through the village, and at this noon hour in late November -the brook made all the music to be heard; for not a sound rose but that -of the murmuring water, and not any sight of conscious life was to be -noted. Clear sunshine after rain beat upon the great hill; its ruddy -pelt glowed like fire under the blue sky, and beneath the mass a church -tower, whose ancient crockets burnt with red-gold lichens, sprang -stiffly up. Sheepstor village might now be seen through a lattice of -naked boughs, fair of form in their mingled reticulations and pale as -silvery gauze against the sunlight. Their fretwork was touched to flame -where yellow or scarlet leaves still clung and spattered the branches. -Yet no particular opulence of colour was registered. All the tones -remained delicate and tender. The village seen afar off, seemed painted -with subdued greys, pale yellows and warm duns; but at approach its -deserted street was proved a haunt for sunshine and glittered with -reflected light and moisture. - -One cottage near the lich-gate of the churchyard had served to challenge -particular attention. The building was of stone, but little of the -fabric save one chimney-stack appeared, for on the south side a huge -ivy-tod overwhelmed all with shining green; to the north a cotoneaster -of uncommon proportions wrapped the house in a close embrace, covered -the walls and spread over the roof also. Its dense, stiff sprays of -dark foliage were laden with crimson berries; they hung brilliantly over -the white face of the cottage and made heavy brows for the door and -windows. A leafless lilac stuck up pale branches on one side of the -entrance; stacks of dry fern stood on the other; and these hues were -carried to earth and echoed in higher notes by some buff Orpington fowls -upon the roadway, and a red setter asleep at the cottage door. Over all -this genial and spirited colour profound silence reigned; and then the -mystery of the deserted village was solved by sudden drone of organ -music from the church. It happened to be Sunday, and most of those not -engaged at kitchen fires were attending service. - -At last, however, a human being appeared and a man came out from the -cottage of cotoneasters with a metal pail in his hand. He wore Sunday -black but had not yet donned his coat, and his shirt-sleeves were rolled -up to his elbows. His fore-arms were somewhat slight, but hard and -brown; and his face had charmed any student of faces by its obvious -kindness of heart and innate merriment of disposition. Bartley Crocker -was thin and tall. He stood about six feet, yet weighed not quite -eleven stone. He was, however, tough and very energetic where it -pleased him so to be. Small black whiskers clung beneath his ears, -while the rest of his face was shorn. His upper lip was short, his -mouth full and rather feeble, his colour clear and pale. His eyes were -small, somewhat sly, and the home of laughter. He was five-and-twenty -and lived with a widowed mother and a maiden aunt under the berried roof -of the cottage. The Crockers kept cows and poultry, and Bartley was a -good son to his mother, though not a good friend to himself. He had a -mind, quick but not deep, and his feelings were keen but transitory. He -belonged to the order of Esau, won wide friendship, yet woke a measure -of impatience among reflecting people, in that he spent his time to such -poor purpose and wasted an unusually good education and a splendid -native gift of nervous energy on the sports of the field. He had, in -fact, become a man without putting away childish things--an achievement -as rare among rustics as it is common under conditions of university -education. Yet nobody but his mother ever blamed him to his face, and -the tone of her voice always robbed her reproaches of the least forceful -quality. She was proud of him; she knew that the men could not quarrel -with him and that the girls were all his friends. - -Bartley filled a pail with water from the brook, and then carried it -home. His mother was in church; his Aunt, Susan Saunders, prepared -dinner. The man now completed his costume, put on a collar and a red -tie, donned his coat and a soft felt "wide-awake" hat. He then went into -the churchyard, sat upon a tomb exactly in front of the principal door -and there waited, without self-consciousness, for the congregation to -emerge. Anon the people came--a stream of old men and maidens, women -and children. Ancient beavers shone in the sun, plaid shawls covered -aged shoulders; there was greeting and clatter of tongues in the -vernacular; the young creatures, released from their futile -imprisonment, ran hither and thither, and whooped and shouted--without -apparent merriment, but simply in obedience to a natural call for swift -movement of growing legs and arms and full inflation of lungs. The -lively company streamed away and Bartley gave fifty of the folk -"good-morning." Some chid him for not attending the service. At last -there came his mother. She resembled her son but little, and looked -younger than her years. Nanny Crocker was more black than grey. She -had dark brown eyes, a high-coloured face, a full bosom and a square, -sturdy body, well moulded to display the enormous pattern of a red, -black and blue shawl. Beside her walked Mr. Charles Moses, the vicar's -churchwarden--a married man with a grey beard and crystallised opinions, -who on week-days pursued the business of a shoemaker. - -"Where's Margaret?" asked young Crocker. But his mother could not -answer him. - -"I thought she'd have found me and prayed along with me, in the pew -behind the font, that catches heat from the stove, where I always go -winter time," explained Mrs. Crocker. "She never comed, however. -Haven't she arrived home?" - -"No," said Bartley. "But 'twas a promise to dinner, and since there's -no message, without doubt she's on the way. I'll up over Yellowmead and -meet her." - -His mother nodded and went forward, escorted by the shoemaker; people in -knots and strings thinned off by this gate and that; then came forth the -imposing company of the Bowdens, for Sheepstor was their parish, and wet -or fine, hot or cold, they weekly worshipped there. Only on rare -occasions, when some fierce blizzard banked white drifts ten feet deep -between Ditsworthy and the outer world, did Elias abstain and hold long -services in the Warren House kitchen, lighted by the glare of the -snow-blink from without. - -To-day he came first, with his widowed daughter Sophia. Then followed -David and Rhoda, Napoleon and Wellington, Samson and Richard, in the -order named. Joshua was not present, as he had gone to spend the day -with friends; and Dorcas kept at home to help her mother with dinner. - -The Bowdens were well known to Bartley, and he bade them "good-morning" -in amiable fashion. He shook hands with Sophia and Rhoda, and nodded to -Elias and David. None of the family showed particular pleasure in the -young man's company, but this did not trouble him. Their way was his -for a while, and therefore he walked beside David and Rhoda and prattled -cheerfully now to one, now to the other. - -"How those boys grow!" he said. "A brave couple and so like as a pair -of tabby kittens. They'll go taller than you, David. You can see it by -their long feet." - -"Very like they will," said David. - -The other's ruling instinct was to please. He addressed Rhoda. In -common with most young men he admired her exceedingly; but the emotion -was not returned. Rhoda seldom smiled upon men; yet, on the other hand, -she never scowled at them. Her attitude was one of high indifference, -and none saw much more than that; yet much more existed, and Rhoda's -aloof posture, instead of concealing normal maiden interest in the -opposite sex, as Bartley and other subtle students suspected, in reality -hid a vague general aversion from it. - -"If I may make bold to say so, Miss Rhoda, those feathers in your -beautiful hat beat anything I've ever seen," declared Mr. Crocker. - -"'Tis a foreign bird what used to be in a case," answered she. "The -mould was getting over it, so I thought I'd use its wings for my hat -afore they went to pieces." - -"A very witty idea. And what might the bird be?" - -"Couldn't tell you." - -"I wonder, now, supposing I was to shoot a kingfisher, if you'd like him -to put in your hat when this here bird be done for?" - -"No, thank you." - -"If she wants a kingfisher, I can get her one," said David. - -Bartley tried again. - -"I hear that yellow-bearded chap, the leat man, Simon Snell, be taking -up with your Dorcas. That's great news, I do declare, if 'tis true." - -A very faint tinge of colour touched Rhoda's cheeks. - -"It isn't," she said. - -"Ah, well--can't say I'm sorry. He's rather a dull dog--good as gold, -but as tasteless as an egg without salt." - -"Simon Snell can stand to work--that's something," said David, in his -uncompromising way. - -But Mr. Crocker ignored the allusion. He looked at and talked to Rhoda. -The pleasure of seeing her beautiful face and of watching that little -wave of rose-colour wax and wane in her cheeks, was worth her brother's -snub. He had often been at the greatest difficulty to abstain from -compliments to Rhoda; but there was that in her bearing and consistent -reserve that frightened him and all others from personality. Even to -praise her hat had required courage. - -Elias called Rhoda, and Bartley was not sorry to reach the point where -their ways parted. He went to meet a maiden of other clay than this. -Yet Rhoda always excited a very lively emotion in the youth by virtue of -her originality, handsome person and self-sufficing qualities. When any -girl made it clear to Bartley that she took no sort of interest in him, -the remarkable fact woke quite a contrary attitude to her in his own -ardent spirit. - -Where a row of stepping-stones crossed Sheepstor brook under avenues -of-beech-trees above the village, Bartley left the Bowdens with a final -proposal of friendliness. - -"Hounds meet at Cadworthy Bridge come Monday week. Hope I'll see you -then, if not sooner, Miss Rhoda." - -"Thank you, but I shan't go. Fox-hunting's nought to us." - -"Well, good-bye, then," answered he. "I'm walking this way to meet -Madge Stanbury from Coombeshead. She's coming to eat her dinner along -with us." - -A silence more than usually formidable followed the announcement, and it -was now not Rhoda but David who appeared to be concerned. He frowned, -and even snorted. Actual anger flashed from his eyes, but he turned -them on his sister, not on Mr. Crocker. - -Rhoda it was who spoke after a very lengthy peace. - -"If that's so, there's no call for you to go over to Coombeshead after -dinner, David. Belike Margaret Stanbury's forgot." - -"I was axed to tea, and I shall go to tea," he answered in a dogged and -sulky voice. "We've no right to say she's forgot." - -"That's true," Rhoda admitted. - -Bartley wished them "good-bye" again and left them. He skipped over the -stream and climbed the hill to Sheep's Tor's eastern slopes, while they -went up through steep lanes, furze-brakes and stunted trees to the great -tableland of the Moor. - -Mr. Crocker once turned a moment; and, as he did so, he marked the -Bowden clan plodding on in evident silence to Ditsworthy. - -"Good God! 'tis like a funeral party after they've got rid of their -dead," he thought. - -Ten minutes later a dark spot on the heath increased, approached swiftly -and turned into a woman. Such haste had she made that her heart -throbbed almost painfully. She pressed her hands to it and could not -speak for a little while. Her face was bright and revealed an eager but -a very sensitive spirit. There was something restless and birdlike -about her, and something unutterably sweet; for this girl's temper was -woven of pure altruism. Welfare of others, by a sort of fine instinct, -had long since become her welfare. - -She was four-and-twenty, of good height and a dark complexion. Perhaps -her boundless energy preserved her from growing stout and kept her as -she was--a fine woman of ripe and flowing figure with a round, beautiful -neck and noble arms. Her hair, parted down the middle in the old -fashion, was black and without natural gloss; her eyebrows were full and -perfect in shape and her eyes shone with the light of a large and -sanguine heart. Her face was well shaped and her mouth very gentle. -Margaret Stanbury possessed a temperament of fire. She made intuition -serve for reason, and instinct take the place of logic. Her capacity -both for joy and grief was unusual in her class. - -"Whatever will your people say, Bartley?" she gasped. "They'll never -forgive me, I'm sure." - -"No bad news, I hope?" - -"Yes, but there is. Mother scalded herself just as I was starting to -church, so I had to stop and cook the dinner. And, what's far worse, -I've kept you from yours." - -"We'll soon make up for lost time," he answered. "I hope your mother -suffered but little pain and will soon be well." - -"She makes nought of it; but of course I couldn't leave her to mess -about with a lame hand." - -"Of course not; of course not. I wish you hadn't hurried so. You've -set yourself all in a twitter." - -Nevertheless he much admired the beautiful rise and fall of her tight -Sunday frock. It was as pleasant a circumstance in its way as Rhoda's -ghostly blush when he had mentioned Simon Snell. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV* - - *COOMBESHEAD* - - -The character of Margaret Stanbury affected very diversely those who -came in contact with it. Her never-failing desire to be helping others -was sometimes welcomed, sometimes tolerated and sometimes resented. -Most people have no objection to being spoiled, and mothers of sick -children, old bedridden folk and invalids welcomed Margaret gladly -enough, and accepted her gifts of service or food--sometimes as a -privilege, sometimes, after a few repetitions, as a right. But others -only endured her attentions for the love they bore her, and because they -knew that she joyed to be with the careworn and suffering. A residue of -independent people were indifferent to her. These wished her away, when -she sought to share their tribulations or lessen their labours. - -Nanny Crocker and her sister Susan belonged to the last category. They -hated fuss and they mistrusted sympathy. They were complete in -themselves--comfortable, superior, selfish. They liked Margaret -Stanbury so much that they held her worthy of Bartley; and he liked her -as well as a man might who had known her all his life. His mother had -settled with Susan that her son was husband-old, and this visit from -Madge might be said to open the campaign. - -The old women took cold stock of her as she ate her dinner. To an -outsider they had suggested two elderly lizards, with wrinkled skins and -large experience, studying a song-thrush on a bough. Madge trilled and -chirruped from the simple goodness of her heart; they, in their deeper -shrewdness, listened; she had much to say of many people and not an -unkind word of any; but unfailingly they qualified her generous estimate -of fellow-creatures. - -After the meal Margaret declared that she must start immediately for -home to keep an appointment; and she took with her Bartley Crocker -himself and an elaborate prescription for scalds. Then, when they had -gone, Susan and Nanny discussed the girl without sentiment or -imagination, yet not without common sense. - -They differed somewhat, but not in the conclusion. Both felt that though -too prone to let her heart run away with her head, Madge would make a -good wife for their man. The suspicion was that she might not be quite -firm enough with him. That, however, appeared inevitable. Mrs. Crocker -felt that Bartley must certainly be humoured. No woman born would ever -deny him his own way or cloud his spirit with opposition. Susan feared -that the girl had expensive tastes and an instinct which carried -generosity to absurd lengths; but the mother of Bartley believed that, -once married, this lavish benevolence would centre upon Margaret's -husband and find all necessary scope for its activity in that quarter. - -Meantime Bartley's own attitude had to be considered, and upon that -point his parent and his aunt were satisfied. He had been attentive to -Margaret at dinner and more than usually polite. - -"It only remains to see what the girl thinks," said Susan; but her -sister held that problem determined. - -"She goes without saying, I should fancy, even if Bartley was different -to what he is. He's only to drop the handkerchief. The girl's no fool. -Catch a Stanbury refusing a Crocker!" - -"I doubt he'll ask her afore Christmas." - -"May or may not. That's not our job. 'Tis for us to bid her here now -and again, and I may even get out to Coombeshead presently and pay her -mother a visit. Of course Mrs. Stanbury and her husband will be hot for -it." - -Thus, despite their large worldly wisdom and knowledge of their -fellow-folk, these elderly sisters, cheered by Sunday dinner, took a -rosy view of the future and held the things which they desired to happen -as good as accomplished. They even debated upon a new home for Bartley -and wondered where it had better be chosen. - -The man meantime was moving at one point of that great trio of tors -known hereabout as "the Triangle." The heights of Sheep's Tor, Lether -Tor and Down Tor are equidistant, and once upon a time, in the hollowed -midst of them, Nature's hand held a lake. Then its granite barriers -were swept away and the cup ran empty. Hereafter Meavy river flowed -through the midst of meadows and, at the time of these incidents, -continued to do so. It was not until nearly fifty years later that -thirsty men rebuilt the cup to hold sweet water for their towns. - -Across the river went Margaret and Bartley; then they turned and, by a -detour, set their faces towards her home. Their talk was light and -cheerful. It ranged over many subjects, including love, but no note of -any close, personal regard marked the conversation. - -"What do you think of Rhoda Bowden?" he asked, and Margaret answered -slowly: - -"I think a lot of her. She's a solemn sort of girl and goeth so -grand-like! She'm different to most of us--so tall and sweeping in her -walk. Maidens mostly mince in their going; but she swingeth along like -a man." - -"She's a jolly fine girl, Madge." - -"David be terrible fond of her." - -"Yes, he is. I saw that this morning before dinner. And I got actually -a touch of pink into her cheek to-day, if you'll believe it." - -"You're that bowldacious always--enough to make any girl blush with your -nonsense." - -"Not at all. I wouldn't say anything outright--but I just mentioned -Simon Snell of all men, and I'll swear Miss Rhoda flickered up!" - -"You never know what natures catch heat from each other. I don't reckon -Rhoda's fond of men." - -"And surely Snell would never dare to be fond of girls." - -"And yet, for just that reason, they might be drawn together." - -By chance the man of whom they spoke appeared a little farther on their -way. He was a large-boned, ox-eyed labourer, with a baby's face on -adult shoulders. Not a wrinkle of thought, not a sensual line was ruled -upon his round cheeks or brow. A yellow beard and moustache hid the -lower part of his face. His skin was clear and high-coloured; his nose -was thin; his forehead was high and narrow. - -"Give you good-afternoon," said Mr. Snell. He spoke in a thin, -colourless voice and his face revealed no expression but a sort of ovine -placidity. - -Bartley winked at Madge. - -"And how be all at Ditsworthy Warren House, Simon?" he asked. - -"I was there last Thursday. They was all well then. I'm going there now -to drink tea with--" - -"With Miss Rhoda--eh? Or is it Miss Dorcas?" - -The shadowy ghost of a smile touched Simon's mild face. - -"What a dashing way you have of mentioning the females! I never could -do it, I'm sure. 'Tis about some spaniel pups as I be going up over. -Give you good-afternoon." - -He stalked away, calm, solemn, inane. - -Mr. Snell was engaged upon the Plymouth water leat. His neighbours -regarded him as a harmless joke. It might have been said of him, as of -the owl, that he was not humourous himself, but the cause of humour in -others. - -"I always think there's a lot of sense hidden in Simon, for all you men -laugh at him," said Margaret. - -"Then give up thinking so," answered Bartley, "for you're wrong. That -baby-eyed creature have just brain-power to keep him out of the lunatic -asylum and no more. His head is as empty as a deaf nut. He's never -growed up. There's nought behind that great bush of a beard but a -stupid child. He's only the image of a man; and you'll never hear him -say a sensible thing, unless 'tis the echo of somebody else. He don't -know no more about human creatures than that gate." - -"A childlike spirit have its own virtues. He'd never do a bad thing." - -"He'd never do anything--good or bad. He's like a ploughing horse or a -machine. Lord, the times I've tried to shock a swear or surprise a -laugh out of that chap! Yet if ever Rhoda Bowden showed me a spark of -herself, 'twas when I said I thought Simon was after her red sister." - -"'Twas only because you angered her thinking of such a thing." - -"How d'you like David Bowden?" he asked suddenly, and the question -signified much to them both. For Bartley had been not a little -astonished to hear that David was going to drink tea at Coombeshead. -The eldest son of Elias was an unsociable man and little given to -visiting. Yet this visit, as Mr. Crocker had observed after church, -meant a good deal to young Bowden. Now he desired to know what it might -mean to Margaret. - -Her merry manner changed and a nervousness, natural to her and never far -from the surface of her character, asserted itself. - -"What a chap you are for sudden questions that go off like a rat-trap! -Mr. David is coming to drink tea along with us to-night." - -"That's why you're in such a hurry." - -"Why not?" - -"No reason at all. David Bowden's rather a grim sort of man; but he's -got all the virtues except a gentle tongue. I speak better of him than -he would of me, however." - -"I'm sure not. He's never said a word against you that I ever heard." - -"You've heard him pretty often then? Well, he despises me, Madge. -Because I don't stick to work like he does. Don't you get too fond of -that man. He's a kill-joy." - -She gasped and changed colour, but he did not notice it. All that -Bartley had needed to turn his attention seriously to this girl was some -spice of rivalry; and now it promised to appear. They walked along to -Nosworthy Bridge, and from that spot Margaret's distant home was -visible. - -Like a picture set between two great masses of fruiting white-horn, -Dennycoombe spread eastward into Dartmoor and climbed upward through -glory of sinking light upon autumnal colour. To the west Sheep's Tor's -larch-clad shoulder sloped in pale gold mottled with green, while -northerly Down Tor broke the withered fern. Between them lay a valley -of lemon light washed with blue hazes and stained by great darkness -where the shadows fell. Many a little dingle opened on either hand of -the glen; and here twinkled water, where a brook leapt downward; and -here shone dwindling raiment of beech and oak. - -Coombeshead Farm, the home of the Stanburys, stood at the apex of this -gorge and lay under Coombeshead Tor. Still higher against the sky -rolled Eylesbarrow, its enormous and simple outline broken only by the -fangs of an old ruin; while flying clouds, that shone in opposition to -the sunset, crowned all with welter of mingled light and gloom. The -modest farmhouse clung like a grey nest into the tawny harmonies of the -hill, and above it rose blue smoke. - -"You'll come to tea?" said Madge; but Bartley shook his head. - -"Two's company, three's none," he said. - -"But we're all at home." - -"No, no; I've had my luck--mustn't be greedy. One thing I will swear: -David Bowden won't make you laugh as often at your tea as I did at your -dinner--will he now?" - -"We've all got our different qualities." - -"I tell you he's a kill-joy," repeated Bartley; but Margaret shook her -head. - -"Not to me--never to me," she said frankly. - -This fearless confession reduced the man to silence. Then, while he -considered the position and felt that, if he desired Margaret, the time -for serious love-making had come, there approached the sturdy shape of -young Bowden himself. - -They were now more than half-way up the valley, and David had seen them -long ago. He advanced to meet them, took no notice of Bartley, but -shook Margaret's hand and spoke while he did so. - -"It was ordained that I should drink a dish of tea along with your -people this afternoon; but if you've forgot it, I can go again." - -"No fay! Of course 'twasn't forgotten. Why ever should you think so, -Mr. David?" - -"Because Bartley here--however, I'm sorry I spoke, since 'tis as 'tis." - -"Not often you say more than be needed in words," remarked Mr. Crocker. -But he spoke mechanically. His observation was entirely bestowed upon -Margaret's attitude towards Bowden. That she liked him was sufficiently -clear. Her face was the brighter for his coming and she began to talk -to him of certain interests not familiar to Bartley. Then she -remembered herself and turned to the younger man again. - -"But what's this to you, Bartley? Nought, I'm sure." - -He had remarked that she addressed David by his Christian name, but with -the affix of ceremony. - -"Anything that interests you interests me, Madge," he answered. "But -I'll leave you here and go back-along through the woods." - -"Better come on, now you're so near, and have tea with us." - -"What does David say?" - -"Ban't my business," answered Mr. Bowden. - -The men looked at each other straight in the eyes and grasped the -situation. Then Bartley shook hands with Margaret and left them. - -Bowden made no comment on Mr. Crocker. Indeed he did not speak at all -until they had almost reached the homestead of Coombeshead. Then, -suddenly, without preliminaries, he dragged a little square-nosed -spaniel puppy out of his pocket, where it had been lying fast asleep. - -"'Tis weaned and ready to begin learning," he said. "Your brother Bart -will soon teach it how to behave. But mind you let him. Don't you try -to bring it up. You'll only spoil it. No woman I ever knowed, except -Rhoda, could train a dog." - -The little thing licked Madge's face while she kissed its nose. - -"A dinky dear! Thank you, thank you, Mr. David. 'Twill be a great -treasure to me." - -He set his teeth and asked for a privilege. He had evidently meant to -accompany this gift with a petition. - -"And if I may make so bold, I want for you to call me 'David,' instead -of 'Mr. David.'" - -He looked at her almost sternly as he spoke. His voice was slow, deep -and resonant. - -"Of course--David." - -He nodded and the shadow of a smile passed over his face. - -"Thank you kindly," he said. - -The pup occupied Margaret's attention and hid the flush upon her cheek. -Then they entered together, to find the rest of the Stanbury family -sitting very patiently waiting for their tea. - -Bartholomew Stanbury and his son, Bartholomew, were men of like -instincts and outlook. Coombeshead Farm had but little land and the -farmer was very poor; but father and son only grumbled in the privacy of -the family circle, and presented a sturdy and indifferent attitude to -the world. They were tall, well-made men, flaxen of colour and scanty -of hair. Their eyes were blue; their expressions were frank; their -intelligence was small and their physical courage great. Save for the -difference represented by thirty years of time, father and son could -hardly have been more alike; but Bartholomew Stanbury, though little -more than fifty was already very bald and round in the shoulders; while -"Bart," as the younger man was always called without addition, stood -straight, and though his face was hairless, save for a thin moustache, a -good sandy crop covered his poll. - -Both men rose as Madge and David appeared; both wrinkled their narrow -foreheads and both smiled with precisely the same expression. The -Stanburys had set their hopes on a possible match with the more -prosperous and powerful Bowdens. Bartholomew, indeed, held that his -daughter's happiness must be assured if she could win such a husband as -David. - -"Call your mother, Bart," said Mr. Stanbury, "and we'll have tea. -Haven't seen 'e this longful time, David, but I hope all's well to home -and the rabbits running heavy." - -"Never better," answered young Bowden. - -"As for us, can't say it's been all to the good," declared the farmer. -"Never knowed a fairer or hotter summer, but in August the maggots got -in the sheep's backs something cruel. Bart here was out after 'em all -his time--wasn't you, Bart?" - -Bart had a habit of patting his chin and nodding when he spoke. He did -so now. - -"Yes, I was," said Bart. "A terrible brave show of maggots, sure -enough." - -Mrs. Stanbury appeared, and it might be seen that while her son -resembled his father, it was from the mother that Margaret took her dark -skin, dark hair, dark eyes and wistful cast of countenance. She was a -neat, small woman, and to-day, clad in her plum-coloured Sunday gown -with a silver watch-chain and a touch of colour in her black cap, had no -little air of distinction about her. Her face was long and rather sad, -but it had been beautiful before the mouth fell somewhat. Constance -Stanbury was eight years older than her husband and of a credulous -nature, at once vaguely poetical and definitely pessimistic. She -depreciated everything that belonged to herself; even when her children -were praised to her face, she would deprecate enthusiasm with silence or -a shrug. She believed in mysteries, in voices that called by night, in -dreams, in premonitions, in the evil omen and the evil eye. Her brother -had destroyed himself, and she was not the first of her race who had -suffered from a congenital melancholia. - -"I hope your scalded hand be doing nicely, ma'am," said David, with the -politeness of a lover to the mother of his lass. - -"Yes, thank you. 'Twas my own silly fault, trying to do two things at -once. 'Tis of no consequence." - -"I'll pour out the tea," said Margaret. "Then you needn't take your -hand out of the sling, mother." - -Mrs. Stanbury's profound and pathetic distrust and doubt that she could -possess or achieve any good thing, extended from the greatest to the -least interest in life. Now they ate and drank, and David ventured to -praise a fine cake of which he asked for a second slice. - -"Glad you like it, I'm sure," she said, "but 'tisn't much of a cake. -Too stoggy and I forgot the lemon." - -"Never want to taste a better," declared David, stoutly. "Our cakes to -Ditsworthy ban't a patch on it." - -Mrs. Stanbury smiled faintly. - -"Did your mother catch any good from the organy tea?" she asked. - -"Yes," answered David. "A power of good it did her, and I was specially -to say she was greatly obliged for it; and if by lucky chance you'd -saved up a few bunches more organies, she'd like 'em." - -"Certainly, an' t'other herb to go along with it. I dried good store at -the season of the year. Some people say the moon don't count in the -matter; but there's a right and wrong in such things, and the moon did -ought to be at the full without a doubt. Who be we to say that the wit -of our grandfathers was of no account?" - -The herb "organies," or wild marjoram, was still drunk as tea in Mrs. -Stanbury's days, and decoctions of it were widely used after local -recipes for local ills. - -"This here Chinese tea be a lot nicer to my taste, all the same," said -Bart. "We have it Sundays, and I wouldn't miss it for money." - -"We drink it every day," said David. - -"Ah! you rich folk can run to it, no doubt." - -"But we don't brew so strong as what you do," added young Bowden. - -"This is far too strong," declared Mrs. Stanbury, instantly. "It have -stood over long, and the bitter be drawed out." - -"That's my fault for being late," answered Margaret. "No fault of -yours, mother." - -"I like the bitter," said Bart. "'Tis pretty drinking and proper to -work on. Cider isn't in it with cold tea." - -Dusk gathered, and the firelight flickered in the little whitewashed -kitchen. Then David mentioned a project near his hopes. - -"You thought you'd found a fox's earth 'pon Coombeshead Tor," he said to -Madge. - -"I do think so; and if you've made an end of eating, us'll go an' see -afore 'tis dark." - -"I've finished, and very much obliged, I'm sure." - -David rose, picked up his felt hat and bade the parent Stanburys -"good-evening." Then he and Margaret went out together. Bart prepared -to accompany them, when suddenly, as if shot, he sank down into his -chair again beside his father and put his hand to his chin. - -"Why for did 'e kick me, faither?" he asked when the lovers had -disappeared. - -"You silly zany! They don't want you!" - -Bart grinned. - -"He be after Madge--eh?" - -"Wait till you'm daft for something in a petticoat yourself, then you'll -understand--eh, mother?" - -"I suppose so, master. We shall lose 'em both, without a doubt; 'tis -Nature," she said. - -Meantime Margaret and David climbed into the gloaming on Coombeshead -Tor, and she talked to him, and for the first time let him know how much -the wonderful granite masses of this hill meant to her. - -"I was born on the farm, you know, and this place was my playground ever -since I could run alone. A very lonely little girl, because Bart was -six year older than me, and mother never had none but us. I never had -no toys or nothing of that sort; but these gerstones was my dollies, and -I used to give 'em names, an' play along with 'em, an' sleep among 'em -when I was tired. That fond of chattering I was, that I must be talking -if 'twas only to the stones! Never was a cheel cut out for minding -babies like me; and yet I've not had a baby to mind in my life!" - -He listened and enjoyed her voice, but felt not much emotion at what she -told him. - -"So these boulders were my babies; an' now this one took a cold and -wanted nursing; an' now this one was tired and I had to sing it to -sleep. And I'd bring 'em flowers an' teach 'em their lessons, an' put -'em to bed an' all the rest of it. They all had their names too, I -warrant you!" - -"'Twas a very clever game to think upon," he said. - -"Thicky stone, wi' grass on his head, was called 'Pilgarlic.' His hair -is green in summer and it turns yellow, like 'tis now, when winter -comes. And yonder rock--its real name is the 'Cuckoo stone,' because -cuckoo always sits there to cry when he comes to Dennycoombe; that flat -rock was 'Lame Annie'--a poor friend of mine as couldn't walk." - -David laughed. - -"Fancy thinking such things all out of your own head!" he exclaimed. -"Ah! here's the earth! Yes, that's a fox." - -Presently he prepared to go homeward and she offered to walk a little of -the way by a sheep-track under Eylesbarrow. - -He agreed and thanked her; but when the turning point was reached, David -declared that it was now too dark for Margaret to see her way home at -all. And so it became necessary for him to turn again and walk beside -her until Coombeshead windows blinked through the night. - -Then he left her, and ventured to squeeze her hand rather tightly as he -did so. He went home somewhat slowly and suffered as many sensations of -affection, admiration and uneasiness as his nature would admit. He was -deep in love and felt that possession of Margaret Stanbury represented -the highest good his life could offer. - - - - - *CHAPTER V* - - *THE VIRGIN AND THE DOGS* - - -Rhoda Bowden loved the dogs, and her part in the little commonwealth of -Ditsworthy lay with them. Ten were kept, and money was made from Elias -Bowden's famous breed of spaniels. To see Rhoda, solemn and stately, -with puppies squealing and tumbling before her, or hanging on to her -skirts, was a familiar sight at the warren. - -"It takes all sorts to make a world," said Mrs. Bowden, "and I must -allow my Rhoda never neighboured kindly with the babbies--worse than -useless with 'em; but let it be a litter, and she's all alive and clever -as need be." - -Indeed, the girl had extraordinary skill in canine affairs. She loved -and understood the dogs; and they loved her. By a sort of instinct she -learned their needs and aversions, and the brutes paid her with a blind -worship that woke as soon as their eyes opened on the world. Yelping -and screaming, the puppies paddled about after her; the old dogs walked -by her side or galloped before. Sometimes she went to the warren with -them and watched them working. After David they were nearer to her -heart than most of her own species. She seemed to fathom their -particular natures and read their individual characters with a closeness -more intense and a judgment more accurate than she possessed for -mankind. - -Perhaps not only dogs woke this singular understanding in her. As a -child she had chosen to be much alone, and in silent reveries, before -the ceaseless puzzles of Ditsworthy, she had sat sequestered amid -natural things and watched the humble-bees in the thyme, the field mice, -the wheat-ears, and the hawks and lizards. She had regarded all these -lives as running parallel with her own. They were fellow mortals and no -doubt possessed their own interests, homes, anxieties and affairs. She -had felt very friendly to them all and had liked to suppose that they -were happy and prosperous. That they lived on each other did not puzzle -her or pain her. It was so. She herself--and David--lived by the -rabbits. Many thousands of the busy brown people passed away through -the winter to make the prosperity of Ditsworthy. That was a part of the -order of things, and she accepted it with indifference. Death, indeed, -she mourned instinctively, but she did not hate it. - -She loved the night and often, from childhood, crept forth alone into -darkness or moonlight. - -There was no humour in Rhoda. She smiled if David laughed, but even his -weak sense of the laughter in life exceeded hers by much, and she often -failed after serious search to see reason for his amusement. Such -laughter-lovers as Bartley Crocker frankly puzzled her. Indeed, she -felt a contempt for them. - -Life had its own pet problems, and most of these she shared with David; -but of late every enigma had sunk before a new and gigantic one. David -was in love with a girl and certainly hoped to marry her. Until now the -great and favourite mystery in Rhoda's life was the meaning of the old -sundial at Sheepstor church. Above the porch may still be seen a -venerable stone cut to represent a human skull from whose eye-sockets -and bony jaws there spring fresh ears of wheat. Crossbones support the -head of Death, and beneath them stands a winged hour-glass with the -words 'Mors Janua Vitae.' - -This fragment had since her childhood been a fearful joy to Rhoda. It -was still an object of attraction; but now she had ceased to want an -explanation and would have refused to hear one: the mystery sufficed -her. David, too, had shared her emotions in the relic and had often -advanced theories to explain the eternal wonder of the wheat springing -from human bones. - -And now all lesser things were fading before the great pending change, -and Rhoda went uneasy and not wholly happy, like an animal that feels -the approach of storm. Margaret Stanbury interested her profoundly and -there lurked no suspicion of jealousy in Rhoda's attitude; but critical -she was, and terribly jealous for David. Young Bowden's mother had been -much easier to satisfy than his sister. With careful and not -unsympathetic mind Rhoda summed up Madge; and the estimate, as was -inevitable, found David's sweetheart wanting. - -The irony of chance had cast Madge into a house childless save for her -elder brother; and her instincts had driven her to pet and nurse the -boulders on Coombeshead; while for Rhoda were babies and to spare -provided, but she ever evaded that uncongenial employment and preferred -a puppy to a child. - -Rhoda held her own opinions concerning the opposite sex, and they were -contradictory. A vague ideal of man haunted her mind, but it was faint -and indefinite. She required some measure of special consideration for -women from men; but personally she could not be said to offer any charm -of womanhood in exchange. She expected attention of a sort, but she -never acknowledged it in a way to gladden a masculine heart. And yet -her loveliness and her presence made men forget these facts. They began -by being enthusiastic and only cooled off after a nearer approach had -taught them her limitations. In the general opinion Rhoda "wanted -something" to complete her; but here and there were those who did not -mark this shadowy deficiency. Mr. Simon Snell regarded her as the most -complete and admirable woman he had ever seen; and David also knew of no -disability in his sister. It is true that she differed radically from -Margaret; but that was not a fault in his estimation. He hoped that -these two women would soon share his home; he believed that each must -win from the other much worth the winning; and he held each quite -admirable, though with a different sort of perfection. - -On a day at edge of winter, the mistress of the dogs sat on a rock and -watched her brothers Napoleon and Wellington, and her sister Dorcas, -engaged with a ferret. The long, pink-eyed, lemon-coloured brute had a -string tied round its neck and was then sent into the burrows. Anon the -boys dug down where the string indicated, and often found two or three -palpitating rabbits cornered at the end of a tunnel. Then they dragged -them out and broke their necks. At Rhoda's feet four spaniel puppies -fought with a rabbit-skin, while she and their mother watched them -admiringly. - -Towards this busy scene there came a woman, and Rhoda, recognising Mrs. -Stanbury, walked to meet her. - -"Be your mother at home, my dear?" asked the elder. "'Twas ordained us -should have a bit of a tell about one or two things, and I said a while -ago, when us met Sunday week, that I'd pick a dry day and come across." - -"She's at home, and faither too. We're making up a big order for -Birmingham and everybody's to work." - -"Such a hive as you be here. Bless them two boys, how they do grow, to -be sure!" - -She pointed to the twins, Samson and Richard, who had just joined their -elder brothers. - -Rhoda led the way and they approached the house. White pigeons and blue -circled round about the eaves, and sweet peat smoke drifted from the -chimney. A scrap of vegetable garden protected from the east by a high -wall, lay beside the dwelling, and even unexpected flowers--gifts from -the valleys--made shift to live and blossom here. Aubrietias struggled -in the stones by the garden path, and a few Michaelmas daisies, now in -the sere, also prospered there. Sarah Bowden herself, and only she, -looked after the flowers. They were a sort of pleasure to -her--especially the daffodils that speared through the black earth and -hung out their orange and lemon and silver in spring. Walls of piled -peat and stone surrounded the garden, and the grey face of the Warren -House opened upon it. At present the garden and porch were full of -rabbit baskets packed for market. One could only see rows and rows of -little hind pads stained brown by the peat. - -Mr. Bowden was doing figures at a high desk in the corner of the -kitchen, and his wife sat by the fire mending clothes. Rhoda left Mrs. -Stanbury with them and went out again to the boys. - -Sarah Bowden had grown round-backed with crouching over many babies. -She loved them and everything to do with them. Had Nature permitted it, -she would gladly have begun to bear another family. Now she picked up -her skirt and dusted a chair. - -"Don't, please, demean yourself on my account," said Constance Stanbury. -"I've come from master. As you know, my dear, there's something in the -wind, and Bartholomew thought that perhaps you'd be so kind as to spare -the time and tell me a little how it strikes you and what you feel about -it." - -"Fetch out elderberry wine and seedy cake," said Elias. "Mrs. Stanbury -must have bit and sup. She've come a rough road." - -"No, no. No occasion, I'm sure. Don't let me put you to no trouble, -Sarah." - -"Very pleased," said Mrs. Bowden. "'Tis about David and your maiden you -be here, of course?" - -"So it is then. My children ain't nothing out of the common, you must -know--haven't got more sense than, please God, they should have. But -all the same Margaret's a very good, fearless girl, and kind-hearted you -might say, even." - -"Kind-hearted! Why, her name's knowed all up the countryside for -kindness," said Mrs. Bowden. "She's a proper fairy, and we be very fond -of her, ban't we, Elias?" - -"Yes," said Mr. Bowden. "She's got every vartue but cash." - -"She'm to have twenty-five pounds on her wedding-day, however. Of -course to people like you, with large ideas about money, such a figure -be very small; but her father's put it by for her year after year, and -she'll have it." - -"Well done, Stanbury!" said Mr. Bowden. - -"They ban't tokened yet, and you might think us a thought too pushing, -which God forbid, I'm sure," said Mrs. Stanbury, crumbling her cake and -not eating it. "But it's going to be. I know the signs. Your David's -set on her, and he's the sort who have their way. That man's face -wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, if I may say so. Not that he'll get -'no' for an answer. There's that in my daughter's eyes when his name is -named.--So 'tis just so good as done so far as they're concerned." - -Mr. Bowden left his desk and came to the table. He poured out a glass -of elderberry wine for himself and drank it. - -"Listen to me," he said. "Wool is worth one shilling and sevenpence a -pound, and David be going to buy fifty sheep. You might ax how? Well, -his Uncle Partridge--Sarah's late brother--left him five hundred pound -under his will; and when he marries and leaves here, he'll spend a bit -of that on sheep--old Dartmoor crossed with Devon Long Wool. 'Tis a -brave breed and the wonderfulest wool as you'll handle in England. The -only care is not to breed out the Dartmoor constitution. I may tell you -an average coat is twelve pounds of wool. So there you are." - -Mr. Bowden instantly returned to his stool and his ledger. He appeared -to regard his statement as strictly relative, and, indeed, Mrs. Stanbury -so understood it. In their speech, as in their written communications, -the folk shear off every redundancy of expression until only the bare -bones of ideas remain--sometimes without even necessary connecting -links. - -"We never doubted that he was snug. But where be he going, if I might -ask?" said Mrs. Stanbury. - -"Wait," answered Elias, twisting round but not dismounting. "We haven't -come to that. I should mention ponies also. There'll be ponies so well -as sheep, and in God's good time, when old Jonathan Dawe's carried to -the yard, David may become Moorman of the quarter. Nobody's better -suited to the work. Well--ponies.--With ponies what live be all profit, -and what die be no loss. In fact, if you find the carpses soon enough, -they be a gain too, for the dogs eat 'em. The chap as was up here afore -me twenty-five year ago, was a crooked rogue, and many a pony did he -shoot when they comed squealing to the doors in snowy weather--for his -dogs." - -"David be going to build a house," said Mrs. Bowden. "He couldn't abide -living in no stuffy village after the warren, so he's going to find a -place--he've got his eye on it a'ready, for that matter." - -"Not too far away, I hope--if I may venture to say so." - -"Not at all far, and closer to you than us. He was full of a place -under Black Tor as he'd found by the river. There's a ruin of the 'old -men' there, as only wants building up to make a very vitty cottage." - -"And you see no objection and think 'tis a good enough match for your -boy?" - -"Just so," said Elias. - -"Then I won't take up no more of your time, for I mark 'tis a rabbit day -with you." - -"There's a thought comes over me, however," said Sarah, "and 'tis about -the young youth, Bartley Crocker. Mind, Constance, I'm not saying -anything against him. But David's had the man on his mind a bit of -late, and perhaps you know why." - -"No doubt I do," said Mrs. Stanbury. "You see, Nanny Crocker have took -up with Madge lately, and I believe she actually thinks as my girl be -almost good enough for her boy. 'Tis a great compliment, but she've -begun at the wrong end--curious such a clever woman as her. Margaret -likes Bartley Crocker very well, as all the maidens do for that matter. -A very merry chap, but terrible lazy and terrible light-minded." - -"You'll not often find a young man so solid and steady as our David." - -"Never seed the like, Sarah. An old head on young shoulders." - -"I've said of him before, and I'll say of him again that nought could -blow David off his own bottom," declared Elias. "As to t'other chap, he -may have a witty mother, but bottom--none; ballast--not a grain. A very -frothy, fair-weather fellow." - -"What I say is, with so much open laughter there must be hidden tears. -Nobody can always be in such a good temper--like a schoolboy just runned -out of school," said Mrs. Stanbury. - -"Why, 'tis so--ever grinning and gallivanting, that chap," answered the -man. "David's built of different clay, and though your daughter may not -have much to laugh at, for I'll grant he's a bit solemn, yet she'll have -nought to cry at; and that's a lot more to the point." - -"Her nature do tend to laughter, however; I won't hide that from you. -Madge will get a bit of fun out of married life. Her very love for -David will make her bright and merry as a dancing star." - -"Why not? Why not?" asked Mrs. Bowden. - -"No reason," summed up the warrener. "She'll bring the flummery and -David will bring the pudding. Leave it so. They must do the rest. And -as for laughter, why, I can laugh in the right place myself, as well as -any man." - -Mrs. Stanbury rose. - -"I may tell master, then, that you'm both willing and agreeable?" - -"Certainly you may; and when things is forwarder, David will put his -prospects afore Bartholomew Stanbury all straight and clear." - -"'Tis a very great match for any daughter of mine, and I hope she'll -rise worthy of it." - -"Don't be downcast, my dear," said Sarah. "Margaret's as good as gold, -and lucky the man that gets her, though my own son." - -"You speak too kind, I'm sure--both of 'e," declared Mrs. Stanbury; then -she departed and her neighbours discussed her. - -"Never seed the like of that woman for crying 'stinking fish,'" said Mr. -Bowden; and his wife admitted it. - -"She do make the worst of herself and her belongings without a doubt; -but a good sort and better far than the puffed-up people." - -"Seems to go in fear whether she ought to be alive--eh?" - -"Yes, you might say so." - -Elias uttered one of his sudden chuckles. - -"What be laughing at?" asked his wife. - -"Why, I was thinking when that humble-minded creature comes to die, -she'll tell the angels when they come to fetch her, that she really -ban't anything like good enough for the Upper Place!" - - - - - *CHAPTER VI* - - *THE HOST OF 'THE CORNER HOUSE'* - - -'The Corner House' stood just outside Sheepstor village, and Mr. Reuben -Shillabeer--a childless widower--was host of it. His wife had been dead -ten years, but he kept her memory green, and so much that happened in -the world appeared to remind him sorrowfully of her, that the folk found -him depressing. Some air of romance from the past hung about Mr. -Shillabeer: he had moved in sporting circles and been a prize-fighter. -Though his own record in the ring was not glorious and consisted of five -battles and one victory, yet Mr. Shillabeer had known as a friend and -equal the giants of the past. In rare moments of cheerfulness he would -open his huge palm before the spectator and explain how that hand had -shaken the unconquerable and terrible 'rights' of the three immortal -'Toms.' - -"I've knowed all three--Tom Cribb, Tom Spring and that wonder of the -world, Tom Sayers," Mr. Shillabeer would say; "all Champions of England -and all very friendly to me. And Mr. Spring would have been my second -in my affair with Andy Davison, 'the Rooster,' but he had other business -on hand. And now," Mr. Shillabeer would sum up mournfully, "now Cribb -be in his grave and Spring in his, and Sayers will fight no more, though -still the glory of the nation. But they always called me the -'Devonshire Dumpling'; and when I had my one and only benefit in the -Fives Court, Mr. Spring showed, God bless him for it, though only a -fortnight after his first mill with Jack Langan." - -In person the 'Devonshire Dumpling,' now a man of sixty, was built on -massive lines. He stood six feet two inches, and weighed sixteen stone. -His large heavy-jowled face was mild and melancholy; his eyes were brown -and calf-like. One nostril had been split and flattened in battle, and -the symmetry of his countenance was thereby spoiled. He shaved clean, -but under his double chin there sprouted and spread a thick fringe or -mat of hair--foxy-grey and red mingled. Tremendous shoulders and arms -belonged to Mr. Shillabeer. Sometimes he would perform feats of strength -for the pleasure of the bar, and he could always be prevailed upon to -discuss two subjects, now both defunct: the prize-ring, and his wife. - -Tom Sayers had recently fought John Heenan, and the great records of the -Ring were closed. Jem Mace was now champion, and his prowess perhaps -revived the moribund sport for a few years; but prize-fighting had -passed into the control of dishonest rascals and the fighters were -merely exploited by the lowest and most ruffianly types of sporting men. -The Ring had perished and many a straight, simple-hearted spirit of the -old school regretted the fact, even as Shillabeer did. He was not vain -and never hesitated to give the true reasons for his own undistinguished -career. - -There fell an evening in the bar of 'The Corner House' when Mr. -Shillabeer appeared in a temper unusually brisk and genial. He even -cracked a massive joke with Charles Moses, the shoemaker and vicar's -warden. There were present also Simon Snell, David Bowden from -Ditsworthy, Ernest Maunder, the village constable, and other persons. - -Mr. Moses reproved a certain levity in the leviathan host. - -"What's come to you, 'Dumpling'? A regular three-year-old this evening. -But you'm not built for it, my dear. 'Tis like an elephant from a -doomshow trying to play the monkey's tricks." - -At this criticism Reuben Shillabeer instantly subsided. He drew beer -for Bowden, cast David's three halfpence into the till and turned to Mr. -Moses. - -"You're right. 'Tis for dapper, bird-like men--same as you--to be light -and pranksome. I've marked that you shoemakers do always take a hopeful -view of life. Working in leather dries up the humours of the body and -makes all the organs brisk and quick about their business, I believe. -Then, as vicar's warden, you get religion in a way that's denied to us -common men. You're in that close touch with parson that good must come -of it." - -"It does," admitted Mr. Moses. "It surely does." - -"You can see it in your face, Charles," asserted Mr. Maunder. "Some -people might say you had a more religious face than parson's self--his -being so many shades nearer plum-red." - -"But it's not a fault in the man," argued Mr. Shillabeer. "There's no -John Barleycorn in the colour, only nature in him. Yet an unfortunate -thing, and certainly lessens his weight in the pulpit with strangers." - -"I'm glad that you feel my face to be a good face, Ernest Maunder," -replied Mr. Moses. "Only once have I ever had my face thrown in my -face, so to speak; and that was by a holy man of all men. In charity, -I've always supposed him short-sighted. 'Twas the 'revival' gentleman -that put up with you, Shillabeer, a few years agone, and preached in the -open air, and drawed a good few to hear him." - -"A Wesleyan and a burning light and proud it made me having him here," -said the innkeeper. "A saintly soul the man had." - -"Well, he met me as he was going to pitch one Sunday morning--me in -black, of course, and off to church. 'Friend,' he said, 'be honest with -yourself and with me. Are you saved?' You could have knocked me down -with a feather, folks. 'Saved,' I said, 'saved! _Me_! Good God -A'mighty, man,' I said, 'you'm talking to the vicar's warden!' No doubt -he was shocked to think of what he had done; but he didn't show it. He -went his way with never a word of apology neither. But a righteous -creature." - -"I quite agree. I listened to him," said Mr. Snell. "I wasn't saved -afore; but I have been ever since." - -A labourer laughed. - -"You're safe enough, Simon. It ban't in you to do nothing wrong." - -"I hope not, Timothy Mattacott, but I have my evil thoughts with the -worst among you," answered Snell. "I often wish I had more money--and -yet a well paid man." - -"You leat chaps all get more than you're worth," said Bowden. "Why, -'tis only when the snow-banks choke the water that you have anything to -do, save walk about with your hands in your pockets and your pipes in -your teeth." - -Mr. Snell had certain miles of Drake's historic waterway under his -control. This aqueduct leads from the upper channels of West Dart and -winds onward and downward to Plymouth. Behind Lowery, Simon's home, it -passed, and for a space of two miles was in his care. They argued now -upon the extent and gravity of Snell's task, and all agreed that he was -fortunate. Then Mr. Maunder, returning to the point from which -conversation had started, bade Reuben explain his unusual hilarity. - -"Without a doubt you was above your nature when us first came in, -'Dumpling'--as Moses here pointed out. And if any good fortune have -fallen to you, I beg you'll name it, for there's not a man in this bar -but will be glad to hear about it," declared the policeman. - -"Hear, hear, Maunder!" said Mr. Moses; "your good be our good, -neighbour." - -"Thank you kindly, souls. 'Twas nought, and yet I won't say that. A -letter, in fact, from an old London friend of mine. A very onusual sort -of man by the name of Fogo. I may have mentioned him when telling about -the old fights." - -"Be it the gentleman you call 'Frosty-faced Fogo'?" inquired Mattacott. - -"The same," answered Reuben. "'Frosty-faced Fogo' is in Devonsheer--at -Plymouth, if you'll believe it. There's a twenty-round spar between two -boys there, and Fogo, at the wish of a sporting blade in London, who's -backing one of 'em, be down to see the lad through. And what's made me -so cheerful is just this: that, for the sake of old times, 'Frosty-face' -is coming on here to put up with me for a week, or maybe more. You'll -hear some wonders, I warn 'e. That man's knowed the cream of the P.R.s -and pitched more Rings, along with old Tom Oliver, the -Commissary-General, than any other living creature." - -"My father must come down for to see him," said David. "There's nought -rejoices him like valour, and he wouldn't miss the sight of such a -character for money." - -"All are welcome," declared Shillabeer with restrained enthusiasm. "I -shall hope to have a sing-song for Mr. Fogo one night. And he'll tell -you about Bendigo, and Ben Gaunt, and Burke, 'the Deaf 'Un,' and many of -the great mills in the forties. I was the very daps of Ben Gaunt -myself--though he stood half an inch higher. We was neither of us in -the first rank for science, but terrible strong and gluttons for -punishment. Gaunt was Champion in his day, but never to be named -alongside Cribb or Dutch Sam or Crawley or Jem Belcher." - -"When's he to be here?" asked Mr. Maunder. "I feel almost as if such a -man of war threatens to break the peace by coming amongst us." - -"You're a fool," answered David, bluntly. "A man like you, instead of -being in such a mortal dread of peace-breaking, ought to welcome the -chance of it now and again. If I was a policeman, I should soon get -tired of just paddling up and down through Sheep's Tor mud, week in, -week out, and never have nought to do but help a lame dog over a stile -or tell some traveller the way. 'Tis a tame and spiritless life." - -"The tamer the better," declared Ernest Maunder, frankly. "I like it -tame. 'Tis my business to maintain law and order, and that I will do, -Bowden. And to tell me I'm a fool is very disorderly in you, as well -you know. I may have my faults, but a fool I'm not, as this bar will -bear me out." - -"I merely say," returned David, "that if I was a peeler, I should want -to earn my money, and have a dash at life, and make a stir, if 'twas -only against poachers here and there." - -"Shows how little you know about it," answered Maunder. He was a -placid, straw-coloured man, with an official mind. "You say 'poachers.' -Well, poachers ban't my business. Poachers come under a different law, -and unless I have the office from headquarters to set out against 'em to -the neglect of my beat, I can't do it. I'm part of a machine, and if I -got running about as you say, I should throw the machine out of order." - -"What for do you want to speak to the man like that?" asked Mattacott, -who was the policeman's friend. "You Bowdens all think yourselves so -much above the common people--God knows why for. One would guess you -was spoiling for a fight yourself. Well, I daresay, the 'Dumpling' here -could find somebody at your own weight as wouldn't fear a set to with -you." - -"Why not you?" said Bowden. "When you like, Mattacott." - -"What a fiery twoad 'tis! Why, you'm a stone heavier than me, and years -younger." - -Mr. Shillabeer regarded David with some professional interest. - -"You'm a nice built chap, but just of that awkward weight 'twixt light -and middle. In the old days I knowed some of the best bruisers you -could wish to see were the same; but 'twas always terrible difficult to -get 'em a job, because they was thought too light for the heavies and -too heavy for the lights. But Dutch Sam in his day, and Tom Sayers in -his, showed how eleven-stone men, and even ten-stone men, can hit as -hard as anything with a fist. As for you, Bowden, you've a bit of the -fighting cut--inclined to be snake-headed, though your forehead don't -slope enough. But you're a thought old now." - -"Not that I want to fight any man without a cause," said David. "If -there's a reason, I'd fight anything on two legs--light or heavy--but -not for fun. And I hope you men--Mattacott and Ernest Maunder--haven't -took offence where none was meant." - -"Certainly not," declared Mr. Maunder. "I'll take anything afore I take -offence. 'Tis my place to keep the peace, and if I don't set an example -of it, who should? Twice only in my life have I drawed my truncheon in -the name of the Queen, and I hope I'll never have no call to do it -thrice. Have a drink, David; then I must be going." - -But Bowden declined with thanks, and the company soon separated. - -When he was alone, fired by the prospect of seeing his old friend once -more, Reuben Shillabeer took a damp towel and, visiting each in turn, -polished up the portraits of a dozen famous pugilists which hung round -the walls of his bar. Where sporting prints of race-horses and -fox-hunting are generally to be met with, Mr. Shillabeer had a circle of -prize-fighters; and now he rubbed the yellow stains of smoke off the -glasses that covered them, so that the stern, but generally open and -often handsome countenances of the fighting giants looked forth from -their grimy frames. Before a print of the famous 'Tipton Slasher' Mr. -Shillabeer paused, and thoughtfully stroked his battered nose. - -"Ah, Bill Perry," he said, "if I'd been ten year younger--" - -Then having extinguished two oil lamps, the old man retired and left his -gallery of the great in darkness. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII* - - *DENNYCOOMBE WOOD* - - -Of dingles under Dartmoor there is none so fair as Dennycoombe. Here -wood and water, rock and heath, wide spaces and sweet glens mingle -together, and make a theatre large enough for the pageant of the -seasons, a haunt small enough to be loved as a personal possession and -abiding treasure. Dennycoombe tends upward to Coombeshead, and the -little grey farmhouse of Bartholomew Stanbury dominates the scene, and -stands near the apex of the valley. At this hour, after noon in early -December, a croft or two made light on the hill, where green of turnips -and glaucous green of swedes ran parallel, and black tilled earth also -broke the medley of the waste. Then winked out the farm from twin -dormer windows--a thing of moorstone colour, yet splashed as to the -lintel-post with raw whitewash, so that it should be seen in the -darkness of moonless nights. Beneath, through a bottom of willow scrub, -furze and stunted oak, the Dennycoombe stream tumbled and rattled to -join Meavy far below. A single 'clapper' of granite spanned this brook -for foot-passengers; while above it, under heathery banks, the rivulet -crossed a cart-track at right angles, and widened there to make a ford. - -Over these small waters at this hour came Margaret from her home; and -though the day lacked for sunshine, her heart was full of it, because -now she went to meet the man she loved best on earth, at a place she -loved best of earth. - -There are words that light a lamp in the heart and wake in the mind -images of good things, with all the colour and life, the loveliness and -harmony proper to them. There are syllables whose chance utterance -unlocks all the gates of the mind; floods the spirit with radiance; -lifts to delight, if the fair thought belongs as much to the future as -the past; but throbs chastened through the soul if the fragrant memory -is appropriated by the past alone. - -Dennycoombe Wood meant much to this woman. In spring and summer, in -autumn and winter, she knew it and cherished it always. And now she saw -it with the larches feathering to a still grey sky, their crests of pale -amber spread transparently upon the darker heart of the underwood -beneath them. Grey through the last of the foliage thrust up a network -of bough and branch; here a cluster of blue-green firs melted together -and massed upon the forest; here dark green pines, straight-limbed, -lifted their pinnacles all fringed with russet cones. A haze of the -larch needles still aloft washed the whole wood delicately and shone -against the inner gloom of it. Round the spinney edge stood beeches -with boles of mottled silver, and their remaining foliage set the faint -gold of the forest in a frame of copper. Lower still, under broken -banks, lay the auburn brake; and great stones, in the glory of their -mosses, glimmered like giant emeralds out of the red water-logged tangle -of the fern. The hill fell steeply beneath Dennycoombe Wood, and there -were spaces of grass and many little blunt whitethorns, now naked, that -spattered the slope with patches of cobweb grey. - -All was cast together in the grand manner of a forest edge; and all was -kneaded through by the still, gentle light of a sunless and windless -December hour before dusk. The place of the sun, indeed, appeared -behind a shield of pearl that floated westerly and sank upon the sky; -but light remained clear and colourless; tender, translucent grey swept -the firmament, and scarcely a darker detail of cloud floated upon it. -The day was a tranquillity between two storms, of which one had died at -dawn and the other was to waken after midnight. - -Nothing had influenced Margaret towards Elias Bowden's eldest son but -her own heart. She had known now for some time that two men loved her, -and she felt a certain affection for both; but the regard for Bartley -was built on their likeness in temper; the love for David arose out of -their differences. Hartley's weakness, which in some measure was her -own, attracted Madge towards him; but David's strength--a quality quite -different to any that she possessed--drew her forcibly into his arms. -When she found that he loved her, the other man suffered a change and -receded into a region somewhat vague and shadowy. Friendly she felt to -Bartley Crocker and eager to serve him and advance his welfare, but the -old dreams were dead. She had thought of him as a husband, in the -secret places of her heart, long before he thought of her--or of -anybody--as a wife; but now that his mind was seriously turned in her -direction and he began to long for her, the time was past and his sun -had set upon a twilight of steadfast friendship that could never waken -again into any warmer emotion. Madge liked him, and the years to come -showed how much; but she never loved him. - -The tryst was a great stone under a holly tree, and through the -stillness, over a sodden mat of fallen leaves, she came and found David -waiting. He had not heard her, and he did not see her, for his back was -turned and he sat on the stone, his chin in his hands, very deep in -thought. His hat was off and his hair was brushed up on end. He wore -velveteens and gaiters, and had made some additions to his usual -week-day toilet in the shape of a collar, a tie and a white linen shirt. -The collar appeared too tight and once he tugged at it and strained his -neck. For a little while Margaret watched him, then she came forward -and stood by him and put out her hand. He jumped up, hot and red; then, -for a long time, he shook the small hand extended to him. As he did so, -she blushed and felt an inclination to weep. - -His slow voice steadied her emotion and calmed them both. - -"Sit here, if not too hard for 'e. 'Tis dry fern. I found it a bit -ago." - -She mounted the stone with help from his arm. Then he sat beside her. - -"I think it terrible kind of you to be here," he said. "To come here for -to listen to a great gawkim like me." - -"You're not a gawkim. You're the wittiest chap this side of the Moor. -Leastways my father always says so." - -"Very kind of him. There's no man I'd sooner please. Well--well--'tis -a thing easily said and yet-- However, all the same, I wouldn't say it -to-day if I hadn't axed you to come here, for I had a fore-token against -it yesterday." - -"Whatever do you mean?" - -"A white rabbit. You'll laugh, but your mother wouldn't. And my father -have a great feeling against 'em, though he can't explain it, and grows -vexed if anybody says anything. Not on the warren; but over on the -errish[#] down to Yellowmead I seed it." - - -[#] _Errish_ = Stubble. - - -"I care nothing for that--at least--" She stopped doubtfully. - -"If you don't care, more won't I. Then here goes. Can you hear it? Can -a rare maiden like you let a rough chap like me offer to marry her? For -that's what I've axed you to come here about." - -She was silent and he spoke again. - -"Could you? There's things in my favour as well as things against me." - -"There's nothing, nothing against you, David." - -"Then you'll take me!" - -"And proud and happy to." - -"Lord! How easy after all," he said--more to himself than to her. "And -here I've been stewing over this job for two months, and sleeping ill of -nights, and fretting. Yet, you see, 'twas the work of a moment. Thank -you, thank you very much indeed for marrying me, Madge. I'll make you -the best husband I know how. I must tell you all about the plans I've -built up in hope you would say 'yes'--hundreds of 'em. And you'll have -to help now." - -He was amazingly collected and calm. He told her how he proposed a -house for them far from other dwellings, where they would have peace -from the people and privacy and silence. He had found such a place on -the upper waters of Meavy, where stood a ruin that might easily be -restored and made a snug and comfortable home. He meant to breed ponies -and sheep. The suggestion was that Rhoda joined them and looked after -the dogs. He could hardly get on without her, and she would certainly -be very miserable away from him. - -"She reckons that no woman living be good enough for you," said -Margaret, faintly. Her voice showed her heart was hungry, empty. She -had expected a meal and it was withheld. - -David laughed. - -"To be frank, she do." - -"And no man living good enough for herself." - -"As to that, the right one will come along in time. She shan't marry -none but the best. She likes you well, Madge, as well as she may; but -she hasn't got hold of the idea of me married yet. Now she'll jolly -soon have to do it. There's five hundred pound has come to me, you must -know, under the will of my mother's brother who died back-along. It's -goodied a bit since and us'll have some sheep and you'll have a nice -little lot of poultry. And Sir Guy will rebuild the ruin. It is all -his ground. And now you've said 'yes,' I shall ask 'em to begin. When -can you come to see the place?" - -"So soon as ever you like," she said. "I hope 'tisn't too far away from -everybody." - -"Not so far as I could wish; but far enough. The ruins be old miners' -works; and we'll have a shippen and a dog-kennel and all complete, I -promise you." - -For a long time he talked of his hopes and plans, but she came not -directly into them. It seemed that her help was hardly vital to the -enterprise. At last she brought the matter back to the present; and she -spoke in tones that might have touched the stone she sat on. - -"I'll try so hard to make you a good wife, David." - -He started and became dimly conscious of the moment and the mighty thing -that had happened to him in it. - -"I know that right well. Too good for me every way. Too gentle and -soft and beautiful. I'll be tremendous proud of you, Madge. And I'll -do my share, and work early and late for you, and lay by for you, and -lift you up, perhaps, in ten years or so to have a servant of your own, -and a horse and trap of your own, and everything you can wish." - -"I wish for you to love me always, always, always--nothing but that." - -"And so I shall, and the best love be what swells the balance at the -bank quickest. Now I know you can take me, I feel as if I should like -to get up off this rock this instant moment and go away and begin -working like a team of horses for 'e." - -"Don't go away yet. Think what this is to me--so much, much more than -it can be to you." - -"'Tis everything in the world to me," he said solemnly. "You little -know how you've been on my mind. My folk will tell you now, no doubt, -how it has been with me. That glowering and glumping I've been--not a -word to throw at man or woman. But they'll see a different chap -to-night!" - -She put out her hand timidly. Would he never touch her? Was she never -to put her face against his? - -Love reigned in his plans, and the little things that he had thought of -surprised her; but there came no arm round her, no fierce caress, no hot -storm of kisses. He talked hopefully--even joyfully, with his eyes upon -her face; but there was no sex-light in their brightness; while hers -were dreamy with love and dim with unshed tears. - -"I must get back-along with the great news now," he said. "And it will -be well if we're moving. Coarse weather's driving up again. I'll see -you home first." - -"You'll come in and tell mother?" - -"Must I?" - -"Yes," she answered. "You've got to obey me now, you dear David. I -wish it." - -"Then off we go." - -He helped her down like a stranger and talked of crops as they returned -to Coombeshead. Rhoda was better at figures than he was. He hoped that -Margaret was good at figures. She said waywardly that she was not, and -he regretted it but felt sure that she would soon learn. - -A rain-laden dusk descended over Eylesbarrow as they returned, and -through, the gloaming the white lintel and door-posts of the farm stared -like an eye. - -Silence fell between them, and during its progress some touch of nature -woke in David. After they had crossed the stream and reached a -rush-clad shed where a cart stood, he spoke in a voice grown muddy and -gruff. - -"Come in here a minute," he said, "afore we go on, Madge. I want--I -want--" - -She turned and they disappeared. - -"I want to kiss you," he said. - -A fearful clatter ascended from long-legged fowls roosting on the cart, -for their repose was roughly broken. They clucked and cried until Mrs. -Stanbury, supposing a fox had descended from the lulls, hastened out to -frighten it away. - -Then she met Margaret and David--shame-faced, joyous. - -"We'm tokened, mother!" cried the man; "and please God, I'll be a -dutiful second son to you." - -"Thank you for that," she said. "Give you joy, I'm sure. And I'll be -proud to have you for a son; and may you never repent your bargain." - -She put up her face to his and kissed him; and since he still held Madge -by the waist, all three were thus, for an instant, united in a triple -caress. - -By chance some moments of happy magic in the sky smiled upon this -incident, for the grey west broke at its heart above the horizon and -little orange feathers of light flashed suddenly along the upper -chambers of the air. The Hesperides--daughters of sunset--danced -golden-footed on the threshold of evening, and their glimmering skirts -swept earth also, set radiance upon Eylesbarrow and hung like a beacon -of fire against the deep storm-purple of the east. Thrice this glory -waxed and waned; then all light vanished; the colour song was sung; the -day died. - -Not observing these gracious phenomena upon Night's fringes, the mother, -the man and his maiden went in together. - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII* - - *IN PIXIES' HOUSE* - - -Various interests are served by the great bulk of Sheep's Tor. Not only -the colt and the coney prosper here and the vixen finds a place for her -cubs, but man also avails himself of the hill in a manner little to be -guessed. Battleships, swinging far off to adjust their compasses in -Plymouth Sound, use the remote, ragged crown of the tor as a fixed point -for determining the accuracy of their instruments; while once, if oral -tradition may be respected, the stony bosom of the giant offered hiding -in time of stress to a scion of the old Elford clan, lords of the -demesne in Stuart days. This king's man, flying for his life from the -soldiers of Cromwell, hid himself in a familiar nook; and we may suppose -the 'foreigners' tramped Sheep's Tor in vain, and perhaps stamped -iron-shod over the rocks under which he lay safe hidden. To-day this -cleft, called the Pixies' House, can still be entered. It is of a size -sufficient to contain two adults in close juxtaposition; but an inner -chamber has fallen, and certain drawings, with which it was alleged the -concealed fugitive occupied his leisure, have, if ever they existed, -vanished away. - -In the very bosom of the great south-facing rocky slope of Sheep's Tor -where the lichen-coated slabs and boulders are flung together in -magnificent confusion, there may be found one narrow cleft, above which -a mass of granite has been split perpendicularly. Chaos of stone -spilled here lies all about, and numberless small crannies and chambers -abound; but the rift alone marks any possible place of concealment for -creature larger than dog or fox; and beneath it, invisible and -unguessed, lies the Pixies' House, one of the local sanctities and a -haunt of the little people. - -Here, two days after Margaret had accepted David Bowden, Bartley Crocker -was walking with a gun. His goal lay up the valley and he hoped to -shoot some snipe; but circumstances quite altered his intentions. - -The day was one of elemental unrest and the clouds rolled tumultuous. -They unrolled great planes of shifting gloom and splendour, of accidents -of vapour that concealed and of light that illumined. But at mid-day a -mighty shadow ascended against the wind and thunder rumbled along the -edges of the Moor. The storm-centre spun about a mile off, then it -drove in chariots of darkness over Sheep's Tor. - -At this moment Bartley remembered the Pixies' House, and, hastening -sure-footed over the wild concourse of stones that extended around it, -he approached the crevice where it lay. - -A woman suddenly caught his eye, and as the breaking storm now promised -to be terrific, he called to her and, turning back, joined her. - -It proved to be Rhoda Bowden on her way home, and she accepted Bartley's -offer of shelter. - -"Something pretty bad's coming," she said. "Be the Pixies' House large -enough for the both of us? I've got a bit of news you'll be surprised to -hear." - -"Full large enough--quick--quick--down through there--let me have your -hand." - -But she accepted no help and soon crawled through the aperture into -shelter. Then Bartley, taking two caps off the nipples of his gun, -thrust it in after Rhoda and followed swiftly to avoid the onset of the -storm. - -They had acted with utmost speed and Rhoda was now aghast to find the -exceeding propinquity of Mr. Crocker. He could hardly have been closer. -She moved uneasily. It occurred to her that he ought to have -surrendered the Pixies' House to her and himself found shelter -elsewhere. The idea, however, had not struck him. - -"Can't you make a little more room?" she asked, breathing rather hard. - -"I wish I could, but it's impossible. I forgot you were such a jolly -big girl," he answered. - -She set her teeth and waited for the outer darkness to lighten. The -thunder roared and exploded in a rattle overhead; they heard the hiss -and hurtle of the ice and water; while at intervals the entrance of -their shelter was splashed along its rough edges with glare of -lightning. - -"Better here than outside," said Bartley; but Rhoda began to doubt it. -It seemed to her that he came nearer and nearer. At last she asked him -to get out and let her pass. - -"Can't stand this no more," she said, "I'm being choked. I'd sooner -suffer the storm than this." - -"You don't want to go out, surely!" - -"Yes, I do." - -The lightning showed him her face very close to his, and he saw her -round cheek, lovely ear and bright, hard eyes with a wild look in them, -like something caught in a trap. The storm shouted to the hills and -cried savagely against the granite precipices; it leapt over the open -heaths and roared into the coombes and valleys. The waste was all a -dancing whiteness of hail, jewelled ever and anon by the lightning. - -Already the heart of conflict had passed and it grew lighter to -rearward. - -"You must wait a bit yet. Your people would never forgive me if I let -you go into this." - -She pushed forward, then strained back horrified, for she had -accidentally pressed his face with her cheek. But Bartley was not built -to stand that soft, firm appulse of woman's flesh without immediate -ignition. - -"I must have one if I swing for it!" he said. Then he put his arms -round her and kissed her. - -He expected an explosion and found himself not disappointed. The -thunder-storm outside was mild to the woman-storm within when Crocker -thrust his caress upon this girl. She started back as though he had -stamped a red-hot iron upon her face. - -"You loathsome, godless wretch!" she shrieked out, and her voice broke -the rocky bounds of earth and leapt into the storm. Thence frantically -she followed it and trampled heavily on the amorous sportsman as she did -so. - -"I could tear the skin off my face!" she cried; and her words came deep -and fierce and shuddering. "You coward! I'd sooner be struck by the -lightning than have suffered it!" - -She departed, running like a frightened child, and he crawled out after -her and rubbed his bruised shins. Her nailed shoe had stamped on his -hand, torn it and made it bleed; but his wound was light to hers. He -was back in the shelter presently, laughing and smoking his pipe while -the weather cleared; but she sobbed and panted homeward under the sob -and pant of the storm. She felt unclean; every instinct of her nature -rebelled against this touch of male lips. She magnified the caress into -a mountain of offence; she held up her cheek that the rain which -followed the hail might wash it and purge it from this man's hateful -blandishment. Passion got hold of her violated soul, and she would -gladly have called down fire from the cloud upon Crocker. - -He, meantime, waited a while, and wondered what thing it was she had -meant to tell him. As yet none at Sheepstor knew of Margaret's -engagement, the great subject in Rhoda's mind; but though he did not -learn it from her, chance and his own act put the information into -Bartley's hand within that hour. This reverse with David's sister -altered his intentions and turned him towards another woman. He -suddenly longed for a sight of Margaret, and, abandoning the thought of -snipe, decided to go to Coombeshead and see her instantly. A still -larger resolve lurked behind. Now bright weather-gleams of blue and -silver opened their eyes to windward; the storm had gathered up its -skirts of rack and flame into the central moor; a thousand gurgling -rivulets leapt over the grass; the hail melted; the ponies turned head -to wind again and went on grazing, while their wet sides steamed in a -weak tremor of sunlight. - -Bartley stepped forth, shouldered his gun and whistled to his dog, which -had taken refuge near at hand and gone to sleep in a hole. Then he -started over the Moor to his destination and his great deed. - -Margaret was at home and came out to see him. His greeting amazed her, -for it differed by much from what she expected. The girl doubted not -that her friend had heard the news and had come to offer his -congratulations; but he had not heard it, and he came to offer himself. - -Mr. Crocker had toyed with this achievement for six weeks; and now the -storm, and Rhoda, and certain uneasiness begot of Rhoda, and a general -vague desire for something feminine as different as possible from Rhoda, -together with other emotions and sensations too numerous to define, all -affirmed his resolve. - -He wasted no time, for he was full of desire for Madge and honestly -believed that she cared for him. And in answer to his abrupt but -impassioned plea, she assured him that she did care for him and that his -welfare was no small thing to her. - -"We've known each other ever since we was dinky boy and girl to infant -school together; and I, with my managing ways, would oft blow your li'l -nubby nose when it wanted it," she said, looking at him with shining -eyes and in a mood emotional. "But with my David--yes, my David he -is--well, 'twas love, dear Bartley, and we'm tokened. And I'm glad -'twas left for me to tell you, though 'tis terrible strange it should -fall out at such a minute as this." - -He stared and stammered and wished her joy. He was disappointed, but -not by any means crushed to the earth. It only occurred to him that no -other woman's lips would that day destroy the flavour of Rhoda Bowden's. - -"Then what becomes of me?" he said; but not as though there were no -answer to the question. - -"You'll get a better far," she replied. - -"But you--you to go into that silent family--all so stern and proper. -Think twice afore 'tis too late, Madge." - -"I love them all," she answered. "But silent they surely are. I took -my dinner along with them yesterday and, if it hadn't been for Dorcas -and me, they'd have gone without a word spoken from grace afore meat to -thanksgiving after." - -"Dorcas is cheerful enough." - -"I like her--best after David," said Madge, a little nervously, as -though she talked treason. - -Then Mr. Crocker told of the storm and his companion in the Pixies' -House. - -"Like a damned fool, just because her cheek happened to touch mine, I -kissed her." - -"Bartley!" - -"Well you may stare. Lord knows what come over me to do it; but I got -hell for my fun, and so like as not your David will have a bit more to -say later on. Him and Rhoda are the wide world to each other. I suppose -you know that?" - -Margaret's face clouded, but she was loyal. - -"Rhoda's a splendid woman, Bartley." - -"She is. Now that you won't take me, I believe I shall have a dash at -her. But 'twill be a long year afore she forgives this day's work." - -He left Margaret soon afterwards and his depression of spirit steadily -gained upon him as he returned home. At 'The Corner House' he stopped -and drank a while; then he got back to his mother and took a gloomy -pleasure in shocking her pride with his news. - -Nanny Crocker was sewing at the kitchen table when he returned, and his -Aunt Susan brought a belated meal to him hot from the oven. - -He looked at the food and then spoke. - -"Can't eat," he said. "I've had a full meal to-day a'ready." - -"Was you in the storm?" asked Susan. "In the midst of all that awful -lightning, with thunder-planets falling and a noise in the elements like -the trump of Doom.--If the cat haven't chatted in the pigs' house! Her -always brings six, so no doubt that's the number." - -"I've just come from asking Margaret Stanbury to marry me," said -Bartley, showing no interest in the kittens. "That's what I meant when -I said I've had a full meal." - -"At last!" cried Nanny Crocker. "Well, well, well--and what a day to -choose, my dear! God bless you both, I'm sure. She's a lucky girl and -we must set to work now to teach her more than she's been able to learn -at home. Rise up and kiss me, my son." - -Bartley obeyed with a sort of sardonic smile under his skin. His mother -kissed him fervently and sighed. - -"You didn't ask twice, I lay," said Susan. - -"No," he answered, "I didn't." - -"'Tis a terrible pity her mother's such a chuckle-headed, timid -creature," declared Nanny. "Not a word against her after to-day, of -course. But I'm sorry she haven't got larger intellects and don't -believe a little less." - -"When is it to be, Bartley?" asked his aunt. "You're not the sort to -wait long, I reckon." - -"It isn't to be," he answered. "You two silly old souls run on so, and -can't imagine any woman turning up her nose at me. But unfortunately -other people haven't such a good opinion." - -"Won't have you!" gasped his parent. "A Stanbury won't take a Crocker!" - -"Madge Stanbury won't take this Crocker--which is all that matters." - -"The chit!" said Nanny. - -"The ninnyhammer!" cried Aunt Susan. - -"The sensible girl," answered Bartley. "She's found somebody better--a -man as stands to work and will make a finer fashion of husband than ever -I should." - -"How you can sit there and talk in that mean spirit passes me!" answered -his mother. "Have a greater respect for yourself, and let that girl see -to her dying day what a fool she's been." - -"Who is it? I suppose you got that much out of her?" asked Bartley's -aunt. - -"It's David Bowden from Ditsworthy, and they've been tokened two days, -so, you see, I was a bit behind the fair." - -"Nobody would blame her for changing her mind yet now you've offered -yourself," declared Susan. - -"She's no wish to change. She likes me very well as a friend--always -have since she used to blow my nose for me in infant school--but she -likes him a long sight better--well enough to wed." - -"She'll change yet--mark me," foretold his aunt. - -"My son have got his self-respect, I believe, Susan, and, change or not -change, he'll never give her another chance, I should hope. 'Tis done, -and to her dying day she'll rue it--as she well deserves. To put that -rough rabbit-catcher afore--however, I thank God she did--I thank God -she did; and I shall thank Him in person on my knees this night. Never, -never was such an empty giglet wench heard of. A merciful escape -without a doubt; for a fool only breeds fools." - -"I may be her brother-in-law if I can't be her husband," said Bartley; -and then he departed and left the indignant and wounded old women to -wonder what he might mean. - - - - - *CHAPTER IX* - - *THE DOGS OF WAR* - - -The renowned Mr. Fogo, with the modesty of a man really great, arrived -at Sheepstor in a butcher's trap from Plymouth. He brought a box of -humble dimensions, studded with brass nails; while for the rest, a very -large umbrella, two walking-sticks and a cape of London pattern -completed his outfit. - -Reuben Shillabeer walked as far as Sheep's Tor Bridge, and the two -notable men met there and shook hands before numerous admiring -spectators. Then the sporting butcher, who had driven Mr. Fogo from -Plymouth, proceeded to Reuben's familiar inn, while 'Frosty-face' and -the 'Dumpling' made triumphal entry into the village together. The -contrast between them could scarcely have been more abrupt. Shillabeer -ambled with immense strides and heaving shoulders, like a bear on its -hind legs, and his great, gentle face, set in its tawny fringe of hair, -smiled out upon the world with unusual animation as he shortened his -gait, crooked his knees somewhat and gave his arm to his friend. The -notable Fogo was a good foot shorter than Reuben--a thin, brisk, -clean-shaved man with eyes like a hawk, under very heavy brows, now -quite white. His nose was sharp and thin; his mouth, a slit; his hair -was still thick and white as snow. Fogo numbered seventy years, yet -bore himself as straight and brisk as a youth. He was agile, thin and -wiry; but a certain asperity of countenance, which had won him his -nickname in the past, was now smoothed away by the modelling of time, -and Mr. Fogo's face, though keen, might be called amiable; though -exceedingly wide-awake, revealed no acerbity of expression. His glance -took in the situation swiftly. - -"Crikey!" he said. "And you live here among all these trees and -mountains and rocks! But I daresay, now, there's pretty fishing in this -river." - -"Trout--nought else. And 'tisn't the season for 'em. But a fisherman -still, I see--eh? What a man! Not a day older, I warrant. And how did -they serve you at Plymouth?" - -"I've no fault to find with Plymouth," said Mr. Fogo. "They done me a -treat there, and we had a pretty sporting house and a nice set-to in the -new way with the mufflers. I got my boy through, but he'd have lost if -I hadn't been there. And now let me cast my eye over you, 'Dumpling.' -The same man; but gone in the hams, I see. You big 'uns--'tis always -that way. Your frames can't carry the load of fat. And so your lady has -passed away to a better land. But that's old history." - -"No, it isn't, Fogo," declared Mr. Shillabeer, his animation perishing. -"'Twill never be old history so long as I bide in the vale; and I hope -you'll have a good tell about her many a time afore you leave me. But -not to-day. We'll talk about her in private--you and me--over a drop of -something special." - -"'Twas the weather killed her, I doubt," hazarded Mr. Fogo. "You -couldn't expect a London woman to stand so much fresh air as you've got -down here. Why--Good Lord!--you breathe nought with a smell to it from -year to year! There's not a homely whiff of liquor or fried fish -strikes the nose--not so much as the pleasant odour of brewing, or them -smells that touch the beak Covent Garden way. Nought for miles and -miles--unless it's pigs; and that I don't like, and never shall." - -"Our air will make you terrible hungry, however," promised Mr. -Shillabeer; "and by the same token we'd better get on our way, for -there's a goose with apple sauce and some pretty stuffing to welcome -you." - -That evening a very large gathering assembled in the public bar of 'The -Corner House,' and the men of Standing were introduced each in turn to -Mr. Fogo. He had changed his attire and produced from the box of many -nails a rusty brown coat, a shirt with a frill and black knee-breeches. -Thus attired, he suggested some pettifogging attorney from the beginning -of the century. He sat by the fire, smoked a clay and conducted himself -with the utmost affability. He was, in fact, no greater than common men -while ordinary subjects were under discussion. Only when the Prize Ring -began to be talked about, did the aquiline and historic Fogo soar to his -true altitudes and silence all listeners before the torrent of his -discourse. - -The visitor drank gin and not much of that. He was somewhat silent at -first until Reuben explained his many-sided greatness; then, when the -company a little realised the man they had among them, he began to talk. - -"The Fancy always felt you was unlike the rest," said Shillabeer. "Even -the papers took you serious. There was pugs and there was mugs; there -was good sportsmen and bad ones, and there were plenty of all sorts -else, but never more than one 'Frosty-face.'" - -Mr. Fogo nodded. - -"I can't deny it," he said. "'Twas my all-roundness, I believe. Fight -I couldn't--not being built on the pattern of a fighting man, though the -heart was in me; but I had a slice over my share of wits, and I'd forgot -more about the P.R. than most people ever knew before I was half a -century old." - -"You must understand," said Shillabeer to his guests, "that Fogo always -had letters stuck after his name, for all the world like other learned -men. They was complimentary and given to him by the sporting Press of -the kingdom." - -"Quite true," said Fogo. "I was D.C.G., which stood for Deputy -Commissary-General--the great Tom Oliver of course being C.-G. We had -the handling of the stakes and ropes of the P.R. from the time that -Oliver fought his last serious fight in 1821. He's a fruiterer and -greengrocer now in Chelsea, and a year or two older than me." - -"Then you was--what was it--P.L.P.R.--eh?" asked the 'Dumpling.' - -"I was and still am," returned 'Frosty-face,' proudly. -"P.L.P.R.--that's 'Poet Laureet of the Prize Ring.' And it may interest -these gentlemen here assembled to know that many and many a time my -poems about the great fights was printed in the sporting papers afore -most of those present was born or thought of." - -"I hope you've brought some along with you," said Reuben. - -"Certainly I have--a sheaf of 'em. I never travel without them," -returned the Londoner. "And when by good chance I find myself in a bar -full of sportsmen of the real old sort, like to-night, I always say to -myself, 'not a man here but shall have a chance of buying one of the -poems on the great fights, written by old 'Frosty-faced Fogo.'" - -"And you never fought yourself, Mr. Fogo?" asked David Bowden, who was -of the company. - -"Never in a serious way," answered the veteran. "There wasn't enough of -me." - -"I can mind when you come very near a mill though," declared Shillabeer. -"'Twas after the fight between Tim Crawley and Burke, and the rain was -coming down cats and dogs." - -Mr. Fogo lifted his hand. - -"Let me tell the story, 'Dumpling.' Yes, 'twas in 1830 at East Barnet, -and 'the Deaf 'Un,' as Burke was called, had Master Tim's shutters up in -thirty-three rounds. Then, afore I'd pulled up the stakes, if that -saucy chap, Tommy Roundhead, the trainer, didn't come on me with a lot -of his bunkum. I was on the losing side that day and not in the best -temper; but I let him go a bit and then gave him some straight talk; and -'Dumpling' here will tell you that as a man of forty my tongue was as -ready as my pen. Anyhow, I touched Roundhead on the raw and lashed him -into such a proper passion that nothing would do but to settle it there -and then in the old style. Tommy put down his five shillings and I -covered it, though nobody knew 'twas the last two half-crowns I had in -my fob at the time. But I was itching to have a slap at the beggar, and -into the Ring I went and shouted for Roundhead. Raining, mind you, all -the time--raining rivers, you might say. Well, up hops Roundhead, -stripped to the buff and as thin as a dead frog; and when the people saw -him in his skin and counted his ribs, they laughed fit to wake the -churchyard. But thin though Tommy was, I knew right well that I was -thinner. However, I cared nothing for that, and was just getting out of -my togs, when some reporters and other chaps, having a respect for me as -a poet and a man in a thousand, came between and wouldn't hear of it. - -"'What about my five bob?' I said. 'D---- your five bob, "Frosty,"' -they said. 'Here's ten.' And so, without 'by your leave,' they thrust -me back into my clothes and dragged the arm out of my 'upper Benjamin' -in doing it. 'Twas just the world's respect for me as a maker of -verses, you might say, that kept me out of the Ring that day. So I soon -had the true blue stakes up and went off with 'em; and the ropes and -staples and beetle, and all the rest of it." - -A warlike atmosphere seemed to waken in the peaceful bar of 'The Corner -House.' The youths imagined themselves engaged in terrific trials of -strength; their elders pictured the joy of playing spectators' parts. -Mr. Fogo told story after story, and it seemed with few exceptions that -the heroes of the ring, tricky though they might be in battle, were men -of simple probity and honourable spirit. His great hero was 'Bendigo,' -William Thompson of Nottingham, a Champion of England. - -"And 'Bendy's' going strong yet," said Mr. Fogo. "After his last fight -with Paddock, about ten year ago now--a bad fight too--'Bendy' won on a -foul; after that he got converted, as they say, and took to preaching. -He's at it yet and does pretty well, I believe." - -"'Bendy' with a white choker! What a wonder!" declared Mr. Shillabeer. - -"Yes--he met a noble lord last time he was in London," continued Mr. -Fogo. "And his lordship recognised him for all his pulpit toggery. -'Good Gad!' says his lordship, ''tis "Bendy"! And what's your little -game now, my bold hero?' 'Not a little game at all, my lord,' says -'Bendigo'--always ready with a word he was. 'I'm fighting Satan, and -I'm going to beat him. Behold, my lord, the victory shall be mine,' he -says in his best preaching voice. 'I hope so, "Bendy,"' answers his -lordship; 'but pray have a care that you fight Beelzebub fairer than you -did Ben Gaunt, or I may change my side!' Not that 'Bendigo' ever fought -unfair; but he had to be clever with a giant like Gaunt; and he had to -go down--else he'd have stood no chance at all with such a heavy man." - -"One of three at a birth 'Bendy' was," concluded the 'Dumpling.' "I -never knew one of triplets to do any good in the world before." - -At this juncture in the conversation Bartley Crocker entered the bar. -He had not heard of the celebrity, but soon, despite his own cares, -found himself as interested as the others. The talk of battle inflamed -him and, to the delight of the guests assembled, a thing most of them -frankly desired actually happened within the hour. - -David scowled into Bartley's eyes presently, and the younger, who was -quite willing to pick a quarrel with this man of all men, walked across -the bar and stood close to him. - -"Is there any reason why you should pull your face crooked at sight of -me, David Bowden?" he asked. - -Something of the truth between these two was known. Therefore all kept -silence. - -"'Twas scorn of you made me do it. A chap who could kiss a girl, -without asking if he might, be a coward." - -"Bah! that's the matter--eh? Because I kissed your sister!" - -"Yes; and if you think 'twas a decent man's act, it only shows you're -not decent. Shame on you--low-minded chap that you are!" - -"Not decent, because I kissed a pretty girl? D'you mean that?" - -"Yes, I do." - -"Did Rhoda tell you?" - -"Yes, she did--when I axed her what ailed her." - -"Well, hear this. You're a narrow-minded, canting fool; and if women -understood you better, you wouldn't have won Madge Stanbury." - -"Don't you name her, or I'll knock your two eyes into one!" - -"Do it!" answered Bartley; "and if that'll help you to start, so much -the better." - -As he spoke and with infinite quickness he raised his hand and pulled -David's nose. A second later they were in the sawdust together. - -The huge Shillabeer pulled them apart, like a man separates a pair of -terriers. Then Simon Snell, Ernest Maunder and Timothy Mattacott held -Bartley, while, single-handed, the 'Dumpling' restrained young Bowden. -Immense excitement marked the moment. Only Mr. Fogo puffed his long -clay and showed no emotion. A senseless babel choked the air, and then -Shillabeer's heavy voice shouted down the rest and he made himself -heard. - -"I won't have it!" he said. "I'm ashamed that you grown-up chaps can -sink to temper like this and disgrace yourselves and me and the company. -Strangers present too! If you want to fight, then fight in a decent and -gentlemanly way--not like two dogs over a bone." - -"I do want to fight," said Bartley. "I want nothing better in this -world than to give that man the damnedest hiding ever a man had." - -"And I'm the same," said Bowden. He was now quite calm again. "I'm -sorry I forgot myself in your bar, Mr. Shillabeer, but no man can say I -hadn't enough to make me. I'll not talk big nor threaten, nor say what -I'll do to him, but I'll fight him for all he's worth--to-morrow if he -likes." - -"Now you're talking sense," declared the innkeeper. "A fair fight no man -can object to, and if it's known in the proper quarters and not in the -wrong ones, there ought to be a little money moving for both of you. How -do they stand for a match, Fogo? Come forward, David, and let -'Frosty-face' have a look at you." - -"Let 'em shake hands first," said Mr. Fogo. - -"I'll do so," declared Bowden, "on the understanding that we're to fight -this side of Christmas." - -"The sooner the better," retorted Crocker. Then they shook hands and -Mr. Fogo's glittering eyes inspected them. - -"Weight as near as can be," he said. "At least, I judge it without -seeing your barrels. This man's the younger, I suppose." - -He pointed to Bartley. - -"I'm twenty-five," said Mr. Crocker. - -"Ay; and stand six feet--?" - -"Five feet eleven and a half." - -"Weight eleven stone?" - -"A bit less." - -Mr. Fogo nodded. - -"You've got the reach, t'other chap's got the powder." - -Then he examined David. - -"Age?" he said. - -"Twenty-eight." - -"Height?" - -"Five foot nine." - -"Weight?" - -"Eleven two, or thereabout." - -"Do either of you know anything of the art?" - -"I don't," said Bartley. - -"No more don't I," added Bowden. - -Fogo looked them up and down carefully. - -"There's no reason on the surface why you shouldn't fight a pretty -mill." - -"How long can you stop with me, 'Frosty'?" asked Mr. Shillabeer. - -"Well, if there was a few yellow-boys[#] in it, I might go as far as -three weeks. I ought to see Tom King about something of the greatest -importance before long; but I can write it. If these chaps will come to -the scratch in three weeks, I'll stop. And they both look hard and -healthy; and as neither of 'em know anything, it may be a short fight." - - -[#] Sovereigns. - - -Much talk followed and, in the midst, the visitor rose, put down his -pipe and left the bar. - -Then up spoke Ernest Maunder in the majesty of the law. - -"I warn you, souls," he said, "that I can't countenance this. If -there's to be fighting, you've got me against you, and to-morrow I shall -lay information with the Justice of the Peace and get a warrant out." - -"I hope you'll mind your own business," said Crocker, warmly. "The man -who spoils sport when Bowden and me meet, is like to get spoilt -himself." - -"You won't frighten me," returned Ernest. "As a common man I'd give you -best, Bartley; but in my blue and with right my side, you'll find me an -ugly customer, I warn you. Bowden here was daring me to be up and doing -a bit ago. Well, you'll soon see how 'tis if you try to plan to break -the law and fight a prize fight in this parish! I know my business, and -that you'll find." - -"And I'm with you," declared Mr. Moses. "Have no fear, Maunder. The -Church and the State are both o' your side, and let vicar but get wind -of this and he'll--" - -"You keep out of it, Moses," said Mr. Shillabeer, warmly. "We be very -good friends and long may we remain so; but stick to your last, -shoemaker, and if these full-grown men be pleased to settle their -difference in the fine old way, 'tis very churlish in you to oppose it." - -"Well said, 'Dumpling,'" shouted a young, odd-looking, hairy man with -the uneuphonious name of Screech; "if Moses here don't like fair play -and nature's weapons, let him keep out of it; but if he tries to -interfere, never a boot do he make for me again." - -"Nor yet for me," cried Bowden. "You'll do well to go back on that, Mr. -Moses, and keep away from the subject." - -"Nor yet for me," echoed Timothy Mattacott, firmly. "I'm Maunder's -friend, as you all know, and hope to remain so. But if there's to be -the glad chance of a proper prize fight in this neighbourhood, I'm for -it heart and soul." - -Mr. Fogo had returned and heard some of this conversation. - -"If the gentleman's a Jew," he said, "he ought to take kindly to the -sport. Some of the best boys as ever threw a beaver into the Ring were -Israelites--only to name Mendoza and Dutch Sam and Barney Aaron, 'the -Star of the East.'" - -"I'm not a Jew," said Mr. Moses, "though I don't blame you for thinking -so." - -"Not with that name?" - -"Not at all. My people are Devon all through." - -"Well," said Fogo, "my humble custom is to make hay while the sun -shines. We Cockney blokes learn that quite as quick as you Johnny Raws -from the plough-tail; and as there's a fight in the air, I'll be so bold -as to sell a few of my verses to them brave blades that would like to -see what fighting was once." - -On his arm he carried fifty broadsheets, and now the old sportsman began -to distribute them. - -"Twopence each, gentlemen--all true and partickler with the names of the -Fancy present: Mr. Jackson, Mr. Gully, Tom Cribb, Jem Burn, Tom Spring, -and all the old originals. The poems go from the first fight that I -ever saw between Hen Pearce, 'the Game Chicken,' and that poor, old, -one-eyed lion, Jem Belcher, in 1805; to the great mill between Mr. -Sayers and Mr. Heenan a year ago, when our man fought the Yankee with -one hand and jolly near beat him at that. All out of my own head, -gentlemen, and only twopence each!" - -Mr. Fogo distributed his warlike verses in every direction; then when -not a poem remained, he began to collect them again. But the company -proved in very vein for these lays of blood. Both the future combatants -made several purchases; Mr. Snell also patronised the poet, while -Mattacott, Screech, and even Mr. Maunder himself, became possessed of -'Frosty-face's' sanguine chronicles. - -It being now closing time, the storm-laden air was cleared; the noisy -company, with laughter and repetition of racy couplets from Mr. Fogo's -muse, retired, and at last the two old friends were left alone. -Shillabeer shut up his bar and locked the house; 'Frosty' counted the -contents of his pocket and gathered up the poems still unsold. - -"I ought to share the booty with you, 'Dumpling,'" he said, but his host -scorned the thought. - -"Hope you'll be sold out long afore you go," he returned. "And as to -sharing, that's nonsense. You're a great man, and if you be going to -stop along of me for three weeks, you'll bring a lot of custom, for the -people will come from far and near to see you." - -"Of course if you put it that way, I say no more, because you know -best," declared Fogo. - -Presently they sat together over a final pipe. - -"Now talk of the wife," said Reuben. - -Mr. Fogo obeyed, cast his acute countenance into a mould of melancholy, -appeared to draw a film over his piercing eyes, ceased joyously to -rattle the money in his breeches pocket, and shook his head sadly once -or twice to catch the spirit of the theme. - -"The biggest and the best woman I ever saw, or ever hope to see," he -began. "I picture her now--as a young, gay creature in her father's -shop at the corner of the Dials. Rabbits and caveys and birds he sold -and him a sportsman to the marrow. Thirteen stone in her maiden days, -they used to say, and very nearly six feet high--the wonder and the joy -of the male sex. And 'twas left for you to win that rare female. And -you did; and you was the envied of London, 'Dumpling'--the envied of -London." - -Mr. Shillabeer nodded, sighed heavily, and licked his lips at these -picturesque words. - -"It brings her back--so large as life--to hear you tell about her. -'Twas the weight she put on after marriage that killed her, 'Frosty,'" -he said. "You must see her grave in the burying-ground." - -"And take my hat off to it--so I will." - -"There's room for me beside her, come my turn, Fogo." - -"Quite right--perfectly right. You couldn't wait for the trump of Doom -beside a better woman." - -Reuben next gave all details of his wife's last illness, and the subject -occupied him until midnight when conversation drifted from Mrs. -Shillabeer to other matters. They talked until the peat fire sank to a -red eye and the air grew cold. Then conversation waned and both heroes -began to grow sleepy. - -Mr. Shillabeer rose first and concluded the wide survey. - -"Ah, 'Frosty,' the days we've seen!" he said. - -"I'm with you," answered the poet, also rising. "'Tis all summed up in -that word and couldn't be put better,--'The days we've seen!'" - - - - - *CHAPTER X* - - *SOME INTERVIEWS* - - -Those from whom it was most desired to keep all information of the -coming fight were the first to hear of it. Mr. Moses told Mr. Merle, -the vicar, and Mr. Merle resented the news bitterly. He decided, -indeed, that such a proceeding would disgrace the parish. - -"We might as well revive the horrors of our bull-ring," he said. "It -cannot and must not be." - -The good man referred to a considerable tract of ground beneath the -southern wall of the churchyard--a region known as the 'bull-ring' and -authentically connected with obsolete sports. - -Ernest Maunder was most unfortunate in the ally that he had expected to -win. Sir Guy Flamank, the lord of the manor, though enrolled on the -Commission of the Peace, was before all else a sportsman, as he declared -at every opportunity. Somehow this gentleman, by means mysteriously -hidden, became aware of the little matter in hand on the very morning -after the arrangement, and though Ernest called at the Manor House, he -found the Justice unable to see him. Thrice he was thus evaded, and -when once he met Sir Guy on horseback, Mr. Maunder could not fail to -mark how the knight retreated before him with obvious and paltry -evasion. That a Justice of the Peace could thus ignore his -responsibilities, caused both Mr. Maunder and Mr. Moses much indignant -uneasiness. - -At breakfast on the day after his undertaking, David Bowden announced -the thing he intended to do; and while his mother wept some natural -tears, nobody else showed any sorrowful emotion. Indeed Elias was -grimly glad. - -"Well done thou!" he said. "I've long wanted for some son of mine to -show me a bit of valour above common, and now 'tis left for the eldest -to do it. You'll trounce him to the truth of music, for there's a -tougher heart in you than that man, and you've lived a tougher life." - -"What'll Madge say?" asked Dorcas. - -"She needn't know about it," declared David. "We're to fight in about -three weeks, and the day's to be kept a secret as long as possible." - -"What d'you want to fight for?" asked his mother. - -"It's natural. We can't be friends no more till we've had it out. You -see, he was after my Madge, and I bested him, and--besides--I had -another crow to pluck with the man." - -A martial spirit awoke at the Warren House and Mr. Bowden frankly -revelled in this business, the more so because he believed that his son -must win easily. The twins took to sparring from that hour, and Napoleon -and Wellington fought their battles over again. Elias sent to Plymouth -for a pair of boxing gloves, and Joshua for the good of the cause, -albeit not fond of hard knocks, stood up to David for half an hour each -day. It was arranged that young Bowden should train at home for a -fortnight and then go to Plymouth and put himself in the hands of a -professional at that town for some final polish. - -The brother and sister had a private talk of special significance soon -after the making of the match. - -David met Rhoda returning from Sheepstor, and her face was grave. - -"I've just heard more about that business than you told us, David," she -said. "'Tis as much for what he done to me as anything, that you be -going to fight him." - -"No matter the reason. A licking will do him good--if I can give him -one." - -"Look here," she said--impulsively for her--"I must be in this fight. -You're everything to me, David--everything. I can't keep away and I -won't keep away. You know the sort of pluck I've got. Well, I must be -in that Ring--me and father--" - -David gasped. - -"Would you?" - -"I tell you I must. Something calls out to me to do it. You can't -fight without me there, and I don't believe you can win without me. I -swear I feel it so. Wouldn't you rather have me in your corner than any -man if it comes to that?" - -"Yes," he admitted, "I would; but you can't do what's got to do." - -"I can do all," she replied. "I talked to Mr. Shillabeer to-day, when -I'd made up my mind, and I axed him what the bottle-holder have to do; -and he told me. I can do it all--every bit of it." - -"You shall then!" said David. - -She flushed with pleasure. - -"You won't regret it. I may help you to win a bit. A woman that can -keep her head, like I can, is useful anywhere." - -"'Twill be you and faither--and I suppose that Crocker will have the -'Dumpling' and this queer, old, white-headed London man on his side." - -"I'm gay and proud as you can trust me in such a thing," she said, her -breast heaving. - -"Yes--and now I think on it--you and me being what we are each to -t'other--I will have it so. I couldn't fight all I know if you wasn't -there, Rhoda. But I warn you, 'tis ugly work. You mustn't mind seeing -my head knocked into a lump of black and blue flesh." - -"That's nought so long as you win. 'Twill come right again." - -"But I may not win. You never know how the luck will fall." - -"You must win," she answered. "'Tisn't in nature that such an evil man -as him can beat you." - -"I shan't stop so long as I can see, or so long as I can stand," he -said. "I think I shall win myself, but it don't do to brag." - -Then Rhoda told him something that disturbed him not a little. - -"Margaret Stanbury knows about it," she said. "I met Mr. Snell, and he -was full of it, and we had a tell. Then he told me that Timothy -Mattacott was out Down Tor way, and met Madge, and went and told her. -So you'll have to calm her down somehow." - -"Better you do," he answered. "'Tis a woman's job. Get over this -afternoon, like a good girl, and just make light of it. Tell her I'm -coming across o' Sunday but can't sooner." - -Rhoda obeyed and later in the day saw Madge. David's sweetheart was -tearful and much perturbed. - -"'Tis all my fault," she said. "Oh, Rhoda, can't nothing be done to -stop it? Such terrible strong men--they'll kill each other." - -"No, they won't; and 'tisn't all your fault," answered the elder. "It -had to come off afore they could be friends again. 'Tis to be a fair, -stand-up fight; and the best man will win; and that's our David. Don't -take on and make a fuss afore him, if you want to keep friends with him. -David's like faither, all for valour. He'll be vexed if you cry about -it. Time enough for us to cry if he's worsted. But he won't be." - -"'Tis hard for me, because I know 'em both so well," said Margaret. - -"And 'tis easy for me, because I know 'em both so well," answered Rhoda. -"No man ever wanted his beastly nature cooled down with a good hiding -more than what Bartley Crocker does. And, be it as 'twill, 'twas -Crocker that made the fight, not David." - -"I shall go mad when the day comes," said Margaret. - -"No, you won't, because you won't know the day. 'Tis to be kept a dark -secret. And I'm going in the Ring to look after my brother." - -"Rhoda!" - -"I am, though. He wants it. He will have it so." - -"Be you made of iron?" - -"Yes, where David's good is the matter. He wants me there--and there I -shall be." - -"The men will hoot you--'tis an unwomanly thing." - -"D'you think I care for that, so long as I know it isn't?" - -"If any woman's to be there, 'tis his future wife, I should think," said -Madge; but Rhoda laughed. - -"You! You'd faint when--but there, don't think no more about it. Men -will be men, when they're built on the pattern of David. I come from -him to tell you not to fret, so mind you don't." - -"'Fret!' I shall fret my hair grey, and so will mother," said the -promised wife. "To think of his beautiful face all smashed about--and -Bartley too--both such good-looking, kindly chaps! What ever do they -want to fight about? Can't they settle their quarrels no other way?" - -"You should know 'em better. 'Tis a deeper thing than a quarrel. If -they are to be friends, they must hammer one another a bit first. Why -not? You puzzle me. Do 'e want 'em to have their minds full of poison -to each other for evermore? Better fight and let it out." - -"I shall pray David, if ever he loved me, not to do it." - -"Don't," said Rhoda. "Don't be a fool, Madge. I know David better than -what you do; and, if you're that sort, you never will know him as well -as I know him; because you'll vex and cross him and he'll hide himself -from you. He's a strong, hard man and straight as sunlight. If you're -going to be soft and silly over this, or over anything, you won't make -him love you any the better. Take my advice and try to feel like I -do--like a man about it. It's got to be, and if you are against it and -come to him with a long face and silly prayers not to fight for your -sake, and all that stuff, you won't choke him off fighting, but you may -choke him off--" - -"'Off me' you were going to say. Well, that's where I know him better -than you do, for all you know him so well, Rhoda. But don't think I'm a -fool. 'Tis natural I don't want the dear face I love to be bruised by -another man's fist; but if 'tis to be--'tis to be. I only ask to know -_why_ 'tis to be. I suppose David can tell me that?" - -"We'll leave it so then, since you don't know why," said the other. -"How's the pup? Have it settled down?" - -But if Margaret Stanbury viewed this battle with dismay, her emotions -were trivial compared with those of Bartley Crocker's mother and Bartley -Crocker's aunt. - -In vain did the fighter try to keep his great secret from them. It was -impossible, and Mr. Moses laid every detail of the proposed encounter -before Nanny two mornings after he had heard about it. - -Bartley was from home when Charles Moses arrived, and the shoemaker -harrowed and horrified his two listeners at leisure. Such palpitation -overtook Mrs. Crocker, that the very cotoneaster on the outer walls -seemed to throb to its berried crown; while as for Aunt Susan Saunders, -having once grasped the nature of the things to be, her heart quite -overcame her and she wept. But the mother of Bartley wept not: she -panted--panted with wrath till her expansive bust creaked. Her anger -flowed forth like a tide and swallowed first Mr. Shillabeer and the low -characters he encouraged at 'The Corner House'; next, David Bowden and -his family; next, the Stanburys, who doubtless were deeply involved in -this contemplated crime; and lastly, the aged stranger, Mr. Fogo, -concerning whose bloodthirsty and blood-stained career Charles Moses had -dropped some hints. Her son Mrs. Crocker blamed not at all. She -scoffed at the notion of her innocent and amiable boy seeking to batter -any man. - -"Bring me my salts, Susan, and don't snivel," said the mother. "For -Bartley to be up in arms like this here--why, I never will believe it! -And me a bailiff's daughter, as everybody knows, and him with the blood -of the Saunders family in his veins. They've harried him into it along -of his pluck and courage; but it shan't be if I can put my bosom between -him and bloodshed. Bartley to be struck and assaulted by a warrener, and -a common man at that! Wasn't it enough thicky, empty-headed wench at -Coombeshead chose that yellow-haired Bowden, when she might have had a -Crocker? And now, if you please, the ruffian, not content with getting -the girl, wants to fight my boy!" - -"It's my duty to tell you, ma'am, that your son's quite as set on it as -t'other," declared Mr. Moses. - -"No doubt; and a good whipping he'd give the man if it came to it; but -it mustn't come to it. We're in a Christian land, and this firebrand, -that's crept among us with his wicked rhymes, ought to be taken up and -led behind the cart-tail and flogged out of the parish." - -"I'm glad you take such a high, womanly view," said the shoemaker; -"because you'm another on our side, and will be a tower of strength. -They are to fight in about three weeks' time--afore Christmas. That is, -if we, on the side of law and order--namely, his reverence, and me, and -you, and Ernest Maunder, can't prevent it. I'm sorry to say everybody -else wants to see them fight--even Sir Guy--more shame to him!" - -"I'll have the place by the ears rather than it should happen," said -Mrs. Crocker. "I'll have Bartley took up rather than he should have his -face touched by that--that rabbit-catching good-for-nought up to -Ditsworthy. Why, I'll even go up there myself and talk to Elias Bowden. -This thing shan't be--not if a determined woman can prevent it." - -Mr. Moses retired comforted in some sort, for he felt that Mrs. Crocker -was probably stronger than the policeman and the vicar put together. -But meantime, on the other side, matters developed steadily. Shillabeer -and 'Frosty-faced Fogo' had taken charge of Bartley Crocker, and he -prepared for battle with the benefit of all their immense experience. -From the first, rumours of interference and interruption were rife; but -Fogo treated them with disdain. - -"Leave all that to me," he said. "I've been evading the 'blues' and the -'beaks' ever since I came to man's estate, and if I can't hoodwink you -simple bumpkins--parsons and all--well, I'll pay the stakes myself." - -For stakes there were, and Mr. Fogo, who insisted on seeing all things -done decently and in order, arranged that five pounds a side should be -posted to bind the match and five pounds more paid in the day before the -battle. Mr. Bowden found the money for David, and no less a worthy than -Sir Guy Flamank himself, having first commanded terrific oaths of -secrecy from Mr. Fogo and Mr. Shillabeer, produced ten pounds for -Bartley Crocker. He was young and had never seen a fight. - -A great many local sportsmen evinced the keenest interest in the -proceedings, but with British hypocrisy strove hard to conceal that -interest, out of respect to the people who were not sportsmen. As for -the combatants, to their surprise they found themselves rapidly -developing into men of renown. Even the hosts of the lesser Bowdens -were received with respect among their friends, in that they happened to -be actual brothers of a hero. It might have been remarked that while -most people at first expected Bowden to win, the larger number coupled -the prophecy with a hope that they would be mistaken. From the -beginning Bartley was the more popular combatant; and when certain -opinions respecting him left the narrow lips of Mr. Fogo at 'The Corner -House,' a little betting opened and ruled at two to one on the younger -man. - -Mr. Shillabeer set to work to teach Bartley the rudiments, but he found -himself too slow and scant of breath to be of any service. A young -boxer from Plymouth was therefore engaged--he who in Mr. Fogo's skilful -hands had won a recent battle--and he swiftly initiated Crocker. - -And then it was that the Londoner pronounced this raw material in many -respects above the average, and declared that Bartley, among his other -qualifications, had some unsuspected talent for milling. He was quick -and very active on his legs. He hit straight naturally, not round. His -left promised to be very useful and he had a vague idea of hitting on -the retreat and countering--arts usually quite unappreciated by the -novice. In fact, Mr. Fogo, from an attitude of indifference, presently -developed mild interest in the coming battle and was often at hand when -Bartley donned the mittens. He also superintended his training, and bore -him company, for a part of the distance, on some of those lengthy tramps -prescribed by Mr. Shillabeer. - -Upon one of these occasions, however, Bartley was alone and chance -willed that he should meet Margaret returning from Ditsworthy. She was -depressed and he asked her why. - -"For fifty reasons; and you know most of 'em," she answered. "I've just -been eating dinner to the Warren House. Somehow it always makes me -wisht. There's that young fellow, by the name of Billy Screech, running -after Dorcas, and none of 'em like him or will hear of such a thing. -And then the silence! They won't talk afore me. You can hear every -pair of teeth working and every bite and sup going down. But that's not -what's on my mind. 'Tis this awful fight. Oh, Bartley, can't you make -it up?" - -"We have, long ago. We're quite friendly. 'Tis no more now than a -sporting fixture for ten pounds a side. There'll be twenty pounds more -for furniture for your new home, Madge--if I'm licked." - -"Don't talk like that. 'Twould always be covered wi' bloodstains in my -eyes. Can't you use the gloves? Why do you want to knock your poor -noses crooked for? 'Tis like savage tigers more than Christian men." - -"Don't you worry. The colours be coming Monday. Of course I can't ask -you to wear mine; but they're prettier far than David's. 'Twas Mr. -Fogo's idea. I shall have the same as the mighty champion, Ben Caunt, -once had." - -"I don't want to hear nothing about it, and I pray to God every night on -my knees that it may be stopped." - -"Well, you'll be proud of one of us," he said. "I can't expect you to -want me to win; but you mustn't be very much surprised if I do. This -old Fogo finds I've got a bit of the right stuff in me; and for that -matter, I've found it out myself. I take to it like a duck takes to -water. I've always been fond of dancing--nobody knows that better than -you--and dancing is very helpful to a fighter. To hit and get off -without being hit back--that's the whole art of prize-fighting, and I'm -afraid I shall hit David twice to his once." - -Instantly the lover came to Madge's heart, despite herself. - -"He doesn't brag," she said. "He's very quiet and humble about it. But -maybe you'll find he can hit too, Bartley, though I grant you he can't -dance." - -He laughed and left her then; and next day as the pugilist from Plymouth -had to return home about his business, an experienced local called -Pierce, from Kingsett Farm, near Crazywell, on Dartmoor, was prevailed -upon to assist. He and Crocker set to steadily. But Pierce was nearly -forty, and too small for Bartley; therefore the lord of the manor -himself filled the breach. Not, indeed, that Sir Guy Flamank put on the -gloves; but he found a large-limbed youth down for Christmas from -Oxford, who was the heavy-weight champion at that seat of learning, and -this skilful youngster gave Bartley some invaluable information. - -Little was known respecting David's progress; but Elias Bowden made the -acquaintance of 'Frosty-face,' and provided this celebrity with one or -two days' sport on the warren. Mr. Fogo proved no mean shot, and among -other game of a good mixed bag, two wood-pigeons and three golden plover -fell to his borrowed weapon. He discussed the Prize Ring for the -gratification of Mr. Bowden on this occasion, but though David's father -tried hard to learn how Bartley was coming on in his training, Mr. -Fogo's silence upon that theme exceeded even the customary taciturnity -of the Warren House. He was only concerned with the growing rumours of -organised interference, yet he assured Mr. Bowden that the fight would -certainly come off, at a time and place to be arranged by him and Reuben -Shillabeer. - -It is to be noted that Crocker had now left his home altogether, and was -living at 'The Corner House.' The high-handed attitude of his mother -and her immense energy and indignation rendered this step necessary. The -reminder that his grandfather had been a bailiff lacked force to shake -Bartley from his evil determination; therefore she threatened to -disinherit him, and hinted at incarceration and other vague -counter-strokes. But when day followed day and nothing moderated his -intention; when she saw that he had given up malt liquor and spirits; -that he insisted on certain foods; that he rose at reasonable hours and -took an immense deal of active exercise--when, in fact, she grasped the -truth that her only son meant to fight a prize-fight, and was taking -every possible precaution to win it, then she broke down and threatened -no more, but became hysterical, melodramatic and mournful. It was -enough that he entered the house for Nanny to fling herself into an -attitude of despair. Her appetite suffered, her sleep suffered, even -her spirits suffered. From being a dictatorial and assertive woman, who -used her personality like a pistol, she grew meek, mild and plaintive. -She wearied her hearers; she filled Susan's ears with pathetic details -concerning her wasting flesh, and begged her to report them again to -Bartley. Thus her son learned that his mother's stockings had become -too large for her attenuated calves, and that her dresses were being -taken in many inches as the result of a general atrophy of tissue -produced by his behaviour. Nanny's eyes haunted him. She had, -moreover, an art to drop tears exactly at those moments when he cast a -sly side glance at her face. She would drop them on to her work, or her -plate, or into her tea. - -These distressing circumstances finally ejected Bartley from the -maternal threshold. He saw his mother daily, but felt that until the -battle was lost or won, he could endure her constant remonstrances no -more. He strove to make her take a sterner view, and she assured him -that had she not been a woman of gentle birth, it might have been -possible; but from one with the delicate Saunders blood in her veins, -only a genteel outlook on life could be expected; and there was no room -for tolerance of prize-fighting in that survey. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI* - - *MR. FOGO IS SHOCKED* - - -'Frosty-face' very naturally looked to it that this little encounter of -rustics should have some useful bearing on his own affairs. He was a -poor man and could not afford to ignore opportunities. With Mr. -Shillabeer he set about reviving all the glories of the twenty-four-foot -square, and he was determined that nothing should be omitted which could -make the approaching fight a dignified and successful entertainment, -worthy, in its small way, of the best traditions. - -Before a full bar Mr. Fogo spoke at length. He had sold thirteen of his -poems that evening, and he was now about to unfasten a parcel that day -received from London; but, before doing so, he outlined the situation. - -"I'm very pleased to find you know a bit down here," he began. "There's -more of the right sort in these parts than we might have expected, and -there'll be a good sprinkling of Corinthians at the ring-side too. The -doctor from Tavistock, who is going to referee, is as spicy a dare-devil -as I wish to meet at any mill; and he knows his job; and afterwards, if -either of you chaps want to be blooded, he can do it for you." - -"We shall judge of the patronage by the number of fogies the swells take -up," said Mr. Shillabeer. "You see, the old rule is that a fighter -gives his colours to all who'll take 'em; and it's understood that if -he's beat, the colours cost nought; but if he wins, everybody as took a -handkerchief be expected to pay a guinea for it." - -"Well, here they are," answered 'Frosty-face.' "I got 'em myself so -cheap as they could be got through a friend. Fifty there -are--twenty-five for each of the men--and if they go off, I can get more -at the same low figure." - -He opened his parcel and revealed the colours. Bartley and several of -his friends were present; but David, who was to call that night with his -father, had not yet arrived. Mr. Crocker's handkerchief was much -admired. It showed a rich orange centre bordered with three inches of -purple. - -Both Fogo and Shillabeer took one, though not on the usual -understanding, and Bartley calculated that he knew about twenty -sportsmen, including Sir Guy, who would be glad to possess this memento -of the battle. - -Then came the Bowdens, and the future combatants shook hands in a -friendly spirit and compared their colours. David's were simpler and -quieter--a blue 'bird's-eye' with a white spot. Both parties could -number a good handful of patrons, and the encounter, albeit date and -place were still kept a dark secret, promised to be well attended. - -"I'm painting the true blue stakes myself," said 'Frosty-face,' "and -we'll have a nobby ring if we don't have a nobby fight in it." - -"And where is it to be, Mr. Fogo?" asked Simon Snell. - -"I wouldn't tell everybody, but you shall know," answered the old man, -assuming a grim expression, which always preceded his finest jokes. -"We'll have our turn up in the bull-ring, Mr. Snell. It have seen many -a bit of fun, they tell me, so why not a bit more?" - -Everybody laughed, because Sheepstor bull-ring was the most public spot -for many miles round. It lay under the churchyard wall at the centre of -the hamlet. - -"Couldn't choose a better place, all the same," said Reuben Shillabeer, -"that is, if they'd let us alone. The burying-ground runs eight feet -above the ring; and there's good grass there, and a nice tilt to the -ground, and proper trees all round for the sporting public to climb -into. However, that's rather too warm a corner for modest men. We -don't want the eyes of the nation on us." - -"Leave it to me," said the Londoner. "There are certain people we -shan't have no use for on the morning of the fight. And if they stop at -Sheepstor, 'tis clear we must go somewhere else. However, look to me; -I'll give you the office in plenty of time." - -"You'll never get round parson and Mr. Moses and p'liceman and Mrs. -Crocker," foretold Tim Mattacott. - -"I fear but one of 'em," answered Mr. Fogo. "They are all harmless men, -and I can handle 'em as easy as a mother handles her tenth babby. 'Tis -that spry lady will take some stopping. I've not got the length of her -foot yet--to say it with all respect. But all in good time." - -"There's to be a sermon preached by Mr. Merle next Sunday against this -here fight," said Mr. Bowden. "I'm sorry to the bone that he's taken -this view, because I never like to quarrel with my betters; but to the -House of the Lord me and mine go as usual next Sunday, and whatever he -may preach won't change my opinions." - -"And I'll go too," declared Fogo. "Yes, I'll go and hear his -argeyments. 'Tis a good few years since I was in a place of prayer--in -fact, never since I stood best man when Alec Reid, 'the Chelsea Snob,' -was married. But on Sunday I shall be there, and you'll see I can shut -my eyes and sniff my hat with the best among ye." - -"You shall come along of me," said the 'Dumpling.' "I go most times and -get a deal of good from it. My wife was a steady church member, for -though she'd fling off to chapel for change now and again, as women -will, yet she comed back again and again to the Establishment; and she -died in it, and Parson Merle will tell you 'twas so." - -Then exploded suddenly a piece of news that quite staggered and shocked -the renowned visitor. It also cast down Mr. Shillabeer, for he felt -that Fogo, as a man, and the P.R., as an institution, were alike -insulted by such an astounding assertion from the rival camp. - -The question of seconds had been raised and Mr. Fogo explained that he -and Shillabeer proposed to look after Crocker. - -"I shall carry the bottle and offer advice as it's called for, and -Reuben will pick him up and give him a knee," he declared. - -"If he wants it," added the 'Dumpling'; "but unless David here be -cleverer than we think he is, Bartley won't ask for much picking up." - -"And who are going to look after you?" asked Fogo of David. - -"My father and--" - -"He can't pick you up. Who else?" - -"And my sister, Rhoda Bowden--a strong maiden. She and father will do -all that's got to be done." - -"Blow my dickey!" said Mr. Fogo, "that's the first knock-down for you -anyway. A woman--a woman in the P.R.! You really thought that? That's -the best joke I've heard since '45." - -"It's settled," said David, calmly. - -"A woman in the P.R.!" repeated Fogo. "Well, I've seen most things -during the last seventy years, but not that. Why don't you ax your -sister to fight for you?" - -"Look here," said the elder Bowden, "I won't have nothing said in this -matter by you or anybody, Mr. Fogo, till you see for yourselves. Anyway -it's going to happen." - -"I quite agree!" declared Mr. Snell, suddenly. "Miss Rhoda's a born -wonder and a most renowned creature for courage. None ever was like -her. A female no more feared to look on blood than we be to count our -wages. And as to picking him up, she could pick him up--and you too, -Mr. Fogo, as easily as I can turn a stop-cock." - -"Can such things be?" asked Mr. Fogo. "This bangs Bannagher! A -woman--a young, female woman inside the P.R.! 'Tis enough to provoke -the anger of Heaven. May I die like a trundle-tailed cur, with a brick -round my neck, if I could ever stand it!" - -"'Tis my girl that you saw up to the Warren House," said Mr. Bowden, -"her you said was a very fine woman, and you wished you'd got such a -pair of arms." - -"Her with the chin?" - -"She have a chin, I grant you." - -"And who haven't?" asked Mr. Snell. - -"You must know 'tisn't a common case," explained David. "My sister and -me be very close friends, and she's terrible interested in this fight, -and, in short, she'll have to be there--there's no law against it." - -"I'm shocked," said the old man. "'Tis a very indecent, outrageous -thing, and I protest with all my might. A petticoat in the P.R.! Can't -everybody in this bar see it's all wrong and disgraceful and -disorderly?" - -"In a general way it would be," admitted Shillabeer; "but she ain't no -common young woman, 'Frosty,' and I'm not surprised to hear she means -it. She was axing me what a bottle-holder be expected to do a bit -back-along; and I half twigged that she'd got this idea in her noddle." - -"Then it's the end of the world," declared Mr. Fogo. "I ask for nothing -more. Perhaps our man wants his mother in his corner--also his aunt? -I'm sure they very much wish to be there by all accounts." - -"Since the fight be in part about my sister, she's a right on the spot," -said David; "and this I'll tell you, Mr. Fogo: though you laugh, you'll -see what she's like in the Ring; and if she does one thing--one single -thing--she shouldn't, and fails of aught where a man could do better, -then I'll give you the stakes if I win 'em." - -"It's contrary to all history and law and decency and nature. It isn't -possible, I tell you. Here am I trying to revive the P.R. in a first -chop, gentlemanly fashion, and then you yokels plan a sin and a shame -like this," said Mr. Fogo. He was very much annoyed and returned again -and again to the threatened female incursion. Most of the company -agreed with him; indeed, only the Bowdens and Simon Snell supported -Rhoda as a second. Mr. Shillabeer was doubtful. - -"Be there any law against it? That's the question," he said. "Well, I -can't say there is, 'Frosty.' Of course there's nought in the rules -about it." - -"Because the rules was drawn for respectable, law-abiding people," -answered Mr. Fogo. - -They wrangled on, while David and Bartley spoke aside. - -"Did you say that Miss Rhoda was really interested?" asked Crocker. "I -shouldn't like to think that, David. I know I kissed her, like a silly -fool, in the Pixies' House that day of the storm; but she don't bear -malice, I hope, any more than you do?" - -"Oh, no--no malice. It angered her cruel all the same, as it did me; -and she won't be sorry to see you lose--though there's no -malice--certainly not." - -"You're in luck with such a sister and such a wife to be." - -David changed the subject. - -"Have they settled where 'tis to come off?" - -"No--only the day." - -"Monday week?" - -"Yes." - -"I'm going down to Plymouth Monday to practise with the boxers there," -said David, and Bartley nodded. - -"They'll larn you a lot," he said. - -Mr. Fogo's voice again rose in wrath. - -"The Fancy won't stand it. Mark me; they'll hiss her out of the Ring. -Such a thing won't be suffered in a Christian land." - -The hour grew late and Mr. Maunder looked in somewhat coldly. Since his -vital difference of opinion on the subject of the prize-fight, he had -withdrawn his patronage from 'The Corner House.' It was felt that he -could hardly be present in the camp of a combatant until the matter of -the pending battle was at an end. - -"Closing time, Mr. Shillabeer," he said, and the 'Dumpling' nodded. - -"Right you are, Ernest. Come in and take a thimbleful along with me, -won't 'e?" - -"No, thank you. Not till this business is over. I'm against you, and I -won't have bit or sup along with the enemy. I speak as the law, -Shillabeer, and not as a man. Of course _afterwards_ I shall come back -again; but not till I've bested you, or you've bested me." - -"Nobody could speak fairer," declared Mr. Shillabeer. - -Then the company departed; Bartley Crocker went to bed; and Reuben asked -his friend what steps he proposed to take with respect to evading the -police on Monday week. But Fogo was in no amiable or communicative -mood. His feelings had that night been much lacerated and the prospect -of seeing a woman in a prize-ring affected him acutely. He would not -talk about the matter, and when Mr. Shillabeer, according to custom, -brought conversation round to his vanished partner over the last glass, -Mr. Fogo failed of that tact for which he was renowned and refused even -to speak well of the deceased. - -"I've heard enough about women to make me sick of the name of female -this night," he said. "I won't utter a word more about 'em, living or -dead. Thank my stars I kept single anyway. They may be all right in -their proper place, but they don't know the meaning of fair play, and -are worse than useless in every branch of sport that man ever invented. -You mark me: this man's sister will come across the ring and try to -gouge our eyes out if her brother's getting worsted!" - -"Not she," promised the 'Dumpling.' "I grant 'tis a sign the P.R.'s -coming to nought that a chap should have his sister to second him in a -fight; but since it had to be, never was a woman built more likely to -give a good account of herself in that place than Rhoda Bowden." - -"Well, I hope to God the Fancy will rise like one man," answered Mr. -Fogo. "And now I'll go to my bed; and if I don't have a nightmare and -dream that I'm in a Ring along with the Queen of England and a few -duchesses and other high female characters, may I be blowed from here to -the top of Paul's cathedral and back again." - -He then retired. - -Bowden and Crocker had both paid for their colours and Mr. Shillabeer -called his friend back to hand him the money, which, in his misery, Mr. -Fogo had forgotten. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII* - - *FOR THE GOOD CAUSE* - - -Probably the Prince of Darkness himself had won little more profound -attention than Mr. Fogo when, in his cape and black knee-breeches, the -old sportsman attended divine service on the following Sunday. Those -interested entirely attributed the forthcoming fight to him, and many of -the mothers and grandmothers of the hamlet would have been well pleased -to mob 'Frosty-face' and drive him by force of arms from the village. - -One painful interview with Bartley Crocker's mother he had not been able -to escape. She offered him ten pounds in gold to prevent the fight, and -when he explained that not for a hundred or a thousand pounds would he -be party to a 'cross,' she had 'given him a bit of her mind and -threatened him with her ten commandments,' as he afterwards expressed -it. - -And now Mr. Fogo, supported by Mr. Shillabeer, sat at worship, answered -the responses and even essayed to join in the hymns. The behaviour of -both old men was marked by highest propriety; and both put a penny in -the plate when it reached them. The Bowdens, including David, were also -present, and Mr. Fogo's sole acts of inattention were caused by the -circumstance that Rhoda sat beside her father. He stole several glances -at her and observed a powerful, handsome young woman, exceedingly -self-possessed and apparently well able to keep her nerve under any -circumstances. He admitted to the 'Dumpling' that in an ordinary -emergency or difficulty Miss Bowden might probably hold her own; but a -prize-fight was not an ordinary emergency, and he held that, under no -conceivable tangle of circumstances, should a woman, in any capacity -whatsoever, be present at such a proceeding. - -Mr. Merle preached, or it would be more correct to say thundered, from a -peaceable text in the New Testament. He hit hard and spared not. From -the lord of the manor to the landlord of 'The Corner House' he ranged; -and he called heaven to witness that, for his part, no stone should be -left unturned to overthrow the forces of disorder. Incidentally Mr. -Merle gave his hearers a picture of a prize-fight, for it appeared that -in his degenerate Oxford days the pastor had witnessed a battle. - -"One of the unhappy creatures who marred God's own image on that -occasion was called Peter Crawley and known to his friends by the vulgar -soubriquet of 'Young Rump Steak,'" said the clergyman. Then glaring at -his congregation as though to dare a smile, he pulled his black gown -from his wrists and proceeded: "The name of the other pugilist was Jem -Ward, and they met on a winter's day within a hundred miles of London--" - -"At Royston--I was there," whispered Mr. Fogo to Reuben Shillabeer. -Both old men paid the preacher every attention. - -"Their degrading operations were considered to constitute a pretty day's -sport," continued Mr. Merle. "These men battered and tore and dashed -each other upon the earth time after time. Again and again they fought -themselves to a standstill, which is, I believe, the technical -expression for absolute physical exhaustion. It was a battle of -ferocious fiends disguised as men, and when this Peter Crawley had -stricken the wretched Ward senseless in the eleventh round; and when -both were reduced to mere swollen, half-blind palpitating masses of -bruised and bleeding flesh, the people present shouted with infamous joy -and bore both combatants away in triumph from the ensanguined field." - -"Jem lost all along of not having Tom Oliver for second," whispered -Fogo. - -The clergyman proceeded at considerable length to point his moral, and -he wound up an eloquent appeal with special allusion to the stranger who -had come among his sheep. He did not actually describe 'Frosty-face' as -a wolf; but he left no manner of doubt as to his opinion of the -Londoner; and he expressed acute regret that this Philistine should be -spending his leisure in Sheepstor, to the debasement of the youth and -manhood of the district. - -Mr. Fogo listened with attention and propriety; while Mr. Shillabeer, -fearing what might happen, rolled uneasily, puffed, perspired and grew -red at intervals. - -Of the principals and those who intended to aid them, only Bartley -Crocker was not present; but his mother heard the sermon, and the vision -of Peter Crawley and Jem Ward caused her to become so faint, that she -had to be helped into the air by Charles Moses long before the sermon -was finished. - -Mr. Fogo himself and the company of the Bowdens accepted all the vicar -said without emotion. Only once, when he quoted Horace, did they lose -him for a moment. Elias Bowden had long convinced himself that a fair -stand-up fight, between men pretty closely matched, was a circumstance -morally justifiable in every respect; and his children accepted this -conclusion without demur. As for 'Frosty,' his deep mind moved far too -busily with the future to trouble about any harsh present criticisms, -personal and public though they might be. He saw in Mr. Merle's attitude -an opportunity that he sought, and after the service was ended, he bade -Reuben Shillabeer get home and leave him behind. Then, when most of the -people had gone; when the Bowdens, full of this charge, trailed up to -Ditsworthy; when the 'Dumpling,' in great uneasiness, got him back to -his public-house; and when the congregation of chattering women and -dubious men had vanished this way and that, Mr. Fogo prevailed upon Mr. -Moses to introduce him to the vicar. The Rev. Theodore Merle was a -solid, plethoric parson of the old school--a pillar of Church and State, -loud-voiced, red-faced, kind-hearted, narrow-minded and conservative. - -Mr. Fogo saluted this gentleman with the greatest deference, and briefly -explained that his discourse had caused him deep interest and touched -his conscience very forcibly at certain points. He then begged to know -if he might, at the vicar's convenience, enjoy a little private -conversation. - -Mr. Merle gladly consented to go at greater length into the matter with -the old stranger. He named the following evening for their meeting at -the vicarage, and expressed a hope that he might yet lead the Londoner -from his turbulent and unlawful ways. - -Mr. Fogo replied that if any man had the art to do such a thing, it must -be Mr. Merle, whose eloquence had deeply impressed him. He then bowed -in a very courtly manner and withdrew. Afterwards, he secretly confided -to the shoemaker that the sermon had left him in great doubt of his -conduct, and he very patiently suffered Charles Moses to press the case -for law and order without offering much in the nature of opposition. He -hoped finally that Mr. Moses would make it convenient to be present at -the meeting with Mr. Merle; and the cobbler, firmly convinced that -'Frosty-face' was yielding, promised to oblige him. - -At 'The Corner House,' in public, Mr. Fogo maintained a taciturn -attitude, and when invited to express an opinion on the sermon, replied -that there was a good deal to be said on both sides. Mr. Shillabeer -smelt mystery, but knew his friend's ways too well to interfere. At -present the event stood fixed for an early hour on the following Monday -week, and Mr. Fogo was prowling about the neighbourhood to find a -secluded and suitable theatre for it; but nothing had been settled, and -not until the Tuesday before the fight did he make the final -announcement. - -Mr. Fogo had already kept his appointment with Mr. Merle and listened to -the arguments of the vicar and the churchwarden. - -"I may tell you that the lord of the manor has only just left me," -remarked Mr. Merle. "He, too, has harboured some erroneous opinions on -the subject of this outrage, and I have gone far to convince him of his -mistake." - -But Mr. Fogo knew all about the opinions of Sir Guy Flamank. Indeed, he -had enjoyed a considerable discourse in private with that sound -sportsman only a few hours earlier in the day. - -"Sir Guy Flamank," said the vicar, "at first argued speciously that -there are times when a magistrate ought to act, and times when he ought -to shut his eyes, or look the other way. Deluded by fanciful -obligations to the claims of sport, he supposes that this is an occasion -for looking the other way. But he is wrong--ignorantly, rather than -wickedly, wrong--and I have thoroughly convinced him of the fact. A -fight between two men, no matter whether they fight in the spirit of -friends, or avowedly as foes, is none the less legally a breach of the -peace, morally an outrage on the Creator. It is an un-christian, a -brutal, a degraded performance, even though we regard it not as a battle -of enmity but a trial of strength. Who are we that we dare to deface -the image of God? Tell me that, Mr. Fogo. A prize-fight is the most -complicated and many-sided offence it is possible to conceive--an -affront alike on man and his Maker. None can attend such orgies without -lowering his sense of decency and manhood; none can be present at such a -spectacle and not suffer for it in the secret places of his -self-respect. In the interest of public morals and of religion I take -my stand, Mr. Fogo; and as a minister of the Word of God I tell you -that, Heaven helping, this thing shall not be within my spiritual -jurisdiction--nay, or beyond it, if energy and foresight can prevent." - -Mr. Fogo rose from the chair whereon he sat, and bowed. - -"I have not heard such burning words, your reverence, since I sat under -a bishop a few weeks ago in Paul's, London. I would have you to know -that I take life seriously. I am a pious man, though my calling has to -do with rough characters; but I never saw things quite in this light -before. We sporting blades mean no harm, and we are honest according to -our lights. I've known many of the noted pugs and can assure your -reverence that they are straight and kindly men--just such good souls as -Mr. Shillabeer, my friend in this village. If they've done wrong, 'tis -through their ignorance of right. And as for me, never, until I heard -your great and forcible discourse o' Sunday, did I think that a fair -mill was not agreeable to the morals of the kingdom, even though the law -don't allow it." - -"A prize-fight is not agreeable--either to the morals of this kingdom or -the next," said Mr. Merle; "and I hope you are convinced of it." - -"You told me you was," said Moses. "You made it very clear to me you -was wavering, Mr. Fogo." - -"I am wavering," answered the old hawk, while he tried to cool the fire -in his eye with a film of piety. "I am hit very hard over this. You've -let in the light on me, your reverence. It calls back to my mind that -famous party, namely Bendigo--once a Champion of England, now a champion -of the next world; for he's taken to preaching and, as he told me last -time we met, is under articles to fight the Devil and all his works. A -great man in his way, and they've given his name to half Australia, I'm -told; but, though very free and forcible with words, he hasn't got the -flow of your reverence. Of course you wouldn't expect it from a -prize-fighter. And now with your solemn speeches booming on my sinful -ears, I ask myself what I am to do." - -"Let me tell you the answer to that question, Mr. Fogo," said the -clergyman, very earnestly. "If your conscience has been mercifully -permitted to waken at my voice, take heed that it shall not sink to -sleep again. Emulate your reformed friend, Mr. Bendigo. Put on the -armour of light and the breastplate of righteousness. Look back at these -days of seclusion in this rural scene as Paul looked back to that -journey on which burst in the dazzling light of living truth. Let the -scales fall from your eyes, Mr. Fogo. Choose the better path, -henceforth, sir. You are an able man. I can see it in your face. -There is intellect there. With greater advantages you might have made a -mark in the world and assisted its welfare. And that you must and shall -still do! There is none among us so humble but that he possesses the -grand, the glorious privilege and power to help the world towards -goodness. Act rightly in this matter and great will be your reward--if -not in this world, my dear friend, none the less and of a surety in the -world to come." - -"Exactly so," said Mr. Fogo. "I know you're right--I'm sure of it. You -understand these things--nobody better. It is your holy calling so to -do. I see now as never I saw before, that fighting oughtn't to be. I -almost begin to believe that it's my duty to stop this fight. And -yet--" - -"Don't dally with the idea, Mr. Fogo," urged Charles Moses. "Believe it -once for all and do your duty. Your salvation may hang upon it!" - -Mr. Merle was a little vexed with the warden's interference. He put up -his hand and said, "Hush, Moses; leave this to me, please." - -"It's like this," explained 'Frosty-face,' mildly; "most of the males -are for the fight; most of the women are against it. And his reverence -here is against it, and you're against it, Mr. Moses, and of course the -constable is against it, being paid by the nation to be so. Well, I must -tell you that in these cases, if the police appear on the ground, the -fight is always stopped at once and the Fancy goes off--either into -another county, where the warrant don't hold, or else, if that's -impossible, they stop altogether till the next meeting is arranged by -the referee. Now, in this business, the fight has either got to stop or -not begin at all if the police put in their appearance, because there's -no getting into another county; so it all comes to this: if your -reverence knows when and where the fight is to take place, you can stop -it." - -"Then your duty stares you in the face, Mr. Fogo. You must tell me," -asserted Mr. Merle. - -"It isn't decided yet." - -"You'll have a hand in the decision, all the same," declared Charles -Moses. "Very like they'll look to you to settle that point, as, with -your learning of such things, would be natural." - -Mr. Fogo glanced round about him as though he feared an eavesdropper. - -"If I do this, and tell you the battle-ground, will you promise never to -let it out?" he asked. - -"It will be for you to let it out, and triumph in your righteous -action," said Mr. Merle. - -"Well, I'd rather not," answered the Deputy Commissary, with frankness. -"I'll do good by stealth, and 'twill be quite time enough for me to -write and tell Mr. Shillabeer that 'twas my work after I've got back to -London out of harm's way. So there it stands: you've conquered me, your -reverence. I put myself in your power. But this is thirsty work--this -well-doing. Might I make so bold as to ask for a drop of -liquor--spirits, if they may be taken without harm in the dwelling of -holiness?" - -Mr. Merle went to his sideboard and got a bottle of whisky, from which -the repentant Fogo helped himself to a stiff glass. - -"On Monday next at eleven o'clock the fight will begin, unless we stop -it," he said. "And since, in the high name of the church and parson, it -did ought to be stopped, stopped it shall be. The place is still a -secret. But this I'll do for the sake of my own salvation, and other -reasons, including my great respect to your reverence--this I'll do: on -Monday morning next, at cock-light or earlier, I'll be here in secret to -meet the police and his reverence and Mr. Moses; and I'll lead them to -the ring. That's the work of your Sunday sermon on the heart of a -sinful creature, parson Merle. At five o'clock next Monday I'll be at -this house; but I trust those present to keep the secret, for if a word -is breathed and it gets out, there's men interested in this fight that -will change the 'rondeyvoo' and hide it even from me." - -The clergyman, elated, yet not without secret doubts, gave all necessary -promises, and Mr. Moses did the like. Then Mr. Fogo went his way. - -He was in church again next Sunday and, meantime, conducted himself in a -manner that mystified most frequenters of 'The Corner House.' -Shillabeer declared that something was weighing on Mr. Fogo's mind, and -Moses, who heard rumours, carried them to the vicar. - - -Then came grey dawn on the eventful morning and, before it was yet -light, 'Frosty-face,' as good as his word, arrived at the vicarage. - -Mr. Ernest Maunder, with the warrant and another constable, had already -arrived, and a moment later Mr. Moses came on the scene. The first -glimmer of light was in the sky and the day opened cold and clear. Stars -shone overhead and the road tinkled with ice underfoot; but clouds were -already banking against the northern horizon. - -"I'm here to take you to the appointed place," said Fogo. "All is -settled and the men are to be in the ring before eleven o'clock. You -will be snugly hidden not a hundred yards from the spot when they begin. -'Tis Ringmoor Down has been chosen--alongside the wood at the west end -by the turnpike. We can't miss it, because the ring was pitched -overnight--I helped, so as not to bring down no suspicion on myself." - -They started silently to climb the steep hill that ascends out of -Sheepstor to Ringmoor. At Fogo's advice they carried food and drink -with them, for the morning was very cold and laden with promise of snow. - -"You mustn't mind hard words," said the betrayer. "They can't do nothing -to any of you, because it's a fair score and you've won for two reasons. -Firstly, by having more wits in your heads than them, and secondly, -because his reverence has converted me to see the truth. I'm the only -one as would be roughly handled and very likely--an old man like me--get -my death from it; so I shan't stop for the great moment when you step -forth in the name of the Queen's Majesty and bid 'em all to keep the -peace. I shall see you in your places, and then I've arranged for a -trap to come for me to the pike, and off I go to Plymouth. I won't face -the music--why should I? As it is, I shall go in fear and trembling -this many a day." - -"You need neither fear nor tremble, Fogo," said Mr. Merle. "The mind -conscious of rectitude is armed against all fear. You have done your -duty, difficult though it was; you will have your reward." - -"Thank you for that helpful word," answered 'Frosty-face'; "and I beg, -if your reverence don't find it too much for your bellows against the -hill, that you'll speak a few comforting speeches to me as we travel -along. I'm an aged man to turn from vanity at my time of life; yet in -your sermon yesterday you said 'twas never too late to mend, and I took -that to myself." - -"You were perfectly justified in so doing," said Mr. Merle. - -He uttered exhilarating reflections until the severity of the hill -reduced him to silence. Then Ernest Maunder, who had not yet recovered -from his amazement at finding Fogo a traitor, asked him a question. - -"If you're going straight away off to Plymouth, what about your -luggage?" - -"You'll see it in the trap," answered 'Frosty.' "I've got a box and a -bundle and no more. Mind, Constable Maunder, that you step boldly into -the ring; and don't do it too soon. Wait till the men have stripped and -shook hands. Then out you go, and not a man dare withstand you. Have -no fear for yourself. At their everlasting peril would they do it, for -you are the State. 'Twill be the greatest moment in your life, and I -hope you'll bear yourself with dignity." - -"I hope I shall," replied Mr. Maunder; "but 'twould be easier if 'twas -milder weather." - -Dawn rolled along Dartmoor edge as they reached the silent hill-top, and -it revealed an unfamiliar object upon the featureless bosom of Ringmoor. -As Fogo had foretold, distant one hundred yards from a little wood -beside the highway, the twenty-four-foot Ring stood stark in the -twilight of morning. Heavy stakes, painted blue, supported the ropes. -An outer ring--to keep spectators clear from the fight--was also set up -beyond, and the ground could not have been better chosen. - -Close at hand an open trap was waiting, and the driver stamped up and -down to keep himself warm. Mr. Maunder, with a flash of professional -zeal, satisfied himself that 'Frosty's' luggage was really in this -vehicle and marked a wooden box, studded with brass nails, and a parcel -containing a large umbrella and some walking-sticks. - -"I got my kit out last night, after Shillabeer had gone to his rest," -explained Mr. Fogo. "This morning he'll think that I've risen betimes -and come up here--and he'll think right, for that matter." - -In half an hour the party had cut down some boughs of fir, made a screen -against the north wind, and hidden themselves carefully at the edge of -the wood. Then Mr. Fogo joined the vicar in a light breakfast of -hard-boiled eggs and cold tea; and finally he prepared to take his -leave. - -He declared that he left for Plymouth with reluctance and would much -have liked to see the triumph of right; but, in plain English, he feared -greatly for his own skin if the disappointed sportsmen discovered him -with the police. Therefore he bade all farewell, invited and obtained -Mr. Merle's formal blessing upon his future, and then drove away along -the road to Plymouth. - -Yet, for some private and obscure reason, when a mile had been -traversed, Mr. Fogo appeared suddenly to change his mind. He directed -the driver to sink down to Meavy valley; and thence the trap returned as -swiftly as possible to Sheepstor. - -Already that village was awake and alert. Strange men moved about -through it; within the field, under the churchyard wall, had sprung up a -square of ropes and bright blue stakes--the counterpart of that besides -which Mr. Merle and his friends were waiting and crowing somewhat cold -on the sequestered loneliness of Ringmoor. - -Mr. Fogo had told Simon Snell the truth, though his listeners all -laughed at the joke when they heard it. The fight, instead of taking -place upon Ringmoor Down at eleven o'clock, was planned for Sheepstor -bull-ring at nine. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII* - - *THE FIGHT* - - -The bull-ring of Sheepstor is a grassy field of near an acre in extent, -surrounded west and east with beech trees, hemmed by a road and a little -river southward, and flanked by the churchyard wall on the north. Here -bull-baiting, cock-fighting, cock-shying, and other rough sports of our -great-grandfathers were enjoyed; and here, on this winter morning, one -of the last authentic prize-fights ever fought in England was duly -conducted with all right ritual, pomp and circumstance, under direction -of that high priest and poet of the P.R., 'Frosty-face' Fogo. - -From Lowery and Kingsett by Crazywell; from Yellowmead and Dennycoombe; -from Meavy and Middleworth and Good-a-Meavy those in the secret came. A -large sprinkling of local sportsmen rode into Sheepstor before eight -o'clock and stabled their horses at 'The Corner House.' Sir Guy -Flamank's friend, the young boxer from Oxford, and a Plymouth -professional, were umpires for the men; while the sporting doctor from -Tavistock acted as referee on the strength of wide experience and sound -knowledge. - -Bowden and his party came down from Ditsworthy in a cart, and beside it -walked Bartholomew Stanbury and his son. Simon Snell also arrived, with -Mattacott, Screech and other local men. Just before nine o'clock two -stout and frantic women rushed to the rectory and then disappeared up -the hill towards Ringmoor. They were Mr. Crocker's mother and aunt. - -As for Bartley, he arrived in the bull-ring at five minutes to nine, met -David beside it and shook hands with him and his father. Rhoda stood -by, clad in a dark stuff dress with short skirt and short sleeves. On -her head was a man's cap and her bright hair had been coiled small and -tight on her neck. She paid no attention to Mr. Crocker. Then Fogo -appeared and assumed command. With him came the Corinthian contingent, -jovial and jolly, clad in the most showy and stylish sporting costumes -of the 'sixties.' The colours of both men were generally displayed. - -"Throw your castors in the ring," said Shillabeer, and the fighters -dropped their hats over the ropes. - -A crowd of above a hundred persons was assembled. The front row sat ten -feet from the ring; others stood behind them and twenty men clustered -along the churchyard wall. Into the beech trees many boys had also -climbed. Rhoda Bowden was the only woman present. Many protested and -shook their heads, but none interfered. - -The colours were tied to the stakes and the combatants tossed. Bowden -won, and his father chose the corner with its back to the rising sun. -Red light ranged along the eastern edge of Dartmoor; but it promised -swiftly to perish, for the air was already heavy with coming snow. - -Both men now stripped to the waist. They wore flannel drawers, socks -and shoes with sparrow-bill nails in them. Each was clean-shaved and -close-cropped. Fogo and Shillabeer, with bottles, towels and sponges, -entered Bartley's corner, while his father and sister took their places -in Bowden's. - -As the church clock struck nine the men came to the scratch, listened to -a brief word from the referee and again shook hands. Each in his -different way looked strong and well. David's white body shone in the -red sunlight and showed a silky texture over the big muscles. He was -shorter in the reach than Bartley Crocker and far sturdier below the -waist. Big thews and sinews held him up; but, as he came on guard, he -shaped rather awkwardly with his hands and his head was somewhat too far -forward. Crocker appeared slighter, taller and more graceful. His -brown body seemed somewhat thin about the ribs, but his face was clean -and hard and his eyes bright. His legs were not so solid as David's, -but they showed more spring about them. His pose was good: he carried -his head well back, and his hands neither too high nor too low. One man -obviously possessed greater strength; while the other looked likely to -be quicker both on his legs and with his fists. What either had learned -about scientific fighting in the short time of preparation remained to -be seen. Both were nervous and both were eager to begin. - -David dashed out at his man and hit with his right but was parried. -Again he tried his right, rather round, and just touched Crocker's -shoulder; whereupon Bartley, hitting straighter, got his left on the -other's face and followed it with his right on the throat. The second -blow was heavy and shook David for a moment. They stood apart, then both -began to fight desperately, but with little science. Some tremendous -counters succeeded and each received a few blows in the face; but Bowden -evidently hit harder than the younger man, though he did not get home so -often. The little knowledge either possessed belonged to Crocker. He -guarded to some purpose with his left and avoided one or two strong, -right-handed blows in this manner. Twice Crocker missed his right; then -the best blow of the round was struck by him. It fell fairly and full -on David's forehead, and he followed it by another, under the eye. Then -Bartley received one on the nose which drew blood. A moment later the -men closed and Crocker threw Bowden with an ordinary cross-buttock and -fell on him. Both walked to their corners and the round ended with -nothing of importance done on either side. First blood was claimed and -allowed for David. - -Bartley sat on Mr. Shillabeer's knee, while Mr. Fogo polished him up and -poured advice into his ear. - -"Keep moving more," he said. "Dance 'Jim Crow' round the man! make him -come after you and blow him a bit. He hits harder than you do; but he's -not as clever and not as long in the arm. Get on to the right eye -again. If you can shut that at the start, it's worth half the stakes." - -And elsewhere David reposed on Elias Bowden's knee while Rhoda, white to -the lips, but firm as a rock, sponged his face. He laughed at her. - -"It's all right," he said to his father. "He only hit me once worth -mentioning. I'll soon find his measure. I'm stronger than him." - -"Don't talk," answered the old man. "And get the fall, if you can, next -round. Better you drop on him than he drop on you." - -The half-minute was over and both came instantly to the scratch. -Preliminary nervousness had passed and they were eager to fight. David -panted a little; Hartley appeared quite calm. The second round began -with Bowden leading off; but Crocker easily jerked his head out of -harm's way and escaped an ugly round hit. - -They fell to heavy milling of a scrambling character, with few blows -getting home on either side. Presently they stood apart, panting with -hands down a moment; then, in response to shouts from partisans, they -began to fight again. Crocker now had the best of it until the end of -the round. David seemed unable to use his left and Bartley was learning -to avoid the swinging round-arm blows delivered by his opponent's right. -Thrice he escaped these attempts and each time countered with his own -right. To Mr. Fogo's satisfaction one of these blows reached the -damaged eye with great force and instantly raised a big 'mouse' beneath -it. Then the round ended, almost exactly like the last, by David -landing on the other's nose and drawing a copious flow of blood. Upon -this they closed and David tried hard for the crook, but Bartley was the -cleverer wrestler and Bowden went down with the other on top of him as -before. Again they walked strongly to their corners and their friends -did all that was necessary in the space of thirty seconds. - -"Fight for his eyes, and even take a bit of risk to get there," said Mr. -Fogo. "But, for the love of the Lord, don't let him land that round-arm -hit on your ear. It won't do you no good. And use your left more." - -Rhoda bathed the curious blue mark that had leapt into existence under -her brother's eye. His face was puffy round it, but neither she nor her -father guessed at the threatened danger. As for David, he was very -cheerful and only vexed that he had missed so often with his right. - -"I've got to get nearer to him," he explained. "Out-fighting's no good -against his long arms. I must go inside 'em and see what I can do -then." - -The men smiled and nodded at one another as they came up to time. - -Bartley began with his left. David threw it off well with the right -guard and tried to begin in-fighting. But the taller man danced away -before him and hit twice, right and left, on the retreat. Then Bowden, -coming with a rush, caught him, and the finest rally of the battle -followed. The combatants fought all across the ring with both hands -almost entirely at the head. More by good chance than science each -stopped some heavy hits and sparred much above their true skill. Immense -applause greeted the round, and the 'Dumpling' bellowed a word of -encouragement to his man. Fogo watched every move with his old, keen -eyes. He was not entirely pleased with the result of the round. It -ended in a scrambling fall with no advantage to either. But both, -though blowing heavily, were still strong, and each man rose instantly -and got back to his corner without aid. - -The little advantage of the rising sun in his opponent's eyes was now -lost to Bowden, for grey clouds had swallowed the morning and already a -few stray flakes of snow fell leisurely. Elias, at the end of this -round, complained that Crocker was holding some hard substance within -his fists, but Fogo with disdain showed that they carried paper only. - -Some marks of the last bout were visible when 'time' brought the men to -the scratch. Bartley had a cut on his forehead and another on his -cheek-bone, while his nose and lips had swollen and become distorted; -the eyelids of Bowden's right eye were puffed and bulged. His face and -breast were mottled with red; but Crocker, on the contrary, was as pale -as a parsnip. David led off right and left, just touching with the -first but missing with the latter. They countered heavily and then, in -obedience to orders, Crocker got in suddenly, caught David's head in -chancery, and before the elder, by sheer strength, broke loose, fibbed -him thrice. Mr. Fogo rolled in an ecstasy. The blows had reached -David's sound eye and done some damage. In getting away David fell and -Bartley immediately went to his corner. The round had been much in his -favour. - -Rhoda worked hard to reduce the swelling on her brother's face, but it -was not possible. He continued strong, cheerful and impatient to repay -a little of Crocker's attention in the last round. - -Yet from this point the fight went steadily in favour of the younger -man. He was naturally quicker, neater and straighter in his hitting. -The next round was a long one. David got to work first and lashed out -as usual with his right, but was short. Then Bartley retreated until he -had his enemy on the move, whereupon he stood and let fly both right and -left at the head. Both told, though the blows were light. David slipped -on to one knee but was up again instantly, and a moment later, for the -first time since the beginning of the battle, he got his right home on -Crocker's ear. The hit fairly staggered Bartley but did not drop him. -He recovered before Bowden could repeat the blow and some furious -fighting brought the men into Bartley's corner, where David had the -worst of the rally. Crocker at last closed and might have gone far to -end the fight, for he had his enemy on the ropes and was about to punish -him in that position. His instinct, however, prevented it. He had -raised his right and Bowden was for the moment defenceless; then the -younger drew back and shook his head. "Nay, David," he said, "I'll not -take advantage of thee." - -A hearty cheer greeted this sportsmanlike act; but in his corner at the -end of the round, Mr. Fogo took occasion to caution his man against -further display of such a spirit. - -"You haven't got him beat yet," he said. "'Tis all very well to play to -the gallery when you're safe, but not sooner. He's harder than you and -will take a lot of knocking out. You had it in your power then to give -him pepper, and you ought to have done it till he dropped. Fight for -his eyes and don't let's have no softness. You mind there's a lot of -money going to change hands over this job, and you've no right to throw -away half a chance." - -In answer Crocker showed temper. - -"I'll fight fair and be damned to you and your London ways," he said; -but Mr. Fogo permitted himself no retort. - -A great deal of tedious sparring occurred in the next round and Bowden -got his second wind. He was strong and still confident, but the sight -of his right eye grew much impaired. After a time the pace quickened, -but when they began to fight in earnest, the round was Hartley's own. -David received all the hits, and one on the mouth nearly floored him. -At the end they closed and Bowden was thrown. Both still went to their -corners without help. - -Five and six to one were betted on Crocker, and even Fogo felt sanguine. -But he had time to take close stock of his man and noticed that Crocker -was weaker. - -In the next round the men closed almost instantly and went down, David -undermost. - -"All Dartmoor to a lark-sod on our chap!" said Mr. Shillabeer. "Go in -and finish him, Bartley. Only get on his left peeper again and the -shutters will be up. The right's done for." - -"I can do it, but I'm frightened to--might blind him for life," answered -the fighter; and 'Frosty-face' was frantically expostulating at this -mistaken sentiment at the call of 'time.' - -Heavy counter hits were exchanged in this round and Bartley's left ear -was again visited. Blood sprang from it in answer to the blow and for a -moment he was dazed; then he hit David heavily on the neck and jaw. A -rally followed and Bartley used his legs and got away. At the end -Crocker hit out with his left and caught David on his sound eye. The -blow was well timed and Bowden nearly fell. A moment later they closed -and wrestled long for the fall. Neither won it decisively, but they -went down together. Both were weak after this round and both, for the -first time, were carried to their corners. Rhoda and her father lifted -David swiftly and neatly. - -Bowden began the next round and hit Bartley with right and left on the -chest, but he made no impression though the blows were hard. Crocker, -on the contrary, while lacking much force, yet planted one hit to -purpose on Bowden's left eye. This stroke evidently caused great pain -for, despite himself, David's hands went up to his face. Then it seemed -that he began to realise his peril, for he fought desperately and showed -tremendous energy and renewed strength. A blow on the ribs made Bartley -wince, but others as heavy missed him and his returns went over David's -shoulder. Towards the end of the round, however, Crocker, catching the -other as he advanced, and timing his right better than usual, sent -Bowden clean off his legs with a flush hit on the mouth. It was the -first knock-down blow in the battle, and Fogo waited with desperate -anxiety and fervent hope that Bowden might not come up to time. But -Rhoda and her father achieved the feat. Within the regulation eight -seconds after time was called, David stood at the scratch. He was very -shaky, but cheerful. He grinned out of his distorted features as Bartley -approached and said, "Now I'm going to get some of my own back, -Crocker." - -Fogo, during the respite, had given his man brandy and implored him to -try and finish before his strength was gone. The opportunity to -administer a final blow had come. Bowden was shaken, and for the moment -very weak. Alive to the situation, Crocker did his best; but now the -man's own nature came between him and the necessity of execution. As he -grew more feeble a vein of sheer sentimentality in his character -asserted itself. For the moment he could not strike the bruised, bloody -and defenceless eyes of the enemy. His gorge rose at the act. Between -the rounds he had been watching Rhoda with a sort of vague, unreal -interest. In his increased weakness, the whole business appeared like a -dream out of which only Rhoda clearly stood. He admired her immense -courage and pictured her secret emotions as round succeeded round, and -she saw David's face being battered from all semblance of humanity. - -Nevertheless, Crocker began this--the tenth round--with a determination -to let it be the last. He hit out of distance but eventually struck -Bowden on the nose. The blow was not heavy, but David went down and was -carried to his corner. - -Bartley stared across at his foe, while Fogo attended to him. He saw -Rhoda sponge the other's face and speak to him. Then David laughed. -The expression of amusement was hideous on his countenance in its -present condition. Fogo kept speaking, but when he stood at the scratch -Crocker quite forgot the last advice he had received. It was clear now -that David was fighting for strength, and each round in the next five -saw him go down at the least legal provocation. Some shouted scorn at -him, but he paid no heed. He was hit several times during these rounds -and did little in return; but once he visited Bartley's damaged ear, and -once he got a good cross-buttock and fell heavily on his man. - -Seeing Elias and Rhoda busy with David's hand after the thirteenth -round, Shillabeer whispered that the enemy's left was gone; but he erred -as the sequel proved. Bowden had only cut himself on Bartley's teeth. - -Fogo, however, still felt satisfied, because it seemed clear that even -if Crocker could not finish his task, he would be able to stay until -Bowden went blind. David's right eye had long since closed and the left -was beginning to vanish. Another blow would probably complete the work -of obliteration and leave Crocker with victory. Both men's faces were -much swollen and disfigured, but both were still game and both were -cheerful. Bartley, however, began to get slow and his ear was causing -him much dizziness. It had swollen to horrible dimensions. - -Snow now fell briskly and the ring had become very slippery. - -The sixteenth bout found David busiest. He rushed in right and left, -and a good ding-dong round was fought in which advantage only came to -Bartley at the end. Then, after receiving some heavy body-blows, he got -on to Bowden's lip, split it and drenched the man's face with blood. In -the close they both went down, David, as usual, undermost. Both were -carried to their corners and both were weak. - -In the next round David tried to upper-cut Crocker, but missed, and was -knocked down by a blow on the throat. - -Elias asked his son if all was well with him, and David nodded. Rhoda -gave him the brandy bottle and he rinsed his mouth, but did not drink -any. Fogo did all that his knowledge suggested for Bartley, but knew -that he was growing weak very rapidly. It remained to be seen whether -Crocker's strength or David's eyesight would last longest. - -In the eighteenth round Bartley began the fighting and with immense -impetuosity dashed in right and left on the face. He tried for the eye, -but just missed it and caught heavily on the body. And then fortune -smiled in earnest on David, and as the other came again to finish his -enemy at any cost, Bowden caught him with crushing force on the left -cheek. Chance timed the blow to perfection. It was by far the heaviest -hit in the fight, and the effect at this juncture proved terrific. The -tremendous blow seemed to go all over the side of Crocker's face. It -brought the blood gushing from his mouth and nose; and it dropped him in -a heap. - -A shout of consternation rose from the younger man's friends, and Mr. -Fogo and Shillabeer picked up Bartley, while David, cheered by the yells -of his supporters, walked, with Rhoda guiding him, to his corner. It was -now the turn of the Bowdens to wait the call of time with anxiety; but -Fogo got his man to the scratch, though all fight was out of him. David -could still see but he had lost the power of calculating distances. He -struck thrice in the air; then he hit Crocker, where he stood dazed with -his hands down, and dropped him. - -The crisis had come and Mr. Fogo kept back Bartley till the last -available moment, while on the other side Rhoda led David to the -scratch, for he could no longer see it. A blow now was likely to settle -the matter; but the one man was too weak to strike, the other too blind -to make sure of hitting. Two more rounds were fought in this manner and -Fogo fancied that Bartley had a little recovered from the effects of his -terrible punishment; but the return of strength did not serve him. In -the twenty-second and final round Bowden--fortune still smiling--hit -Crocker heavily with a round arm on the ear and the younger man fell -unconscious. Fogo and Shillabeer picked him up and did what they could, -but Bartley knew nothing. His head had swollen in an extraordinary -manner from the smashing stroke in the eighteenth round, and it was that -blow which had put 'paid' to his account. David walked to the scratch -with Rhoda's help and waited to hear time called. He had, it seemed, -snatched victory at the last moment and now it was his battle as surely -as it had been Bartley's after the ninth round. The referee cried -'time,' the eight seconds crawled past, and 'Frosty-face,' with a word -not to be chronicled, threw up the sponge. Bartley Crocker was deaf to -the call. Indeed, he remained unconscious for another five minutes. - -The fight had lasted about three quarters of an hour. - -Then a roar rose round the ring and a hundred men and boys crowded in -upon it. Many hastened away at once to avoid possible future trouble. -Rhoda threw her emotions into one kiss that she pressed upon her -brother's mangled mouth; then, rosy as her name, she walked up to the -colours, unfastened them with unshaking, ensanguined hands, and tied -them round David's neck. Many cheered her; and some fell in love with -her from that moment. David, for his part, asked to be led to Bartley, -and when, with the referee's assistance, the beaten man had recovered -consciousness, Bowden held out his hand and Crocker took it. - -By this time the winner was stone blind. His party stopped on the -ground only a few minutes, during which Mr. Fogo, as became a poet and a -man of imagination, insisted on shaking hands with Rhoda Bowden. - -"Woman," he said, "you're a wonder. I've never seen the like in seventy -years; and I hope I never shall again." - -Then David was led to the cart and, with his sister, three of his -brothers and his father, drove off to Ditsworthy. A cheering mob of -fifty men and boys accompanied him half way; the Stanburys--father and -son--walked for some distance beside the vehicle, while one or two -energetic spirits ran on ahead with tidings of victory for Mrs. Bowden -and her daughters, Sophia and Dorcas. - -Snow fell heavily now and detail was vanishing under it. - -Mr. Fogo had no difficulty in explaining the defeat to the Fancy. He -threw light upon the situation, while Mr. Shillabeer and others carried -Bartley to 'The Corner House' in a large wheelbarrow and put him to bed. - -"'Twas just such a hit as the Tipton gave Tass Parker in their last -fight--to compare small things with great," said Fogo. "When a man's -shaky, a smack like that is a receipt in full. A pretty finish, but it -ought never to have come to it. Bowden was beat half an hour ago, and -if our chap hadn't been so milk-hearted, he'd be the winner this minute. -If he'd had a bit of the other's kill-devil in him, 'twould have been -all over long ago. He fought better and wrestled better; but there it -was--the human nature in him couldn't punish, though the fight depended -on it and t'other man was blind. He was never meant for a fighting -man--more the dancing master turn of mind." - -"Very fond of the ladies, I believe," said Timothy Mattacott. - -"So I've found; and if that amazing girl with the chin had been in his -corner with me instead of the 'Dumpling,' I believe that Crocker would -have won," declared 'Frosty.' - -At this moment there hastened frantically down a hill from the south -certain devoted peacemakers. Bartley's relatives had learned at the -vicarage that Mr. Merle and others were gone at break of day to the pike -by Ringmoor Down, and they had struggled upward with the fatal truth. -Now it happened that these deceived upholders of the law came full upon -Mr. Fogo and a select company, on their way to the inn. Whereupon the -clergyman thrust among them and stood before Mr. Fogo, his face dark as -a mulberry with rage. - -"You infamous scoundrel!" he shouted. "What is the meaning of this?" - -The old man stared blankly and unknowingly before him. Not a spark of -recognition lighted his eagle features. - -"I don't quite understand," he answered; then he turned to his friends. - -"Who may these snowy gentlemen be?" he asked. "His reverence seems to be -a little put out. But he's got a kind expression of countenance. If -they wanted to see the mill, they ought to have started a bit earlier." - -But then Mr. Fogo saw Mrs. Crocker approaching and he did not hesitate -to run with his bodyguard about him. - -Snow began to fall in earnest at last. Heavier and heavier it came, -until Sheepstor and the churchyard and the bull-ring, with hills and -valleys round about, vanished under a silent, far-flung cloth of silver. -After all the riot and life, noise and blood-letting, peace fell like a -pall at noon. The folk kept their cottages. Only at 'The Corner House' -persisted a mighty din and clatter of tongues, while the larder and many -bottles were emptied, the barrels were heavily drawn upon and the battle -was fought and lost again a dozen times before nightfall. - - - - - *BOOK II* - - - - *CHAPTER I* - - *'MEAVY COT'* - - -On a day in summer, David Bowden wandered up the higher valleys of Meavy -and stopped in a little dingle where the newborn river tumbled ten feet -over a great apron of granite into a pool beneath. In four separate -threads the stream spouted over this mossy ledge, and then joined her -foaming forces below. Grey-green sallows thronged the top of this -natural weir and the wind flashed a twinkle of silver into their foliage -as the leaves leapt and turned. Low hills sloped to this spot and made -a natural nest. Black Tor and Harter ascended at hand, and on the -horizon northerly Princetown's stern church tower rose against the sky. -Beside the pool, wherein Meavy gathered again her scattered tresses, an -old ruin stood; and round about the dwelling-places of primaeval man -glimmered grey upon the heath. - -David Bowden had chosen this spot for his home, and his reason was the -shattered miner's cottage of Tudor date that rose there. Four-square, -crowned with heather and fretted with pennyworts and grasses, -stone-crop, grey lichens and sky-blue jasione, the old house stood. -Broken walls eight feet high surrounded it; an oven still gaped in one -angle, and the wide chimney-shaft now made a green twilight of dewy -ferns and mosses. Bowden crept into the ruin and looked about him, as -he had already done many times before. At his feet lay old moulds -hollowed out of the granite; and where molten tin once ran, now -glittered water caught from the last shower. - -Since first he found the place, David, with his scanty gift of -imagination, had pictured a modern cottage rising on these venerable -foundations. And soon the thing was actually to happen. He knew that -the hearth whereon his feet now stood would presently glow again with -fires lighted by Margaret's hands; he thought of white wheaten loaves -baking in the oven; he almost smelt them; and he saw above this -loneliness the thin blue ringlets of peat smoke that soon would rise and -curl on the west wind's fingers and tell chance wanderers that a home -lay hidden by water's brink in the glen beneath. The place was very -sequestered, very remote from all other habitations; and he liked it the -better for that. Here was such privacy as the man desired. Margaret -would do her shopping at Princetown; and since she knew scarcely anybody -there, the chances of gossip and vain conversation were small. His -ambition was a life far from trivial social obligations and the talk of -idle tongues. He desired opportunity to pursue success without -distractions and waste of time. Whether this home might suit the -sociable Margaret, he did not pause to consider. As for Rhoda, she -would certainly be of his mind. - -The facts that most impressed Bowden at the moment were certain loads of -lime and sand, together with granite boulders, water-worn, from the -stream bed close at hand. Materials for his house were already -collected and the building of it was to begin during the following week. -It would need five or six months to finish, and Bowden proposed to be -married and settled in his future home before another Christmas came. - -While he sat here now, slowly, stolidly planning the future and waiting -for Margaret to meet him, certain black-faced, horned sheep approached, -drew up at a safe distance and lifted their yellow eyes to him -inquiringly. David returned their regard with interest, for they were -his own. - -Presently came Margaret and he kissed her, then pointed with -satisfaction to the preparations. - -"They've kept their word, you see. Next week our house is to be -started. There's a good bit of pulling down to do first, however. And -Sir Guy have given way about that ruined spot t'other side the stream. -It's going to be built again for a lew place for stock; and I'm to pay -two pound a year more rent." - -"'Twill be good for the kennel," said Madge. "Rhoda tells me as you'll -have five or six dogs at the least for her to watch over, not counting -'Silky' here." - -'Silky' had grown from puppyhood into adolescence. He was now a -beautiful but a spoiled spaniel, who never wandered far from his -mistress. - -Bowden looked down and shook his head at 'Silky,' where he sat with his -nose between his fore-paws at Margaret's feet. - -"A good dog ruined," he said. "If you was to do the proper thing, you'd -let me shoot it. 'Twill never be any manner of use here." - -"He'll be of use to me, David. I should miss him cruel now." - -"God send you don't bring up the childer so, when they come, Madge." - -"No childer of yours will ever be spoilt," she said. - -"I hope not. And I hope they don't prove of wayward nature; for that -sort's a thorn in the parent's side. Take Dorcas now--so different to -the rest of us as you can think. Light-minded and a chatterer--colour -and mind both different. I hope as I'll never have a red child, Madge." - -"I'm very fond of Dorcas. She's the happiest of you all, -anyway--light-minded or not. Only her father sees her good points. I -don't think, David, that you rate her high enough." - -"I know her very well--light-minded and a laugher," he repeated. "And -now there's that insolent chap, Screech, after her; and he had the cheek -to talk to faither and mother about it, and offer to take her--a -beggarly man, with none to say a good word for him--a man that have -lived on his widowed mother all his days, and haven't even got regular -work, but picks up an uneven living where he can." - -"What did your father answer?" - -"Sent him away with a flea in his ear! There was a few high words, and -then I seed my gentleman marching off across Ringmoor, and Dorcas with -her apron to her eyes. 'Better bide single all your days than marry an -out-at-elbows good-for-nought like that,' I told her; but, of course, -she knowed better, and said he was all he should be, and that her life -would be gall and wormwood without him." - -"Your father's not one to be flouted." - -"He is not; and Dorcas knows it very well. Us shan't hear no more about -the chap." - -"She'll tell me, however." - -"Mind you speak sense to her then, Madge. Don't go pitying her. You're -too prone to pity every mortal thing that's in trouble, or thinks it is. -You know as well as any one that Billy Screech is a bad and lazy man. -You know that he's not built to make any female a good husband. -Therefore tell her so." - -"I hope she'll soon find a better to make her forget him." - -"I hope she won't then. She've got Sophia's poor luck before her eyes. -Better for a woman not to wed at all than wreck her life in it. Dorcas -is better at home in my judgment. Nought but a tramp would fancy such a -homely creature as her." - -"You're wrong there, David. A girl's face isn't everything. But no -brother ever yet knew what his sisters were worth." - -"'Tis you who are wrong to say that," answered David. "I know their -virtues very well. Sophia was far too good for her husband, and -Rhoda--well, never was a better than her--a marvel of a woman." - -"She is--yet the men keep off. But her heart's so warm and soft as any -woman's, I daresay." - -"Men generally want something less fine and high-minded," said David. -"Something weaker and wilfuller than Rhoda. They are frighted of her. -She makes 'em see how small they are, if you can understand that." - -"She does. So strong and fearless. Looks through men and women with -those eyes of hers. Yet you wouldn't have her bide a maiden into old -age surely, David? There's men good enough--even for Rhoda." - -Not a spark of spite marked the speech, and Madge only meant what she -said. - -"We must find her a husband, David!" - -He shook his head doubtfully. - -"A kicklish business. She's not the sort to let others do that work for -her. She've got no use for a man in my opinion. There's only one male -as ever I saw her eye follow for a yard, and that, if you please, be the -leat-keeper, Simon Snell." - -Madge laughed. - -"Poor Mr. Snell! I can't picture him ever daring to lift his eyes to -Rhoda." - -"No more can't I," agreed David. "And don't you breathe what I've told -you to Rhoda, for I may be wrong, and, right or wrong, she'd never -forgive even me for saying it. She'll be happy enough here with us, and -if a husband comes--come he will. But I don't want him to come in a -hurry." - -"Such a lover of the night as she is!" declared Margaret. "Never was a -stranger girl in some ways, I think--to say it lovingly. Give her a dog -or two and nightfall, and off she'll tramp to meet the moonrise. -Whatever do she do out in the dark, David?" - -"Blest if I can answer that. She've got her secrets--like everything -else that goeth in petticoats, no doubt. But few enough secrets from my -ear, I reckon. 'Twas always a great desire in her to be out by night, -and more'n once faither whipped her, when she was a dinky little maid, -because she would go straying in the warrens when she ought to have been -in bed, and fright her mother nigh to death. I've axed her many a time -about it, but she can't or won't offer reasons. It pleases her to see -the night creatures at their work, I suppose. She'll tell you things -that might much surprise you about the ways of the night, and what -happens under it." - -"She likes the moon better than the sun, I believe. Sometimes I'm -tempted to think her blood's cold instead of hot, David." - -"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen her kiss my smashed face after the -fight last winter;--no, nor heard her when she spoke of Bartley Crocker -kissing hers." - -"I believe Bartley would marry her joyfully," said Margaret; but David -doubted it. - -"Not him--not after what she said to him in the Pixies' House, and after -what I said to him in the bull-ring. No man ever paid dearer for a kiss -than him, I reckon. But very good friends now, thank God. But my -brother-in-law--no. He'll never come to be that. He don't want Rhoda -and Rhoda don't want him." - -"He told me that well he knew he'd have beat you, if Rhoda had been o' -his side." - -"I daresay that's true." - -They sat together in the theatre of their future life, and Madge brushed -David's hair away from his right ear. The organ was slightly larger -than the other and she shook her head discontentedly. - -"'Twill never be just so beautiful as the left one," she said. - -He laughed. - -"What do it matter so long as I can hear with it?" - -"And your dear eyelid will droop for ever." - -"Yes, but the eye behind be all right. Bartley's got his mark -too--where I hit him that last time." - -"He's coming up one evening to see this place. Not but he knows it well -enough already. He told me that the valley under Harter up along and -beyond be nearly always good for a snipe at the season of the year." - -"A pity he don't come and lend a hand here, if 'twas only mixing mortar. -'Twould be something for him to do. How any living being can waste his -life like that man is a mystery and a shame." - -"Always happy too," said Madge. "He've got a very kind heart, David." - -"I know that--else he'd have licked me instead of my licking him. Don't -think I bear the man any ill-will--far from it. We're real good friends -and he's very clever by nature. I'm only sorry he can't find man's -work. He've larned a trade now, then why don't he use it?" - -The conversation shifted to their house presently and Madge declared her -longing to see it grow. - -"And what be us to call the place?" she asked. - -"I thought of 'Black Tor Cottage,'" he said, "since Black Tor's just -above us." - -But Madge little liked the name. - -"'Black' ban't a comely word for a home," she said. "Think again, -David." - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -"'Tis only the name of the tor," he answered; "black or white be no more -than words." - -"Call it 'Meavy Cot,'" she said. "'Tis an easy name for folks to bring -to mind, and I'd sooner my home was called after the river than they -great stones up over, though I daresay I'll get very fond of them too." - -"So be it," he answered. "'Meavy Cot' is the name! and I hope that a -good few prosperous years be waiting for us in it. But if ever I come -to be Moorman of this quarter, I might have to leave it." - -"You'll do greater things than that some day, David." - -"I hope I shall," he answered; "but to be Moorman is a very good -stepping-stone, mark you." - - - - - *CHAPTER II* - - *BARTLEY DOUBTFUL.* - - -A great drake waddled out from the yard of Mrs. Crocker's dwelling, and -some white ducks followed him. The male bird was grey, but his head -shone with the rich black-green of the fir trees behind him on the hill -and the light of these metallic and glittering feathers made a fine -setting for his brown eyes. He marched to the stream, put down his bill -and tasted the water; he then threw up his bill again, quacked an order -to set forth, and so floated away with the current, while his household -followed after. Under the little bridge they went, and the drake, -screwing round his head, cast an upward glance at the parapet as he -passed by. There he might have marked a familiar figure, for Bartley -Crocker, with his hands in his pockets and his pipe in his mouth, sat -and talked to a woman who stood beside him. Their position was public, -but the subject of their discourse might have been considered -confidential. For the woman the revelation he now made opened a -desirable possibility. The man spoke half in jest, yet it seemed clear -that he found himself perfectly serious and meant all that he said on -the main question. - -"Set down your basket, Madge, and listen. I'll carry it along for you -presently; but I can't talk and walk together--not when the subject is -so large. Where are you going?" - -"Over to they old Elfords down at Good-a-Meavy. They be terrible poor, -you know, and he's fallen ill and the pair of 'em was pretty near -starving last week. One of the Bowden boys--Wellington, I think it -was--called there, and he told his father; and of course the matter was -looked to. I'm just taking them a thing or two, till the old man can -get out again." - -"'Tis only putting off the workhouse." - -"Maybe--yet a good thing to put it off. They'll be too old to smart -soon; and then it won't matter." - -"How's Rhoda Bowden?" he asked suddenly. - -"Very well, so far as I know." - -"I've hardly seen a wink of her since I came back. Yet somehow, Madge, I -find her terrible interesting." - -"She's a fine character, Bartley." - -"Well, when I went up to Barnstaple for three months after the fight, I -did two things: I learned a trade, as you know, and I thought a lot off -and on of Rhoda Bowden." - -"Yes." - -"'Tis something to be anything at all. Now, if anybody asks what I am, -I can say I am an upholsterer. My uncle was well pleased for me to learn -the business, and a very nice girl helped me how to do it. But, -somehow, while I looked at her clever hands I thought of Rhoda Bowden." - -"You ought to tell Rhoda, then--not me." - -"Why should I? It's all ridiculous nonsense, of course; but you see I -can't forget the peculiar way we were flung together. If you'd seen her -after I kissed her! A princess couldn't have raged worse. Then--at the -fight--time and again I tried to catch her eye; but never once she -looked at me--always busy with David. Did you hear that she came down -two nights after, all by herself, through the snow, to ask my mother how -I was faring?" - -"No!" - -"She did; but nobody ever heard it--not even David, I believe. She told -my mother not to mention it; and mother began to give her a piece of her -mind; but she didn't wait for that." - -"'Tis just like her. Something got hold of her to do it, no doubt, -while she was walking through the night. She feels kindly to all sorts -of dumb things; but she don't often show any interest in humans--except -David, of course." - -"If I was a dog now, she and me would be very good friends--eh?" - -"Not a doubt of it. Anyway this is terrible interesting to me, -Bartley--for more reasons than you'd guess. David and I were telling -together only a week agone. I said that when we were married, we must -set to and find Rhoda a husband; but David felt a bit doubtful about -it." - -"Well he may be!" - -"You think that too?" - -"I'm going to scrape acquaintance with her when you're married. Mind I -don't say 'twill go very far. I'm a bit frightened of her yet, and -'twouldn't be very clever to offer marriage to a female that makes you -feel frightened. But a man must get a wife some day or other, I -suppose, and my mother's at me morning, noon and night to find one." - -"You do tell me wonderful things!" - -"But for the Lord's sake keep 'em dark. I can trust you--and only you. -You've been a rare brick where I was concerned all your life, and 'tis -very hard we couldn't have been married, as I shall always think whoever -takes me. Still, you'll have to go on wishing me well." - -"Yes, indeed." - -"Say no more about it then. 'Tis only a moonshiney fancy at best, and -very like I'd hate the woman if I knew her better--hate her as much as -she does me. You know what a fool I am about 'em. I always see her -sponging the blood off David's face and always catch myself wishing -she'd been doing the same for mine. But I should have felt the same -silly wish about any girl, no doubt." - -"There's not another girl that ever I heard about would have done it." - -"I know--and I ask myself if that's to praise her or to blame her. To -hear my mother--" - -"Better hear David. She didn't do it for fun, I can tell you. Not to -me--not to no woman--did she ever tell what she felt afterwards; but she -did tell David; and he says that she didn't know where she was for the -first four rounds, and that once or twice after, when it looked like -David being beat, that 'twas all she could do by sticking her nails into -herself to keep herself from dashing out to help David against you." - -Bartley nodded admiringly. - -"I believe it," he said. "I saw it in her face." - -"And now I must get on," declared Madge. "Can't waste no more time -along with you to-day." - -"I'll walk up over then and carry your basket," he answered. "When are -you going to be married?" - -"Not till the house is ready. They've started. There's a lot of the old -building will work very suent into our new cottage." - -"Yes," he said. "I was over there watching 'em at it yesterday evening. -And d'you know what I was wondering?--What I should give you and David -for a wedding present." - -"No need, I'm sure." - -"Every need. You'm like your mother. You'd give your head away if you -could; yet when people think to do you a turn, you always cry out -against it. 'Twill be a joy to many more people than your humble -thoughts will guess, to bring something to help you set up house." - -"It 'mazes me, the kindness of the world." - -"It might--if the world followed your example. 'Tis your due, and it -oughtn't to 'maze you. 'Twould be funny if anybody could be unkind to -you." - -"'Tis all very hopeful and beautiful, I'm sure--yet here and there I -feel a doubt. Wouldn't name it to none but you; but mother don't seem -at all hopeful--" - -"Don't let her fret you," urged Mr. Crocker. "I beg you won't do that, -Madge. There's not a kinder, humbler-hearted woman on the Moor than -Mrs. Stanbury; but she's far too superstitious and given to the old -stories--you know it." - -Margaret looked troubled. These folk belonged to a time when still a -few fine spirits from the middle place between man and angel haunted -Dartmoor. The pixies were yet whispered of as frequenting this farmer's -threshing-floor, or that housewife's dairy; the witch hare leapt from -her lonely form; herbs and simples in wise hands acted for potions of -might; and the little heath hounds were well known to hunt the Evil One -through the darkness of winter nights and along the pathway of the -storm. The toad still held a secret in its head; the tarn, in its -heart; rivers hungered for their annual banquet of human life; the -corpse candle burned in lonely churchyards; charms were whispered over -sick children and sick beasts; the evil eye still shone malignant; the -murmur of the mine goblins was often heard by the workers underground. - -But the time of these mysteries has quite passed by. Back to the opal -and ivory dream-palaces of fairy-land, back to the shores of old -romance, have Dartmoor's legendary spirits vanished; they are as dead as -the folk whose ruined homes still glimmer grey on twilight heaths at -sunset and at dawn. Knowledge has stricken our traditions hip and -thigh; our lore is obsolete; and our Moor children of to-day, as they -pass through the stages of learning's dawn, see only an unlikeness to -truth that stamps the faces of these far-off things. Yet who shall say -that knowledge and wisdom are one? Who shall deny that not seldom the -story loved in life's dawn-light and rejected at noon, is welcomed again -and only understood when evening shadows fall? - -Mrs. Stanbury was saturated with the ancient myths, and they brought her -more sorrow than joy. - -"I could wish that dear mother didn't believe so many things," admitted -Margaret. "But there it is--father haven't changed her in all these -years, so it isn't likely that ever he will. She was full of Crazywell -Pool only yesterday. You know it--a wisht place, sure enough, and it -tells about nothing but death and such-like dismal matters. But if you -was to say to her 'twas all nonsense--not that I would go so far as that -myself--she'd answer that you was courting your undoing and would surely -come to harm." - -"I know she would and you yourself are as bad, pretty near." - -"Crazywell is harmless enough every night but Christmas Eve," explained -Margaret. "Only then can you say that there's aught out of the common -hidden in the water. But then--well, you know what they say." - -"Stuff and nonsense! Your mother believes that you hear a voice there -after dark on Christmas Eve; and that it calls out the names of them -that'll die afore another year's out. What can be sillier than that?" - -"Strange things have happened, all the same," argued Margaret. "I don't -say I trust in all that dear mother does, though she can give chapter -and verse for most of it; but Crazywell have spoken out the death year -of more men than one. Why, only ten year agone you know how Joseph -Westaway, being over-got by the fog, was along there on Christmas Eve -and heard an awful voice saying, 'Nathan Snell! Nathan Snell!' And -didn't Nathan Snell--Mr. Simon Snell's own father--actually die the -March afterwards, of a kick from his horse? You can't deny that, -Bartley, because Joseph Westaway heard it with his own ears--him being -on the way to eat his Christmas dinner at Kingsett Farm, with the -Pierces, and not so much as market merry." - -"You're as bad as your mother, Madge, and worse than Bart. You'll -believe in the pixies next, I doubt. But there's one thing I do say -where Mrs. Stanbury's right, though I can't be supposed to know much -about such matters--a bachelor man like me. Your mother told mine how -'twas arranged that Rhoda joins you and David at 'Meavy Cot' after you'm -married; and Mrs. Stanbury said that somehow, though far be it from her -to set her opinion over other people, she couldn't think 'twas a wise -plan; and my mother who never beats about no bush, and always sets up -her opinion over everybody, said for her part 'twas flat foolishness, -not to say madness, and would end in a rumpus. What d'you think of -that?" - -"'Tis taken out of my hands, Bartley. I wasn't asked--no more was -mother. Some might think that it wouldn't suit Rhoda--living along with -a young married couple; but I know, and you know, what Rhoda is to -David. 'Tisn't a common friendship of brother and sister, but a lot -more than that. She'd be lost at the Warren House without him." - -"But surely the man doesn't want her now that he's going to take a -wife?" - -"Yes, he does--to look after his dogs." - -"Can't you look after his dogs?" - -"No," said Margaret, firmly, "I can't. I don't treat dogs right. I -spoil 'em." - -"Well, if the three of you are of one mind, I can't see that it's any -other body's business. Here's the top of the hill, and I can't go no -farther, though I'd like to." - -He put down her basket, and she thanked him for carrying it. - -"And what you say is true, I'm sure! if we three--Rhoda and David and -me--be well pleased at the thought of biding together, why shouldn't we -do so?" - -"Of course. You can but try it. Perhaps she'll marry afore long, and -you'll have the dogs on your hands yet afore you expect it." - -"I'm sure I hope--at least--good-bye, for the present," said Margaret, -and hurried off. - -"Ah! she told the truth then!" thought the man; "told the naked truth -and caught herself up too late! 'I'm sure I hope she will go,' was what -her heart prompted her to say. Maybe 'twill be my luck to cut the knot. -Anyhow, as a full-blown upholsterer equal to making two pound a week at -any time, I've a right to cast my eye where I please. Funny 'twould be -if I should ever kiss Rhoda Bowden again. But 'twill be 'by your leave' -next time, I reckon, if ever that happens." - - - - - *CHAPTER III* - - *PREPARATIONS* - - -To Margaret Stanbury belonged the mind that suffers sadness at the -return of autumn; and even with this autumn, which was to see her marry -the man she loved, her usual emotions wakened as the light again faded -out of the ling; as the brake-fern once more flashed its first auburn -signal from the hills; as the lamp of the autumnal furze went out and -left the Moor darkling. Grey rain swept the desert and the fog-banks -gathered together in high places. Sheep's Tor's crown and the ragged -scarps of Lether Tor were alike hidden for many days. Winter returned -with the careless step of a conqueror. Now he delayed for a little, -while belated flowers bloomed hastily and ephemeral things, leaping into -life, hurried through their brief hours during some golden interval of -sunlight and warmth; but the inevitable came nearer as surely as the -days grew short and the nights long, as surely as the sun's chariot -flamed on a narrower path and the way of the moon ascended into higher -heaven. - -The wedding day was fixed; the cottage under Black Tor was finished, and -David laboured there to fence the scrap of reclaimed ground and make all -sightly and pleasant for his bride when she should come. And now, while -yet six weeks of maidenhood remained to her, Madge set off one day to -visit Warren House upon various errands. Work was in full swing again -at Ditsworthy and David laboured with the rest for his father. The -mother of the household viewed this pending great exodus of a daughter -and a son with tearful mind, only soothed by thoughts of the increased -convenience when David and Rhoda should be gone; but as for the rest, -none regarded the incident from a standpoint sentimental. - -Now Margaret on her way fell in with Mr. Shillabeer, gun in hand, and -she expressed gladness at the sight of him taking his pleasure. For -Reuben Shillabeer by force of accident has until the present appeared in -a light unusual and exceptional. The prize-fight and all that went -before it created an atmosphere wherein the master of 'The Corner House' -appeared translated from his true self. During that time he responded a -little to the joy of life and went about his business a cheerful and -even a sanguine soul; but with the decision of the contest and the -departure of Mr. Fogo to his metropolitan activities, Shillabeer found -life an anti-climax, the darker for this fleeting spasm of excitement. -His wife, as if in reproach, returned upon him with the force of an -incubus that haunted not only his pillow but hung heavy on his waking -hours; a settled melancholy, the more marked after its recent -dissipation, got hold upon him; he exhaled an air of depression even -behind his own bar, and only the high qualities and specific vigour of -his malt liquors were able to dispel it. The 'Dumpling' became -increasingly religious and Mr. Merle had long since forgiven his -lamentable lapse of the previous winter. Mr. Shillabeer was actually -now engaged on behalf of the vicar of the parish, as he explained to -Margaret. - -"Come Woodcock Sunday, 'tis always my hope and will to get the bird for -parson," he said. "He do read the chapter with special purpose to catch -my ear; and so sure as it comes, I fetch out my gun and set forth for -the man. But what with my failing strength and sight, I can't shoot a -cunning creature like a cock many more years. I'm going down under -Coombeshead to-day and I shall call on your mother come the evening for -a cup of tea and a talk about the revel. Since the wedding feast is put -into my hands, I shall do my duty, though I may tell you that a wedding -in the air cuts me to the quick. It brings her back as nothing else -does." - -"I'm sorry for that--truly sorry." - -"You can't help it," he said, rubbing the walnut stock of his gun with -his sleeve until it shone. "Ban't your fault. But a oner for weddings -she was--a regular oner for 'em; and a christening would draw her miles -despite the girth of her frame. 'Tis only at the business of a funeral -I can comfort myself with an easy and cheerful spirit; for she hated -them. No doubt she knowed her own would come untimely." - -"Perhaps 'twas an instinct in her against 'em." - -"Though never a woman hastened to dry other people's tears quicker than -her. Then 'churchings'--she never had no use for them herself, yet -she'd often stop for the pleasure of:--'Like as the arrows in the hand -of the giant; even so are the young children.' And so on. Nought's -sadder than to see a childless wife, in my opinion--specially if she's -fond of 'em. I hope you'll have a sackful, my dear." - -"It's very kind of you--very kind," said Margaret, frankly. "David and -me dearly love the little ones." - -"As you should do. I've often thought if that blessed angel had given -me a pledge, that I could have better stood up afore the trials of life. -But there's only the Lord for me in this world now. True, Mr. Fogo -talks of coming to see me again some day; but I don't suppose he will. -What can the likes of me do for the likes of such a man as him? -Besides, parson would never forgive me if I had him here again." - -He wandered off, and Margaret, who instantly reflected the tone of other -minds with the swiftness common to sympathetic and not very intelligent -people, went saddened on her way. Some light expired out of the earth -and sky for her. She could not use reason and remember that Mr. -Shillabeer was--in a word--Mr. Shillabeer. She merely felt that she had -met and touched hearts with an unhappy old man. Therefore herself -instantly grew a little unhappy and a little older. Chance objects, as -they will at such times, intruded and carried on the dominant mood. A -thing beside her path chimed with Madge's emotion and lifted itself as a -mournful mark and reminder by the way. Among reddening banks of bracken -that spread in a tangle above a little hollow, where scarlet and purple -of the bramble fluttered, and sloes took the hue of ripeness, there -thrust up an object, livid and gigantic. It resembled some monstrous -kindred of the fern that had taken root and risen here. But this -bleached frond, so regular and perfect in its graduated symmetry of -structure, had once supported an animal, not a vegetable organism. -Margaret saw the backbone and ribs of a horse scoured into spotless -whiteness by carrion crow, by frost, by rain; and the spectacle added -another shade of darkness to her mind. She thought upon it a little -while; then there came in sight part of the population of Warren House, -and the twins, Samson and Richard, succeeded in lifting their future -sister-in-law's spirits nearer to gaiety. The children were sailing -boats in a pond, but they abandoned the sport at sight of Margaret, -because they had secrets for her. - -"You'll promise faithful not to tell, won't 'e?" asked Richard. - -"If you don't promise, us won't tell 'e," said Samson. - -"'Tis the present us have got against David's wedding-day," said -Richard. - -"But you must say 'strike me dead if I'll tell,'" added Samson. - -"Mother gived us sixpence to buy it with, and Joshua got it last time he -was to Tavistock," explained Richard; "but 'tis our present, mind." - -"You ought to give us something if we tell you," suggested Samson; but -Madge shook her head. - -"I shall know soon enough," she answered. - -"That you won't, then," replied Samson. "You won't know for six weeks." - -"You might try to guess and give us a ha'penny each time you lose," -suggested Richard. - -"Yes, you might," declared Samson. - -They walked beside her and, since nothing was to be made out of the -secret, presently told Madge that their gift was a shaving-brush. - -"And Napoleon and Wellington have given him a razor," said Richard; "so -now he's all right." - -"Yes," continued Samson, "and Nap was showing us how a razor cuts hairs -in half, and he missed the hair and showed us how a razor cuts thumbs." - -"My word--bled like a pig, he did," concluded Richard. "I'm sure I -never won't use such a thing when I grow to be hairy. Much too 'feared -of 'em." - -"You mind when I'm married to David that you often come over and see me, -Dicky; and you too, Sam," said Margaret. - -"If one comes, t'other will come," said Samson. - -"Us hunt in couples, faither says--like to foxes," declared Richard. -"And we'll often come to tea." - -"And oftener still if there's jam--not beastly blackberry jam, mind you, -but proper boughten jam from a grocer's." - -"I'll remember," promised Madge. - -They reached the Warren House after some further bargaining on the part -of Samson and promising from Margaret. Then the twins returned to their -boats and she entered her lover's home. - -David was at work, as the girl knew, but her business lay with Mrs. -Bowden, and it happened that Elias himself was also within to welcome -her. Both kissed Margaret and both declared their good pleasure at -sight of her. She had already become a great happiness to them, and -Elias did not hesitate openly to declare that his firstborn was luckier -than even he deserved to be. - -"'Tis about the Crockers I'm here," said Madge. "Mother, and father too, -be wishful for them to be axed; but of course nothing in the world would -be done by mother that could hurt your feelings.--Too tender herself for -that. So I was to find out if you were for it or against it; and I was -to learn if there was any other folk as you'd like specially invited -that we mightn't hap to know." - -"There's four or five must be there," said Mrs. Bowden. "God knows I -don't want 'em; but even at a wedding it ban't all joy, and people often -have to be axed for the sake of the unborn, though not for their own -sakes by any means." - -"I met with the 'Dumpling' up over a bit ago," said Mr. Bowden. "Going -shooting he was--might have been going to shoot hisself from the look of -him; for a mournfuller man never throwed a shadow. But we had a tell, -and I hear as Bartholomew Stanbury means to give a handsome party." - -Margaret smiled. - -"So he does then. 'Tis wonnerful how father's coming out. Of course -the farm's too small and too far off from the neighbours; but Mr. Moses -has very kindly given us the loan of his shop nigh the church--the big -room." - -"'Twill smell of cobbler's wax, but that will be forgotten when -Shillabeer takes the covers off," declared Mr. Bowden. "As for him, I -could find it in my heart to wish he wasn't going to be there at all, -for 'twill remind him of his wife and cast him down till he'll blubber -into the plates, but of course he must be on the spot as he provides the -dinner. And Charles Moses must be asked, if he's going to lend his big -room, though, to be honest, I never liked the man since he made all that -fuss about the fight. Pious it may have been, but godly it weren't, for -fighting be the backbone of human nature, and you'll find that the -Lord's chosen hadn't got far before He set 'em at it, hammer and tongs." - -"But about the Crockers," said Margaret; "and if I may say so, I hope -there's no objection, for David and Bartley be very good friends now, -and I'm sure Bartley's terrible sorry he so far forgot hisself as to -kiss Rhoda." - -"He can come and kiss her again for all I care," replied Elias. "All -the nation may be at the wedding and welcome. There's only one living -man won't be there if I'm anybody. But Crocker's welcome, and his -managing mother, and his Aunt Susan also." - -"I don't like Nanny Crocker myself," confessed Mrs. Bowden. "She's a -thought too swallowed up in vain-glory and seems to think that her -family be something special and above common earth. But I had the best -of her in argument when my twins was born, and I can afford to be -large-minded. As for Susan, there's plenty of sense in her, only she -don't dare to show it." - -"Bartley's learnt upholstering," said Madge. "He could earn two pound a -week in the world now at any time, and he's going to look out for a -wife." - -"All to the good and all sound sense," replied the warrener. "Well, us -had better ask him to tea. Here's plenty here for all markets--our -Sophia, with all the larning of a widow and youth still on her side, and -our Rhoda--though 'twill have to be a frosty pattern of man to take her -fancy, and our Dorcas--not much to look at, but very anxious to get -married seemingly." - -"'Tis Screech--that bowldacious ragamuffin!" burst out Mrs. Bowden. "To -think such a man should dare to offer for any daughter of mine. A -poaching, ragged rascal--more like one of they tramps than a respectable -man. Faither's going to lay his horsewhip round the fellow's shoulders -if he comes up here again--ban't you, faither?" - -"Yes," said Elias, "I am. And don't you ask him to the wedding, -Margaret, because I wouldn't have it." - -Margaret was true to herself. - -"Poor chap," she said. "I'm very sorry he can't have Dorcas, but of -course you know best. Perhaps he'll mend some day." - -"That sort don't mend. But they've a terrible power to mar--like one -rotten apple will soon spoil a bushel. And if Dorcas grumbles to you -about it, as she will, because you're the sort that hears all the -trouble of the world, then you mind and talk sense to her. I'm a -reasonable man and I wouldn't say 'no' to a hedge-tacker so long as he's -honest; but William Screech don't have no child of mine." - -The subject changed and Sarah spoke of all that David's departure meant -to her. - -"Can't see the place without him for tears," she said. "'Tis weak, but -they will flow every time I say to myself 'one day less.' You see, it -ban't as if we was all here, then I'd say nought. But Sophia, though -she went, was soon back again; and let faither say what he pleases about -Joshua, Joshua can't stand to work day and night like David, and Dorcas -won't look after the dogs like Rhoda. 'Tis a great upheaval, look at it -which way you will. If my son Drake had only been spared, of course all -things would have fallen out differently." - -"Yes," admitted Elias; "and if the moon had only been made of green -cheese--us should always have had plenty of maggots for fishing." - -Upon this great aphorism Margaret Stanbury took her leave; and Dorcas, -who had been waiting for her, now approached in a mood neither lightsome -nor joyous. - -"I've got the headache," she said. "I've been crying my eyes out for a -fortnight and I wish I was dead." - -"Dorcas!" - -"'Tis all along of Billy Screech--cruel and wicked I call it. But us -will be upsides with father and mother yet. Why for shouldn't I marry -the man if I love him? Such a clever man as he is--full of ideas and -quite as able to make a living, I'm sure, as anybody else. And I want -for your mother to ax him to the wedding, Madge--just to pay father out. -If he sees Billy there his pleasure will be spoilt--and sarve him -right--the cruel old man!" - -"Don't feel so savage about it. Bide your time and tell Billy to stand -to work and get regular wages and make Mr. Bowden respect him. I've -often heard Bart say that Mr. Screech is wonnerful clever in all sorts -of queer ways, and 'tis only the poaching makes your father angry, I -expect." - -"He's given all that up long ago. Will you ax him to your wedding?" - -"I can't, Dorcas. Mr. Bowden has just expressly forbidden it. I'm -very, very sorry. Perhaps after I'm married I shall be able to help -you; but it rests with Billy." - -"I'll marry him," said Dorcas. "And not a thousand fathers shall stop -it; and I'll tell you another thing: it won't be long afore I do. Just -you wait and see." - - - - - *CHAPTER IV* - - *THE WEDDING* - - -"'Tis the difference in our natures," said David Bowden's mother. "Some -folk haven't never ended their work, and some don't never begin theirs. -I've known men and women--as thought they were busy people too--who died -without ever tasting what I call a day's work." - -Sarah walked between Nanny Crocker and Constance Stanbury, and the -matrons on her right and left admitted the truth of the remark. They -had all come from church; they had seen David and Margaret made man and -wife; and it was during a brief review of the immediate past and its -arduous duties that Mrs. Bowden uttered her philosophical observation. - -"And rabbits going on all the time, mind you," she added. "Come what -may, in season, year in, year out, Sundays only excepted, the rabbits -goes over all--even a son's wedding. 'Tis the ordering of nature and -we've got to bend under it." - -"A very tidy little wedding," said Mrs. Crocker, who had pardoned all -parties on hearing that her son was to be best man. David owned no -close intimate of his sex, and since he and Bartley were now become -excellent friends, he thought upon this idea and his old antagonist -agreed to the proposal. For Nanny's son could feel, but not deeply. -The past was past, and its disappointments had left no heavier scar on -his mind than David's fist upon his face. He could view the prospect of -being best man at Margaret's wedding without disturbing emotions, and he -accepted the invitation gladly. True he wished once to marry her and -would have been proud to do so; but when she chose elsewhere, his desire -towards her perished. Other interests had taken its place, and he found -himself well able to enjoy the friendship of David and Margaret without -any tinge of bitterness even when the past filled his mind. It seldom -intruded, for he was of the sort who lack much instinct of retrospection -and, childlike, trust all their future happiness on the hope and promise -of great to-morrows. - -"A very tidy little wedding," repeated Mrs. Crocker, as though uttering -a challenge. The mothers of the bride and bridegroom had waited each -for the other to speak upon the first utterance of this graceful -compliment; but now Mrs. Stanbury responded. - -"Thank you for that kind word, I'm sure," she said. "Coming from you it -will be a delight to all the parties to hear it, and I know Madge will -be proud when I tell her. We was up altering her dress till the small -hours, and it didn't fit to the last. No doubt you noted that ruckle -right across the back of her stays, especially when she knelt down. But -I hope you won't blame us. We did our best." - -"A thing like that is of small account," declared Mrs. Crocker -graciously. "Lord! how they'm ringing the heart out of the bells, to be -sure. They never peal like that o' Sundays." - -Mr. Moses approached and shook hands with each of the women in turn. - -"No," he said; "the fellows be ringing for the best beloved young woman -in the countryside to-day; that's why you hear what you do in the bells, -my dears. Of a Sunday they'm ringing to worship and the glory of the -Lord, all steady and solemn. 'Twouldn't be respectful to the Throne of -Grace to peal so free as that." - -Then he became personal. - -"When I seed you three ladies come through the coffin gate, 'My stars,' -I said, 'there's a bit of summer flower garden come back into winter!' -'Twas your bonnets, you must know. Such flowers I never did see out of -nature, or in it for that matter. And in church--when the sun comed -through Christ washing the Apostles' feet--as it do about mid-day at -this season, and fell on your bonnet, Mrs. Crocker, 'twas as though a -dazzling rainbow had broke loose in the holy place." - -Mr. Bowden joined them and whispered to his wife. He was clad in Sunday -black, but, to mark the great occasion, wore a blue-green tie with an -old-fashioned garnet breastpin and chain in it. - -"Did you see that scamp, Billy Screech, in church?" he asked. - -"No," she answered; "but 'tis a free country: us couldn't forbid him to -come there." - -Rhoda, the widowed Sophia in a sentimental spirit, and Dorcas followed -together. All were clad in new finery and all were quite silent. Mr. -Hartley Crocker approached them and took off his hat. He remarked their -moods and observed that Rhoda only was cheerful. She looked superb, he -thought, in her purple cloth dress and little hat of squirrel fur. - -"Cheer me up," he said. "I've got to propose the bride and bridegroom -after the wedding, and I'm horribly frighted to have to do it. I'd -almost sooner be fighting again, Miss Rhoda." - -"I doubt you'll come well out of it," she said - -"Did I hand David the ring all right?" - -"I suppose so. The ring's in its proper place now--that's all that -matters." - -She was indifferent, but not absolutely cold. She had, he thought, -forgiven him, and that made the day pleasant to him. It was the first -time since the tragic moment at the Pixies' House that she had directly -spoken to Mr. Crocker; and the sound of her voice, though not very -mellow, yet gave him the greatest satisfaction. - -"Did you take the best man's kiss when you was in the vestry?" asked -Dorcas. - -The interrogation was far from being a happy one; yet Bartley made a -masterly answer, intended for other ears than those of the questioner. -As a matter of fact, he had forgotten the immemorial privilege or most -certainly he had exercised it. But now he was glad that he had -forgotten. - -"No," he answered. "There's a lot of silly old customs better left out, -Miss Dorcas. 'Tis not a comely thing for any male to kiss a bride but -her father or her husband." - -This virtuous sentiment was directed at Rhoda, but she made no sign save -a perceptible pursing of her lips. - -Then the party, led by bride and bridegroom, passed through rows of the -folk and swiftly reached the workshop of Mr. Moses near the bull-ring. -It had been cleared for the occasion, and certain busy, kindly spirits -had decorated it and concealed its somewhat naked and austere -proportions with garlands of holly and laurel and trophies of coloured -tissue paper. The place smelt of leather and cobbler's wax; but, as Mr. -Bowden had prophesied in the past, these harmless odours vanished when -the meal began. - -Thirty people sat down to dinner, and Reuben Shillabeer, with his -immense back view presented to the company, carved at a side table. To -the windows of the chamber small, inquisitive boys and girls succeeded -in climbing. They pressed their noses and cheeks flat against the -glass, the better to see the glories within; and, thus distorted, their -small faces made an unlovely decoration. From time to time Ernest -Maunder wiped his mouth, rose from his seat at the table near the -entrance, and drove the little ones away with vague threats familiar in -his calling; but they feared him not and all climbed up again when he -returned to his plate. - -There were present the whole family of the Bowdens, the family of the -Stanburys and the family of the Crockers. Mr. Moses occupied a seat -beside the bride's mother, and strove, without success, to rouse a -spirit of complacence and satisfaction in her; Mr. Timothy Mattacott, as -Mr. Maunder's friend, sat by Mr. Maunder; and he showed extreme -deference to everybody, because this was the greatest social experience -of his life; while as for Simon Snell, who had also been invited, his -beard shone with pomatum, and he experienced a real satisfaction in -finding himself exactly opposite Rhoda, and in regarding the meal that -she made and the two full glasses of beer that she drank with it. - -"Will there or won't there be wine?" secretly asked Mrs. Crocker of Mr. -Moses. - -"From the large way in which everything has been carried out so far, and -the loads of food over, I believe Bartholomew Stanbury has run to it," -he murmured under his breath. - -And he was right. - -"Afore we come to the healths, I'll thank you to open they six bottles -of brown sherry wine, Reuben," cried out the giver of the feast in a -hearty voice, when the apple tarts and cream began to be eaten. - -"Only got to say the word," responded Shillabeer. - -"All's ready." - -He was near Margaret as he spoke, and she put up her hand and stopped -him. - -"And you've got to drink too, mind," she said. "You've done everything -as only you could do it. I never did dream of such a wonderful dinner -in all my days; and to see all these beautiful wreaths and ribbons on -the ceiling! I want to be thanking everybody. 'Tis almost too much -kindness." - -"Never!" he answered. "If I could put gold and diamonds in the food for -you, I would; and them as hung up the adornments never did a bit of work -with better appetite." - -The wine was opened and poured into thirty glasses. - -"There's only one health, or I should say two in one, to be drunk," -explained Mr. Stanbury; "and Mr. Crocker here have kindly consented to -do the speechifying." - -Mrs. Bowden, rather to her own surprise, grew lachrymose with the -dessert. She cheered up, however, when Bartley rose to propose the -health of the bride and bridegroom. To the habitually taciturn folk -about him, his flow of speech appeared astounding, and not a few agreed -that, though Crocker never did any work, yet his native talents were -extraordinary and might have led him to any height of achievement. - -"Upon my word," admitted the bridegroom's father, "it can't be denied -that the chap--light-minded though he may be, here and there--has got -amazing gifts. In fact, to be honest, he can turn his hand to -anything--larn a trade, fight a great fight and run into mouth-speech as -easy and flowing as a parson. He's a wonder--though I say it to your -face, ma'am." - -He made this handsome criticism to Bartley's mother, and she explained -how that Sheepstor as yet knew but a fraction of the truth concerning -her son. That the warrener spoke thus, however, largely warmed Nanny -Crocker's heart after her second glass of brown sherry; and she told -Susan later in the day that there was rather more in Elias Bowden than -met the eye. - -Bartley received a cheer when he rose and a still louder round when he -sat down again. - -"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I beg leave to ask you all to drink -long life and happiness to our friends David and Madge Bowden, who this -day have joined hands for holy matrimony. I know 'em both and can give -them both a very good character, I assure you. As for Madge, she's just -a warm, loving heart on two legs--all heart; and if you want to know -what she is, don't ask her, but ask the old people, and the terrible -poor people, and them that be badly off for food and friends. They'll -tell you all about her. But you prosperous people, all sitting around -here waiting to have a dash at your sherry--you don't know nothing about -her. She's a good angel, that's what Madge Stanbury have been ever -since she could run to pick up some baby smaller than herself; and -that's what Madge Bowden will be to her dying day. As for David here, -last time him and me met in company, he was the best man, I believe. No -use for you to shake your head, David. Bested I was; but to-day I'm the -best man and he've got to sing second. And I tell him to his face that -he's a right down good chap, and every good man be proud to know him. -And, for my part, I think such a lot of David that I'd challenge him to -fight again this day three months, but that I very well know what Madge -would say about it. Besides, there's one or two other people in the -world besides David to be thought upon, and, though I know 'twould cheer -Mr. Shillabeer up a lot if we could get Mr. Fogo down again and have -another fight, I'm afraid we're all too happy to want to go fighting; -and we can't all hope to have David's luck in the ring and out. Well, -he had one brave, beautiful woman in his corner when he fought me; and -she helped him to beat me without a doubt; and now he has got another -brave, beautiful woman in his corner, and she'll help him to win -whatever battles he may have to fight. And here's good luck and long -life and happiness and content for them and God bless the pair of 'em -from this day for ever!" - -Everybody rose, and David and Madge in their ignorance also rose, but -were thrust back into their seats again. Immense applause welcomed -Bartley's great oratory, but for his part he kept his eyes on one face, -while he drank the health that he had proposed. Rhoda, however, did not -return the gaze. She had blushed faintly at the sudden allusion to -herself and the cheer from the men that punctuated it; but Bartley's -craft and rhetoric quite missed her. The man seemed all of a piece to -her: facile, unstable, untrustworthy--and his compliments touched her -even less than he imagined. He had prejudiced himself in her eyes for -ever, and it remained to be seen whether his own skill and pertinacity -would prove strong enough to conquer and destroy that prejudice. It was -true, as he had suspected earlier in the day, that her forgiveness was -real; but her attitude towards him had been radically changed, or rather -radically established, by his outrage. Before the event she had -entertained no opinion, good or bad, concerning him. She was henceforth -constitutionally unable to regard him as she regarded the bulk of men; -and he felt this; but he also felt that he must always interest her; and -there is no edifice of emotion that cannot be erected upon permanent -foundations of interest. - -So he hoped on and when Mr. Charles Moses, to please Mrs. Crocker, and -to show the company that others of the hamlet also possessed a pretty -gift of words, arose to propose the good health of Bartley himself, he -listened in the best possible humour and made a reply that was full of -rough and ready fun. - -Health drinking became the feature of the wedding feast, despite the -fact that it had been intended to eschew it. Everybody found himself or -herself toasted, and every man of the company was tempted or chaffed on -to his legs in turn. The wine running out, Mr. Shillabeer insisted upon -a personal contribution in this sort, and sent a pot-boy for certain -claret that had hung fire for some years and yet, owing to intrinsic -poverty of nature, could not be said much to improve with age. Nobody -liked it as well as the more generous and mellow brown sherry; but the -liquid was wine and free of cost: therefore the folk consumed it, -thanked the giver and invited him also to say a few words. Several shook -their heads at the prospect and foresaw that the ample spectre of Mrs. -Shillabeer must instantly rise to cast a chill upon the spirit of the -hour; but it was Mr. Bowden himself who urged the host to speak, and -Reuben straddled his legs, heaved a mighty sigh, crossed his arms and -addressed the company. - -"Why for you want me to say anything, Elias Bowden, I'm sure I don't -know; but I must do my share with the rest, I suppose, and I'm sure I -hope, as we all hope, that this here wedding will be the beginning of a -happy united life for bride and bridegroom. We, as have been in the -state and had the fortune to draw a prize, like Mr. and Mrs. Bowden -here, and Mr. and Mrs. Stanbury, and Mrs. Crocker, though she's lost her -prop and stay these many years, and me--we know what marriage is. But -them as draw a blank, 'tis hidden from them, and the bachelor men and -spinster women sprinkled about--they don't know neither. But perhaps -nobody in this company--widows or them as be still happily joined -together--ever felt to marriage what I felt to it. Time and again I -said to my dead partner that 'twas too good to last, and she'd laugh at -me and say I was the sort that always met trouble half way. And I seed -her fading out week after week; and I seed the wonnerful bulk of her -dwindling; and yet I couldn't realise what was coming till it did come. -The last words she said to me--or rather she whispered 'em, for she was -got far beyond speech--the last words was, 'Don't you take on too much, -Reuben. We shall meet again in the Better Land.' And I'm sure I hope -it may be so, though I'm an unworthy creature. And I hope you won't -think that I say these things to cast down any joyful member amongst us. -Far from it. I only want for these young people to remember that the -more they love, the worst must they suffer if things fall out -contrariwise. But whether David goes, or Margaret here be plucked off -untimely, 'twill be the joy and gladness of the one that's left to -remember what it was to have a well-loved partner. And so, whatever -haps, they'll never regret this day's work. And I hope everybody have -eaten and drunken to their liking." - -Then the bride insisted that Reuben should himself have some dinner. - -"If 'twas anybody else proposed it, I should certainly refuse," he said; -"but since you want for me to do it, and my inwards are hollow as a -drum, I'm quite agreeable to pick a bone and drink a quart." - -Bartholomew Stanbury now spoke. He thanked everybody for coming, -praised the dinner and the wine, declared it to be the second most -joyful day in his life, and explained that the first had been when he -himself was married. He confirmed Mr. Shillabeer's view of matrimony, -staggered the publican by advising him to look round and find a second; -and concluded by proposing the health of Mr. Charles Moses, who was -among the oldest and best thought upon residents of Sheepstor, and who -to-day had specially distinguished himself by lending his famous shop -for the wedding breakfast. "Free of charge he done it, mind you," -explained Mr. Stanbury, "just out of the goodness of his heart he turns -all his tools and leather and what not out of this here place, and lets -me have it for the feast; and I wish to publicly thank the man afore -you, neighbours, and let everybody know the sort he is." - -In reply, Mr. Moses, who usually became reminiscent after successful -feeding, traced briefly the history of Sheepstor in so far as his own -family helped to make that history. In addition to being a staunch -Church of England man, Mr. Moses unconsciously subscribed to a still -more venerable creed. He worshipped his ancestors, and now detailed the -great and picturesque part played by his great-grandfather, his -grandfather and his father in the development and elevation of the -village. - -"Once," said he, "we were merely a little bit of a hamlet at Dartymoor -edge, and scarce a man farther off than Tavistock knew ought about us. -But my forbears and others like 'em rose up in our midst and toiled and -laboured for the good of the town, and each did his appointed part, -until--well--all I say is, look at us now! Sheepstor stands as high as -any other place of note that ever I heard about in the kingdom, and we -be carrying on the good work in the good old way." - -With the recollections of Mr. Moses, which were much protracted, light -began to wane, and certain prominent members of the party prepared to -wend homewards, while yet their wild roads might be seen. All rose, and -there began great hand-shaking and well-wishing, together with some -laughter and some shedding of tears. Reuben broached a bottle of whisky -for the men and tea was brought in for the women. All the young people -had long since departed, because the entertainment from their standpoint -ended with the eating. Now nearly a score of pipes began to glow, and -the wedding guests set out on many roads. The adult Bowdens departed -homewards, and Elias carried his wife on his arm and strove to cheer -her. Her son, Drake, had unhappily intruded himself largely upon these -final emotional moments, and she refused to be comforted. With a -quintessential distillation of pessimism worthy of Mrs. Stanbury's self, -Sarah declared that somehow during Mr. Shillabeer's speech it had been -borne in upon her that Margaret's firstborn would prove a failure. - -"Stuff and nonsense--silly woman! 'Tis your digestion," said the master -of the Warren House. "I very well knowed how 'twould be when I seed you -taking that sour purple muck they call claret atop of the good -old-fashioned sherry. No stomach could be expected to endure one on top -of t'other, and you're fairly paid out for it." - -Mrs. Stanbury was very silent on the way home, but Bart and his father -did the talking. Both assured Constance that the entertainment might be -considered absolutely and brilliantly successful from first to last. -She, however, expressed a multiplicity of doubts. - -"The loin of pork was done to rags, and the stuffing tasted of nought," -she said. "'Tis things like that are remembered months after all that -went right be quite forgotten. And I hope to God they've got the -cottage walls dry, and that leak over the ope-way made good. When I was -up there a fortnight agone to see the wall-papers, you'd never have said -mortals could live in the place inside two weeks." - -"Madge vowed 'twas all right when I drove her over with her boxes a bit -ago," declared Bart. "The house will be very vitty after they've lived -in it a week or two." - -Of course, the first to leave Sheepstor were bride and bridegroom. In a -trap hired from 'The Corner House' David carried Margaret off to her -home. Their possessions were already stored at 'Meavy Cot.' Fires had -been burning for a week and everything was made ready for the married -pair. - -David's last words were addressed to Rhoda. - -"Mind," he said, "a fortnight from to-day us shall be ready; and I'll -come up to Ditsworthy in my new cart for you and your box. But we all -shall meet afore then, no doubt." - -He drove his wife away under a wild evening sky, amid blessings and -cheers and cries of "Godspeed." Some of the voices were shrill and -tearful, some merry, some deep and gruff. The trap trundled along; -Madge flashed a white handkerchief; then she and her husband were -swallowed up by the roaming, red light that misted under the sunset. - -"A happy omen, souls," said Mr. Stanbury. "For the sun have been -shining ever since it rose. A cloudless marriage day is all to the -good, I believe; and though the sky may offer for rain afore midnight, -nought of the day can be marred now." - - - - - *CHAPTER V* - - *ARRIVAL OF RHODA* - - -A fortnight after her marriage there came a day when Madge roamed -restlessly and rather nervously about her little house. She was very -happy, yet with a clouded happiness, because this ideal bliss of -dwelling with David alone drew to its close. Real life had yet to begin -at 'Meavy Cot,' and real life included Rhoda Bowden. On this day David -started early to fetch his sister. Among his other possessions was a -horse and a light cart; and with these he set out in the chill -half-light of six o'clock on a November morning for the Warren House. - -Now Margaret's preparations were complete. A dish of cakes kept hot -upon the hearth; and aloft in Rhoda's room the severe simplicity of the -rosy-washed walls, low roof and little iron bedstead seemed to echo -Rhoda's maiden mind. But her sister-in-law was not content with the -unadorned chamber. She had nailed an illuminated text or two upon the -walls; she had hung there also an old grocer's almanac with a picture of -a deerhound's head upon it, because she thought this portrait of a dog -would please Rhoda; and she had made a little bouquet of wild berries -and set it with a sprig of ivy in a vase on the chest-of-drawers. A few -of Rhoda's own possessions had already arrived. On the floor of the -room lay no carpet; but the white deal boarding was broken by some -skins--black, brindled and tawny. These memorials were all that remained -of certain defunct dogs who had owned Rhoda as mistress during their -bustling and eventful lives. She was wont to preserve the pelt of any -special favourite; and her nature received a placid satisfaction in -possession and use of these remains. The rough coats that had -often-times received caress or chastisement as occasion demanded, now -felt only her naked feet at morn and evening. - -Margaret began to fear for the tea, but David was a punctual man, and at -five minutes past the appointed time a light flashed in the outer -darkness, a cart creaked and jolted over the rough way, a dog barked and -Rhoda's deep tones answered it. She was soon beside Margaret, and they -shook hands and kissed affectionately. - -"Come and see your room," said Madge, "while David puts up the horse and -cart. I'm afraid you was jolted a bit at the finish. The new road -round the hill be terrible rough travelling for wheels." - -Rhoda was not cheerful and had little to say. She produced some parcels -and one from Mrs. Bowden; but it seemed that some trouble sat upon her. -She brightened up, however, on reaching her room and much admired it. - -"Like your kind heart to think of all these things," she said. - -"You'll see the sun of a fine morning rise 'twixt Hessary and Cramber," -explained Margaret. "And I'm afraid the noise of the waterfall may keep -you waking a bit till you'm used to it. 'Tis quiet to-night, but after -heavy rain Meavy comes down like thunder." - -"Nought keeps me awake," declared Rhoda. She altered the position of -the fragments on the floor. "That was the best collie ever I had," she -said, drawing a black and orange skin to her bedside; "a terrible fine -dog, and only in his prime when he died. Father said he was going mad, -though I never thought it. However, he was queer and snapped at the -childer in a way very unlike himself, and father would not risk it, but -put a charge of shot into his head when I was out of the way. You'd -hardly believe it, Madge, but I cried! On my honour I cried--and a girl -of near eighteen at the time." - -Rhoda had brought a few of her special treasures and Margaret now helped -her to arrange them to advantage. Her library was trifling and included -a Bible and prayer-book, an anthology of verses, which Madge saw for the -first time and felt astonishment at seeing, and a work on canine -diseases. - -"You can have they rhymes if you've got any use for them," said Rhoda. -"They was given me by my gossip, old Martha Moon, when I was confirmed, -but I don't understand poetry, though you may." - -Then Rhoda admired the dog almanac, and she was still doing so when -David's voice below brought the women down together. - -He was thirsty and wanted his tea. - -Rhoda produced one of the famous Bowden cakes, famed alike for size and -wealth of ingredients; but the meal, while lacking nothing of goodness, -warmth and variety, awoke no answering glow in the master's mind. He was -clearly troubled, and Rhoda's passing brightness also gave place to a -taciturn demeanour before her brother's concern. Margaret thereupon -rated David and he explained his annoyance. - -"What ever has come over you?" she asked. "So glumpy and glowry as you -are! What's amiss with him, Rhoda? But I'll wager I know. It all -looked so cosy and homelike at the Warren House that David felt homesick -and didn't want to came back to me!" - -David was bound to laugh at this absurd theory. - -"Homesick!" he said. "I'm only homesick when I'm out of the sight of -our brave chimney; and well you know it." - -"'Tis Dorcas," explained Rhoda. "She's giving mother and father a lot -of trouble for the minute. She'll see sense come presently, we'll hope." - -"Billy Screech?" - -Rhoda nodded. - -"She'll come round; but for some cause us common folk can't fathom, -she's in love with the man. So she says, anyhow, though 'tis hard to -believe it." - -"As to that," declared Margaret, "Billy ban't particular ugly. He've -got a long, sharp nose, I grant you--" - -"Yes," interrupted David, "and he've been told to keep that nose away -from the Warren House; and the mischief is he won't obey father's -commands. Two nights agone the moon was full, and Rhoda went out for to -breathe the air and see if there was a fox down by the fowl-house. And -a fox there was--long nose and all, and his name was Billy Screech." - -He looked at his sister and she continued the narrative. - -"I hate spying," she said, "and God, He knows I didn't go afield to seek -that man, or any other man. And I thought Dorcas was to bed, for she'd -gone off after supper with a faceache. But travelling quick and silent, -as my way is, over the close surf of the warrens, I came round a rock -right on top of 'em. And--" Rhoda grew hot at the unpleasant -recollection and broke off. - -"And he was sitting on a stone, and she was sitting on his lap," said -David, who spared his sister the details. "Little red-headed fool! I -wish I'd found 'em, for I'd have thrashed the man to jelly afore her -eyes, and cured her that way." - -"What did you do, Rhoda?" asked Margaret. - -"I made her come in. As her elder sister I had the right. She wasn't -in the least ashamed of herself seemingly. I boxed her ears, when the -man had gone, and she forgot herself and tried to bite my hand." - -"She's like a rat in a trap over this business," said David. "Never -would you have guessed or dreamed 'twas in her to show her teeth so." - -"All laughter and silly jokes till this miserable man came after her," -continued his sister. "And now--I blush for her. 'Tis very horrid and -shameful to think that any girl can demean herself so." - -David here left the room and Madge continued to Rhoda. - -"She feels 'tis her great chance for a home of her own, I expect. Us -all gets that hope sometimes, so why not Dorcas?" - -But the other did not sympathise with this theory. - -"Us don't all feel it," she declared. "A many women never do. And if -all of us was to marry, the work of the world would stand still. -There's a great deal for free women to do that nobody else can do so -well as them; and it seems to me that the first thing a female does, -after she's brought childer into the world, be to look about and try to -find an unmarried woman to help her do her work. There's scores of -spinsters spending their lives messing about with their sisters' -babbies." - -"Babbies ban't everything, I grant that," said Margaret; but she said it -doubtfully. In her heart children certainly took the first place. -Indeed, Madge felt a little guilty of being untrue to herself in the -last sentiment. Therefore she modified it. - -"All the same, they mean a lot to most women, and I long for 'em cruel -and ban't ashamed to say it." - -"The likes of you would; and so do David; and when they come, you'll -want for me to look after some young things beside puppies," said Rhoda. -She smiled, but did not laugh. There was a saying at Warren House that -none had ever heard her laugh. - -"As to that," answered her sister-in-law, boldly, "you talk like an old -maid a'ready, and you but a few and twenty. We'll soon larn you -different! When you see what 'tis to have a li'l home of your very own, -and a man of your very own, I'm sure you'll begin to find that marriage -is good. Now come and look at my parlour and tell me if there's not -something there that you'd wish away." - -She lighted a candle and exhibited the glory of her best room to Rhoda's -gaze. - -"'Tis everything it should be, and you've arranged it beautiful, I'm -sure," declared Rhoda; "and the presents do look better far than they -did afore. This here, that me and Sophia bought for you"--she indicated -a little looking-glass in an ornate gold frame--"why, it's ever so much -finer than ever I thought it in the shop at Tavistock where we bought -it; and father's sideboard do look splendid." - -"You must see the pictures by daylight," said Madge. "They be proper -painted pictures that David picked up in a sale. He got the four for -seven shillings, and the auctioneer said the frames were worth the -money." - -Rhoda admired very heartily and again congratulated Margaret on her -skill and taste. - -"What should I wish away?" she asked. "I can't sec nothing that isn't -just where it should be, I'm sure." - -"Look round again." - -But the other, after a further scrutiny, only shook her head. - -"Why, those two handkerchiefs in the glass frames hanging each side of -your lovely looking-glass. There's poor Bartley's purple and yellow and -David's blue and white spots. Now surely, surely, Rhoda, it ban't a -seemly thing to hang 'em up there to remind everybody of that horrid -fight? And besides, as 'tis only of a Sunday the parlour's likely to be -used, that makes it worse, for who wants to think of such a business on -the seventh day, of all days?" - -Rhoda was looking at the colours, but showed only interest. - -"They come out very nice," she said, "and of course they ought to be -here. If I was you, I should be prouder of them two things and the -great, valiant battle they stand for, than anything else belonging to -David. And if you'd been there, Madge, as I was, and had seen David, -despite all that he went through, come out top and smash in t'other -man's face with his last strength afore he went blind--if you'd seen it, -you wouldn't wish the colours away. 'Twas I hitched 'em off the post -when everybody else had forgot 'em." - -"There's the other man to think of, however." - -"Why?" asked Rhoda. "I'm sure that Bartley Crocker, who be pretty -large-minded with all his faults, wouldn't think none the worse of David -for hanging up the handkerchers like this. He'd have done the same -quick enough--or his mother would have done it for him. The men be good -friends, and so they ought to be. But that's no reason against it." - -Margaret admitted the justice of the argument. - -"If you think it can't hurt anybody's feelings, no doubt there's no real -harm," she said. - -"Of course not. Men be men, and not so tender and touchy as the likes -of you. Why, what did Mr. Crocker say at your wedding? Nothing but -what was friendly and kindly, I'm sure." - -"No, indeed--a beautiful speech; and 'twas as much for that reason as -any other that I thought perhaps, if ever he came to see us and caught -sight of the colours--" - -"He'll be the first to say they look very fine," prophesied Rhoda. "All -the same, I hope I shan't be here when he calls--if he does call--for--" - -She stopped and Margaret answered. - -"Don't say that. I'm sure, after what he spoke about you in his speech, -you ought to let bygones be bygones and feel friendly." - -"That's all past and forgiven," said Rhoda; "but I won't pretend I feel -to him like I do to other men." - -"I hope you don't," replied Madge, laughing. "That's just what I want to -hear, Rhoda." - -The younger was puzzled and her sister-in-law, unconscious of the -fateful moment, made the first move in a game that was to determine -three destinies. - -"I hope you don't. I hope you feel that Bartley Crocker be worth a -little more thought than most men. At any rate, don't set your mind -against him. That wouldn't be fair--to yourself, Rhoda." - -"My mind's neither for nor against any human creature outside my own -people. Why should it be?" - -"There's no reason at all. You're young and you're terrible pretty, and -not a soul that's ever set eyes upon you feels anything but kind -thoughts of you." - -Rhoda did not answer for a few moments; then a bewildered expression -faded from her face. - -"I'll go out and see the kennel now." - -"Leave that till the morning and unpack your things. 'Twill be dark as -a wolf's mouth over there." - -"I've brought my own lantern," said Rhoda; "I'll go over now, if you'll -show me the way." - -The horn lantern was lighted and Madge led Rhoda where her husband had -planted a row of flat stepping-stones across the river. The kennel and -a byre stood there together, and four dogs whined a welcome to their new -mistress. In the light of the flame their shining noses and lustrous -eyes flashed out of the gloom, and they leapt about the women. David -appeared; then Madge went in to wash up and prepare supper, while Rhoda -stayed beside her brother. - -"'Tis good to be back-along with you," she said, "and I do think, all -ways, it must be better. Joshua be coming out wonderful and surprising -father every day since you went; and Sophia will take my place; and Nap -and Wellington, between them, will look after Joshua's work with the -traps. 'Tis all right but for Dorcas. There's nobody left to keep her -in order now I'm gone--hateful little toad! I axed father to set parson -on her; but he wouldn't. Something will have to be done, but I don't -know what." - -"I'll see father later," replied David. "Dorcas be the first Bowden -that's a fool, and we must treat her according." - -They all supped together presently, and David planned the nature of the -life before his sister. The course of laborious days did not spare her -and left little margin for idleness; but Rhoda neither knew nor wished -to know the meaning of leisure. She appeared well content with David's -plans and nodded from time to time, but said little. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI* - - *REPULSE* - - -At noon in early May, when the willow's golden flowers ran up the still -naked stems like fire; when the clouds in the sky were large and fleecy -and the birds sang again from dawn till even, Bartley, walking beside -the leat, where it wound like a silver ribbon between Lowery Tor and -Lowery Farm, met Rhoda Bowden. Neither expected to see the other in that -spot. She explained that she had been far afield with a message for her -brother; he admitted that he walked there with no special object but to -kill an hour. - -"How's your mother?" she asked. - -"No better. I'm only here now till I know the doctor's been. As soon -as I see his gig drive up the hill, I shall go down across the river -home. She vows 'tis nothing; but I think she's worse than we know." - -"Summer may get up her nature again." - -"I'm sure I hope so too. And 'tis more than kind of you to cheer me -up." - -He walked beside her. - -"May I give your dogs a sandwich?" he asked. "My aunt cut me a bit of -bread and meat to fetch along with me; but I don't want it." - -She nodded and Bartley divided his food between a fox-terrier and a -collie. In a twinkling his luncheon vanished. - -They kept silence for a long time and she, astonished that he could be -mute, addressed him. - -"David be going to show sheep at Tavistock this year." - -"Good luck to them then," he answered, wakening from his reverie. -"Those horned creatures he has got look very fine and carry an amazing -deal of wool--anybody can see that. I'm very much inclined to try a few -myself. Must ask him all about them if he'll be so kind as to tell me." - -"No doubt he would. He's doing a bit of Moorman's work now in the -quarter, and looking after a good few things besides his own." - -"The Moorman, old Jonathan Dawe, is past his work, I doubt?" - -"Far past it. But he and David understand each other, and David does -very well out of it. He'll be Moorman for certain come Mr. Dawe dies, -unless something better turns up." - -"Why doesn't the old chap retire?" - -"David have often axed him the same question. He says the race of Dawe -never retires. He means to die in harness--unless Duchy won't lease the -quarter to him no more." - -Bartley nodded and silence again fell. He had seen not a little of -Rhoda during the past few months, and he knew now that he longed to -marry her and none else. Madge had promised to use her wits in the good -cause, and she did her best for him, but Crocker perceived that his -wooing must take place upon no very conventional lines. Rhoda Bowden -was not to be taken by storm but by strategy. So, at least, he -believed, and he had devoted much time to the problem of her capture and -displayed a patience and pertinacity alike very remarkable in him. He -paid no regular and obvious court, for fear of being warned off by David -before he had given Rhoda a fair opportunity to change her mind -concerning him. He merely considered her when the chance offered; spoke -well and enthusiastically about her behind her back, and seized every -incident and event that could serve to bring her into his company, or -take him into hers. Margaret helped, but not as she would have liked to -help. Bartley held himself cleverer than she in this matter and -expressly forbade her either to ask him at present to 'Meavy Cot,' or -take any other step which must result in a meeting between him and -Rhoda. She did just what she was told, watched his cautious progress -and felt absolutely certain that he was mistaken. Her way had been -quite different from his, and, as she came to know Rhoda better, she -felt that Bartley's elaborate plans would miscarry and leave her -sister-in-law absolutely indifferent. - -"You can try your plan and I'll look on," she said to him; "and, after -you've proved you're all wrong, then you will have to try mine. Mind, I -don't say my wits will be much more use than your own; but they may be." - -And now the time was ripe, in Crocker's opinion, to put his experiment -to the proof and see whether his unostentatious but steady siege had in -reality shaken the fortress at any point. He felt tolerably certain -that Rhoda would refuse him; but he intended to ask the great question. -He was, indeed, prepared to put it many times before taking 'no' for an -answer. - -At a stile their ways parted. She would follow the leat, which leapt -Meavy at an aqueduct not a quarter of a mile from her home; and he would -plunge into the valley, cross the river and return to Sheepstor. - -"Well, good-morning to you," she said. "I hope that Mrs. Crocker will -mend afore long." - -"Wait," he answered. "I won't keep you, Rhoda, but 'tis a pretty place -and hour for speech. May I ask you something?" - -"I'm a thought late for dinner as it is. But ask and welcome." - -"'Welcome'! I wonder? 'Twould be a very welcome thing to think I was -welcome. But I'm not vain enough to think it. I only hope it." - -His personality and the masculine look and voice of him troubled her. A -man who was obviously alive to sex and alert before women made her -uncomfortable. The deep-eyed sly man--the man who was servile to women, -who rushed to set chairs for them, who bowed to them and strove to catch -their eye in public--these men she hated. Bartley was such a man, but -he had long since perceived her dislike of gallantry and had given her -no second cause to resent his attentions in that sort. His sustained -reserve and apparent indifference had satisfied her and modified her -former detestation; but it had not advanced him one span in her regard. -She did not answer him now, and he continued-- - -"You see, Rhoda, very queer things happen--things that are deeper than -we can explain or understand. And, before I speak, I want to go back a -bit, because what I'm going to say may seem pleasanter in your ears if I -remind you of a thing that happened long since. When I kissed you in the -Pixies' House you were terrible angered with me, and 'twas as natural -for you to be so as 'twas for me to kiss you." - -"I don't want to hear no more of that, and I won't," she said fiercely. - -"You must," he answered. "You've no choice. You're a just woman--as -just and honourable as all who be called Bowden, and you must hear. I -insist on it, for 'tis almost life or death to me. When I kissed you -and you tore from me like a frightened bird, what did you say? You -forget, but I remember, and I'll remind you. You pressed your face -against my cheek by accident, and I couldn't stand it, and I kissed you -and you said: 'You loathsome, Godless wretch! I could tear the skin off -my face. I'd sooner the lightning had struck me.' Then you fought your -way out and trampled on my hand with your boot till the blood ran. Now, -Rhoda, listen. I'm not loathsome, and I'm not Godless. You touched me -accidentally and I took a terrible fierce fire from it. Why? Not -because I'm a free liver; not because I would do the like from any -maiden's touch. Not from that--I swear it; but because that touch meant -a great deal more to me than I understood. I did a thing any man may do -under certain circumstances, Rhoda; but the circumstances were hid from -me then, though they came out clear enough after. I loved you in the -Pixies' House, though I didn't know it then; but my nature was quicker -than my mind, and my nature took charge and made me do the thing I did. -Not out of insult, but out of honour I did it; and I've honoured you -more and more ever since that day. I honoured you when you helped -David; and I knew then, as well as I know that God made me, that if -you'd been in my corner instead of his I'd have beat him. I honoured -you at his wedding--so graceful and lovely and above the rest as you -were; and I honour you now, and I've been a better chap since I knew -you. And--and if you'll marry me, Rhoda, I'll try with all my strength -to be worthy of such a wife. Oh, Rhoda, don't say 'no.'" - -She only understood a part, and the tone of his voice spoke and soothed -her to patience, though his words left her cold. She perceived that he -was deeply in love with her and had hidden it carefully from her. That -he had hidden it was a grace in him: she thanked him for that. His -excuse for the past did not impress her. All that remained was to refuse -him and leave him as swiftly as possible. She did not feel very -flattered or elated. She did not like him any better for this avowal. -The master-sense in her mind was one of frank discomfort. She felt not -particularly sorry that she had to disappoint him; she experienced only -a desire for haste--to speak and end this unsought scene and get out of -his sight. She wasted no words. - -"'Tis kind, no doubt, to offer marriage," she said, "but you're wrong. -Us wouldn't suit each other. You'll find a girl to please you better -than me. Ban't no use talking about it. I don't feel--I don't feel -drawed, Mr. Crocker, and I suppose unless both parties be drawed 'tis no -use hoping for a happy marriage." - -"Think of it--take a bit of time. 'Tis mere moonshine the likes of you -going single, Rhoda." - -"I've seen marriage under my eyes ever since I could mark anything," she -answered. "I've seen it and still see it." - -She stopped and shook her head, implying that as yet the state offered -no large charm for her. - -"Good-bye. Think no more of this--and no more will I." - -She left him, and he sat down where a sluice opened off the leat, so -that the overflow in time of torrent might do no hurt to the banks. He -sat and regretted what he believed to be his precipitation. The time -was not ripe. He had sprung this proposal too suddenly upon her. For -her own sake he had not played the lover as a preliminary, and as a -result she failed to recognise the lover in him. He had erred in -tactics. He was not much downcast, but felt that the opening battle was -well ended, with a defeat that he foresaw. He had explained the kiss, -and this interview was thereby justified. It would not be necessary to -retrace that old ground again. And yet he doubted whether Rhoda had -quite understood him. - -"If she did understand, she didn't believe," he told himself. - -He was not ill-pleased with the encounter. He had fired the first shot -and engaged her in the first skirmish. He must tell Margaret all that -had happened, and he must hear from Margaret if any results of this -adventure were displayed by Rhoda. He felt pretty certain that none -would be. David she might confide in, but not in Margaret. The -interview as a whole did not dismay him, and it was not until he reached -home and heard an unfavourable report of his mother's health that he -became gloomy. - -Meanwhile the girl, a little fluttered by this occurrence, proceeded on -her way with thoughts not wholly pleasant; and to her came the leat man, -Simon Snell, upon his rounds. His eyes grew large and watered a little -when he caught sight of her in the distance. At first, indeed, he was -minded to dive off the footpath, hasten away and make as though he had -not seen her; but he fortified himself against this pusillanimous -instinct, held on boldly, and presently saluted her in his thin, -somewhat senseless voice. - -"Good-day to 'e, Miss Rhoda Bowden. Glad to meet you on the leat path, -I'm sure. Don't often see you this way." - -"Good-morning, Mr. Snell." - -"And a very good morning to you. Beautiful spring weather, to be sure. -Beautiful dogs, to be sure. Never see you or David without a fine dog. -And the dog as I had off your farther would have made a very fine, -upstanding dog without a doubt, if her hadn't have gone and died. Not -your fault--I'm not saying that." - -"I was very sorry to hear it." - -"Of course you was; and if I'd had enough sense, and put the poor young -dog in a basket and carry 'un up over to you, I'll lay with your dog -cleverness as you'd have saved 'un. But, instead, I traapsed off to -Walkhampton with him--to Adam Thorpe--and he got the dog underground in -a week." - -"Thorpe don't know much about dogs." - -"You're right there; I quite agree. Would 'e like to see me open a -sluice-gate? 'Tis purty to see the water go down all of a tumble, and -often a rainbow throwed off when the wind be blowing slantwise across -the sun." - -"Can't stop, but I'll see the thing done some other time, if you -please." - -"An' welcome; and I'm sorry, I'm sure, to have kept 'e with my talk, and -you wild to be on your way, no doubt." - -"If you want a puppy, you can have one next month," said Rhoda. "That -yellow collie there, with a bit of Gordon setter in him, be the faither. -They're very nice-looking creatures." - -"And so I will then, and gladly and thankfully," he said. - -Simon walked by her and she felt easy and comfortable. His neutral, not -to say neuter, personality met and matched her own. His round, innocent -eyes, smooth face and silly beard put her at ease. He did not thrust -masculinity upon her, but was merely a fellow-creature talking upon -subjects that interested her. What Crocker had of late tried to be in -his attitude towards this woman Mr. Snell really was. The one attempted -a posture other than his own, and failed in it; for no woman could look -into his eyes and not know something about him. The other equally -remained himself, yet even so he satisfied Rhoda, although she came to -him unusually exacting from her recent interview with Mr. Crocker. -Simon's thoughts, Simon's humble humour, and Simon's general attitude to -life, if vague, were quite acceptable to Rhoda. To her his voice did -not sound thin or his opinions childish. She was comfortable in his -company, and she left him presently with a pleasant nod and a 'good-bye' -that was almost genial. - -He stood a long time, scratched his beard when she had gone out of sight -and felt that thus to walk and talk beside a maiden was rather an -achievement for him. He admired Rhoda very much, but he thought of her -with chronic rather than acute admiration. - -She had certainly been amazingly gracious and kind to him. Could it be -possible that she liked him? The idea brought moisture upon his -forehead, and he sat down and mopped it. He began to fear that he had -been too bold in thus proceeding for more than a hundred yards beside -her. Perhaps she had indicated annoyance and he had failed to observe -it. Then he assured himself that he was a man, like other men, and had -a perfect right to talk to a woman. He decided that he must think about -Rhoda quietly for the next month or two. He asked himself if he should -take her a dish of the fat leat trout that he caught sometimes; but he -felt doubtful whether such a step would not be going too far. - -"I might catch 'em, and clean 'em, and start with 'em," he reflected; -"and then, if it comes over me on the way that I'm a bit too dashing, I -can just sneak home again, and none the wiser." - - - - - *CHAPTER VII* - - *EYLESBARROW* - - -Margaret Bowden not seldom visited the haunts of her youth, for many -favourite places lay within a walk of her home, and she had a measure of -loneliness in her life which might be filled according to her fancy. -Sometimes she blamed herself that life should offer intervals for -amusement or for rest. David found no such leisure from dawn until -after dark; Rhoda was always busy out of doors, and even when she had -nothing left to do, as happened in the evening, would often sequester -herself afield under the night. But Margaret's holiday generally -followed the midday meal; and after noon she often went to see her -mother, or sought some holt in Dennycoombe Wood, or beside Crazywell, or -among the heathery hillocks of Eylesbarrow. That great eminence upon -the forest boundary was familiar and pleasant to her. She knew it well, -from its tonsure of stone, piled above a grave, to its steeps and slopes -and water-springs. A pool with rushes round about spread under the -highest elevation and mirrored the sky; while southerly the ling grew -very large, and there were deep scars and embouchures torn by torrents -from the sides of the hill. - -Hither came Margaret to keep tryst with Bartley Crocker on a day in -June. She had not seen him save for a moment since his interview with -Rhoda, but meeting a week before at Sheepstor, he made a plan and she -promised to join him on Eylesbarrow and hear what he had to tell her. -The east wind roared over Madge where she sat snug in a little pit; but -the sun was warm and found her there. From time to time she rose and -lifted her head to see if Bartley was coming. Then she sat down again -and fell back upon her own thoughts. She began to apprehend the mixed -nature of marriage and those very various ingredients that complete the -dish. As yet only one cloud hung over her united life with David. But -time might reasonably be trusted to lift it. They were a happy pair, -and if his stronger will lacked ready and swift sympathy on all -occasions, it still served the fine purpose of controlling her -sentimentality. He hurt her sometimes, but she kept the pain to -herself. His sledge-hammer methods were new to her; while he could not -understand her outlook, and, indeed, he made no attempt to do so. But -she never argued; she always gave way and she loved him so dearly that -it was easy to give way. Rhoda, too, she liked better as she knew her -better. She felt sorry for Rhoda and longed to round off her life into -a more complete and perfect thing. It appeared an outrage on nature -that such a girl should remain unmarried. She strove to enlarge Rhoda's -sexual sympathies and make her more tolerant of men. But she did not -succeed. And so it gradually happened that the future of Rhoda rather -obsessed the young wife's mind. She was determined to see Bartley and -Rhoda man and wife if she could bring it about. She was here upon that -business now. That he had spoken to Rhoda she did not yet know; but she -suspected it. - -Again Margaret looked round about her, while the wind flapped her -sunbonnet till it stung her cheeks. At hand morning and night -alternately swung up over the uttermost eastern desolation that even -Dartmoor offers. By Cater's Beam and the sources of Plym and Avon, the -solemn, soaking undulations ranged; and they were shunned by every -living thing; but to the north a mighty company of tors thrust up about -the central waste; and westerly stretched the regions of her home. Far -beneath lay Dennycoombe under Coombeshead, and Sheep's Tor, like a -saurian, extended with a huge flat head and a serrated backbone of -granite. She saw her father's fields on the hillside and knew them by -their names. In their fret of varied colour under the stone-crowned -hill, they looked like a patchwork coverlet dragged up to some old, -gnarled chin. Men were working there and elsewhere on the land; and in -the stone quarries, far off on Lether Tor, men also worked. She gazed -upon the familiar places, the homesteads and the solitary homes. She -busied her mind with the life histories advancing beneath these -roof-trees; and here she smiled when she marked a dwelling where joy -harboured for a little; here she sighed at sight of one where joy had -ceased to visit: here she wondered at thought of houses where the folk -hid their hearts from the world and stared heavy-eyed and dumb upon -their kind. But she had an art to win secrets, and few denied her -knowledge or declined her sympathy. - -One house chained her attention and awoke in Madge personal thoughts -again. She looked at a small cottage near Lowery, far distant on the -opposite side of the river. It stood under a few trees and crouched -meanly a hundred yards from the highway. The roof was of turf, mended -with a piece of corrugated iron kept in its place by heavy stones; the -broken windows were stuffed with clouts. A few fowls pecked about the -threshold, and adjoining the dwelling stood a cow-byre under the same -roof with it. The front gate was rotted away and rusty pieces of an old -iron bedstead had taken its place. These details were hidden from the -distant watcher, but she knew them well, and in her mind's eye could see -a flat-breasted, long-nosed, hungry-faced woman, with grey hair falling -down her back and dirt grimed into her cheeks and hands. It was Eliza -Screech, widow of a man who had blown himself to pieces with blasting -powder in the adjacent quarry, and mother of William Screech, the -mistrusted admirer of Madge's sister-in-law, Dorcas. This young fellow -had lately brewed a sort of familiar trouble; and while she thought upon -it, David's wife considered her own situation and wished that a thing -presently to happen to Dorcas might happen to her instead, and so turn -sorrow into rejoicing. This was the cloud on her horizon. Her mother, -indeed, shared her pessimism but everybody else laughed at Margaret's -concern and declared it to be ridiculous in one scarcely six months a -wife. - -She debated on the ways of nature and the ironies of chance; then -Bartley's voice was lifted, and she popped up again, and he saw her and -approached. - -"Didn't you hear me sooner?" he asked, flinging himself down near her. - -"No, indeed. I was thinking so much about one thing and another, that I -never heard you. Hope you've not been seeking for me a long time?" - -He did not answer but struck at once into the subject that had brought -him. - -"Well," he said, "I've started on her. I've begun and told her a few -things to clear the way and get her into a better frame of mind. Pity I -hadn't stopped there and left what I said to soak in a bit; but I had to -go on and give the reason for saying it." - -"You told her then?" - -"I did, and she took it fairly quiet. Of course she said 'twas out of -the question and never, never could be. I expected that. But I'm not -going to believe it, Madge. The thing is how to go on with it. I want -you to tell me what to do next. You promised you would. Mustn't worry -her, and at the same time mustn't let her forget I'm at her -elbow--dogged and determined and fixed in my mind. I want you to be -clever for me, as well you know how, and tell me what line will please -her best. I shall leave talking for a bit, and then I shall offer -again. My only fear is that she'll see somebody else in the meantime, -and that while I'm planning and holding off and doing nought to fluster -or anger her, some other pattern of fool will blunder in and shock her -into saying 'yes' before she knows what she's done. You can often -surprise a woman into relenting who never would relent if you went on -grinding away in a cold-blooded fashion. They're obstinate themselves, -but they don't admire obstinacy in us. Would you have a dash at her and -keep on, or would you hold off and busy yourself in other quarters? -Which would bring her to the scratch quickest? You know her; you can -give me a few good hints, surely." - -"Do neither of these things, Bartley. She hates anything like courting, -or speech about marriage. And she hates surprises of any sort. She's -an old woman in the way she likes things to jog steady. If aught falls -out unexpected, it flurries her. And that's the hard thing you've got -afore you, if you are going on with it. Because you're all for dash and -quickness and surprises, and she's all against everything of the sort." - -"I must keep grinding on in a cold-blooded style, then?" - -"Ess fay, and the more cold-blooded, the better like to please her." - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -"Be damned if I think I've got patience for it, Madge. I love her well -enough but I can't bide like a lizard or a spider watching a fly. I -lost you along of taking it too easy--yes, I did, for I swear you'd have -married me if I'd offered myself a year before David came along. And -now, perhaps, I'll end by losing Rhoda. There's nobody else in the -field and she's got no excuse for not taking me; and that's just what -will make her hard to catch. But I'm determined in reason to have her. -Only I'm not built to wait till we're both grey-headed." - -"Let me begin to help," she said. "You bade me do nought so far, and -I've done nought. Not by a word or wish have I let her guess I thought -about you or about her. She don't know that I'm interested yet. And I -won't let her know; but I can set to work witty and say the word in -season and help the good cause on. Why not? I want to see her married -just as much as I want to see you married. 'Twould mend you both--yes, -you so well as her." - -"That wise you've grown since you took David! Though, for that matter, -you was always wise enough for any two girls." - -"Not a bit wise--wish I was; far from that, worse luck; but sensible how -things are and sensible how difficult 'tis to get two natures to fit in -sometimes. I be sure as possible that you and she would make a happy -couple and that you'll never regret it if she takes you, and no more -will she; but the difficulty is to see where your natures be built to -fit together. 'Tis like a child's puzzle: to fit you and her close." - -"There's not much we've got in common except love of roaming by night." - -"A pretty useful taste in common for lovers, I should think. But I'll -find more out than that. I know a lot more about her now than once I -did; and I'll tell you this: I'm not so much in secret fear of her as -once I was. Yes--fearful I felt at first--so off-handed and stern and -aloof she was. But now I've come to see she's terrible simple really, -and not very different from other girls--except here and there. She's -interested in all that falls out, and she's hopeful to-day and cast down -to-morrow like anybody else. She sits of a night thinking--yes, she -thinks. Lord knows what about, but 'tis a sign of a heart in her that -she can pucker up her forehead thinking. Kind, mind you, too. Not -partickler kind to me, or interested in me away from David--I must grant -that. But kind to living things in general." - -"But I don't want her to be kind--to anybody but me. I want her to be -grand and odd and unlike t'others. 'Tis her oddness as much as her -loveliness took my fancy; but if her oddness ends in her being an old -maid, that'll mean a good deal of my time wasted." - -"Don't think it. A rare good wife's hid in Rhoda, and, please God, -you'll be the man to find it out. I'll set to work, Bartley. Don't -fear I'll be clumsy. Too fond of you both for that. We'll meet again -in a month, if you can wait so long--" - -"Which I certainly can not." - -"In a fortnight then. Thursday's always David's morning for Tavistock; -so this day fortnight we'll meet again, unless anything falls out to -prevent it. And I won't be idle. But I mustn't frighten her; and she's -easily frighted when men are concerned. Fellows drop in of a night -often to speak to David; but nine times out of ten, if she's to home, -she'll pick up her work and pop up to her chamber, or take her hat and -away out of the house by the back door." - -"Never was such another, I believe. All the same, I'm a hopeful fashion -of man. I'll win her yet, with your help." - -"I do trust so, Bartley." - -Silence fell between them, only broken by the hiss of the wind above -their heads. - -"I must get back-along now," she said at length. "How goes on Mrs. -Crocker? Better, I hope?" - -He shook his head but did not reply. - -"I shall come to see her again next week, if I may." - -"Do, and welcome, Madge. Strange how illness breaks down the pride and -shows the naked truth of a man or woman. She's frightened to think of -dying--her that you might have said was frightened of nothing." - -"And still frightened of nothing really. 'Tisn't this world that -frights her, nor yet the next--only the link snapping between. There's -a lot like that." - -He changed the subject again and followed her eyes that had roamed -across the valley once more. - -"You're looking at Screech's house," he said. "I hope this thing they -tell about isn't true?" - -"I hope not, Bartley, but I think it is." - -"And if it is? However, it don't become a giddy bachelor to make light -of it. Only you'll hear such a devil of a lot on the other side, that -perhaps before long you'll be thankful to find one here and there who -can keep his nerve about it." - -"Yes, I shall hear enough about it--and to spare: you're right there." - -He laughed. - -"I'm not one of those that can see no good in Billy Screech," he said. -"Too like him myself, I reckon. All the same, I know if the right woman -came along to make it worth while, I could stand to work--for her--as -well as any man. You'll see some day. I can't be bothered to work for -myself, Madge, but if ever I get hold of Rhoda, 'twill surprise you to -find what a knack for earning money I shall show. And same with yonder -hairy chap. He's clever and cunning. He'll make a very good partner, -if the woman ban't too hard to please, and don't worry him with silly -questions." - -They parted a few minutes later; but before he went Bartley Crocker -shook Madge's hand very heartily as he thanked her with great -earnestness for her promises. - -"What you'll do for me I can't guess," he said; "yet well I know that -what you can do you will." - -"Couldn't name it in words myself," she answered. "But all the same, I -feel as one woman might have a bit of power over another in such a -matter. I put my hope in her common sense. She don't lack for that, -and, once you win her, her common sense will be a tower of strength for -the both of you." - -"That's good to know, I'm sure; for common sense never was my strong -point and never will be," he confessed. - -"And if I've promised more than I can perform, you must forgive me," she -said. "I must guard myself against your disappointment, Bartley, for it -may come to that." - -"You'll do what you can," he answered, "for liking of me; and you'll do -the best you can; and if I lose, 'twill be no blame to you; and if I -win, 'twill be such a feather in your cap as few of the cleverest women -can boast." - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII* - - *TRIUMPH OF BILLY SCREECH* - - -On a day in early summer David Bowden met his father by appointment at -Nosworthy Bridge in Meavy valley. It was not Sunday, but both wore -their Sunday clothes. The fact would have led observers to suppose that -a funeral or a wedding must be at hand, but it was not so. They had -before them a serious and, they feared, a difficult duty. Neither knew -that the other proposed to wear black; yet a sort of similar instinct -led to the donning of the colour, and each felt glad, when he saw the -other, that he had been of that mind. - -"'Twill be for you to speak, father," said David; "and where I can think -of words to back you up, I shall put them in. If you and me together -ban't stronger than such a man as Screech, 'tis pity." - -"The law be weak, unfortunately," answered Elias, "else I'd never have -gone near the man, but just left justice to take its course. But as it -stands, so lawyer tells me, we can't make Screech marry Dorcas if he -won't. The thing is to be as patient with the man as we know how, and -coax him into it if possible." - -David nodded. - -"It's a bad business, looked at which way you will. Rhoda's took it more -to heart than all of us. She won't never speak to Dorcas or see her -again." - -"We mustn't talk that nonsense. Nature will out, and for my part, to -you, David, though to none else, I'm sorry to God now I said 'nay.' -However, we'll see if we can fetch him to reason. Here's the house--a -ragged, hang-dog look it hath." - -"And there's the man," added David. - -Billy Screech was digging in a patch of garden beside his cottage, but -at sight of the visitors, he stuck his spade into the earth, cleaned his -boots on it, drew down his shirt-sleeves, donned his coat and came -forward. - -"You'm a thought earlier than I expected," he said. "Give you a very -good-morning, Mr. Bowden; and you, David." - -Elias took the hairy Screech's hand; David nodded, but avoided a direct -salute. - -"In your black, I see--a black business, no doubt," said Billy. "And if -you'll give me a matter of minutes, I'll polish up a bit and put on -mine. Perhaps you didn't know as I've got some good broadcloth for my -back; but I have." - -He called to his mother and went upstairs. Then, while he was absent, -the thin and slatternly woman known as Eliza Screech shuffled in and put -chairs for the Bowdens. She stood and rubbed her hands over each other -and listened to the noise her son made overhead. By certain sounds she -knew how his change of attire advanced. - -"I hope you are on our side in this matter, ma'am," began Elias, -solemnly. - -"Yes, I am, and always have been since I heard about it," she said. -"I've been at him night and day till he threatened to take the -wood-chopper to me. I can't say what he thinks about it, for not a word -will he utter. He's always chuckling to hisself, however. 'Tis a very -shameless thing to have happened, though very common. I'm sorry about -it." - -She spoke kindly but indifferently. - -"My girl is the same as him," declared Mr. Bowden. "'Shameless' is the -only word to be used against her--a hardened giglet as keeps her own -secrets and did keep 'em till they would out. And, instead of going in -tears and sackcloth, she's as gay as a lark and don't care a button for -our long faces. Even to church she'll come, if you can believe it. And -not a word of sorrow." - -Mrs. Screech heard her son putting on his boots. - -"Well, I hope that your way of saying things will catch hold on -William," she answered. "He's a thoughtless man; but he was never fond -of the girls till he met your Dorcas, and 'twas a very great blow to him -he couldn't take her." - -"He must take her: that's what we've come about," declared David. - -Mrs. Screech shrugged her shoulders. - -"There's room here," she said, "and though us be a little down in the -world, I daresay for a pound or two we could mend up the glass and make -things vitty for Dorcas. I'm very fond of her, I may tell you. Here's -William coming down, so I'll go." - -She left them, and a moment later Mr. Screech entered transformed. He -wore excellent black. He had brushed his hair and beard; he had washed -his hands and put on a pair of tidy boots. - -"Now," he said, "perhaps you'll let me know what I can do for you, Mr. -Bowden. Not long since there was a thing as you might have done for me; -but I got a very sour answer, if I remember right. However, you'll find -me more reasonable if you come in reason." - -"In reason and in right I come, William Screech. And well you know why -for I'm here," said the master of Ditsworthy. "You've seduced my -daughter Dorcas, and you cannot deny it." - -"Yes, I can," answered Mr. Screech. "I can deny it and I can take my -Bible oath of it. I never seduced her, and I never even offered to. -I'll swear she never told you that I seduced her." - -"She'll tell me nought." - -"Then why d'you charge it against me?" - -"Don't fiddle with words," broke in David. "The question be simple, and -the answer be 'yes' or 'no.' Do you deny that you are the father of the -child she'm going to bear?" - -"Certainly not. I am the parent; and a very proud man I shall be on the -day." - -"Then why d'you say you didn't seduce her?" cried David. - -Mr. Screech looked at him in a pitying and highly superior manner. - -"Better let your father talk," he said. "You childless men be rather -narrow in your opinions. He's more sensible and more patient. Because -a maiden changes her state and starts out to bud, it don't follow -nobody's seduced her. If anybody was seduced, 'tis me, standing here -afore you." - -He grinned genially at the humour of the situation. David uttered an -inarticulate sound of anger; Mr. Bowden settled himself in his chair. - -"Explain yourself, William," he said. - -"Well, I will. Perhaps you may remember when you forbade the match, -that your daughter was a bit savage about it." - -"She was. I allowed for that." - -"You didn't allow enough. You didn't know what a clever girl Dorcas -was; and you didn't know how well she understood me. None ever -understood me like her. I was merely a sort of a mongrel man--good for -nought--in your opinion. You didn't know how witty I could be if I -chose; or what a lot of brains there was in my head. But she knowed and -she trusted me. Pluck! Talk about this here prizefighter's pluck and -your Rhoda's pluck--Good Lord! there's more valour in Dorcas than the -whole pack of you! She's a marvel, she is. This be her work, master, -not mine. After her big sister catched her with me and boxed her ears, -she soon knowed what to do. And she done it; and I was very pleased to -help. And here we are." - -Mr. Bowden gasped. - -"Do you mean to say a daughter of mine axed you to get her in the family -way?" he asked. - -"That's the English of it," answered Mr. Screech. "There was nothing -else she could do. 'Anything to oblige you, Dorcas,' I said, and my -bosom swelled with rejoicing to think the maiden I loved best in the -world could trust me like that. ''Twill larn my father and that -self-righteous David and Rhoda to mind their own business in future,' -said Dorcas to me; and I'm sure I hope it will. You must all try to be -sensibler without a doubt." - -David felt an inclination to crush and smite the hairy and insolent -Screech; but nothing could be gained by such an act. - -"And how do we stand now, please?" inquired Mr. Bowden, very humbly. - -"In a very awkward fix, of course," answered Billy. "Here's my dear -Dorcas going to have a babby, and me wrapped up in her, and my mother -cruel fond of her, and her own people all shocked out of their skins at -her; and yet I ban't allowed to make an honest woman of her; because -you've sworn afore witnesses that you'd sooner see her dead than Mrs. -William Screech. It do seem a pity; but of course we all know the man -you are--never known to call back an opinion. Dorcas and me be halves -of a flail--one nought without t'other; but you've spoken. I shall be -very pleased to help with the child, however; and I hope you'll bring it -up well to the Warren House." - -This was too much for David. - -"If you give us any more of your cheek, I'll smash you where you sit," -he said. - -Billy shrugged his shoulders. - -"Where's the cheek? What a silly man you are! Ax your father if I've -said a syllable more than the truth. I'm only sorry about it. Of -course the likes of me, with my skilled inventions and general -cleverness, ban't worthy to be your brother-in-law--you with your great -ideas and your five hundred pounds--left to you by somebody else. But, -maybe, your father may feel different. A father can understand a -father. 'Tis for him to speak now, not you, and say what he thinks had -better be done about his child--and mine." - -"There's only one thing to be done, and that afore the month is out," -said Mr. Bowden. "And you know what, for all your sly jokes, Billy. -The pair of you have bested me. Well, I know when I'm beat. And the -sooner the wedding be held, the better for everybody's credit." - -Billy pretended immense surprise. - -"You mean as you'll call home all them high words, master?" - -"Every one of 'em," answered Elias, calmly. "If I'd been a bit sharper, -I might have guessed as you and her would find a way. You have found -it--'tis vain to deny that. So there's nothing to do but wed; and I -hope you'll live to make good your promises; and so soon as you do, I'll -be the first to up and own I misjudged you." - -"That's fair and sportsmanlike, master, and I'll be as good as you; and -if my new rabbit trap don't make you proud of me for a son-in-law, Elias -Bowden, you ban't the honest man I think." - -"It's settled then," said David, rising, and eager to be away. - -"On one condition," answered the other; "that me and Dorcas have a -proper show wedding, same as David here had. Us won't have no hole and -corner sort of job; and there's no reason why we should. Only us and -you know about it." - -"She shall have a perfectly right and proper wedding, Billy," declared -Mr. Bowden. - -"Very good," answered the other; "and the day after we'm married and my -Dorcas comes here to live, I'll show you the trap, and save you twenty -pounds a year if a penny." - -Mr. Screech rose and indicated that the interview was ended. - -"The banns go up on Sunday," he said. "Have no fear of me. I'm in -quite so much of a hurry as anybody." - -Mrs. Screech, who had heard everything from behind the door, crept off, -and the Bowdens departed, while Billy went as far as the gate with them. - -"Please give Dorcas my respects, and tell her I'll be up over to tea on -Sunday, if agreeable to all parties," he said. - -"I will, William," answered Elias, mildly; "and 'twill be quite -agreeable, I assure you." - -The victory was complete and time proved Mr. Screech a just and even -magnanimous conqueror. But for the moment the friction set up by his -methods of approaching matrimony caused not a few persons a little -uneasiness. While David had writhed before Billy's satirical humours, -Rhoda Bowden also suffered; but she took herself off and thus escaped -direct contact with the cause of it. It happened that Dorcas was -restless after her father had set forth to see Mr. Screech. She had -wandered towards Coombeshead and finally--moved as many others were -moved--determined to seek Madge, and so win comfort, and wait with her -at 'Meavy Cot' until David returned. Of the issue Dorcas felt no manner -of doubt. Mr. Screech longed to marry her, and his single-hearted -devotion was the finest element in a rather mean character. Marriage -Dorcas felt to be a certainty; but she was none the less eager to learn -how the great interview had fallen out and to what extent Billy had -punished his future brother-in-law. Mr. Screech especially despised the -Puritanical views of David; and Dorcas suspected that he might have -taken pleasure on this occasion in wounding rather deeply her brother's -susceptibilities. She went to see Margaret, therefore, and felt sorry -to find Rhoda also at home. Her sister was in the garden; but Rhoda saw -the visitor some way off and departed leisurely without any interchange -of words. The red girl flushed and set her teeth in a sneer; the other -passed quickly into the Moor. - -Then Dorcas entered and found Madge making a pudding. She sat down, -took off her sunbonnet, and nibbled a piece of raw rhubarb. - -"Did you see Rhoda go off?" she asked. - -"Never mind, 'twill come right. You know how she feels things." - -"Feel! Don't you think she feels, Madge. She's hard as them stone -statues of women in church--a dead-alive, frozen beast! Feel! I wish -somebody would make her feel. Don't you look like that. You've lived -with her now half a year and more. You know what she is." - -"Be fair, Dorcas. She takes this a bit to heart; but that's only what -all of us do." - -"You don't, and you needn't pretend it--not like her, anyway. You'd -have done the same if your father had said you wasn't to have David. -You'd have trusted David, same as I trusted Billy. Things like -her--Rhoda, I mean--why, good Lord! they're not women; they ban't built -to bring dear li'l, cuddling, cooing babbies into the world, like you -and me. All for yowling dogs and walking in the moonlight--_by -herself_! Pretty frosty sport that for a female creature with blood in -her veins!" - -"It's throwed her into a great trouble, and 'tis no good to deny it," -said Margaret. "Of course the man will marry you, as you've told me in -secret, and no doubt David will come back presently in a good temper -about it; but Rhoda's different. She's rather terrible if a girl slips. -I've heard her say frightful things long before this--this business of -yours. 'Tis the point of view, Dorcas. You'm so good as a married -woman now, and me and you can talk; but Rhoda's awful different--as the -maidens often be till they'm tokened. Then they begin to soften and -understand men-folk a bit better." - -"Fool!" said Dorcas. - -"She'll take a bit of time to recover; but she'll be at your wedding -with the best of us, if I know her." - -"Not her! Mark me! She'll never come inside my house or put a finger -to my childer. And God knows I don't want her to." - -"She will--she will. You're too hard. She'll grow wiser and more -understanding. She's a very kindly, sensible girl in a lot of ways. -Only she's made of sterner stuff than me and you. I wish I was so -noble-minded as her and so brave, I'm sure. She's as plucky as David, -Dorcas. Nought on four legs can frighten her." - -"Four legs!" said Dorcas. "I want for a man on two legs to frighten -her--ay, and master her and make her run about and do his will. But no -man will ever look at her. They want something to put their arms -around--not the sour, stand-offish likes of she. 'Tis no better than -facing the east wind to be along with her." - -"Not at all, Dorcas. You'll soon see different. She have a sort of -queer feeling in her that 'tis an awful horrid thing to give yourself -over to a man. I do believe she feels almost the same if a woman -marries. You'd think the whole race of women had received a blow in the -face when one takes a husband. She can't talk of 'em with patience. -But us will get her a husband come presently. Then her eyes will open." - -"Never--never!" foretold the other. "She'll go single to her grave--and -a good riddance when it happens." - -"Here's David coming up the path," said Margaret, and both women went -out to meet him. - -But Madge's prophecy was only partly fulfilled. He brought, indeed, the -news that Mr. Screech was prepared to wed with Dorcas at the earliest -opportunity; but he showed no joy at the fact, and was indeed in an -exceedingly bad temper. - -"What are you doing here?" he said to Dorcas, sternly. But she never -had been and never was likely to be brow-beaten by a man. - -"Come to see Madge, seemingly, and hearing that you was gone with father -to have a tell with my William, I thought I'd wait and see what came of -it." - -"Your William!" he said. "I wonder you don't blush for yourself, Dorcas -Bowden." - -"Ah! you must see a lot of things that make you wonder," she answered -insolently. "Not for myself did I ever blush; but for father, as forbid -me to marry the only chap that ever loved me, or was ever likely to. -What do I care? I suppose you and father, in your righteous wisdom, -have decided that we may be married now, anyway; and if you haven't 'tis -no odds, because parson will mighty soon shout out the banns when we ax -him to do it." - -"You're a bad woman," said her brother, shortly, "and this is a very -brazen, shameless piece of work." - -"That for you," she answered, flicking her fingers in his face. "I'm as -straight and honest and true as your wife, or Rhoda either. 'Tis her -that's nasty and shameful, with her prudish ways, not me. And if I've -done anything to think twice about, 'tis father's fault--and yours." - -David was angry and turned to his wife. - -"The less you hear of this sort of talk the better," he said. "I'll -have no trollop here, fouling your ears with her lewd speeches." - -"Call yourself a man!" sneered Dorcas. "Call yourself a man, to speak -of me like that. You know I loved the chap as faithful and true as a -bird its mate, and I was his wife just as much as Madge be yours in -everything but the jargon and the ring. And you turn round and call me -'lewd,' because I did the only thing I could do to force father to say -'yes.' 'Tis you that are lewd--you and yonder creature, who won't see -me nor touch me no more; and so much the better for me." She pointed to -Rhoda, who was sitting a little way off calmly waiting for Dorcas to -depart. - -"Larn from your wife to be larger-minded," she began again; then David -silenced her. - -"Stop!" he thundered out. "Who are the likes of you--a common, fallen -woman--to preach to me? You get going out of this! I don't want you -here no more, and I won't have you here no more." - -"Bah!" she answered. "You're jealous of my William--that's what you -are! Because you can't do what he's done!" - -"Begone before I come back," he answered, "or I'll wring your neck, you -foul-thinking slut! And look to it you treat her as I do, Margaret, or -there may come trouble between us." - -He glanced at his wife darkly, then, in most unusual anger, left the -threshold and walked across to Rhoda. - -"A pair of 'em," commented Dorcas. "And, please Heaven, they'll both be -childless to their dying day. I hate the ground they walk on!" - -"Don't! don't, for God's sake, curse like that," cried the other, and -Dorcas, divining what she had done, was instantly contrite. Indeed, she -began to cry. - -"I'm--I'm that savage; but not with you, Madge--never with you. Forgive -me for saying that. Of course you'll have plenty of -children--plenty--more'n you want, for that matter. Never think you -won't--such a lover of the little creatures as you be. You'll make up -for lost time when you do start. And I hope you'll love mine as well as -your own, for, barring me and Billy and Billy's mother, there won't be -many to love 'em." - -Her words had turned Margaret's thoughts upon herself and made her sad. - -"Sometimes there comes an awful fear over me, Dorcas, that I shall have -none," she confessed. "'Tis all folly and weakness, yet you'd be -astonished how oft I dream I'm to have none. And if it fell out so, I -doubt David would break his heart." - -"Don't think such nonsense. Dreams never come true, and 'twill be all -right," declared Dorcas. "But now I'll clear out, else he'll bully you -for talking to me so long after what he threatened. And, David or no -David, you've got to be our friend, Madge; because there never was such -a dear, sweet creature afore, and never will be. And if 'tis a girl, -Billy have promised me I may call it 'Madge'; and I shall do." - -Dorcas dried her eyes and prepared to depart, but the other bade her -wait a moment. - -"A drop of milk you must have; and--and--I know 'twill be a dinky -darling, and I shall love it only less than you and your husband will," -Margaret said. - -Then Dorcas drank and set off homeward, fearing further trouble; but -with her father she had no painful scene, for by the time that Elias -returned to the warren, the humorous side of that day's encounter had -struck him. He kept this to himself most firmly however; but, as a -result, he indulged in no anger. Instead he merely informed Dorcas that -Mr. Screech would marry her at the earliest possible moment on one -condition: the bridegroom insisted upon a wedding of ceremony and -importance. - - - - - *CHAPTER IX* - - *COMMON SENSE AND BEER* - - -Certain persons of local note had gathered together for evening drinking -in the bar of 'The Corner House.' - -Charles Moses, Bartley Crocker, Mattacott, and Ernest Maunder were -there; but interest chiefly centred in one just entered upon the state -of matrimony. The truth concerning his marriage was known to none -present but Mr. Crocker, and he kept the secret. - -Mr. Moses chaffed Billy Screech, and Billy, whose wit was nimbler than -the shoemaker's, answered jest for jest. - -"As for cleverness, we well know you're clever," declared Mr. Moses. -"You've got a clever face, Screech--a clever nose, if I may say so--'tis -sharp as one of my awls." - -"My nose has a point, I allow," said Mr. Screech, "and your awl's got a -point; but I'm damned if there's much point to the things you say, -Moses. All the cleverness in your family was used up afore you come -into it, I reckon." - -"I knowed the cleverest man that ever was seen in Sheepstor," said -Timothy Mattacott, slowly. "So does Maunder here. So clever he was -that he tried to walk faster than his own shadow, and he sowed a -barrow-load o' bricks once, thinking as they'd grow up into a house." - -"And what became of him?" asked Crocker. - -"They put him away," said Mattacott. "He was afore the times. He's up -along with the Exeter pauper lunatics to this hour, I believe." - -"Samuel Edge was cleverer than that," declared Bartley. "And I'll tell -you why: he weren't content with anything as it stood, but must be -altering and changing and pulling down and building up." - -"A foreigner from Bristol way," said Mr. Moses. - -"Yes, and the great cleverness of the man undid him. There was an -egg-bottomed well to his house, you remember, 'Dumpling'?" - -"I do remember," admitted Mr. Shillabeer. "One of they egg-bottomed -wells the man had." - -"And though it ran out more than enough water for all his needs, nothing -would do but he must cut his egg-bottomed well into a bell-bottomed -well. A pushing, clever chap." - -Reuben took up the narrative. - -"He went down hisself to do the work; and the sides fell in when he'd -under-cut a bit; and they didn't get the carpse out for three days," he -said, gloomily. - -"Yet an amazing clever man was Edge," concluded Bartley. - -"Better he'd left well alone, however," ventured Mr. Screech. His jest -was greeted with a stare and an uncertain sort of laugh. The folk treat -a pun like a conjuring trick: they are dimly conscious that something -unusual has happened in conversation, but they cannot say what, and they -have no idea how it was done. - -"If Edge was the cleverest man, which, for my part, I won't allow," -proceeded Moses, "then who was the cleverest woman, I wonder?" - -"My wife," declared Mr. Shillabeer, instantly. "You must be just to the -dead, Charles, for they can't defend their characters. But I say that -my wife was both the largest and best and cleverest woman that ever -comed here; and if anybody doubts it, let 'em give chapter and verse." - -"Nobody does doubt it, 'Dumpling,'" said Bartley, in a soothing voice. -"There may be a smart female here and there yet, and there may be a -clever maiden or two coming on also; but never did any such grand -creature as Mrs. Shillabeer appear among us. Mr. Fogo used to tell -about her, and how you won her from a regular army of other men." - -"True as gospel. There was a good few fighters after her besides -me--heavy weights too. She'd never have looked twice at anything less -than a fourteen stone man. In fact, to see any male short of thirteen -to fourteen stone beside her was a thing to laugh at. 'Twas when I was -in training for my fight with the old Tipton--years younger than me he -was all the same, that I won her. I was at a little crib out Uxbridge -way, and her father had me in hand, and she come out from Saturday to -Monday, and us went walking over fields. Then a bull runned at us, and -my girl weren't built for running, but I got her over a stile somehow by -the skin of the teeth, and the bull helped me after her from the rear. -Horched me in the buttock, and I bled like a pig after. In fact, I -saved her life. And she knowed it; and when I offered myself 'twas -'Dumpling' first and the rest nowhere, like the race-horse." - -Mr. Maunder spoke. - -"A faithful man to her memory. No doubt if the widow-men could all look -back on such partners, there'd be less marrying a second than we see -around us." - -"In my case," declared the host, "I can't forget her enough to think of -a second. Her great largeness of character was the peculiar trick of -her; and she took such delight in everyday things, owing to being -town-bred, that when I look at a sow with young, or a pony and foal, or -the reds in the sky at evening, or a fall of snow, they all put me in -mind of her. For whether 'twas a budding tree, or a fish in a pool, or -one of they bumbling bees in a bit of clover, everything made that woman -happier. Never wanted to go back to London, took to the country like a -duck to water. So I can't forget her so long as the lambs bleat and the -clouds gather for rain and the bud breaks on the bough. I say, 'Ah! how -my wife would have liked to see that fox slip off that stone;' or 'how -my dear woman would have clapped her hands to look at this grey-bird's -nest with the eggs in it.'" - -The old man heaved a sigh; the rest nodded. - -"Mr. Fogo was different," declared Simon Snell, who had recently -arrived. "He'd got terrible tired of Sheepstor afore he left it; for he -told me so." - -Reuben admitted this, and his gloom increased. - -"He'll never come no more, I'm afraid. 'Twas only the mill that kept -him so long. He must have London booming round him. He's been in -hospital since he was here, for the doctors to cut a lump of flesh out -of his neck. But he's very well again now; and busy about a coming turn -up between Tom King and an unknown." - -"How do it feel to be among the race of married men, Billy?" asked Simon -Snell. - -"'Tis a very proper feeling, Simon," answered the other. "In fact, I'll -go so far as to say a man don't know he's born until he's married. You -chaps--Bartley here and suchlike--talk of freedom. But 'tis all stuff -and nonsense. You ban't free till you'm married; you be a poor, -unfinished thing without your own woman, and I should advise dashing -blades like you, Simon, and you, Timothy, to look around before the grey -hairs begin to thrust in. Thirty to thirty-five is the accepted time. -I'm thirty-three myself." - -"There's outward and visible signs of the inward and spiritual grace I -see, too," said Mr. Moses. "I was by your house a bit ago, and I was -terrible pleased to mark all the windows mended and a bit of paint on -the woodwork of 'em, and a new swing gate where you used to have nought -but a pole across and a piece of old sacking to keep the chickens in. -The place is a changed place and so smart as any bride could wish for." - -"'Tis all that and more," declared Mr. Screech. "And if you'd gone -in--and you'll always be welcome, Moses--you'd have found my wife fresh -as paint herself in her new print, and, what's still more wonderful, my -mother with her hair all twisted tidy and her clothes neat as ninepence. -I would have it, you must know. 'Us must pull ourselves together,' I -said to mother. 'Dorcas comes from a terrible tidy family,--too tidy, -you might say, and I'm not pretending I mind the fowls in the kitchen -myself, or the dogs on the beds; but there 'tis--with a bride we must -meet her halfway; and she's as clean and trim herself as a hen -hedge-sparrow.' My mother made no objection--took to her second-best -dress without a murmur, and bought a new one for the Lord's Day." - -"You're a reformed character, in fact," declared Maunder. "And I for -one rejoice at it, for I've often feared you and me might some day meet -in an unfriendly way when I stood for the law." - -"Don't fear it," answered the other. "I'm all right and full of -contrivances for making a bit of money in a straight and proper manner." - -"David tells me your rabbit trap is the wonderfullest thing in that line -he've met with, and good for ten pounds to sell," put in Bartley. - -"More like twenty," answered Screech. "'Tis a masterpiece of a trap, -and I've had a good offer or two already, but not enough." - -"We get more greedy after money when we'm married, I suppose," ventured -Snell. "Of course we want more then." - -"We ought to have more. We're worth more," answered Billy. "The moment -a man takes a serious hand in the next generation, he becomes a more -dignified object and ought to fetch better money, for the sake of the -wife and family. A married man ought to have better wages and be -rewarded according to his breeding powers." - -"And the women too. 'Tis a great fault in the State that our women -don't make a penny by getting children," declared Moses. - -"Unless they bring forth three at a birth," said Mr. Shillabeer. "Then -'tis well known that the Queen's Majesty sends three pounds out of her -own money, to show that 'tis a glorious feat, in her gracious opinion." - -"Well, we single men had better waste no more time, if Billy is right," -said Mattacott. "For my part I've been looking round cautious for two -years now; but I haven't found the right party. 'Tis the married girls -I always feel I could have falled in love with, not the maidens." - -"Just t'other way with me," declared Bartley. "I like the unexpected -things the girls say and do. The ways of a woman are like the ways of -the mist: past all finding out." - -"True," declared Mr. Screech. "I know a bit about 'em; and shall know -more come presently. But like the mist you'll find 'em." - -"Now here, now away again," continued Bartley. "Now lying as still and -as white as washing on the hill, now scampering off, hell for leather, -without rhyme or reason. And so with them: they never do the expected -thing." - -"True," said Mr. Moses, "you've hit 'em there. As soon as a girl -answers me the direct opposite of what I expect, then I know that girl's -a child no more. She's grown up, and 'tis time for her to put up her -hair and let down her dress." - -"Never the expected thing," repeated Crocker, meditatively. "They cry -when they ought to laugh; they cuss when they ought to cherish; they -fondle when they ought to whip. They forgive the wrong sins; they -punish the wrong men; they break the wrong hearts." - -"And when they've done their bitter worst," added Charles Moses; "when -they've set a man against Heaven, and life in general, and made him -pretty well hungry to creep into his grave and get out of it; when -they've driven him to the edge of madness and forced him to damn and -blast 'em to the pit--then what do the long-haired humans do?" - -"Why, they jump into his lap," declared Mr. Crocker, "and kiss his eyes, -and press their soft carcases against him, all purring and cooing--half -cats and half pigeons that they be!" - -"And the men give way," summed up Mr. Moses. "Leastways the manly, -large-minded sort, like 'Dumpling' and me and Crocker. We can't stand -against 'em--not for a moment." - -"We take, when our turn comes, in fear and trembling," continued -Bartley, "and we hope we'll be one of the lucky ones." - -"The fear and trembling comes afterwards, as you'll find some day, -Bartley, and as Screech here may find any day," foretold Moses. "Every -man backs his own judgment and will lay you any odds he's drawn a -prize." - -"'Tis always the other people be fools in this world," declared Screech. -"It holds of life in general. 'Tis said the world be full of fools, yet -no man will ever allow he is one." - -Mr. Snell spoke. - -"I'm sure you hear of happy marriages here and there," he said -doubtfully. - -"So you do, Simon. You hear of 'em--same as you hear of pixies. But -you don't see 'em. Leastways I don't," answered Bartley. - -"Present company excepted, I hope," said Screech. - -"You forget Mrs. Shillabeer also," murmured Mattacott. "I'm sure nobody -here knows more about marriage than what the 'Dumpling' do. He's seen a -happy marriage." - -"In a way, yes," admitted the host; "and also in a way, no. You can't -be right down happy with a woman--not if you love her as well as I loved -the wife." - -"'Perfect love casteth out fear,' however," quoted Mr. Moses, vaguely. - -"Just what it don't do, Charles; and the man that said it, saint or -sinner, didn't know what it was to love," answered the old -prize-fighter. "If you love a female right down from the crown of her -head to the tip of her toes, and through and through likewise, you fear -for her something cruel. I was built so soft where that woman was -concerned, that I hated for her to go for a drive in a trap, and -couldn't be easy--for thinking of the springs--till I seed her safe -again. And when illness overtook her--why, 'fear' wasn't the name for -it. I crawled about like a beaten dog and cringed to God A'mighty for -her in season and out. But she had to go, and I had to be left. And -she took twenty year of my life underground with her." - -They sympathised with him; then Mr. Snell returned to the main theme. - -"They'm quicker than us, however," he asserted. "I'm sure their brains -work faster than what ours do. There's many a thing a woman can't make -clear to a male mind, try as she will." - -Mr. Crocker laughed. - -"Yes," he admitted. "Such things as two and two make five--when they -want 'em to make five. And they try and they try to make us see it; but -we can't. And yet they are always ready to believe that our two and two -be five, God bless 'em!" - -"I wonder," said Mr. Snell. - -"'Tis so; but you must be masterful, Simon. You must make 'em feel -you're in earnest and have no shadow of doubt," said Billy Screech. -"They love to see you strong, and they'd sooner see you wrong and -sticking to it than be blowed from your purpose by another man. Nought -on God's earth be more hateful to a brave woman than to see her husband -bested. And if a man bests you--whether 'tis at business or in any -other way--don't you tell her if you can help it. Love you as she will, -you'll drop in her mind and be so much the less if she hears about it." - -The clock struck; mugs were drained. - -"Closing time, souls," said Mr. Shillabeer; and five minutes later the -company had separated and the bar was empty. The 'Dumpling' mused on -the things that his guests had uttered. - -"'Tis summed up in that word 'unexpected' without a doubt," he thought. -"Never the expected thing. And if we grant so much, then us never ought -to expect the expected thing. They be all of a piece; and because my -wife looked like living for ever, I ought to have knowed she'd die. I -ought to have known it, and prepared for it, and laid in wait for it. -Yet nobody was more surprised than me, and nobody less so than her when -it leaked out of the doctor. She knowed it herself well enough; but -hadn't the heart to tell me." - - - - - *CHAPTER X* - - *CRAZYWELL* - - -Nature, passing nigh Cramber Tor, where old-time miners delved for tin, -has found a great pit, filled the same with sweet water, and transformed -all into a thing of beauty. Like a cup in the waste lies Crazywell; -and, at this summer season, a rare pattern of mingled gold and amethyst -glorified the goblet. Autumn furze and the splendour of the heath -surrounded it; the margins of the tarn were like chased silver, where -little sheep-tracks, white under dust of granite, threaded the -acclivities round about and disappeared in the gravel beaches beneath. -Upon the face of the lake there fell a picture of the bank, and it was -brightened, where heather and honey-scented furze shone reversed with -their colour-tones subtly changed by the medium that reflected them. -But at midmost water these images ceased and fretted away into -wind-ripples that frosted and tarnished the depths. And there, when the -breeze fell dead for a moment, shone out the blue of the zenith and the -sunny warmth of clouds. At water's brink stood three black ponies--a -mare and two foals of successive births. The mare's daughter already -attained to adult shapeliness; her son was a woolly baby, with a little -silly face like a rocking-horse. He still ran to her black udder when -thirsty and flew to her side for protection if alarmed. - -Peace, here brooding after noon, was suddenly wakened by the stampede of -half a dozen bullocks, goaded by gadflies. Down they came from above -with thundering hoofs and tails erect. They rushed to cool their -smarting flanks, sent ripples glittering out into the lake, and -presently stood motionless, knee-deep, with their chestnut coats -mirrored in the water. - -Upon the side of the pool there sat a woman--as still as a picture in a -gold frame. She was clad with such sobriety that one might have thought -her a stone; but she moved and her sunbonnet shone as she flung it off -and then wiped her hot forehead with the fall of it. For a moment she -thought of the legends of Crazywell and cast back in her memory for the -evidence of their truth. Here was a haunt of mystery and a water of -power. Voices murmured in this hollow once a year, and if none of late -had heard them, doubtless that was because none permitted himself or -herself to do so. A spirit neither malignant nor benign, but wondrously -informed, dwelt here--a sentient thing, a nether gnome, from whom was -not hidden the future of men--a being who once a year could cry aloud -with human voice and tell the names of those whose race was run. All -dreaded the sortilege of the unknown thing that haunted Crazywell; but -since its power was restricted to Christmas Eve, little general sense of -horror or mystery hung over the pool. For Margaret Bowden, however, it -had always possessed a sort of charm not wholly pleasant. She avoided -the place of set purpose and was beside it to-day by appointment only. -Another had named Crazywell as a tryst, and she lacked sufficient -self-assertion to refuse. Now she blinked in the direct sunlight and -longed for shade where no shade was. - -She envied the kine below, and being in a mood a little morbid, by -reason of private concerns, she cast her thought further than the cattle -and pictured the peace and silence beneath the heart of the water. A -long sleep there seemed not the hardest fate that could fall on human -life. There was a man--and Margaret had known him--who drowned himself -in Crazywell. By night he ended a troublous life, and joined the spirit -of the pool for a season. Then he floated into light of day again, and -was found by his fellows. They drew him out and called him mad, and -buried him in the earth with Christian burial, that his wife's feelings -might be saved a pang. Yet nobody knew better than the coroner's jury -that this man was very sane, and had shortened his own life for sound -reasons. Margaret remembered that at the time, she had blamed him much, -but her mother had not blamed him. And she herself, having been married -nearly a year, no longer blamed him. Who was she to judge? If she, a -happy wife, could look without horror at Crazywell in this unclouded -hour, was it strange that an unhappy man might do more than look, and -rest his head there? - -"A happy wife--so happy as any woman ever can hope to be, who--who--" - -Her thought broke off. She envied the mare at water's edge. The -pot-bellied old matron stood still, and only moved her tail backwards -and forwards to keep off the flies. The foal galloped around -her--playing as children will. - -"So happy as any wife can hope to be, who has no child." - -Margaret made herself finish the sentence; for everything that happened -to her now revolved upon it. She explained the least little cloud or -shadow of cloud thus; she referred the least impatience or short word to -the same cause. There was no rift, no failure of understanding, no -lessening of love--so the wife assured herself--but she must do her -duty. She must not much longer delay to bring to David the thing his -soul most desired. - -Her thoughts ran unduly upon this theme, and her own anxiety seemed like -to stand between her and her object. She exaggerated the truth; out of -a natural and innate diffidence she imagined a condition of mind in her -husband which did not exist. David indeed desired children and expected -them; but he was in no violent hurry, and had not as yet even -entertained the possibility of having none. When she mentioned the -matter, he consoled her and blamed her for giving it a thought. In -reality, the thing in their lives that she marked and deplored and thus -explained, belonged to a far different and deeper cause. After love's -fever certain differences of temperament began slowly and steadily to -declare themselves. There was no radical change in David; but his -self-absorption increased with his prosperity--a circumstance -inevitable. For comradeship and for sympathy in business he had Rhoda; -and her understanding of dumb animals so much exceeded Margaret's, that -brother and sister unconsciously made common cause and seemed to live an -inner life and develop personal interests from which Margaret found -herself in some measure excluded. None could be blamed. The thing -simply so fell out; and as yet not one of the three involved perceived -it. David and Rhoda were full of his enterprises, and she did much -man's work afield for him and advanced his welfare to the best of her -strength and sense. Margaret shopped, cooked, mended clothes, and made -ready for the others in the intervals of work. She relieved her -sister-in-law of much sewing and other toil that Rhoda might have the -more leisure to aid David. This woman, indeed, was unlike most women, -and for that reason she did not clash with Margaret as much as another -might have. - -Rhoda Bowden had struck an observer from without as an exotic creature, -who homed here by accident, but who by right belonged to no dwelling -made with hands. A sister of the deep green glade was she--a denizen of -the upland wilderness and the secret antre. She followed the train of -Selene. The silver light and the domain of nocturnal dew were hers. -Silence was her familiar; from her own brother she hid a part of her -days and her nights. And of the varied aspects of her mistress, the -moon, Rhoda shared not a few. The young of beasts seemed her special -care and joy. - - "The tender whelps, new-dropped, of creatures rude," - -found a ready friend in her; but while thus gracious to all the lesser -things that shared her place in time, this girl revealed for humanity, -beyond her brother, but little love. She was zealous for him, but to -other men she stood as heretofore: in an attitude enigmatic, tending to -aloofness. Margaret, however, had yet to be convinced that she was not -to be won. - -To women Rhoda's aspect of late was made more widely manifest. Out of -her own virginal fount of feeling no drop of sympathy with the -unvirginal could flow; and the thing that Dorcas had accomplished was -above all measure infamous, treacherous to womankind, beyond hope of -pardon in her eyes. Had the power to do so rested with Rhoda, she had -swept her sister out of life; and in her mind this yielding wanton, and -her husband, and her new-born baby were already as objects dead and -banished from existence. - -Margaret's thoughts now centred on Rhoda and she lost sight of her own -misty tribulations. Two great problems awaited solution, and with the -optimism of a large heart this woman hoped yet to solve them. She -wanted to see Rhoda a wife; and she wanted to see her reconciled to -Dorcas. The one achievement might depend upon the other. Let Rhoda -once wed, and there must come understanding into her life. - -Margaret had spoken often, with tact and warmth, of Bartley Crocker; and -she had been helped in a very valuable quarter, as it seemed, for David -also considered the man as among his closest friends at this season. -There had recently been some talk between them of a sort specially -interesting to David, for Bartley was attracted, or declared himself -attracted, by the prospect of leaving England to farm in Canada, and the -information he had gathered together respecting that wider world of the -Colonies could not fail to be of interest to Bowden. At David's -invitation Bartley had spent a Sunday afternoon recently at 'Meavy Cot'; -and Madge was now at Crazywell to tell the lover what had followed his -visit. - -She waited yet half an hour; then Bartley appeared on the hither bank of -the pool, looked about him a while, caught sight of Madge's sunbonnet, -and approached her. So busy with her own thoughts was she that she did -not see him until he was beside her: then she rose and bade him find -some shade. - -"The sun's that fierce I must get out of it," she said. - -Thereupon he took her to a little glen close at hand--a lip through -which the pool sometimes overflowed in winter--and under a white-thorn -they sat down together, while Margaret, looking at the golden furzes in -front of her, spoke to him. - -"I do believe the gorse be going brown already. Just a little gladness -we get from it, then 'tis gone again, like a candle blown out." - -"What a thought! You're down, I see. No use saying you're not. And of -late you've been like this more than once. 'Tis for me to talk to you -to-day, I think. 'Tis for me to tell you what I saw last Sunday at -'Meavy Cot,' not for you to tell me what fell out after I was gone." - -"I'm cheerful enough--only wisht to spend such a long day away from -David. He's to Tavistock again. He's terrible hopeful of some work -there; but I hardly think he'll get it--hasn't been well enough -eggicated, I fancy. Though clever enough, I'm sure." - -"He don't know everything, however." - -"Who does?" - -"He don't know a thing or two that even I could teach him." - -"Such as upholstering?" - -"Just so. I upholster chairs--at least I know how to. And you -upholster David's life--make it easy and comfortable and soft at the -edges. But what about your life, Madge?" - -"Well, what about it, Bartley?" - -"I suppose 'tis infernal impudence of me," he said. "All the same I'm an -old friend and one good turn deserves another. You're trying to help me -to get what I want; I wonder if I could help you a bit here and there?" - -"Whatever do you mean? And what did you see at our home that makes you -say such a curious thing?" - -"'Tisn't what I saw, but what I didn't see. But there, what on God's -earth am I saying? 'Tisn't to you I should speak." - -"Go on and tell me." - -"I can't, for I can't give it a name. Only somehow--look here, I'm a -fool to touch this. I'm talking too soon. I must wait and see a bit -more. You can't have your mind in two places at once, Madge. I'm not -myself of late and very likely I fancy things. You'd reckon I had enough -to think about without mixing up myself in other people's business. But -you are different to everybody else. I feel we've been hunting in -couples of late, and so your good's mine." - -"How you run on! And that wild. I don't know now what you're talking -about, you silly chap." - -"More do I. I only know two things for certain. And one is that my -mother is worse, and the other is that your sister-in-law was jolly -interested in what I said about Canada. Did you mark that?" - -"She was. The wildness and bigness of the land would draw her to it. I -meant to tell you. After you'd gone--but I am so sorry about your dear -mother. I thought last week that she seemed a little better." - -"No--not really. It's got to be. God knows that if talking would mend -her, I'd talk for a year. But it won't. So go on about Rhoda, please." - -"Well, she didn't say much herself, but she listened to my husband after -you'd left us, and when he asked her joking whether she'd like Canada, -she said quite seriously that she would. 'Twas the great size and -wildness of the place took her mind. 'To think of them woods and the -wonderful creatures in 'em!' she said. And when David thought how fine -'twould be to have a bit of ground pretty near as big as all Dartymoor -for your own, she nodded and her eyes shone." - -"But she couldn't go out walking all alone of a night there," said -Bartley. "There are bears, I believe, and Indians, too, for all I know. -But very like she'd take to them--bears and Indians both. I daresay now -one of them grimy, naked-faced men with their features looking as though -they were cut out of stone, and a hat of hawks' feathers, would please -her better than ever I shall." - -Margaret laughed. - -"You must persevere," she said. "You must be patient too. After she -refused you she was more than common silent for a month. She thought a -lot about it and went afield more than usual with nought but dogs for -company. Keep at her, but don't ax again just yet. Time ban't ripe." - -"D'you think if I was to offer to go to Canada and make her mistress of -a mile or two of it, that she'd be more like to say 'yes?'" - -"'Tis a great question that, and I won't answer 'yes' or 'no.' 'Tis -very difficult to guess what's passing in her mind, for her face don't -alter like most faces. 'Tis more the light in her eye tells you." - -Mr. Crocker nodded. - -"I've marked that. Her lips and brow don't play and lift like yours. -She keeps her mouth shut and her eyebrows steady. But her eyes talk -more than her lips. She likes me--I do honestly think that, Madge." - -"I'm glad of it. I've gone as near as I dare to asking her what she -thinks of you, and I've sung your praises--not from myself, mind, but as -an echo to David. But she gives no sign. She listens and her face -don't alter. I'll do all I dare, but with such a maiden we must be very -nice. If she thought I was on your side, trying to help you to get her, -she'd never forgive me." - -"I know how clever you are. And David's not against it neither; though -I can't expect him to wish such a thing, for she's as good as a couple -of men to him. In fact, no two would do what she does for him. -Hirelings can't work like them that labour for love. She'd make a model -wife for an open air man. And if I win her, Madge, 'twill be farming -without a doubt, for a shop would be no use to her--nor to me neither, -for that matter." - -Margaret laughed out loud at the idea of her sister-in-law in a shop. - -"Nought will ever tame her down to that," she said. "'Twas a pity you -learnt the upholstering business, Bartley. It didn't lift you in her -eyes, I'm afraid." - -"Let her say 'yes,' and I'll learn what she pleases that'll help to make -a living. I'd very well like to go to Canada and grow apples and corn." - -"So would she, I do think--if she could get to care enough about you." - -"Why shouldn't she? A maiden can always find one chap that's good -enough to marry, and I'm sure she'll not meet with a better in these -parts." - -"I'm very sure she won't." - -"Well, then, I've a right to expect her to give in. There's nobody else? -You can honestly say there's nobody else, Madge?" - -"There's always somebody else where a pretty girl be wife-old," she -answered. "In the case of Rhoda--well, it seems absurd--it is -absurd--too absurd to be true, and yet I won't deny there's something in -it." - -"You mean that bearded antic of a Snell?" - -"He's very much gone on Rhoda in his cautious, lizard sort of a way. He -looks at her in church." - -"Yes, like a cow looks at a passing coach. Surely that slow-witted, -knock-kneed shadow of a man can't interest Rhoda?" - -"Such things ban't easily explained, but it's true that he's about the -only male that ever keeps her talking. I wouldn't say that he ever -dreams of such a thing as marriage, but--" - -"Good Lord--marriage! I'd so soon expect to see him a bishop as a -husband. What now can it be that she likes in poor Simon? I wish I -knew, for I'd try to copy it." - -"I've oft wondered. 'Tis something in the air of him that makes her -feel easy and friendly." - -"I wish he'd got the wit to tell me how he does it." - -"He doesn't know--no more does she. But there 'tis. She can suffer him; -she can even talk about him." - -"Try and see what the trick is, Madge. Ask Simon to tea and watch 'em -together. What do they speak about?" - -"I'll do what I can. She was a bit ruffed with Simon last week, -however." - -"Angered with him! That's a bad sign, if she could be interested enough -in such a shadow as Simon as to be cross with him. She've never been -cross with me--not since we made it up." - -"She was angry because Mr. Snell has got rather friendly of late with -Billy and Dorcas Screech. Their house is near his work and he drops in -sometimes, I believe. He told Rhoda that the baby was very like its -grandmother to Ditsworthy Warren, and Rhoda flared up and answered that -she'd thank him never to name it to her again." - -"Another mystery in her. If I ever have any luck with her, the first -thing will be to make her a bit kinder to women, Madge." - -"She's kind enough; but to say it without feeling, she's narrow and she -hates the mother business. She never will be fond of childer, I'm -afraid, Bartley." - -"Then we shall be of one mind there anyway. I don't like 'em -either--never did and never shall." - -"Wait and see. You'll change from all that nonsense." - -Suddenly Bartley started. - -"Talk of--there goeth Rhoda by the footpath yonder." - -"So she is! Fancy that. I'll call her. She's on her way to Ditsworthy -till evening. But I thought she'd gone long ago." - -Bartley whistled and a solitary fox-terrier, who was the woman's -companion, rushed over to see what was doing. He recognised Margaret -and stopped; then he turned, held up a paw and waited to see whether -Rhoda was coming after him. - -Madge called and Rhoda came to them. Mr. Crocker greeted her with -friendship and Margaret asked where she had been. - -"I fell in with your brother," she said. "Bart was up over rounding up -some ponies. Him and your father have got ten ponies for Princetown -fair and they hope great things from them. But they'll not do so well -as David's--they ain't so forward as our three." - -"A lucky chance this," declared Bartley. "I'm just going up to -Ditsworthy myself to see Mrs. Bowden. My dear mother's weaker and she -wants to have a talk with her old friends before 'tis too late." - -"I'll tell mother for you," said Rhoda. "Only last Sunday she was -wondering if Mrs. Crocker would care for to see her." - -"I must tell her myself and carry back her message to my mother," -answered the crafty lover. His parent had expressed no desire whatever -to see Sarah Bowden; but the excuse came as an inspiration to the man. - -Rhoda said nothing and he spoke again. - -"Perhaps if you are going that way, you won't be offended if I walk -along with you?" - -She shook her head, implying that he was welcome. - -"I've gathered a bit more about the backwoods and the life out in the -Dominion of Canada, you must know. And I was wondering if, among all -your brothers, there might not be one, or perhaps two, as would like to -make their fortunes there. 'Tis a pity for all to bide on the Moor." - -"So I think," said she. "For men to be cooped up, like chickens on a -run, is a vain thing. I'd much wish for to see them go out in the world -a bit--same as other young men." - -"If your brother Drake had been spared, I'm sure he'd have gone," said -Crocker, with a twinkle of the eye. - -Madge saw the jest, but Rhoda quite failed to do so. - -"That's so silly as mother," she said. "But I should like to see Nap -and Wellington under articles to some trustworthy farmer in them parts. -'Twould make men of 'em. The whole family can't be rabbit-catchers." - -This common sense impressed Bartley not a little. It was another side of -Rhoda, familiar enough to Margaret, but not to him. - -They departed now together and Margaret heard Rhoda laugh as they went. -Such an exceedingly rare sound cheered her not a little. It rang like a -hopeful augury, and she rejoiced for Bartley's sake and went home happy. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI* - - *REPROOF* - - -Life is an unconscious effort on the part of the individual to get the -world to see him at his own valuation; and some by force of will -partially achieve it; and some by preciousness of attributes are justly -appraised above their own self-estimate. David Bowden was respected and -counted a man of weight--a rising man, a man whose honesty, industry, -and sense achieved increasing prosperity, and whose justice and goodness -of heart robbed his success of bitterness to all save base minds. But -Margaret's character, so largely different, won open love. The folk -nodded appreciation when her name was mentioned and old eyes brightened -at it. Sympathy from her own brimming cup poured over; and the people, -perceiving this couple from the outer standpoint, declared that no such -happy diversity of qualities ever before mingled to make a perfect -union. - -But it was not quite the union of the moss and the stone; where the hard -is made lovely by the soft and, in return, establishes a sure, enduring -foothold for it. There were permanent disparities in the texture of -their characters that neither could alter and neither could suffer -without pain. David frequently failed to see Madge's point of view: she -was constitutionally unable to harden her nature that she might accept -his attitude. Out of this disability grew hunger and dearth in the -woman's spirit, discomfort on the part of the man. He tried, as far as -his nature would let him, to bridge the gulf; and she came to the other -side and held out her hands to him. Sometimes they touched for a glad -moment, but only thus briefly; and despite his deep affection and her -passionate worship, these vital constituents of character stood between -them, deep-rooted in attributes beyond the power of love to overthrow. -Unconsciously he bruised her; unconsciously she aggravated him. His -native spirit held the wider outlook of her charity and lenity as -weakness. Sin and the sinner were closely allied in his judgment; -therefore her tolerance, her magic ingenuity of excuse for error, her -clemency and her patience with folly puzzled him. She had a genius for -identifying herself with those the world forgot or shunned. She was a -champion of failures; and her attitude to the sick, the wretched, and -the outcast sometimes troubled David. - -On one occasion she caught an evil from a house full of sickness and -brought it home, so that David, too, fell ill and was from his work for -three days. When the doctor came and bade him keep within doors, he -turned on his wife, and for the first time she saw him angry with her. -The incident passed; the sting lasted a long while. Her attitude to -Dorcas won a milder reprimand; but here she was obstinate and asserted -her own liberty of action. She visited Dorcas; rejoiced in her -happiness and content, and congratulated her on the reformation she had -achieved in her husband. But David held off and waited to see Billy -Screech return to his irregular ways; while Rhoda kept her word and saw -her sister no more. - -It happened that David found his wife on an afternoon in autumn going to -the house of Mr. Screech with a basket on her arm. She never openly -irritated him by visiting his sister under his eyes, though her -friendship with Dorcas was not hidden; but now it chanced that husband -and wife unexpectedly met. She was on foot and he rode. She smiled and -stopped. He nodded and asked where she was going with a full basket. - -"Not to they Fosters, Madge? There's some bad catching sickness there, -and I won't have it. I can't afford no more of that nonsense." - -"I'm going to see Dorcas." - -"What for?" - -"Because her li'l chap's queer. Nothing at all, David--only a bit of a -tissick on the chest. And I've made up some cautcheries[#] after a -recipe of mother's for him. And this here's a bit of that big, -blue-vinnied cheese as you said we never should be able to eat. 'Tis a -pity to waste it." - - -[#] Physic. - - -"Anything else?" - -"No--except a pint of whortleberries what I gathered yesterday; and a -couple of they pigs' trotters for your sister." - -"Can't they pick their own whortleberries?" - -"Dorcas be a thought poorly herself. There's another little one coming -a'ready." - -He frowned and sat still on his horse, looking straight between its -ears. - -"Always swarm where they ban't wanted--like bees," he said. Then he -turned to Margaret. - -"Give me that food. Let Screech buy his own cheese. I'm going up over -to see my mother. I'll carry it to her." - -He held out his hand and she took the cheese from her basket and gave it -to him. - -"And no more of this, my dear. I'm not going to keep other people's -children--because I haven't got none of my own. And don't you never -think so, Madge; because if you do, you'll think wrong. Good-bye for -the present. Don't think 'tis hard: 'tis only sense." - -He put the food in his pocket and rode on; she stood and watched him; -then her lips parted a little and as she pressed them together tears -started from her eyes. There was none to see and she made no effort to -restrain her sorrow. Her face was still tear-stained when two men -overtook her and Bartley Crocker, with Billy Screech, bade her good-day. -Billy was in a hurry and had to call at his home on the way elsewhere. -He dearly liked Margaret and now, hearing that she was on the way to see -Dorcas, took her basket for her. Mr. Screech rapidly passed out of sight -and she was left alone with Bartley. - -He spoke at once. - -"What's amiss?" he said. "You've been crying." - -"Nonsense!" - -"I daresay it was. Still, you have. And if 'twas nonsense, you can -tell me so much the easier." - -"Some silly trifle. You oughtn't to have taken any note of it." - -"I've just met David--going up to Ditsworthy. He must have passed you. -Well, well--no business of mine, Madge. I'll say nought and ask you to -forgive me for being so bold as to see. Only I'm different to other -people. We've got such a lot of secrets--you and me." - -Instantly she confided in him. - -"I know 'tis nought but your soft, silly heart, Bartley. We'm too much -alike here and there, you and me. But David's always right, and I do vex -him with my foolish ways--too well I know it. I can't be so firm and -just as him. God knows I try; but my mind ban't built in his manly -pattern. I'm all for forgiving everybody and being friendly with -everybody. He says I'm no better than a spaniel to fawn, but--" - -"Don't," said Mr. Crocker. "Don't tell me no more, Madge. I quite -understand. 'Tis the man's nature to be firm and stern, same as it is -yours to be soft and gentle. You've got to meet one another. He must -try and be soft, and you must try and be hard. I don't suppose either -of you can succeed; but if you try--and yet what silly rummage I be -talking!" - -"I vexed him rather sharp a moment ago." - -"Look here!" he exclaimed. "In a bit of a cloud like this, Rhoda ought -to be the very one living creature of all others to put everything -right. Don't you see that with her sort of nature--as firm as David and -yet a woman--she ought to be able to see both sides and just speak the -very word and do the very thing to make all go smooth and happy?" - -"I'm sure she would if she could," answered Margaret at once. "Rhoda -and me are capital friends nine days out of ten. But of course she's -more like David than me." - -"I heard Screech say she was David in petticoats; but that's only rude, -foolish nonsense. She's a woman, and she must have a woman's softness -and gentleness and understanding for women hidden away in her--a clever, -beautiful creature like her." - -The lover spoke and Margaret did not contradict him. Bartley, though he -could arrive at fairly accurate estimates of character as a rule, proved -blind where Rhoda Bowden was concerned. He had judged her better in the -past; but now he only loved her and erred accordingly. - -"Trust to her; tell her," he advised. "She can do anything with David." - -And Margaret, knowing perfectly well that Billy Screech's opinion of her -sister-in-law was the more correct, yet took some heart of hope from Mr. -Crocker's advice and promised him to do as he suggested. - -"But what am I to waste your time?" she asked. "Such a happy woman as I -be. To see such a foreign thing as a tear on my cheek! No wonder you -was surprised. 'Twas all about nothing really and I'm ashamed of -myself. Now let's talk of you. When be you coming up again to tell us -more about Canada?" - -"I've forgot all about it," he answered. "The question is, when am I -going to ask Rhoda to go there with me? I feel 'twill be do or die next -time. But I can't wait much longer. Then there's my mother. She'll be -gone by October, they say. 'Tis curious how she hankers after that man, -Charles Moses, now. And I'm sure he's terrible kind. Comes in when he -can and reads the Bible to her by the hour. Mr. Merle's very good too. -But she'd rather have Moses than anybody." - -"There's you." - -"Yes--me first, poor dear. I've scraped the skin off my throat, as you -can hear. I was reading to her till three o'clock this morning. Then, -thank God, she got off to sleep." - -They had reached the home of Dorcas and there parted. Margaret went in -and Mr. Crocker, with a resolution recently made and carefully concealed -from her, proceeded towards Sheepstor. - -He had decided to speak to David, and since, knowing himself tolerably -well, he guessed that time might very easily destroy this intention, -Bartley proceeded then and there to the way by which Bowden would return -to his home. In a dingle not very far from Dennycoombe he waited, and -after two lonely hours, during which he considered the probable futility -of his intention, David came along. - -He was in good spirits and asked his old adversary to return home with -him for a cup of tea. - -"I know you'll need no second bidding," he said, "for my wife have told -me about your fancy for Rhoda, and though I can't further it, I'll not -stand in the way if 'tis to be. You'd better come and tell her some -more about foreign parts: she likes that better than courting. If any -man ever wins her, 'twill have to be a wild man of the woods, I reckon." - -Crocker, pleased that David was in a mood so easy, nerved himself to a -dangerous task. He had decided to do no less than try and light -Bowden's imagination. This on any subject had been a difficult feat; but -since the man's own wife was the matter, Bartley felt that he could -hardly have attempted anything less likely to succeed or more likely to -end in tribulation. Indeed, as soon as his mouth was open he regretted -his unwisdom; but it was then too late to draw back and he proceeded. -Chance inspired him to make an excellent case and speak with very -genuine discretion; but David was a long time silent and the other -feared that he had done more harm than good. - -"'Tis well we met," he began, "for I want to speak to you, David. And -'tis a kicklish subject at first glance; but not at second. I mean -Margaret. You know very well I wanted to marry her once, and you know -she loved you better far and you won her. But though she never would -have taken me for a husband, yet I've been close as a brother to her all -my life, and she's fond of me too in her way." - -"I know it," said Bowden. "And why not? Fond she is, else she wouldn't -take so much trouble to try and get Rhoda to have you." - -"Exactly so. And now I'm coming to the tricky place in our talk. I met -Margaret a bit agone--mind, I'm talking like her brother might--and she -was crying. Just after leaving you it was, David. I asked her what was -amiss, and she told me 'twas all her weak nonsense. Then it come out--as -a sister to a brother. She'd vexed you and she was cut to the heart -about it. She loves the ground you walk on, David; and when she don't -hit it off with you--when you look black at her--'tis like holding back -water from a flower. By God, she droops!" - -"Crying, you say?" - -"Had been, and couldn't hide it. You'd never have known it; but I said -to myself, 'that man don't guess what he is to her, or that a cold word -frets her like a wound.' Be angry with me if you like, Bowden, and tell -me to mind my own business. I'll take it now--now that I've told you." - -David stopped and got off his horse. - -"I'm not angry," he said. "The question is, what have you told me? -I'll thank you to say it again; and don't fear to use clear words. I -like 'em best." - -"The point is that, busy as you are and up to the eyes in affairs and -beasts and money-making in general, you've missed a lot in Madge that's -worth finding out. And you must find it out if you want her to be a -happy woman." - -"What don't I know?" - -"You don't know how to humour her." - -"A sane, grown-up woman don't want humouring, surely?" - -"Every woman that ever was born wants humouring. Think now. Don't you -humour Rhoda? Don't even Rhoda do and say things you can't fathom now -and again? Don't you give in to her against your own better knowledge -now and then--for the sake of pleasing her and so that she may the -quicker do as you want her to do next time? Be honest--don't you?" - -Bowden looked at the other with surprise and nodded. - -"Lord! How you know the ins and outs of 'em!" - -"Not me. No man ever can. We just glimpse a bit here and there. But -this I know; patience is the first virtue with women. Patient, as a -spider, we've got to be when the fly is a female. Now Margaret feeds on -one thing, and if you hold it back you starve her. That's sympathy, -Bowden--just a natural, tender sort of feeling such as you don't hold -back even from a cow that's just dropped a dead calf and had her trouble -for nought. I'll say it in a word and trust your large sense and -justice not to be angered. You're not so kind as you might be to -Margaret. 'Tis summed up in that, and I ask you to forgive me for -saying it. I've nought to gain, and everything to lose by losing your -friendship. I wouldn't have spoken such a strong thing for any less -serious reason than her happiness. And now you can tell me to go about -my business if you please, and I'll gladly go." - -"Wait a bit and hear me," answered the other. "I can see, fixed up as -you are, and hoping what you hope, that it wasn't all fun for you to say -this to me. You're not the sort of man as ever goes across the road to -teach other people or meddle with them. And that's why I've listened so -patient to you. Some--most men--I'd have stopped at the first word; -because most men be very fond of giving advice and lifting themselves -above their neighbours; and that sort I very soon put in their place if -they talk to me. But you don't offer your opinions unasked as a rule, -and you've knowed my wife since she was a baby, and you'm a thought like -her here and there--a softness there is in your nature. 'Twas pointed -out after our fight." - -"I said that very word to her to-day," answered Bartley. "'Tis because -I'm rather the same pattern as she that I can feel so sharp about this -as even to risk your friendship by speaking. She'd die for you; but -would you die for her, David? Well, yes, without doubt you would; but -do what's harder. Try to do the little, twopenny-halfpenny, every-day -sort of things for her that'll show her she's never out of your -thought." - -The other had retired into his own mind and failed to hear this -admonition. His intellect moved much more slowly than Crocker's, and he -was now retracing an incident. - -"To show you the softness of her," he said, "I may tell you that when -you was coming to see us, she begged me to take down the -fight-colours--the two handkerchers you might have seen hanging in shiny -wood frames one on each side of the parlour looking-glass in my house. -She said that it would hurt your feelings cruel to see the signs of the -battle there, and I think even Rhoda looked a sort of question with her -eyes at me. 'But no,' I said. 'He's not a fool. 'Twill be no pain to -him to see 'em.' And I wouldn't take 'em down. Rhoda saw it my way; but -Margaret kept on to the end that 'twas not a proper thing--'specially as -you came at my invitation to tea. Yet, of course you didn't mind seeing -your fogle there?" - -"Not a bit in the world. A very natural and proper place for it. But -don't it show what stuff she's made of--Margaret, I mean?" - -"It do," admitted David. "I thank you for saying these things to me. -I'm not above learning from any man or woman either." - -"Learn from her then. You can't learn from a better. Be out of bias -with her no more." - -"I'll have a tell with Rhoda about it. 'Tis the little silly things, as -you say, that please women. I do big things when I can, you must know. -There was another twenty pound put out at interest for her last month. -But she didn't take much delight seemingly in a valuable matter like -that. She thanked me loving enough, but not as though she knowed what -it means to earn and to save twenty pounds." - -"She'd sooner you took her back a bunch of they wild strawberries out of -the hedge than all the money in Tavistock," declared Bartley. "Foolish, -if you like, but take my word for it, David. She's built in that -particular way. Try it." - -Bowden laughed. - -"If any man had told me that I should ever listen to such a lot of sense -from you, I'd have judged him mad," he answered. "Yet here it has come -about, and I thank you, honest, for trying to do me a good turn. And -succeeding too. I'll see how a little silliness will work. Perhaps a -holiday come the next revel. Good-bye--unless you'll drop in for a -bite." - -"Next week, perhaps. But there's a lot of trouble afore me just now. -My mother--" - -"You're welcome when you please to come," concluded Bowden, and -re-mounted, full of his own thoughts. It was characteristic that when -the other mentioned his dying parent, he said nothing. He had heard, -but the ready word made no effort to leave his lips. He was for the -moment quite occupied with his own business. Crocker left his old -antagonist very full of thought and, when the younger was out of sight, -Bowden, at a sudden whim, took his advice literally, dismounted again -and tethered his horse. Then he ranged about and gathered a great bunch -of wood-strawberries that clustered in a dewy hedge and shone ruby-red -in the level sunset light along the lane. - -They would have been a very real and deep joy to Margaret; she must have -been the nearer to his heart that night by the tie of that simple -thought; but such an act was foreign to his nature. He fell to thinking -how really and practically to please her, and in the light of definite -and weighty deeds, this piece of sentiment looked in his eyes so -exceedingly foolish, that he flung the berries away impatiently long -before he reached home. - -What would anybody have said, he asked himself, had they seen the busy -and prosperous David Bowden carrying along rubbish from the hedge-row, -like a child playing truant from Sunday school? - -That night, after Margaret had gone to bed, he talked with Rhoda -concerning her, and Rhoda was deeply interested and anxious to fall in -with his purposes. David mentioned the source of his inspiration, and -finding that he showed no anger against Bartley Crocker, his sister took -the same attitude. They strove very steadily henceforth to please -Madge, and to understand the things that were good to her. They tried -hard, and in a measure succeeded; for Margaret was quick to mark their -efforts and gather happiness from them. Yet the attempt could not -largely avail; because sympathy, without imagination to light its way, -can only grope in the dark and, groping, perish. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII* - - *THE COURAGE OF MR. SNELL* - - -The instinct which drew Simon Snell towards Rhoda Bowden--the instinct -which, exemplified in her, suffered the advance without active -discomfiture--while slight and subtle, was none the less real. There -was that in this simple soul which suited the woman; or if such an -expression is too strong, she found him more easily endured than any -other man. Most girls fled instinctively from Simon. The dullest found -him dull; the least humourous found his beard a jest; the worst educated -discovered that they possessed wider knowledge than he. Yet Rhoda, who -was not stupid, who was handsome and who enjoyed a measure of sense, -could accede something to this egregious man that she denied all others. -She did not spurn him and she did not find his companionship a joke or a -bore. On the other hand, she did not seek him and made no attempt to -better their acquaintance. - -Simon, for his part, developed similar and even stronger sentiments; and -he had wit sufficient to perceive that any increase of friendship must -come from him. - -He debated the matter in his mind with oriental deliberation; and he -consumed several months on the great problem of whether he should or -should not ask Rhoda to take a walk with him during some Sunday -afternoon. His inclinations varied, and occasionally he believed that to -walk with her was desirable; but more often he feared that such an -action would be too definite and must commit him. Moreover, he felt -extremely doubtful as to Rhoda's reply and, thanks to a spark of -imagination in his character not to have been suspected, he believed -that if she said 'no,' he would feel very uncomfortable. - -She met him on a day when the first opinion was uppermost, and almost -before he knew it, Mr. Snell had succeeded in asking Rhoda if she would -take a stroll with him upon the following Sunday afternoon. She replied -without emotion that she was engaged to dinner with her parents at -Ditsworthy. - -"The next then," faltered Mr. Snell. As he spoke, he determined with -himself that in thus pressing himself upon her, he had gone too far, and -he prepared to leave her. To his surprise, however, Rhoda agreed. - -"If 'tis a fine afternoon Sunday week, I'll come. But not if 'tis -pouring torrents," she said. - -"I'll be to your house at three of the clock," he answered. - -Then he left her and found himself in great agitation. This was the most -audacious thing that he had ever done. He felt proud and alarmed by -turns. As the day approached he heartily hoped that it might be wet; -but it arrived clear, cold, and fine. Therefore he went forth in his -Sunday clothes, reached his destination too soon and waited out of sight -behind a stone, until his watch told one minute to the appointed hour. - -Rhoda was ready for him and they set off together up the valley. From -his cottage door David watched them and smiled grimly. His sister had -not mentioned her appointment, and both Margaret and her husband were -exceedingly surprised. - -"It can't surely be that poor Mr. Snell--?" said Madge. - -"Anything can be," he answered; "but 'tis hard to believe. On the -whole--no. It amounts to nought. Look at the way Simon carries his -legs--that loose from the thigh--that loose and wandering, as though -they belonged to a Guy Fawkes!" - -"'Tis a most amazing thing, David, what different sort of people -sometimes have something in 'em that draws them together willy-nilly. -But Hartley!" - -"'Tis no good looking that way," he answered with decision. "I sounded -her as to the man a bit ago, as I promised. She's got no fancy that -way, Madge, and the sooner he knows it the sooner he'll stop wasting his -time." - - -Meanwhile Mr. Snell walked beside Rhoda and talked of the amazing number -of water rats in the leat. Presently he lifted the theme to poultry, and -then, returning to the water, detailed the exact manner of his -professional labours. She said little but listened to his statement of -facts. His mind was only constituted to assert crude happenings. He -had no ideas, no theories, and few opinions. - -"You can see the tower of Princetown church very clear from here," he -said; "but if a mist comed over, it would be hidden." - -She admitted that this was so. - -"A gentleman stopped in our best bedroom and parlour a year back," -continued Simon; "and his custom was to paint pickshers. And once I -comed this way and he was painting pretty near where we be standing now. -And I made so bold as to look, and then I made so bold as to talk, -because the gentleman axed me what I thought of it. 'You've left out -the church tower,' I says to him. 'Yes,' he says, ''twasn't like I was -going to stick such a beastly, ugly thing as that in the middle of they -hills.' So he left it out, though to my eye 'twas the most interesting -sight to be seen." - -"Did he make his pickshers for pleasure, or did he get anything by -them?" asked Rhoda. - -"He lived by 'em. He said to me once that there were one or two sane -men in the world who bought everything he liked to paint. 'Twas a very -curious speech to my ear. And to be honest with you, I didn't like his -pickshers--messy and half done to my eye--very different to the -pickshers you see on grocers' almanacs, where everything, to the hairs -on a horse's tail, be worked out to a miracle." - -"Have 'e seen they pickshers that David got to Tavistock?" she asked. - -Mr. Snell had seen them; but with a great and sudden access of cunning -he replied in the negative. He expected her to invite him home to do -so; but she did not. - -A silence fell until they came to a clapper bridge of rather narrow -dimensions. - -"Shall I hand you over, miss, or would you rather go alone?" he -inquired. - -But Rhoda had crossed before he finished the question. - -The church-tower seemed to draw his eyes like a magnet, and after -further silence Mr. Snell began to talk about it again. - -"'Tis a very wonderful and curious thing that the old prisoners made -thicky pile," he said. "You might not know it, but so it was in ancient -days." - -"Very sad for them, because they was foreigners," ventured Rhoda. - -"Exactly so. 'Twould be a very sad thing to have a wife and family and -be shut away from them." - -"Yes." - -"Very sad without a doubt." - -"Yes." - -Mr. Snell next ventured on a great generality. - -"I don't think 'tis a very good plan for fighting men to marry," he -said. - -"Perhaps not." - -"Because, if they get the worst of it, and get shot dead or taken -prisoners, or any such like misfortune, their children and females have -to suffer." - -Rhoda did not answer. - -"'Tis a deep question, if you come to think of it, miss, who ought to be -married and who ought not to be married." - -"There's a lot married as had better not be," she declared. - -"I quite agree, I quite agree," answered Simon; "and you might even go -so far as to say there's a lot might be married who ain't." - -"There's a lot don't want to be, I believe." - -"Women, I grant you. I do think here and there you'll find a woman who -won't change the single state, along of experience with married sisters, -or babies, or cross-grained men, or what not; but us was telling to 'The -Corner House' a bit back along, and it seemed the general idea that -there comes a time in every manly mind when the chap cries out for a -wife. Should you think that might be so?" - -"How should I know?" - -"Beg pardon, I'm sure. Perhaps 'twas a silly question to put to a young -woman. No offence, I hope?" - -"Yes, it was a silly question." - -"Sorry, I'm sure, and I hope you'll overlook it. But, when I ax myself -if ever it was so with me--but perhaps it don't interest you?" - -She considered before answering, then replied: - -"I don't much care what men think, but if you want to tell me, tell me." - -"Not at all--far from it, I'm sure. For that matter I couldn't tell you -very easy. I haven't been throwed much with the female kind." - -"So much the better for you very like." - -"I quite agree--as a general thing; but, however--" he broke off and -looked at his watch. - -"My word, only four o'clock! Who'd have thought it?" he exclaimed. - -"In my case I've been throwed a lot with men," said Rhoda. - -"So you have, and no doubt you'll understand 'em pretty well. In fact, -you're as brave as most men. I'm sure now you are braver than me." - -"Ban't you brave then?" - -"I'm brave by fits and starts," said Mr. Snell. "With cattle, yes; with -horses, no. When I was a little nipper, not above twelve or thirteen -year old, a wicked horse got me down and bit my shoulder to the bone. -He'd have killed me in another moment, but the Lord sent a man with a -pitchfork and I was saved. But I feared a horse from that day, and if I -could show you my shoulder, which, of course, I wouldn't offer for to -do, you'd see how I was mangled by the teeth of him." - -"Some horses be as uncertain as dogs, and they've got terrible long -memories--better than ours sometimes." - -"No doubt you know, so full of learning about four-footed things as you -be." - -"We'll turn now, please." - -"Certainly. Us have come a longer way than I thought to. But you step -out something wonderful." - -"I like walking." - -"So do I--nothing better. I go along ten miles of the leat six days a -week, winter and summer. You might be surprised to know that I go more -than three thousand miles in the year. 'Twas done out in figures by Mr. -Mattacott all quite correct." - -They had turned, and now walked a considerable way in absolute silence. -Then a neighbour came in sight, and Mr. Snell grew nervous. - -"There's that clacking creature, Mary Main. She haven't seed us yet. -If you'd rather for me to go away afore she does--?" - -"Yes, if you like." - -"It might be better--unless-- Well, here's good-bye then for the -present, and I'm very thankful to you for walking--very thankful and no -less." - -"Us have had a nice walk." - -"I quite agree, I'm sure; and thank you kindly; if I get over this here -wall I can pick up the leat yonder; and to see me by the leat will be an -everyday sight for anybody." - -"Yes, it will." - -He hurried off, and Mary Main, when she met Rhoda alone as usual, had no -idea of her recent great adventure. - -What impression the walk with Simon left in the girl's mind none ever -knew; but Mr. Snell felt mildly elated by the achievement, though he -told nobody about it. He was secretive, and his own mother knew nothing -of his thoughts. Indeed, she was scarcely aware that he did think. -Rhoda, too, confided in none but her brother. She said nothing about -her amusement, and when Margaret openly asked her if she had enjoyed it, -she did not answer the question, but replied with some other matter. It -happened thus. - -"Did you like Mr. Snell's opinions?" asked her sister-in-law, as Rhoda -took off her hat and came to the tea-table. - -"They horned sheep have all gone down in a crowd from the high ground, -and they want to be driven back, which I'll do after I've had a cup of -tea and changed my clothes," said the other. - -Six weeks later there fell out an unfortunate incident which went far to -extinguish the slightly closer understanding that had obtained between -these women since Bartley Crocker met David. By ill-fortune Madge -annoyed Rhoda exceedingly, and her brother was also implicated. Mr. -Snell, however, suffered most in the sequel. With great circumspection -he had avoided Rhoda for a month after their walk, then he met her and -proposed another. - -"'Twill have to be short, for the evenings close in so," she said. - -"I like the dark so well as you, however," he assured her. - -"I only like the dark alone," she answered. - -"How coorious! I only like it in company," he declared. "But, if you'm -willing, I'll be so bold as to call at the cot half after two come -Sunday week." - -"I shall be home that day. I dare say my sister-in-law will come too." - -"As to her--" began Mr. Snell, then he checked himself. "She's a very -nice woman; in fact, you'd have to look a long way further than -Sheepstor parish to find her equal," he declared. And then he went his -way, dimly conscious that he had chosen his words awkwardly. - -When he arrived Rhoda was ready, but Margaret had a cold in her face, -and the other had not asked her to join the party. Mr. Snell's -appearance came as a surprise, and David spoke. - -"Why, here's Simon again! So 'tis him you be prinked up in that new hat -for, Rhoda!" - -Margaret laughed despite herself, and the virgin flushed; but with -anger. - -"Look at her roses!" said David, whose Sunday dinner had left him in an -easy mood. Then his sister instantly restored him to seriousness. - -"How dare you!" she cried. "How dare you laugh, Margaret, or you say -such things, David? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. I won't see -the man! Never again will I see him! 'Tis you coarse creatures ought to -blush--not me!" - -She left them, went to her room, and refused to descend though Margaret -came up and pleaded with her. - -"Tell him to go," was all that Rhoda said. - -Mr. Snell was placidly regretful to hear that Rhoda had a headache. - -"The headache is a very painful thing; but she'll soon be rids of it," -he said. "Us was going for a walk, but 'tis not of any consequence. I -can go just as easy alone. Or I needn't go at all, come to think of -it." - -He went to the gate, hesitated, and returned. - -"When she comes down house again, you might give her my respects," he -said; "and if 'tis her stomach that is out of order, there's nothing -better than a little cold onion broth without salt, taken when the -organs all be empty." - -"I'll tell her," promised Margaret, and Mr. Snell shuffled off. - -He walked over the exact ground of the former peregrination and recalled -the former topics very accurately. - -"I shall leave it now till well on into the new year," he told himself; -"then, if my feelings be so fierce and fiery as they seem to be at -present, I might offer for to go walking again. There's nought like a -walk for helping a male to see into the female mind. 'Twas Crocker, I -remember, who said in the bar that if you could get a girl to laugh at -your jokes, 'twas a great thing done. But 'twill have to be something -out of the common funny to make that woman laugh. And as to making a -joke--I don't know I'm sure." - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII* - - *RHODA PASSES BY* - - -A great uncertainty prevailed above Margaret Bowden, where she sat on -the lofty side of Lether Tor before noon and waited to meet Bartley. -The aerial doubt was reflected on earth in shadows and darkness shot -with fitful light; an increasing opacity threatened rain; yet, where the -vapours crowded most gloomily and massed their hooded cowls, light and -wind would break their conclaves and scatter them upon the humid bosom -of the Moor. Through this welter, sunshafts fell and flashed over the -grey and russet of the wilderness. - -A sort of mystery belonged to the day seen in its huge encounter between -cloud legions and the light of heaven. Strange things might have been -happening within the penetralia of the fog-banks, where they drove -through the valleys gloomily. There was an air of mighty preparation, -of imminent explosion, of forces stealthily taking stand and making -ready to declare themselves in elemental encounter between the armies of -the sun and the rain. Light and darkness joined battle, and Mother -Earth lowered heavily, in mood to welcome the victory of her own -innumerable cloud children. The sobriety of the hour increased. The -distant details of the land faded; the tors ascended solemn and purple -above the grey. - -Yet, through loopholes in the driving fog, the sun still shot his arrows -strongly and, where they fell, there broke forth fire on dene and -dingle, and small roof-tree isolated in the loneliness. The watcher -marked a sudden shaft sweep the vale of Kingsett with a besom of light, -while another radiant gleam broke the clouds, descended upon her old -home, and set the far-off whitewash glimmering like a jewel at the -throat of Dennycoombe. - -Now the high lands southerly shone for a moment; now the ragged crest of -Sheep's Tor was glorified with a nimbus of light, that revolved in a -broad, wet fan, and then shut up again, as the clouds thrust between sun -and earth. - -In process of time, as the war swept hither and thither, there grew a -cheerful hope in Madge's mind that the clouds might be beaten. When all -seemed lost and new vapours gathered even to her feet, she saw the upper -heaven shine with sudden access of glory. It collected in close, -dazzling centres; it pierced and riddled the fog beneath with silver -that warmed into gold. And then the earth, that had taken service with -storm and lifted her dark bosom to welcome rain--the faithless earth -paid court to the conqueror and welcomed him with beauty. No longer she -sulked; no longer the tors and hog-backed hills answered the dark strata -of the sky with greater darkness, and spread beneath the sullen colours -of the clouds a face still more sullen. Instead they donned a brighter -aspect; while banderoles of blue unfurled aloft in the widening rents of -the cloud rack. A great wind gathered strength, scattered the mists, and -drove them flying down the hills; there fell warmth on the watcher's -cheek; the world smoothed out her granite wrinkles, smiled, and -reflected the azure of heaven upon her manifold stony faces, her -water-ways and plains. Light conquered and upon the skirts of the -defeated fog there burnt cold fires and glimmered the iris. - -This transformation and overthrow of the day's dark prophecy much -heartened Madge. The victory of sunshine lifted her spirits -unconsciously. She grew happier with the unfolding serenity of the -hour; and she was singing to herself when Bartley Crocker arrived. - -Of late not seldom they had met unseen in lonely places, far afield. -Sometimes she waited for him by the great menhir of Thrushel Coombe; -sometimes at Plym Steps; sometimes in spots even more remote, haunted by -the heron and the shadows of clouds. But during the past fortnight -Margaret had only seen Mr. Crocker on one occasion, when she called to -know of his mother's fading health. Then he made the present -appointment; and now, as she sang, he climbed up through the wild -clitters of Lether Tor to keep it. - -"Go on," he said. "I heard you long afore you saw me. 'Tis pleasant to -my ear; for nought be singing just now but the robins." - -"I was cheered somehow when the sun mastered the fog." - -"How's Rhoda?" - -"Very well. She'll come this way herself presently, by Nosworthy -bridge." - -"Mr. Snell called again?" - -"Not again. 'Tis a pity you can't see a bit more of Rhoda, however." - -"My mother wouldn't let me out of her sight at the last." - -"Well I know it, poor dear. How does she find herself to-day, Bartley?" - -"A bit strange, no doubt; but with my father to show her the new place. -She's dead." - -"Dead! Oh, Bartley!" - -"Yes--thank God. Faded out at four o'clock yesterday morning. -Flickered out just the same as a night-light flickers out. Wavers and -shakes--then steadies down again--then gets brighter than ever--then -grows dim--slowly, slowly, till there's nought but a bead of fire left. -And then a flash, and then--gone. And your eyes think it's there still; -but it isn't." - -"Dear Bartley, I'm so sorry for you." - -"Are you? But I know you are. Not many else will be--not many but me -and my Aunt Susan. She's torn to the heart. I couldn't stand no more -of it." - -"I'll see your aunt to-morrow. I'll see her to-day." - -"She'll thank you. Make it to-morrow. My dear mother wasn't a very -much sought after woman--too wise for that, I expect. But you could -comfort her sister. Nobody else will trouble about her." - -"To-night I shall go down." - -"The funeral's on Tuesday. Would you put her to the west where the big -holly tree is, or under the sunny wall where the slates of the Moses -family all stand?" - -"She'd have liked to be buried by her husband. She told me so." - -"I know; but 'tisn't convenient. He lies at Honiton, and 'twould cost a -King's ransom to take her there. But I asked her almost the last thing, -and she thought and shook her head. Past caring then." - -"Me and David will be at the funeral--I can promise for myself, and I'm -pretty sure he'll go." - -"D'you think you could get Rhoda to come? D'you think I might go so far -as to ask her to come?" - -"I'm sure she'd go if she thought it would give anybody any pleasure." - -"Not pleasure exactly. You might almost say 'twas business more than -pleasure. Don't think I'm hard-hearted and all that sort of thing; but -when you're in love like I am--everything--even the funeral of his own -mother--is used by a man to his advantage, if it can be. To feel like I -feel for Rhoda makes me as hard as a millstone for everything else. I -want her at the funeral; because if she sees me there burying my dear -mother, it may bring a pinch of softness to her. I've planned to get -her there if 'tis possible." - -Margaret stared at him in wonder. - -"Don't think me daft. I'm suffering enough; but 'tis man's way to look -on ahead. And I can't look on ahead into nothing. I've grown to feel -to Rhoda that she's got to marry me. And yet 'tis idle to pretend that -I've much right to be hopeful. What's the best news about her?" - -"There's no news, unless her long, lonely walks be news. She must think -of something when she takes 'em. She can't talk to the dogs all the -time. Her mind can't be empty, can it?" - -"Certainly not," Mr. Crocker assured her. "She must be travelling over -something in her brain, if 'tis only the joneys on the mantel-shelf in -your parlour. But it isn't about me and Canada she thinks, I reckon. -Canada, perhaps, but not me." - -"I will say this: there's no unfriendliness in her. I never hear her -speak a word against any man, bar William Screech. And I go in hopes -that she'll forgive even him and Dorcas." - -"She'd forgive 'em right enough if she was married to me. Anyway, when -my dear mother's laid to her rest, after a few days are past, I shall -ask Rhoda again. The time has come to do it." - -"I think it has." - -"Will she be along with you at Christmas?" - -"No," answered Margaret. "'Tis ordained that we all go to Ditsworthy -for Christmas dinner. 'Tis a longful time since David was to home, and -his mother has planned this." - -"Well, you must ask me a bit later. Or I'll try to get David to bid me -come and eat along with you after New Year. I may tell you this: David -wouldn't make any objection." - -"None--none at all." - -Bartley began to spare a little thought from himself for Margaret. He -had often wondered whether his plain hints to her husband brought any -fruit for her. To-day he was in a high-strung and somewhat emotional -mood; therefore he did not shirk the subject as usual; but prepared to -plunge into it. - -"Let's get down the hill," he said. "We'll go so far as Nosworthy -bridge together, if that's not drawing you too much out of your way." - -"'Twill suit very well," she answered. "I want to meet Rhoda, and -she'll be fetching back by the bridge afore long." - -"You'll be hungry." - -"No; I've got a bit of bread and cheese in my pocket. You can have half, -if you mind to." - -He shook his head. - -"Can't eat to-day. 'Twill be a fast day in my life for evermore." - -"Dear Hartley, I don't say much. Who can say anything to the purpose -against such a loss? But I do feel for you." - -"I know it, Madge. Nobody'll feel for me like you. Give me your hand. -'Tis a thought steep here; but it leads to the best road to the bottom." - -He helped her down the crooked acclivities, and in half an hour they -were at the bridge beneath. - -Here Meavy opens her arms, and shutting them again, creates a little -island. The waters join once more below and sing and foam under the -ivy-mantled span of one grey arch. To-day naked boughs thrust up from -the drooping red mat of the brake-fern, and the leaves of the willows -were reduced to a mere yellow sparkle of yellow on the boughs. Only the -greater furze laid a heavy green in great masses on the harmony of -winter colours. - -Bartley led the way by mossy stones beside a backwater where dead leaves -danced. - -"We'll sit on the island," he said, "while you eat your food. There's -an old hurdle there, and I'll put my coat over it for you." - -A few moments later they were talking about Margaret's self, and she -felt her heart flutter somewhat at this sudden and very unexpected -change of subject. - -"D'you mind what you told me some time since, Madge?" he asked. "At -least it can't be said you told me; but, between the lines of things -that you spoke, I somehow pieced together a sort of feeling you wasn't -as happy as you'd a right to be." - -"How can you think so? I'm sure--" - -"Well, anyway, it got into my stupid head, and as luck would have it I -fell in with David a bit after I'd left you. You must remember the day, -Madge. It's idle to pretend you've forgot." - -"Yes, I remember. I was down-daunted and silly. You oughtn't to have -thought twice about my feeble grumbling." - -"You didn't grumble. Another person would have marked nothing in what -you said; but I know you so well--quick as lightning I am where you are -concerned, or any woman I care about. And I talked to David." - -She started and stared at him. - -"Then I'm very angry indeed with you, Bartley." - -"Are you? Well, he wasn't. There's few more sensible, clever chaps -knocking about than your husband. Like a flash I opened his eyes, and -he thanked me for doing it. Thanked me, mind you." - -"Opened his eyes! Whatever do you mean?" - -"I mean I opened his eyes. He's a terrible busy man and I'm a terrible -lazy one. And 'tis no use being lazy if you can't use your time to do -the busy folk a good turn. Fools would say 'twas interference; but not -a wise man like David." - -"What did you tell him?" - -"Say you forgive me." - -"It depends what you said." - -"It depends on the result of what I said. I told David that I reckoned -he was--well--too busy. I said he dropped you out of his life a bit too -much and didn't humour you enough. I told him plump out that he wasn't -so kind as he might be. Now you're properly angered with me, no doubt; -but just think if you've a right to be." - -She was silent, and her flush faded and her eyes fixed on him and grew -puzzled. - -"'Twas only because I knew him so well and his straight, just way that I -dared," he continued. "And now you've got to say if that talk did harm -or good. And if it did harm, heap hard words on me; but if it did -good--" - -She put out her hand impulsively, but not until a silent minute had -sped. During the moments she retraced the past and remembered what had -surprised her and made her happier. Then she stretched out her hand and -clasped his. - -"Good came of it," she said. - -"If that's so, I've gained something to-day as well as lost something, -Madge." - -"David--it shows what he is, Hartley." - -"Yes. He's high above anything small or mean." - -She continued to reflect. It was impossible to say much more on the -subject, and, indeed, the brightest that could be said was spoken. The -wife, though she knew that her husband had long since resumed his old -absorbed attitude and found less and less leisure for amenity and -tenderness, could not whisper this outside her own heart. - -"It was good and brave of you," she said. "And dear David belongs to -the large-souled sort of men that ban't above learning even on such a -sacred, secret business as his wife. But he knew you had known me ever -since I was a little girl." - -Bartley nodded. - -"So long as you can tell me that good came of it, I'm content. Now -leave it. Eat your lunch and then I must go. And strive to bring 'em -both--Rhoda and David--to the funeral." - -"All Sheepstor will surely go." - -She brought her food from her pocket and he watched her eat some little -sandwiches made of bread and cheese. Their backs were turned to -Nosworthy bridge, but they were quite visible from it. - -"There's more here than I want," she said. "I wish you'd take some." - -The whimsical child in the man, even on this dark day, broke loose. - -"Feed me," he said. "Don't think I'm a fool for asking; but feed me. I -mean it. 'Twill comfort me. I'm cruel miserable, though not to the -eye." - -Of old she remembered his follies and fancies. - -"When you was young you was always like a little, silly, petted bird or -puppy," she said, smiling. - -"So I often am still--and especially when I'm down on my luck. There's -no dear, silly mother to pet me no more and make me chirrup again. How -she would do it! Feed me, Madge." - -She held a sandwich to his mouth. - -"One more." - -"Here's four more. Eat 'em quick. And then I must get going." - -One by one she put the morsels of food to his lips, and laughed at him, -in spite of herself, while she did so. Then he thanked her and declared -that he was much the better and happier for her charity. - -"Mother's in heaven," he said. "And I'm going to her again some day. -If a man believes that really, and doesn't only fool himself to think he -believes it, 'tis the greatest comfort of all. And I didn't ought to be -miserable to-day, and I'm damned if I will be." - -"Of course you believe it. So do I--heart and soul--and so do every -true, faithful Christian creature." - -"Of course. Didn't you say you counted to meet Rhoda here?" - -"Yes--'tis time she came by." - -"I shall pass her going back; and I'll tell her you're at the bridge -waiting for her. Good-bye, Madge; and the Lord bless you for the kind -things you've said to me." - -"And thank you, too, Bartley, for--for--" - -"That was nought." - -He helped her back from the island to the road; then he left her and -went his way in expectation of meeting Rhoda at every turn. But he did -not meet her, because she had already passed by. - -She had flitted swiftly over the bridge; but stricken to passivity by a -sudden and astounding sight--she had stood a moment upon the farther -side. She had then gone forward without disturbing those who astonished -her. - -Therefore Margaret and Mr. Crocker were wholly unaware that Rhoda Bowden -had seen her sister-in-law not only putting food into the man's mouth, -but also laughing at him while he ridiculously imitated the fluttering -action of a fledgling bird. - -Rhoda gasped and slipped her foot once or twice from sheer absorption of -mind as she proceeded homeward. She considered this spectacle in the -light of news just gleaned at Sheepstor. - -"And the man's mother not much more than cold in her grave-clothes!" she -thought. - - - - - *BOOK III* - - - - *CHAPTER I* - - *MYSTERY* - - -The company at 'The Corner House' had divided into two groups, and each -was concerned with a separate subject. Mr. Shillabeer himself, with -Bartley Crocker, Mr. Moses, Simon Snell, and Bart Stanbury, discussed a -strange phenomenon that had of late startled the dwellers at Sheepstor; -while, with their backs to this throng, Ernest Maunder, his friend -Timothy Mattacott, and Billy Screech whispered together upon a private -problem. - -"The thing can be explained in a word," said Moses; "there be amongst us -some high-minded, religious creature that have got hold of this way of -advertising the Truth. He have said to himself, 'There's nought like a -gate to catch the eye of the passer-by.' And so, where a gate happens -to stand by the wayside, he have gone by night and painted up a Bible -truth. Farmer Chave found '_Prepare to meet thy God_' on his bullock -byre yesterday morning, and there's 'Eternity'--just that one solemn -word--on every second gate betwixt here and Meavy." - -"He's come out our way, too, since last week," said Bart Stanbury. -"There be a text up over on the moor-gate above our house: '_Now is the -accepted time_.'" - -Young Stanbury was courting a girl at Nosworthy Farm, near his home, and -this text, staring out of the dawn-lit desert, had come to him with the -force of a direct command. But he made no mention of its private -significance in his affairs. - -"The party means well enough," declared Hartley. "There's no doubt about -that. And it can't be denied that coming upon these solemn things all -of a sudden makes men and women think. The puzzle is to know who's -doing it." - -"Some of the people that own the gates don't like it, however," said -Simon Snell. "Farmer Bassett, out to Yellowmead, says 'tis a form of -trespass and battery to write on a man's gatepost; and it don't bring -you any more within the law because you write up Scripture. The man -stuck up '_Let there be light_' on Mr. Bassett's big gate--the one going -into his four-acre field--and Bassett was cruel vexed and said as how -he'd let light into the chap himself if ever he caught him." - -"And he's cleaned his gate with sand-paper," added young Stanbury. - -"'Tis written on again since then," said Mr. Shillabeer. "I was that way -not long since, and there's words written there again--namely, 'God is -Love.'" - -"Strange thing is that Ernest Maunder on his nightly rounds should have -never catched the man," mused Crocker. - -"Not at all," explained Mr. Moses. "The man no doubt knows the way of -Ernest's beat as well as Ernest himself do, and avoids him. They were -saying yesterday that it might even be parson's self; but of course -that's a rash and silly idea. His reverence is as much interested in it -as anybody--especially since he found '_The Lord loveth a cheerful -giver_' on his own back-garden door--the one that leadeth out into the -lane. He holds that the man means well; all the same, he wants him -catched and stopped." - -"What could be done to him if they did lay hold on him?" asked Reuben -Shillabeer. - -"Why, there you beat me," answered Moses. "I'm sure I don't know. The -lord of the manor might talk to him; but I don't think any law has been -broken, whereas 'tis certain many people have been made to think about -religion in consequence." - -"My mother for one," asserted Mr. Snell. "She came across '_After death -the Judgment_' 'pon a broken paling out Yennadon Down way, and it turned -her faint on the instant and made her very unwell. But 'twas all to the -good, as she herself declared two days afterwards. The man's doing a -very proper work, whoever the man is." - -"With a pot of blacking and letters cut out of tin he does it," said -Bartley Crocker. "It ought to be pretty easy to find him out. He must -have been round here only a day or two ago. I see he's been busy at the -bottom of your paddock, 'Dumpling.'" - -"Yes," admitted Mr. Shillabeer. "He knows a bit about everybody. -'_Swear not at all_' he put up on my fence, down the bottom end of my -cabbage plot. That ought to be a lesson to us in this bar, for, try as -I will, the crooked words slip out among you." - -"I quite agree," said Mr. Snell. "I catched myself saying 'damn' to a -young dog only yesternight. And no fault of the dog." - -"If we was all as careful as you, no great harm would come to the -parish," answered Charles Moses. "For my part, swearing never drew me. -I found I could be righteously angry without it, and also forcible of -speech." - -"Some fall back upon it as natural as drink," asserted Bartley, "though -'tis certainly no sign of strength to put in swear words." - -"Yet Sir Guy Flamank, his honourable self, be a great hand with them," -argued Snell. "I've heard him in the hunting field use the most -terrible parts of speech you can imagine--though not when ladies was -out, I admit that." - -"Take my good friend, David Bowden," said Bartley. "No man ever yet -heard him use an oath. And yet, by all accounts, nobody gets his way -quicker with smooth words." - -Mr. Shillabeer nodded. - -"Without a shade of unkindly feeling against the man, I could wish he -wasn't quite so own-self, all the same," he said. "That wrapped up -heart and soul in work and money-making, that he haven't eyes for -anything else in the earth." - -Mr. Crocker looked round about him. - -"What you say is gospel truth, 'Dumpling.' We're all friends here, I -believe--friends to 'em both. Therefore none will think it anything but -kindness in us to be sorry about 'em." - -"I met Margaret a while back," said Mr. Shillabeer. "My wife was -terrible fond of her when she was a mere strip of a girl. We had some -talk together, and--there 'twas. I'd give my whiskers to make 'em go -along a thought happier; and yet when you say the word, she'll have -nought of it and tell you there never was a happier, luckier creature." - -"In a way that's true," declared Bartley, "but in another way 'tis -false. What did you say to her, Reuben?" - -"To be plain," answered Mr. Shillabeer, guiltily, "I was full of rather -gloomy thoughts along of it being the death-day of the wife. And I -said, in my darkness, that self-slaughter might not be all bad, if a man -had outlived his value. And she reproved me--yes, she said the word in -season." - -"You oughtn't to think of such things, Shillabeer," declared Mr. Moses. - -"I know it, Charles; yet thoughts will come over the mind unbidden. But -leave that." - -"As to David, he's easier to talk sense to than you might think," added -Crocker. "I risked it once, and he took it in a very manly spirit that -made me respect him more than ever. But I doubt he's forgotten it all -long ago. Why for don't you try, Moses? You're a light among us and -carry the weight of the church on your shoulders. Catch the man coming -out one Sunday and go a bit of the way back-along with him, and some of -us will take Madge and Rhoda out of earshot." - -"No," answered the shoemaker. "Don't ask me to attempt any such a -thing. You can't alter it, and they can't alter it. 'Tis in them: -they're built so. Just a pinch of salt makes or mars a stew, and just a -pinch of character makes or mars a home. If we even knew exactly what -'twas, we couldn't alter it. You can't pull out a bit of human nature, -like a hollow tooth. Just an over-seasoning of pepper in a man, or a -pinch of softness in a woman, may spoil all. It takes terrible little -to wreck a home, and I've known large tragedies rise up out of nought -but a taste." - -"That's true," declared Bartley. "A man with a failing, or a fancy, as -wouldn't count against him in one woman's eyes, may come to eternal -smash on it if he happens to wed with another woman. 'Tis the little -twists of character that lead to the biggest troubles, as the acorn -breeds the oak." - -Mr. Shillabeer obliged with an instance. - -"I knowed a very good Christian girl who was a moderate drinker and -never dreamed of taking a thimble too much afore she married. And she -never would have done so afterwards, but for the bad luck of her husband -being a furious teetotaller. I've seed that man talk about drink till -you'd think he was blind drunk himself! And so he was--drunk with rage -at the thought of there being such a thing as drink in the universe. -And what come of it? She took to drink, that woman did, driven to it, -you might say, out of sheer spite; and the man catched his only son -market merry at ten years old; and he dashed him to the earth in his -righteous indignation and broke the poor child's arm in two places." - -"'Tis just the sort of thing that happens every day," declared Charles -Moses, mournfully. "But, please God, with the Bowden pair, they are -both too sensible to drift apart. 'Tis a terrible sad thing to see -husband and wife lost, as it were--each feeling along alone, trying to -find the man or the woman they loved and married, and not finding 'em. -For why? Because each have gone back to themselves, and put off all -that hoodwinking toggery they was hidden in during the courting time. -We talk about being disguised in drink, Reuben Shillabeer, but we ought -to talk about being disguised in love also. There's nought makes a man -act further from his true self than wanting to win a woman." - -"'Tis supposed to bring out the best of us; but I'm with you there; I -don't know that it does," said Bartley. - -Mr. Snell stared. - -"For my part, though you might say such a man as me hasn't the right to -lift his voice afore such a learned person like you, Mr. Moses, yet I do -believe in love. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I've felt it more -than here and there--back and forward, like rheumatism, according to the -state of the blood and the season of the year; but when it comes, it -makes me more valiant without a doubt; and that's to the good." - -Mr. Crocker looked at his rival. Then he opened his mouth to speak; and -then he shut it again and kept silence. - -Elsewhere Mattacott, Maunder, and William Screech debated a great -matter. They argued now as to whether Mr. Shillabeer should hear the -secret, and the policeman advised against it. - -"An honest and an upright man, outside prize-fighting," he said; "but in -this you can't expect him to take sides. We are all his customers--Bart -Stanbury just as much as Mattacott here; therefore I say, 'keep the -thing from him.'" - -"And from everybody," added Mattacott. "If it get's out, all's marred. -The fewer hear of it, the better; and I hope you won't tell your wife, -Billy." - -Mr. Screech laughed. - -"That shows how little you know of the world, Timothy. Why, 'twas my -wife had the brilliant thought! She knowed Mattacott wanted for to -marry Jane West, and I told her how another man was after Jane also, and -that she couldn't decide between 'em. Then says Dorcas--quick as a -needle, that woman--'Jane believes in all that rummage about Crazywell. -So what Mattacott have got to do is to plan to get her that way come -next Christmas Eve; and he've got to lie hid; and when he sees her, -he've got to shout out the name of t'other chap; and Jane will think -'tis the spirits; and she'll fancy t'other chap is bound to die afore -the year's out; so he'll be no good to her whether she likes him or not. -Then, of course, she'll take Mattacott.' Those were her very words, as -near as I can call 'em home. And when did you hear a cleverer thing?" - -"'Tis terrible clever," confessed Mattacott. "But Jane West wouldn't -never go up past the pool alone on Christmas Eve for a hundred pounds; -so us must plan somehow for somebody to go along with her. 'Tis a very -tricky business to be drawn into a plot." - -"All be fair in love," said Mr. Maunder; "else, of course, I couldn't -countenance any such a plan. But the matter is outside the law and -therefore I'm not called to take any steps--especially as I very much -want to see Mattacott get the woman. He's the wrong side of forty now, -and 'tis more than time he was suited, if it is to be." - -Mr. Mattacott looked across jealously at the innocent Bart Stanbury. - -"He's too young for her even if she'd have him," he said. "'Tis his -sandy hair and his blue, silly eyes have made her think twice about -him." - -"Keep to business," interrupted Billy Screech. "Now it's agreed we get -the girl to Crazywell come Christmas Eve next; and that's nearly two -months off, so we've got plenty of time to cabal against Bart. The -first question is, who shall take her to Crazywell on the day?" - -They all frowned over this problem; then Screech solved it brilliantly. - -"Why, Bart hisself, to be sure! What better could happen? He hears his -doom come up out of the water; and of course, even if they was tokened, -he'd have to release her after that. Any man would have to do it." - -They applauded and Mattacott was especially enthusiastic. But the -policeman acknowledged a doubt. - -"It don't strike you as too terrible a thing?" he asked. "For my part, -as a tender man, though guardian of law and order, I can't think we -should let the fellow hear his own fate. He might believe it and go -mad. Stranger things have happened." - -"Have no fear: he won't believe it," said Mr. Screech. "'Tis her that -will believe it, and 'tis her that we want to believe it." - -"A fine stroke certainly--to make Bart hear it himself," admitted -Maunder; "that is, if I've got your word for it the man won't be hurt in -his mind by such an adventure." - -"That's settled then; and now there's the great question of who does the -spirit," continued Screech. "Of course, 'tis Mattacott's job--not mine; -yet I must point out that his voice is not well suited to the deed." - -"I wouldn't do it for anything," said Mattacott. "I'm nought at a pinch; -and if 'twas thrust upon me to do it, fifty to one but I should go and -lose my head and very like shout out the wrong name, or some such -foolishness." - -"'Tis true," said Maunder. "With all your good gifts, Timothy, you're -the very man to make a mess of this. Besides, your voice will surely -betray you." - -"I ax this here chap to do it," said Mattacott, turning to Screech -himself. "Maunder, no doubt, would do it for me, as my lifelong friend; -but he's a government servant and his time is not his own. Therefore I -ax Billy; and, if it goes right, I'll pay him down a crown; and if it -don't go right, I'll pay half-a-crown; and who can say fairer?" - -"So far so good then," summed up Billy; "and I'm bound to say I think -you're right. I can put a hollow sound into my voice and bring it up -from my boots, in a way that would make any girl go goose-flesh if she -heard me after dark on a common week-day, not to name Christmas Eve at -Crazywell. Leave that to me when the time cometh. Now the next thing -is, what shall I say?" - -"Nought but the man's name," advised Ernest Maunder; "the less you say -the awfuller 'twill be." - -"Just 'Bart Stanbury! Bart Stanbury!' twice," whispered Mattacott. -"You'll be snug hid in a fuzz bush, of course; and once you mark that -she's heard you, you can slip off home as quick as need be to prove -'twasn't you, if anything comes to be said about it after." - -Billy nodded. - -"Just so; but I mustn't say 'Bart' Stanbury," he explained. "You see -the man's christening name is 'Bartholomew,' and the spirit wouldn't -know as we called him 'Bart' for shortness. The full name must be -spoken, and that I shall do. So there 'twill be, and Jane West will -believe that the man's booked for death afore another year be out." - -Mr. Mattacott showed a little emotion on Stanbury's account, but Billy -overruled his qualms. The matter was allowed to drop and a diversion -threw the two groups together and turned conversation into a former -topic. - -Ellas Bowden came in, cold and rosy, out of the night. - -"Evening, souls!" he said. "On my way up-along and thought I'd give the -pony five minutes and myself a drop out of the special bottle. What's -the best news?" - -"'Tis for you to tell us what's the latest, master," said Bartley. - -"The latest," answered Mr. Bowden, "is this: that pious blade with his -blacking brush and his Bible have been up over! Ess fay; Nap and -Wellington runned in with the news after daylight. There's no gates up -my way except my own; but he'd fastened 'pon that, and there it was. I -heard a dog bark last night, but 'twas dark as pitch and no good looking -out the window." - -"And what might he have chosen for you?" asked Ernest Maunder. - -"The solemn words, '_Jesus wept_,'" answered Elias. "A drop more water -to this, Shillabeer, if you please. Yes, he'd writ those deep words -there. Can't say exactly why he put them in particular; but they drive -the love of the Lord into the mind and make a man religious, no doubt. -Not that I'm ever anything else, when you come to the bottom of me, I -hope." - -"The thought that the Redeemer of mankind shed tears is a very sad -thought, however," declared Mr. Moses. "And yet not all sad, if I make -my meaning clear, because it brings Him nearer to us on the human side; -and the nearer, the better." - -"Very well put, Charles," said Reuben Shillabeer. "The nearer the -better, I'm sure." - -"Upon the rocks in the warrens too--so the boys tell me," continued the -master of Ditsworthy. "The busy man have set up a good text or two here -and there. I doubt he'll take to writing 'em life-size upon the tors -next." - -"That's a great idea, now!" declared Shillabeer. "Then everybody passing -by could catch the Word. In fact, none could miss it if the letters was -big enough." - -"For that matter, if I may say so," argued Mr. Moses, "the tors be the -word of God a'ready, and nought out of the Bible could make 'em grander -than they be. Not that this curious man thinks so. Without a doubt -he'd write great Bible news across the moon's self, if he could only -find a ladder long enough to reach her; and a brush big enough for the -work." - - - - - *CHAPTER II* - - *A PESSIMIST* - - -Three days before Christmas and an hour before dusk, Mr. Shillabeer, gun -in hand, called at Coombeshead Farm, and Constance Stanbury opened the -door for him. - -"I'm that finger-cold," he said, "that I thought as I might make so free -as to drop in and warm myself a bit afore going back." - -"And welcome. Come in; come in. My husband will be home in a few -minutes, so you'll have a bit of male company. We women be that -chuckle-headed." - -"No, no! Won't hear you run yourself down," said the 'Dumpling,' -gallantly. "There's no better company in these parts than your company, -and very few women be in it for sense alongside of you." - -"Tea or cider?" she asked. - -"A drop of tea, if 'tis making. And I'll leave a bird, if you'll please -to accept it. The plovers are on the Moor very plenty. A hard winter's -in store." - -"Each be harder than the last nowadays," she answered. "And thank you, -I'm sure. A plover's pretty eating, but too good for the likes of us." - -"Don't you say that. You'm like me--take yourself too humble; but 'tis -a mistake. People in the world always pull us a peg lower than our own -conceit of ourselves. So we should screw up a peg higher--to be ready -for 'em. How's Margaret? You'll never hear no two opinions about -her--such an angel as she be." - -"Yes," admitted Constance; "and I'm much feared that she's got more in -common with the angels than us could wish. 'Tis coming over me worse -and worse; and over her, too, poor lamb." - -"What ever do you mean?" he asked. Then he walked to the fire, removed -his right gaiter and rubbed his huge leg where the strap had pressed too -hardly upon it. - -"My Madge is not like every girl you meet," said Mrs. Stanbury. - -"Wish there was more of the same pattern." - -"And I'm terrible jealous for her--I'll fight the world for her, like a -hen with one chick; because her vartues are her own, and her faults she -got from me." - -"Faults!--who ever heard tell of her faults?" - -"I take no credit in her beautiful goodness," continued the mother. -"But I take shame in her softness. Too soft and gentle and yielding she -is for this world, and the people in it. And, as her parent, I'm -savage--savage as a wild cat, down in my secret heart--when I see people -don't understand. 'Tis me they ought to blame, not she." - -Mr. Shillabeer stared. His fingers were spread and a saucer of tea -smoked upon them. - -"You do amaze me; but I'll make bold to say you'm all wrong for once. -'Tis her softness that people take joy in. Always wanting to do for -others--always putting herself on one side." - -"A few may see her goodness," admitted Mrs. Stanbury; "but what's the -use of that if them nearest to her can't see? Her own husband haven't -got no patience with her now and again; and, mind you, I don't blame -him--such a common-sense, hard man as him. And Rhoda the same. 'Tis -their natures to take a practical stand." - -"Don't be downcast," urged the publican. "Drink a dish of your own tea -and look on the bright side. 'Tis rather odd I should say that, seeing -I've never been known to look on the bright side myself since my wife -died. David's a very good chap, and nobody thinks higher of him than -me; but he's just an everyday man--wise and businesslike and honest. -There's nought in him would make Margaret a beautifuller character than -she is. Us don't want for her to be hard and business-like, I'm sure." - -"'Tis what her husband wants is the thing, not what we want," explained -Mrs. Stanbury. - -"If he wants finer than she, he wants better bread than is made with -wheat," declared the old prize-fighter; "and if he can't see the shining -vartue and wonder of that woman's heart, he must be blind as well as -busy." - -"All very well; but Margaret's to blame too," declared the other. - -"Never--nowhere. 'Tis always your way to give everybody best but your -own." - -"To say 'blame' is too strong a word, perhaps; but you must think how -'tis from her husband's point of view. No children. Oh, Shillabeer, -'tis a dreadful thing! Just that might have made all right, and just -that won't happen. Nought worse could have fallen out--nought worse -than that. A very terrible misfortune every way. To Ditsworthy I know -they take an awful serious view of it. Naturally they would do so. And -when I see that mother of a quiverful coming, I wish I could sink into -the earth! Her eye brims over with reproaches, though never a word she -says." - -"This is all silly nonsense you'm talking," declared Mr. Shillabeer, -strapping up his gaiter again. "Never did I hear such foolishness. -Good Lord, han't there enough childer in the world? Take comfort, I beg -of you." - -Bartholomew Stanbury entered at this moment and was glad to see the -publican. - -"Heard your fowling-piece banging away up over," he said, "and hoped as -you might perhaps drop in 'pon the road back. Well, here's Christmas -again, and like to be a soft one after all. The weather's changing." - -"A busy Christmas in the village," said Reuben; "but nothing out of the -common offering to happen, I believe." - -"Don't you be too sure of that, 'Dumpling.' What would you say to -another fight?" - -"No, no, Stanbury. No more fighting. You mean your son Bart and that -chap Mattacott. They be galled against each other without a doubt, -along of a she; but fight--no. Mattacott's ten year older than your -boy. Bart couldn't hit a man whose hair be turning grey." - -"That's what I said. Still, they long to be at each other." - -"They'll have to settle their difference some other way. No more -fighting if I can prevent it. You mustn't suppose I'm what I was--far -from it. I look at life quite different now. All's vanity, as the -Preacher saith. I may give up 'The Corner House' afore the world's much -older, neighbour." - -"Good Lord! what's come to you?" exclaimed the farmer. - -"What come to Bendigo," said Mr. Shillabeer solemnly. "I've had the -Light, Stanbury. Make no mistake: when the Light does come it shows up -everything in a manner very different to what we've seen it before." - -"Well," said Bartholomew, "don't let it turn you out of 'The Corner -House.' Beer have got to be sold, and there's nothing in the Law and -the Prophets against keeping an inn and giving good money's worth, same -as you've always been famed to do." - -But Shillabeer doubted. Having drunk another cup of tea, he rose, -wished the Stanburys a Merry Christmas in a mournful voice, and -disappeared. Constance shook her head when he was gone and declared -that a great change began to creep over the old man. - -"Mark me, he's breaking up," she said. "He's casting away all his old -opinions and growing more and more religious-minded and low-spirited. -Nought would surprise me. I've seen it happen before. He'll be a -teetotaller yet, and then he'll go melancholy mad so like as not." - -Her husband protested. - -"Such a one you are for looking on the cloudy side! There's too much -good sense in the man for any such thing as teetotalism to overtake him. -A moderate drinker always, and won't serve anybody beyond the twinkling -eye stage. Why, he've made bitter enemies by withholding liquor where -any other man wouldn't have thought twice about it. Where's Margaret -to? She was coming over, wasn't she?" - -"Yes," said his wife. "But 'tis nearly dark. She'll have changed her -mind or been hindered." - -Half an hour later Bart arrived, and he was able to explain his sister's -absence. - -"She's took ill," he said. "I met Rhoda back by Lowery. Madge have a -cold on the chest--nought to name, but enough to keep her in against -this fog. I'm feared they won't be able to go up to Ditsworthy for -Christmas now, unless she mends very quick." - -At his first word Mrs. Stanbury began to be busy. Under the lofty -mantelshelf before the fire there hung a row of little linen bags, and -in them were various simples culled through vanished spring and summer. -They contained elder-flowers, marjoram, thyme, sorrel, and calamint. -She selected ingredients and took them to the table. - -"Us must see to this afore she gets worse," declared Constance; and soon -she was preparing a decoction of herbs. - -Her son had further news. - -"They'm saying to Sheepstor that Bartley Crocker's off," he announced -with his mouth full. - -"Off where?" asked Mr. Stanbury. - -"To foreign parts. 'Twas always thought he might go when his mother -died. They do say he's cruel sweet on Rhoda Bowden, but I don't think -she's of the same mind." - -"I've heard Madge say that she would much like it to fall out," declared -Mrs. Stanbury; "but, for my part, Rhoda don't look to be seeking a -husband. She's different to her kind, and I don't see her either wife -or mother." - -Bart was reminded of another maiden and he sighed, put his hand to his -chin, and looked into vacancy with a very lack-lustre expression. - -"Shillabeer was here afore you comed home," said his father; "and he -says you'm too young to stand up to Mattacott. You'd kill the man." - -"I may yet," declared Bart gloomily. "Anyway I can't wait like this -much longer. No more can he. She won't say which 'tis to be, and the -strain of mind is getting a bit too sharp. Something's got to go scat -afore long--either him or me--or her." - -"She ought to decide, no doubt," admitted his mother. "But I hope you -ban't hopeful, Bart, for I'm not. T'other's better off than you and -wiser; and Jane West has found it out, of course." - -"He may be wiser, or he may not be," answered Bart. "Anyway I'm too -wise to wait till Doomsday; and so I've told her; and she's going to -decide afore the New Year." - -"She'll take Timothy Mattacott," repeated his mother. "Stanburys ban't -no good at competing with other people. No more was my family--they -always went under; and now they've gone under altogether, for I'm the -last of 'em." - - - - - *CHAPTER III* - - *THE VOICE FROM THE POOL* - - -Mr. Billy Screech found himself more than usually busy on the eve of -Christmas Day; but when three o'clock came he abandoned his work and set -off into the Moor. A dismal enterprise lay before him, and bad weather -made the prospect worse; but he had promised, and failure to keep his -promise would upset others and lessen Billy's credit. Therefore he -went, and presently, ascending above Kingsett Farm, reached Crazywell -where it stared up out of the waste, like a blind eye in a black socket. -Silence and desolation haunted the pool. It seemed an hour indeed when -secret spirits might wake from sleep, rise, strike the leaden face of -the waters, and bring terror to mankind. A heavy and hushed trance held -the pool. But little wind blew; no cloud stirred in the grey vault of -heaven; but beneath at earth level, fog crept leisurely along in streaks -and hung motionless in patches. Even Billy--hardened unbeliever though -he was--felt some slight uneasiness as he sank down into the hollow cup -of Crazywell. The threatening mist made him both glad and fearful. It -would certainly help the dramatic force of the thing to be done; but it -might also increase in density and cause him to lose his way home. He -turned up his coat collar, found a clump of furze near the water's -brink, and settled there. All had fallen out as Mr. Screech desired, -and presently Jane West and Bart Stanbury would pass that way on the -road to Princetown for some Christmas shopping. Only one fear existed -in the watcher's mind. If the mists increased in density, Bart might -hesitate to take his sweetheart this way, but prefer to tramp round by -road. - -Billy had hidden himself beneath the principal footpath near the pool, -and he knew that the travellers must pass by him. It was certain that -he would not be called upon to wait long. He practised to himself once -or twice, and as he had suffered from a cold in his throat for some -days, the voice of Mr. Screech promised to be sufficiently sepulchral. - -But the day grew more dark and more still. A lifeless, listless gloom -haunted the spot, a blank despondency that reached even Billy's nerves, -dashed his spirit, and made him long heartily to be away. Then came the -crawling tentacles of the fog, and they stole over the brim of Crazywell -and thrust here and there, like some blind, live creature feeling for -food. They poured down into the hollow presently and crept over the -water at the bottom. Half an hour passed and the vapour increased in -density. It hung drops of moisture on the thorns of the furze and -spread a glimmering dew over Billy's hairy face and ragged eyebrows; it -struck cold; it entered his sore throat and promised to silence his -voice altogether. - -"If they ban't here pretty spry, I shan't be able to croak no louder -than a frog," thought Mr. Screech. - -He determined to give Bart and Jane fifteen minutes more. If they had -not passed by during that time, he would leave the pool. It seemed -pretty certain that the plot had failed. Billy had no watch, but he -began to count slowly up to sixty, and each of these instalments -represented one minute. The gloom increased, and unconsciously he -hastened his counting. And then he heard voices and knew that the man -and woman were passing, high above him in the fog. They shuffled slowly -along and both spoke, but the plotter could not hear their words. He -was quite safe from possibility of observation and so rose and descended -to the sandy shore of the pool. Then he lifted up his voice and -astonished himself, for his words rose and reverberated in the fog with -a strange resonance, quite proper to the supernatural creature that -might be supposed to live in Crazywell. - -"Bartholomew Stanbury! Bartholomew Stanbury!" he cried. - -Then he heard a woman's thin shriek up aloft in the grey mist; and a -man's voice answered: - -"By God! who's down theer?" - -But Billy made no reply to the question. He hastened to the further -side of the pit and crawled up on to the Moor; then he ran for a couple -of hundred yards, struck the Kingsett road and so got home, by Lether -Tor Bridge, as swiftly as possible. - -Meantime a woman had fainted above Crazywell and a man was stirring -himself wildly to restore her. It was neither Bart Stanbury nor Jane -West who had been shocked at the message from the pool, but Bart's -mother and father. The young couple were far away, tramping in close -communion along the highroad; but Constance and her husband had been to -see sick Madge and take her and David their Christmas gift and good -wishes. They were returning from Meavy Cot, and it was upon their -ears--where they moved slowly-fog-foundered above Crazywell--that this -mournful doom had fallen from invisible lips beneath. - -Mrs. Stanbury sank before the shock. She had just time to make her -husband understand that it was the spirit of Crazywell who thus -addressed them, before she lost consciousness. Bartholomew, too -concerned for her to trouble about his own fate, gathered moisture from -the heath, wetted her forehead and loosened her gown. But it was long -before she recovered. She sat and shivered for half an hour upon a -stone, and only by slow stages and with much assistance was able to -reach her home. - -It had grown dark before man and wife returned to Coombeshead and -Bartholomew got his partner to bed. She had suffered a terrific nerve -shock and was incoherent until a late hour. Then she became -intelligent, and her native pessimism thus fortified, broke loose in the -small hours of Christmas morning. - -"Never out of my sight shall you go--God's my judge! You mustn't seek -to do it, Bartholomew. Your time's drawn down to within twelve month, -and us must spend it hand-in-hand to the end. Oh, that awful voice! And -for me to hear the name--me of all people! God A'mighty never did a -crueller thing; and if I'd knowed we was going back along by the pool, -I'd rather have walked the soles out of my boots and the flesh off my -feet than do it. Your name of all names, and it might have been any -other man's. But you are chosen. If they'd only take me--not that I -can bide after you, Bartholomew. Mark me, I shall be after you long -afore you know your way about in the next world." - -Mr. Stanbury, albeit a man without superstition, had also suffered not a -little under the tragedy of the day. He had always laughed at the pool -until now; but this was not a laughing matter. He could trust his ears -and it was impossible to deny that a very extraordinary voice, hardly to -be called human, had shouted his name up through the mist from -Crazywell. It struck him also that the words actually ascended from the -face of the water. - -"Things look a bit black," he admitted, "and I'm powerful sorry I've -scoffed at thicky water; but I ban't gwaine to throw up the sponge yet, -my old dear, and no more must you. If 'tis the Powers of Darkness live -in the pool, then we must call in the Powers of Light to fight against -'em. God in Heaven's the only Party who knows when I be going to be -took off, and 'tis a gert question in my mind whether He'd let it out to -this here queer thing that lives in Crazywell--like a toad in a -tree-stump. What do you say, Bart?" - -Their son had returned and was in great trouble at this evil news. - -"I say that I'd better tell Jane not to come here for her Christmas -dinner," he answered. "Mother won't be up for any high jinks to-morrow. -She won't even be good for getting over to worship. She's white as a -dog's tooth still. Why, there ban't hardly a spark of nature left in -her. And as for the voice, I've no patience with such things. I'd have -gone down and pulled the spirit's damned nose if I'd been there, same as -I would any other man's. I don't believe a word of it, and faither's -right: God A'mighty wouldn't let no vagabond ghosts poke about on -Christmas Eve of all times--just afore the birthday of the Lord--to -frighten God-fearing, respectable people with their nonsense. If 'tis a -spirit, 'tis a bad one; and I wouldn't care no more for a bad -tankerabogus than I would for a bad man. - -"If us can get to church in the morn, I'll ax parson Merle afterwards," -said Mr. Stanbury. "For my part, I won't pretend I like it; but all the -same, I've got a right to make a fight for it; and if parson be of your -view, Bart, that I oughtn't to care a button about it, then I won't -care." - -"What's the use of telling like that?" asked Mrs. Stanbury fretfully. -"How be twenty parsons going to overrule a voice like what we heard a -bit ago? Oh, my God! my flesh creams to the bones when I call back them -awful sounds." - -"'Twas more like a parrot than a human," said Bartholomew. - -"And there'll be some such way to explain it," declared the son. "I'll -wager that Mr. Merle will laugh the whole story to scorn." - -"How's that going to mend it, even if he do?" asked Constance. "Time -enough to laugh when next year be dead and your father's still living. -But it can't be. He's got to leave us and I want for to know what -becomes of me then?" - -She relapsed into a condition of hysterical emotion, and her husband sat -up with her all night. - -In the morning Bart went for the doctor and also explained to Jane West -that the hoped-for meeting at dinner could not take place. - -A medical man reached the fastness of Coombeshead before midday and -found Mrs. Stanbury suffering from shock. He was interested and -sympathetic. He drove Bart home to his surgery six miles off, and, at -evening, Constance took her physic and soon slept in peace. - -Bart and his father were in the habit henceforth of regarding that -occasion as the most mournful Christmas Day within their memories; and -when the adventure began to be known a little later, their friends -deeply sympathised with them and were divided in their opinions. Some -secretly hoped that the solemn tradition of the pool would be upheld, -and felt that it would be better for Mr. Stanbury to pass away than that -the great mystery and glory of Crazywell should vanish. Others flouted -the spirit and agreed with Bart that no sane person should take this -meddlesome hobgoblin seriously. - - -Elsewhere Christmas Day brought other discomforts. Mr. Screech and his -wife and children spent the anniversary at Ditsworthy; but they went -reluctantly as a substitute for David and Rhoda. This spoilt the -pleasure of Dorcas, and both she and her husband were glad to be home -again. They criticised everybody at the Warren House in an unfriendly -spirit, and Dorcas could find nothing genial to say even of her own -mother. Indeed, none of her own had ever been forgiven for their initial -adverse attitude in the matter of Billy. With her father alone could -Mrs. Screech be said to remain on good terms. - -And while the Screech family were able to go to Ditsworthy, owing to the -enforced absence of David and his household, Christmas passed pleasantly -at Meavy Cot. Margaret did not know of her mother's misfortune, and as -her own health now mended again, she much enjoyed the day. Moreover, -there came a visitor, for David invited the lonely Bartley to share the -feast, and Mr. Crocker, after hesitating between his duty to his Aunt -Susan Saunders and his duty to himself, finally felt the opportunity of -seeing Rhoda must be taken, in justice to his own future plans and -ambitions. He went, therefore, and added to Margaret's pleasure, but -failed to advance his personal cause. - -The dinner was a great success, and Hartley, quite unconscious that -every jest he made was damaging his most cherished hope, excelled -himself in merriment, and kept David and Madge in much laughter. -Rhoda's amusement, however, was at the best but frosty. She could not -forget the past, and when she looked at Mr. Crocker she did not see an -unstable, good-natured, and kindly spirit, mentally incapable of -sustained sorrow, but a man whose mother had but lately died, and who -found it possible to laugh and utter futile jests before the grass was -grown upon her grave. She allowed for no extenuating circumstances; she -forgot that Nannie Crocker's end was a release for which to be thankful. -She only saw an orphaned son playing the fool; and that he could do so -now, to the accompaniment of a good dinner, did not surprise her; for -had he not done the same upon the day after his mother's death? She -remembered what she had seen upon the island above Nosworthy Bridge; and -she hardened her heart against Bartley and his humour. Rhoda had been -influenced in other directions also by that unfortunate incident. To -explain Margaret's share in it with credit to Margaret was impossible. -Her brother's wife must have known that Mrs. Crocker had just died; -indeed, the man had doubtless gone to tell her so. And Madge's apparent -reply was to conduct herself like a silly and irresponsible child. Such -an action frankly disgusted Rhoda, and she was deeply offended and -shocked at it. The emotion waxed with time and even made her uneasy. She -believed that with no man living, other than her husband, might a woman -permit herself such pleasantries. The past looked more and more unseemly -in Rhoda's eyes. It lessened her respect for Margaret, and -unconsciously she showed it. Yet when Margaret, whose sensitive nature -was lightning-quick to mark such a change of attitude, asked her -sister-in-law how she had offended, Rhoda could not bring herself to -speak. She evaded the question, but made some general allusions, hoping -thereby to remind Madge of her recent folly. She failed, however, for -David's wife did not see the application of a theory of man's lightness -to herself or to Mr. Crocker. - -And now, at this inauspicious hour, and fired thereto by a successful -dinner and an excellent opportunity, the lover offered himself again. -Chance so to do was deliberately made by Madge. She planned with David -to leave her sister-in-law and the visitor, and, before Rhoda could -avoid the trap, Bartley and she were alone together in the parlour. - -"Keep Bartley in good spirits till I come back, Rhoda," said Margaret -suddenly; "I must take my medicine, else doctor will be vexed when he -calls again." - -She hurried off, and as David had already gone out, man and maid found -themselves alone. - - -Rhoda frowned; Bartley pulled himself together and wished he had taken -half-a-pint less of the bottled porter. - -Each in secret heart was planning speech, and Rhoda, not guessing that -he had ever again thought of her as a wife, after her definite reply to -his proposal, wondered now if she might reprove Mr. Crocker himself for -his folly on the island. Her object was not the welfare of the man. -She was thinking a little for Margaret and a great deal for David. She -knew surely what David must have said had he crossed the bridge when she -did. But to speak to David about it appeared impossible, for he brooked -no criticism of Margaret even from her; and to approach Madge seemed -equally out of the question in Rhoda's view. But here was an -opportunity to speak directly to the offender himself; for it could not -but be that Bartley had led Margaret into the lapse of self-respect with -the sandwiches. - -Rhoda's mind swiftly traced this path, and she was preparing to speak -when her companion began to talk. His conversation related to a very -different matter, and for some time the woman found little opportunity. - -Mr. Crocker had picked up a photograph album and was gazing at the -picture of the Bowden family taken at Tavistock in their full and -imposing completeness before David's marriage. - -"My word!" he said, "that's a proper piece of work sure enough. Let's -see--father and mother--boys of all sizes, your married sister, you and -David, and Dorcas and Joshua. I hope you've made it up with Dorcas, -Miss Rhoda?" - -She flushed. - -"You'll do well to mind your own business," she said. - -He shut the book and put it on the table. It rested upon a red and -yellow wool mat, and he was careful to place it exactly in the middle. - -"You're right," he answered. "When aren't you right? I oughtn't to -have said that. It's not my place to dictate to you--quite the reverse. -I'm sorry." - -She did not reply and he spoke again. - -"But my own business is different. I can mind that, and it's time I -thought a bit more about it. Not that 'tis ever out of my thoughts -really; yet life comes between a man and his deepest desires sometimes, -and life--and death--has stood between me and the first business of my -life lately." - -"Has it?" she said in an indifferent voice. - -"You know it has, Rhoda. You know what I've been through. You came to -the graveside of my dear mother at my express wish--" - -"'Twas at your aunt's wish--not yours." - -"Anyway you came, and not being blind, you must have known what putting -her into the ground meant to me." - -She stared at him coldly, but did not speak. The grief that Bartley had -displayed above his mother's coffin when it sank to earth was real -enough. He had mourned her then from his heart. But while Rhoda -watched the man weep on that mournful occasion, there had filled her -mind, not sympathy at his present real grief, but sheer amazement at his -past equally real levity. It was quite beyond her mental endowment to -understand how the same man could laugh on the day after his mother's -death, and weep at the ceremony of her interment. - -Her thoughts now hardened her heart. She guessed that he was about to -be personal and prepared to waste no consideration upon him. - -"You'll be gone out of England soon, I suppose. What's Miss Saunders -going to do?" - -"Lord knows. My Aunt Susan's been rather difficult since mother died. -She wants to go to Canada with me; but--well, my mind's set on somebody -else." - -"You'll never find anybody to care for you like she will." - -"Shan't I? That's bad news," he said. "And, what's more, I'll make so -bold as to question it. Why should I waste time and beat about the -bush? Look back a bit--to that day on the leat path, Rhoda. Well, a -lot's happened since then; but nothing has happened to my great love of -you except it's grown stronger and stronger. And you, Rhoda? Don't say -that you never thought of it again. Perhaps you blame me for holding -off so long; but you see how I was placed. Couldn't go on with it and -mother fading out day by day." - -In the light of her knowledge she believed that this statement was -untrue. At best the hypocrisy of it offended her. The man who played -with Madge on the island was surely not the man to let his mother's last -illness interfere with love-making. - -But she did not comment upon this side of the question. She did not -comment at all, but waited for him to make an end. - -"And now, though you might think I was too near her still, yet I know it -isn't so. And I ask you to remember what I said before, and answer me -different. You're more to me than all the rest of the world put -together, and I'm sure that I could make you a happy woman. I've -watched you, like a cat watches a mouse, these many months. I've -followed your ways and learned your fancies. David's self don't know so -much about you as I do--all I know of your beautiful, brave nature and -likes and dislikes--down to the walks by night with nought but the -moonbeams and your own thoughts for company. And you--can't you feel a -bit too, and picture your life along with me away over the water? Can't -you see yourself mistress of such a place as you've heard me tell about -to David? Can't you let me love you and make you my dear wife, Rhoda? -For God's sake think about it, and don't say 'no' again. I'll wait your -pleasure; I'll not hurry you. Take a year to say 'good-bye' to Dartmoor -if you like; or stop on Dartmoor if you like; and I'll gladly stop too, -if you say the word; but oh, Rhoda Bowden, do marry me and find what it -is to have a husband who worships your shadow!" - -He stood over her as he spoke, while she sat motionless and looked out -of the window. Now she saw David returning and was glad. But her quick -ears heard Margaret stop him outside, and husband and wife went into the -kitchen together. - -"Say 'yes' and have done with it," begged Bartley. - -She was thinking, but not of him. It occurred to her that Margaret had -planned the entire incident. Her thoughts retraced many past events, -and she wondered how much more Margaret might have planned. Then she -asked herself the reason. - -Her sustained silence made the lover speak again; but she was so -interested in side views of the situation that the central fact seemed -unimportant. To him, however, nothing else mattered; and her answer to -one who had just asked her to marry him, struck the man as -extraordinary. - -"Don't be dumb, unless silence is to give consent," he said; then she -came to herself, looked at him blankly, and shook her head. - -"Good God! Is that all your answer?" he asked. - -"That's all," she replied. - -"Why--why--why? What's between us? I'm frank to you; be frank with me, -Rhoda. It's now or never. Say everything in your mind to say. Leave -nothing unsaid. What is it between us? What's the bar? Can it be got -over or broken down? Where do I fail? Can I mend it? Can I change -anything--every thing to please you better? Don't fear to hurt me. -Anything is better than refusal." - -"You're too light-minded," she said. "And, even if you wasn't, I -shouldn't care about you. You're not the sort of man that I like." - -"What sort do you like then? Tell me, and I'll try to be that sort." - -She did not answer the question, but reproved him for the past. It -occurred to her again that by protesting now against the incident on the -island she might prevent any such folly in the future. She was only -considering David--not Margaret, and not the man before her. - -"Too light-minded," she repeated, "and I'll tell you for why I say it. -On the day after your mother died, you met my sister-in-law and it -chanced that I saw you together. She don't know it and needn't. But -you'd better know. The man who could play child's tricks at such a time -wouldn't be trusted by any woman, I should think." - -He wrinkled his forehead and endeavoured to remember. - -"Whatever did you see that shocked you so much?" - -She told him and he shrugged his shoulders. - -"I'm afraid I can't expect to make you understand that. Perhaps no -woman that ever I met but Madge would understand it. Don't let that -come between us. Be just. Moods and whims and silliness after a long -cruel strain may happen to men as well as women." - -"Well, I despise the men, or women either, who could sink to such -things." - -"You were at my mother's funeral. You know if I felt her loss or not." - -"Things are as they are," she answered calmly. "'Tis no good us telling -any more. My brother and his wife want to come in the parlour, and -we're keeping 'em out." - -Bartley rose. - -"I'll be off then. And mark this: you'll have to listen to me once more -yet before I go. No man worth the name would take 'no' for an answer -under thrice." - -"Better save your time. You'll never make me feel different to you. -We're not built to look alike or feel alike at any point. The sooner -you know that the better." - -"Bid 'em good-bye for me and try to think different." - -He offered his hand and she took it. - -"I'll never think different so long as I can think at all," she said. - -He departed, and Margaret and David saw him go and knew that he had -failed. - -Madge sighed for him; her husband showed no emotion. - -"Come what may come, 'twill be best," he declared. "Rhoda knows her own -mind; and that's more than half the maidens do nowadays." - -They returned to her and found her sweeping the hearth. - -"Mr. Crocker have gone," she said. "I was to bid you good-bye from -him." - - -Elsewhere the baffled suitor tramped through Dartmoor under conditions -of setting sunlight and approaching darkness. Strong winds had -scattered the fog of the preceding evening and now a gale shouted along -the heath and drove the clouds before it. Flashes of light broke -through the west and, like golden birds, floated upward over the dark -bosoms of the hills. They reached the ragged summits of the land, -revealed the granite there, then seemed to take wing into the sky. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV* - - *POINTS OF VIEW* - - -The folk were coming to church, and some walked by road; some drove from -distant hamlets; some tramped by sheep-tracks and rough pathways over -wide spaces of heath and stone. Down through outlying farms that -stretch tentative fields into the Moor; down past gorse-clad banks and -great avenues of beeches; down past Kit Tin Mine--busy then, but empty -and silent now; down into the valley bottom, drawn by the thin bell -music from the tower above the trees, came the family of the Bowdens. -It was smaller than of old. But the boys were growing; Napoleon and -Wellington had become responsible persons in the scheme of life at -Ditsworthy, and even the twins could be trusted to work without a ruling -eye upon them. Mr. Bowden and his wife came to pray upon this early -summer noon. Of women there were only two left at Ditsworthy; therefore -Sarah and her daughter Sophia had to take Sunday at church alternately; -and to-day the widow stopped at home to cook the dinner. With the -Bowdens came other of the people. Susan Saunders appeared beside her -nephew; but he saw her to the entrance only; there he stopped and talked -with a knot of men. Among them was David Bowden. He, however, stayed -not long outside and soon joined his family and Rhoda. She was already -seated between Joshua and her father in the Bowden pew. Charles Moses -was finding seats for chance visitors; Reuben Shillabeer, who never -missed Sunday service, sat in his corner, having just handed four -collecting dishes to those who would presently carry them through the -congregation. He was a sidesman now, and Mr. Merle held the old -prize-fighter in high esteem as a valuable example to the young men. - -Mr. Screech arrived with his elder child. Mattacott met him and they -talked apart. Their conversation concerned Timothy himself. Jane West -had ceased to smile on Mattacott since the winter; yet there was no -report of any engagement between her and Bart Stanbury. The appearance -of Timothy's rival cut this conversation short. He came with his father -and mother. The men entered and Mrs. Stanbury spoke to Mr. Crocker. - -"Be Margaret gone in?" she asked. - -"No," he said. "She's home to-day. David and Rhoda are here. Madge -hasn't come." - -Mrs. Stanbury sighed with dismay. - -"There! And I want particular for to see her. Now whatever shall I do?" - -"Come and see her," suggested Bartley. "I'll be very pleased to walk -along with you. I'm not going in. The weather's too fine to miss two -hours of it, and I shan't taste another English June for many a long -day--perhaps never." - -Constance considered, and then, the matter being of some urgency, -consented. - -"I'll just go into the church and tell master I'm stepping over to see -Margaret. And I shall have to get my dinner there. Everything's locked -up at Coombeshead till evening. We was all going to take our meat along -with Mr. Moses to-day; but my men can do so, and I'll ask Madge for a -bit." - -So it fell out, and Hartley, quite to his satisfaction, escorted Mrs. -Stanbury to 'Meavy Cot.' - -First he chattered about his own hopes and disappointments; then he -interested himself in his companion's affairs. - -"Yes, I must be gone. No good staying here in sight of that girl--only -makes me savage and good for nothing." - -"A pity she won't take you; but she'll never take anybody. She's cut -out for the single state," declared Constance. - -"How can you say that? Was ever a finer woman seen in Sheepstor?" - -"Womanhood's a matter of heart, not body, my dear. To the eye she's -female, to the mind she's male--that, or neither one nor t'other. I -know all about her through my daughter. Not that I don't wish with all -my heart you could have her, and take her long ways off. Not a word of -unkindness do I mean; but 'twould be better every way, and better for -Madge if she lived somewhere else." - -"Yes--I understand that," he said. "David never can be everything to -Madge while he thinks such a deuce of a lot of Rhoda. They're all good -friends, however." - -"Good friends enough. But 'tisn't the home it might be. You don't see, -and strangers don't see; but I see, because my mother's eyes can't be -blinded." - -"I see too--I know very well what you mean." - -"If you do, then say nought," she answered; "for 'tisn't for you--nor me -neither--to stand between a man and his wife. D'you know what Madge -said to me last week? I grant she was down when she said it; but she's -down too often now. She said, 'Life was sunshine with only a little -cloud three year agone; now it's cloud with only a little sunshine, -mother.' Not a very nice thing for me to hear. But it didn't astonish -me. We're an unlucky race, I must tell you. Whether luck comes through -the blood, or through some dark powers outside us, I don't know yet; -'tis a very real thing, and some has it from the cradle and some never -gets a pinch of it. Stanburys don't." - -But Crocker was thinking of Margaret Bowden. - -"I'm terrible sorry to hear you tell this about her. She keeps such a -stiff upper lip before the world and looks out with such cheerful eyes, -that I never guessed 'twas quite as bad. Yet now you say it, I mind the -signs." - -"Keep out of it, however, and go away. You can't do no good if Rhoda -won't have you." - -"Don't be sure of that. I was a lot of use once. I might again." - -Mrs. Stanbury was mildly surprised. - -"Seeing David's good sense and patience, I won't say 'tis impossible to -do anything. But David be David, and even if he had the will to alter, -how can he do it, more'n the leopard his spots? There's nothing you can -put your hand upon and say 'there's the evil'; and yet 'tis clear -enough. They've drifted apart through having no family. 'Tis all said -in that word." - -Mr. Crocker sighed and felt a moment of real sorrow. - -"If she'd married me," he said, "'twould have saved us both a lot of -bother." - -The other did not answer and they proceeded some distance silently. - -Then he turned the conversation to Mrs. Stanbury herself. - -"This is telling on you too. You're not all you might be, I'm sure. I -wish it was in my power to do you a good turn." - -"Like you to say it. Many have to thank you for a good turn. But 'tis -outside human strength to help me. I've run against the Powers of -Darkness; I've heard Crazywell tell how my husband is to go inside the -year." - -"Does he believe it?" - -"I don't know. He won't talk about it. He's very careful of hisself, -and he gets a bit short if I run on about it; so we've agreed to let the -matter drop. All the same it's aged him, and God knows how many years -it has took off my life." - -Mr. Crocker was interested. - -"I only heard about it from David. There may be some sort of -explanation." - -"How can there be? 'Tis like a thunderbolt hung over us. Bart's the -only one who takes no account of it." - -"It might be him just so likely as his father," said the man. "Why are -you so positive 'twas your husband the voice meant? They're both called -'Bartholomew.'" - -Mrs. Stanbury stood still, stared at him, and then sank down suddenly in -the hedge. - -"But--but that can't surely be? The one's 'Bart' always," she gasped -out. - -"To other people; but if this was some magic thing from another world, -you couldn't expect it to care about nicknames." - -"Oh, my God! where do we all stand now?" cried out Mrs. Stanbury. -"Nobody ever thought of that afore!" - -"One person did, if not others; and that person's Jane West," he -answered. "I saw her a bit ago and asked her--out of kindness to -Bart--why she held off and didn't take him. I know only too well what -'tis to be hanging about with your heart telling you not to take 'no' -for an answer and your head telling you that you're a fool. And Jane -said that, so far as it went, she'd decided between Mattacott and -Stanbury. 'But,' she said, 'though I'm addicted to Bart and like him -very well, 'tis no use taking the man if he'm going to die afore next -Christmas.' 'Twas only by the merest chance she and Bart didn't hear -the voice themselves, for they went up to Princetown shopping that very -afternoon, and nothing but the fog made 'em go round by road." - -But Mrs. Stanbury heard none of these words. She had never connected -this catastrophe with her son; neither had Bart himself done so. Jane -West, however, inspired thereto by Mr. Mattacott, perceived the real -significance of the situation, and she proposed to wait until time -showed whether father or son was to fall. Now Mrs. Stanbury was herself -faced with this hideous complication, and it struck her almost as -harshly as the original blow had done. Her weak mind whirled; she -became incoherent and spoke without sense. - -"Leave it, for God's sake," urged the man. "You'll go mad at this gait. -One thing be just as absurd as t'other. Some innocent fool saw your -husband through the fog and shouted to him--perhaps just wished him a -merry season or some such thing--and then went on his way and thought no -more of it. Be sure you'll hear the truth soon or late, and you'll live -to see your men as well and hearty next January as they are now." - -"You mean kindly to say these things," she answered. "But 'tis vain, and -you'll know it afore the year's gone." - -"Well, give God Almighty a chance," he urged. "'Tis you will be dead, -not them, if you go on so." - -They reached 'Meavy Cot' and found Margaret. Her mother sat down, took -off her bonnet and rested, while Madge stood a few minutes at the gate -with Mr. Crocker before he started homeward. - -"Try and cheer her up," he said. "'Tis that damned nonsense about the -voice at Crazywell. She'll fret herself into her grave over it if this -goes on." - -They discussed the matter for a while; then Madge spoke of Bartley -himself. - -"Don't know what to be at," he said. "My life's stuck for the minute. -I can't ask her again yet, and I'm not going till I have. Just once -more. But the thing is to know what to be doing meantime--how to get a -bit forwarder. How is she?" - -"She's all right--silenter than ever to me, though. Sometimes I think -she's judging me rather hardly and don't reckon I'm a very good wife for -David." - -"I'm sure that can't be. She's a long way too sensible to imagine any -such nonsense." - -"She may be right, all the same. I don't know what it is; I wouldn't -even name it to anybody but you and mother; but sometimes I feel as if -there was a door between me and David, and sometimes he tries to open -it, and I'm sure I'm always trying to, but it keeps shut." - -"Stuff!" he repeated. "You're such a parcel of nerves, Madge--like poor -Mrs. Stanbury. You mustn't let yourself think such things. David's -wrapped up heart and soul in you, and if 'tisn't his way to show all he -feels, that's only to say he's a Bowden. They are built on that -fashion. You must try and look at life more with his eyes. He's a rare -man and I envy him his tremendous power of sticking to a thing till he's -got through with it. His ideas are big, not little; I can see that, and -you ought to see it. You and me are a bit too much alike there, and -'tis our luck not to be rated at our real value in consequence. But we -mustn't repay in the same coin. Because David don't quite understand -you, and Rhoda don't understand me, we, who are nimbler-witted than -them, mustn't be cross. They may not see the truth of us and all the -virtues that we've got--and we've both got a rare lot in my opinion--but -we do see the truth of them, and so we must be patient with their -characters." - -It was a new light to the woman, and she perceived the wisdom under his -jesting manner. - -"If he'd only let me into his secrets!" she said. - -"You must be content with mine," he answered. "David lets you into his -good fortune and tells you when he's drawn a prize. But the bother and -battle he keeps to himself." - -"He doesn't," she answered. "I'd forgive that. But he tells Rhoda. -Again and again I've known them to break off a subject when I came -along--as if I was a baby." - -"Try to think 'tis out of their kindness they do it." - -"I have tried; but I know different. David don't believe in me--that's -the bitterness of my life in a word, Hartley. He don't trust me like he -trusts Rhoda." - -"Then tell him so. Let him see what he's losing by keeping you out. -And I believe, come to think of it, that might be good advice to myself -too. With Rhoda I mean. How would it be if I took a bit of counsel -with her, Madge--asked her advice, like David does, and treated her like -a man instead of a girl? Would that work?" - -She considered. - -"It would work, no doubt, as far as her being civil went. If you asked -her questions, she'd answer 'em; and if you asked her opinion she'd give -it. Whether 'twould lead to anything further, I can't tell. We've -drifted apart a bit of late, and I see it clear enough without seeing -the reason for it. However, I daresay I'm to blame too. No doubt I -don't look at life from their point of view all I might. But I wish--I -wish to God she'd take you--as much for my sake as her own." - -The woman's unusual bitterness impressed him. - -"Follow my advice and have a good talk with David. Thresh it out and -open his eyes a bit. If you see from his point of view, as you will -now, then 'tis but fair he should see from yours; and if he can't see -your side single-handed, then you must help him. We'll meet again afore -long and I'll tell you what comes of my new idea. Perhaps we shall both -be lucky!" - -He left her and she returned to her mother. - -Mrs. Stanbury was absorbed in the dreadful new problems raised by -Bartley Crocker's theory of the voice. She explained these -complications to Margaret, and her daughter strove to comfort her -without success. - - - - - *CHAPTER V* - - *END OF A ROMANCE* - - -Rhoda Bowden was walking over Yennadon Down, a broad tract of common -above the gorges of Meavy. Great spaces stretched beneath her and a -still higher and mightier wilderness heaved upward beyond the river and -the forests to the east. There Ringmoor extended, and its lone miles -basked in unclouded sunshine. Beneath lay Sheepstor and Meavy, each -crowned by a church tower; while beyond rolled out long leagues of Devon -to the margins of the sea. But Rhoda's eyes were on the ground and she -moved with less than her usual steady purpose. An empty cartridge met -her glance and some small grey object that fluttered in the mouth of it -led her to stop and pick up the fragment. The cartridge was old and -weather-worn; the live creature that had found this convenient -receptacle was a large and dusky moth. For a moment Rhoda felt -interested, then, perceiving that this insect had laid many eggs within -the empty cartridge, she shuddered slightly and flung the moth and its -nursery away; because maternity on such a scale seemed loathsome to her -even in an insect. - -She was on her way to Buckland of the Monks with a message from David, -and she welcomed the long and lonely day promised by this task, for not -a few matters lay heavy on her mind. Rhoda's responsibilities were -growing beyond power of control. - -But the anticipated hours of reflection were largely curtailed, for when -she returned to the highway nigh Dousland Barn, a light cart overtook -her and the driver was Simon Snell. His face indicated the most -profound surprise. He smiled, hesitated, gave her 'good-morning,' -proceeded on his way, then changed his mind again, pulled up and -alighted. - -"What a terrible coorious thing as me and you should both be bound out -along like this--on the very same day too!" he said. - -"So 'tis then, and I hope you're well. Us haven't met this longful -time." - -"I was coming over one Sunday this summer," he declared; "but now will -do just so well. I be going out to Vartuous Lady Mine to spend the day -along with my brother James and his wife. You might not have heard me -tell much about him, perhaps? I've took a day off--by permission, of -course--and I'm carrying 'em a gift, because they'm not very well-to-do, -I'm sorry to say." - -"I'm going to Buckland Monachorum for David." - -"Well, I never! What could have falled out better? I very nearly drove -by you; because I said to myself, 'Perhaps it might be too pushing in me -to offer to give her a lift.' But I'm very glad I didn't, and I hope -you'll accept of a seat till I leave your road. 'Tis a fainty sort of -day, with thunder offering, in my opinion." - -"Thank you, I should be very glad if you've got room." - -"Room enough. I'm taking my brother half a pig as we killed last week, -and his wife a bunch of they white Mary lilies, what grow to a miracle -in our garden. People stop and stare at 'em. And if you'll sit -alongside me--if it isn't making too bold--" - -She ascended and they proceeded together. - -"There'll be a thunderstorm afore long, as you say," she remarked. - -"I quite agree. And how be you faring? You'm looking purty middling; -and I be purty middling, and so's my mother, thank God, though she was -into her seventy-fourth year last month." - -"I'm all right." - -"I ban't too close to you, I hope?" - -She shook her head. She felt comfortable and easy with him, as usual, -but her heart beat no quicker for his voice or the inquiring gaze of his -great mild eyes. - -"My brother was married afore I comed acquainted with you. He's a -gamekeeper and his wife has a child every second year. For my part I -think they're unlucky; but their way is to trust the Lord to look after -the childer. But I'm not sure. By the same token you might not know -that you've got another nephew. Your sister, Mrs. Screech, had a son -yesterday betwixt six and seven of the evening. Screech comed in to -smoke a pipe when 'twas all over. A very clever job, I hear, and the -child to be called after your father." - -"I don't want to know nothing about it, thank you." - -"Beg pardon, I'm sure." - -He was silenced for some time. Then he observed that Rhoda had a finger -tied up. - -"I do hope as you haven't hurt yourself," he said. - -"Nothing at all. A dog bit through when he was playing." - -"They will, and yet mean no harm." - -She considered with herself whether this man could be of any use to her, -and she decided that he could not. It was in any case almost impossible -to state her difficulties. She found it hard to put them into words -even in thought, where an idea, though it cannot live away from the -symbols of words, yet develops without any coherent sentences and -reasoned speech. To tell to another what was in her mind had as yet -been beyond her power; and to mention the difficulty to Mr. Snell, even -if possible, must have proved a futile task. Her instinct assured her -that his mind was no more built to speak wisdom on sex questions than -her own. She reflected thus, while he, employed upon a different -matter, wondered vaguely if he might arrange another walk with her; -whether it was worth while to do so; and whether, even if she accepted -the invitation, he really desired such a thing. - -Presently she uttered a generality which bore obliquely upon his own -ideas. - -"What a terrible difficult world it do seem to become, if you'm married! -And even if you'm thrown much against married people, you can't escape -it. If you care a lot about folk, you'm bound to feel for 'em, I -suppose." - -"I quite agree--never heard a truer word," he said. "'Tis the worst of -being fond of people that, if they get in a mess, it makes you feel -uncomfortable. You can't escape from that." - -"The fewer we care about, the more peace we have, seemingly." - -"Exactly so. I've thought that very thought, and I've often thanked God -that, after my mother, and my brother, and my brother's wife, and one of -my nephews, there's nobody in the world I should shed a tear for if they -was took." - -She nodded, and he suddenly perceived that this was one of the speeches -wherein he had failed of perfect tact. Yet to modify it needed some -courage. - -"I should say one other--one other, if I may make so bold," he added. - -She did not answer and he considered before continuing. Then he decided -that he could not leave the matter there. Yet he was cautious. - -"You mustn't think the worse of me for it. I don't mean anything by it -to cause you any uneasiness. But you're the one, Miss Rhoda. I should -certainly be very vexed if anything happened to you." - -"Thank you, I'm sure, Mr. Snell." - -"Don't," he said. "These things don't merit thanks. I've never told a -lie, and so I won't hold my reason back. I think a lot of your -character: that's why I should be sorry if harm happened to you." - -"We've understood each other very well, I believe." - -"Very well indeed; and you've taught me a lot about the female sex. -And, but for you, I don't suppose I should ever have knowed anything at -all about them. I may tell you, owing to your large understanding, that -I've often considered about the sense of marrying. But I'm sure I don't -know. When you look round--the heart sinks." - -"Yes, it does." - -Mr. Snell did look round, and the beautiful woman roused some faint, -feeble flicker of his anaemic passion. - -"I grant you that the wedded state as shown by other people--and yet I -won't go so far as Bartley Crocker do." - -"How far's that then?" - -"Mind, don't you say it against him. I've no wish to be thought a -tale-bearer. But, in open speech at the bar of Shillabeer's -public-house, he said that though you hear of happy marriages, you never -see them. Now that's too far-reaching--eh?" - -"Not much. He's not far out, I reckon." - -"Well, you know better than me; but, begging pardon for mentioning her -again, your own sister is as happy as a bird. And I really don't say -it's impossible to be happy with a home of your own." - -"The right ones never meet. I'd warn every man and woman against it for -my part." - -With this speech Rhoda quite extinguished the paltry flicker in Mr. -Snell's broad bosom. He looked rather frightened. He stroked his -beard. At heart he felt a sort of relief that even the shadow of -disquiet was now banished in the light of her plain statement. - -"If that's your opinion, 'tis no part for a common man like me to say a -word against it," he answered. "Sometimes--I won't deny it--I've -thought, in uplifted moments, that the married state with such a meek -nature as mine--and then again, however--" - -"I speak what I know; but nobody can be sure they're right, I suppose. -What do you think about it?" asked Rhoda. But why she gave him this -loophole she knew not. Her interest in Mr. Snell was at a low ebb -to-day, and her own thoughts filled her spirit to the exclusion of all -else. Still she was always content with him. He appeared to her to be -a sensible and responsible man whose opinion was better worth having -than that of most people. - -"Now you ask a poser," declared Simon, "for my own opinion on such a -high subject be very unsettled. In fact, I'd a long ways sooner go by -yours, and if you, of all females, feel as marriage be too doubtful in -the upshot, then I'd so soon, if not sooner, take your word for it. And -I may say that I will. There's nothing so restful as having your mind -made up for you by a better one. And I can't say the men I know--they'm -all for it in a general way--bring up very strong arguments. There's -Amos Prouse tokened now, and he goes about properly terrified, so far as -I can see; and there's Mattacott, from being an even-tempered man, -turned so sour as a sloe, because Jane West keeps him on the -tenterhooks. To keep company is certainly a very bad state; and you -can't be married without going through it; so that's another reason -against." - -"I shall never marry," she said. - -"Then no more shan't I," he declared. "And 'tis a troublesome weight -off the mind to hear you say that." - -"Better not go by me, however." - -"'Tis just you and no other I would go by. Because--well, now since -you've spoken and never been known to go from your word--the coast be -clear for me and I feel so light as a lark in the air. If you'd said as -you were for it, then my manhood would have--well, God knows what might -have overtook me; for at such times a man gets into a raging fever and -be ready to fight creation for the female, as the savage beasts do. But -you've said it; and I quite agree. I know you'm right, and I say ditto -to it. And we'll see t'others dashing into it, but 'twill be nought to -us." - -"It looks to me as if the useful people be often the single ones," she -said. - -"There again! What good sense! 'Tis the very height of sense! And -Paul's on our side too. Better to marry than to burn, he says in his -large wisdom. But better not to marry if you'm perfectly cool and -contented, same as what I be, year in, year out." - -She did not answer and he spoke again. - -"Still, mind this. If it had been otherwise with you, it would have -been otherwise with me. Never was a manlier man in his instincts of -self-preservation than me, as my mother will tell you. And if by chance -I'd fallen upon a creature of the female sex as appeared to be looking -to me to share life with her, then I doubt it might have happened. But -not now. If she comed along now it would be too late. Because I've had -walks along with you in my time, and we've been terrible close, and -we've understood each other as well as any two people could." - -"I suppose we have." - -"I tell you this, because you've given your word you ain't going to -marry," he concluded; and nothing more was said until they reached a -lane that broke from the main road. Then Mr. Snell pulled up. - -"Here's my way. You must get down now. You go straight on. I shall be -back after eight o'clock, and will bide here till a quarter past if I -can help you home." - -"No. I'll be back long afore that, I hope." - -So the lifeless, bloodless abortion of a romance passed stillborn from -between them, unregretted by either. They often met in after life, and -they were always friendly within their natural limitations; but marriage -never again rose as the most dim possibility on the horizon of the man. - -He permitted her to alight without assistance. They talked a while -longer before separating, and conversation drifted to David and his -wife. - -"I hear the people air their opinions and I say nothing--that being the -way of least trouble seemingly," declared Mr. Snell. "But certainly now -and again very outrageous speeches be spoke. Take Screech, for -instance. He's no fool, Screech isn't. But he have a very coarse way -of putting things, to my mind. His wife--begging pardon for mentioning -her--was saying something about her brother David. I've forgot what it -was, except that it weren't flattering, and Screech, he ups and says, -'Them two'--meaning David and Mrs. Bowden--'them two,' he says, 'be like -a moulting cock and hen--that down on their luck, and all about nought, -for the man's prospering and getting home the money with both fists.' -'Twas a vulgar thing to say, and I went so far as to tell him so." - -"You might have told him he was a liar too," said Rhoda. "When did -anybody ever see David down on his luck, even if he was? He don't carry -his heart in his hand. A cheerful and a steadfast man always; and if my -sister-in-law be not cheerful nor steadfast--that's another matter, and -the fault's not David's. I tell you this because you've got sense and -was never known to make mischief." - -"And never shall, please God!" - -"What does an evil thing like Screech know about David?" - -"Nought--less than nought. He allowed that, for in my cautious way, I -went so far as to ax for chapter and verse, when he said your brother -and his wife weren't happy. 'I don't know nothing about 'em and don't -want to,' he said in his coarse style; 'but a good few eyes be open -round these parts, and 'tis very well marked they go different roads -when out of sight of each other.' It might become you to mention it, or -it might not. You know best, living along with them." - -Rhoda hesitated but said nothing. The inclination to confide in Mr. -Snell was not revived. - -"Thank you for telling me. But whether I'll name it--" - -"Don't mention me if you do," said Mr. Snell. "'Tis only to you I'd -have said as much as I have said--out of respect to the family. And now -I must be going on." - -They shook hands and parted. He returned to his cart and, the lane -leading up a hill, went slowly forward. His horse sagged at his collar -and the thill chains clanked. With each step forward Simon's body -jolted on the board. One leg of the quartered pig also waved -spasmodically, and the candid lilies powdered their purity with golden -pollen. - -Thus it came about that Snell left the woman's thoughts where he found -them. She tramped forward full of the matter of Margaret; she did her -business; ate some bread and butter and drank some milk; started for -home again. But, returning by way of Horrabridge, she was detained -awhile and she did not ascend a steep hill out of Walkhampton on her -return journey until the evening. Her brother, who had gone to -Okehampton, was combining business and pleasure in a ride across -Dartmoor. He would not come back until late, and it was understood that -Rhoda herself might not be expected home before him. She, however, -pursued her direct way under the acclivities of Black Tor while yet it -was light, and looking down into the valley, the raw blue patch of the -roof of 'Meavy Cot' stared up a mile distant and smoke surmounted it. -At nearer approach Rhoda saw Madge and a man come out of the cottage. -They went off in the direction of Coombeshead and they walked close -together and talked very earnestly. She altered her way somewhat, to -get nearer to them, and was able to make sure of Margaret's companion. -At first she trusted that he had been her brother Bart; but it was Mr. -Crocker with whom Madge proceeded and with whom she kept such close -converse. - -Rhoda went back, took the key of the door from a secret hiding-place, -where it was always hidden for the first home-comer, and entered the -cottage. A litter of tea things stood on the table and Bartley had -evidently partaken of that meal. - - -And on the road to Coombeshead farm David's wife and David's friend were -talking with profound interest not of Rhoda and not of David--but -concerning Constance Stanbury. That day, early after noon, Crocker had -met Madge's father in trouble and had taken a message to the doctor for -him, that he might the quicker return to his wife. Mrs. Stanbury had -quite succumbed to her nerves again and was suffering much terror and -horror through the hours of night. Her agitation culminated in what Mr. -Stanbury held to be "a fit," and he felt that the unfortunate, haunted -woman again needed medical care to help her fight these superstitious -fears. - -Mr. Crocker gladly conveyed an urgent message to the physician, and soon -afterwards he walked to Meavy Cot, that he might tell Madge. To his -satisfaction he found her alone, accepted her invitation, drank tea with -her, and then accompanied her to learn how her mother fared. - -Now they talked of this curse that had fallen upon the old woman's life, -and Crocker tried hard to conceive some possible way of relief. The -truth was hidden from them and he did not for an instant suspect it; but -the thought and care of both were entirely centred upon this subject, -and for a time every other interest remained in abeyance while they -strove to hit on some device by which Mrs. Stanbury might be comforted. -Bartley suggested a visit from Mr. Merle; and Madge declared such an -idea to be quite vain. - -But Rhoda Bowden knew nothing of these facts. It was not until night, -when Margaret returned and David also came home, that she heard the -truth from her sister-in-law. And her inclination was to disbelieve at -least a part of it. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI* - - *VIRGO--LIBRA* - - -A moon at full rolled hugely up over the Moor edge, outlined a black -peat wall and by chance made a brilliant background for an atom of life -that was there. Here Rhoda's kitten rested on an August night after -great hunting of moths; and the planet threw a golden frame around it. - -Rhoda herself, sitting alone at hand in the presence of her mistress, -the moon, perceived this accidental conjunction and noticed her little -pet dark against the immensity of the bright dead world now ascending. -Rhoda sat with her hands folded in her lap and watched the red-gold -rise. The moon and the kitten, for some subtle reason, alike comforted -her. One rose clear of the horizon, and the other vanished. The work -of the first was to diffuse a warm and wondrous stain upon the cloudless -air; to permeate the earth's atmosphere with fleeting radiance and then, -swimming upwards, to cool the passing heat of ruddy colour she had -created and to supersede this glow with a pale rain of silver-grey -light. It poured down into the silence and spread pools and patches of -misty pearl upon the ebony of the waste. The work of the second was to -come to Rhoda, stick up its little tail, pad in her lap, purr with -infant heartiness, and, lifting its nose, mirror the moon in a pair of -phosphorescent green eyes. So from both she won good and had sense to -see that the stars in heaven and the beasts of earth might each minister -after their fashion to such a soul as hers. They soothed her; but they -did not advance her reflections or help to solve the gathering -difficulties that conscience cast into her path. She was troubled and -knew not where to turn. She stated the situation again and again to -herself, but no light fell upon the picture from anywhere. Her belief -was that her brother's wife saw far too much of another man. That the -man in question wanted to marry Rhoda herself was an added complication; -and from that fact, she judged that Margaret must be fonder of Bartley -Crocker than he could be of her. Her mind was not constituted to weigh -very subtly the shades and half shades of this situation, or appraise -the extent of its danger. She concerned herself with David and busied -her spirit to consider only her duty towards him. Indifference toward -Margaret of late tightened into dislike. Secretly she had always felt -impatient with the other's softness; but since that softness began to -lead David's wife astray, she became alarmed and angered. She retraced -the general attitude of her brother and could see nothing in it at all -unreasonable. He was very busy, very hard-working, very ambitious. He -treated Margaret much as Elias Bowden treated his wife; and Rhoda -believed that her mother was always happy and contented. But it could -not be said that David's wife was particularly happy. Rhoda often broke -upon her, when entering the house suddenly, and at such times Margaret -would put on cheerfulness in haste, as a surprised bather might put on a -garment. - -What then was this woman to do? She had a high sense of duty and that -sense had now begun to torment her. It was impossible to formulate any -charge against Crocker or against Margaret. Yet she blamed the man not -a little, for she believed that he ought to know better than seek the -society of Margaret so frequently. Again justice reminded her that Madge -made no secret of the meetings. Some, indeed, she might have -had--perhaps many--which were never reported; but of others (and others -which Rhoda had not seen) she spoke freely afterwards; and she often -asked David if she might invite Bartley to Meavy Cot. - -Rhoda remembered that Bartley and her sister-in-law had been children -together and that they had known each other all their lives. Herein was -comfort, but reflection dashed it. At one time most certainly they had -not felt the mere close friendship of brother and sister; for it was an -open secret that Crocker had asked Margaret to be his wife within a few -days of David's engagement. But the thinker did not permit this view -long to discomfort her. She strove with native resolution to look at -the position in a clean and reasonable light. David himself had said -that Bartley and Margaret were like brother and sister. He exhibited -not a shadow of uneasiness; and if he felt no concern, why should she do -so? This argument, however, broke down; because Rhoda knew much more -than David. He went about his business and it absorbed him. Margaret -was always at home to welcome him; everything was waiting as he wished -it; his whispered word was law, and his wife anticipated his very -thought and remembered chance utterances and desires in a way that often -surprised and gratified him. Rhoda could not blame Margaret's attitude -to David, and she could not for an instant blame David in the amount of -time and consideration he devoted to his wife. Upon her estimate it -seemed ample and generous. - -She considered the brother and sister theory of Bartley's friendship -with Margaret and resolved to cleave thereto with all her strength. She -reminded herself of what she felt for David; she was very fair; she -perceived that even as she and David thought and felt alike, with such -mysterious parity of instinct and judgment that they often laughed when -they simultaneously uttered the selfsame words, so Margaret and Bartley -Crocker were certainly built on a similar pattern. They too looked at -life through the same eyes; they too doubtless arrived at similar -conclusions. The side issue of this man's regard for herself recurred -in the weft of Rhoda's thought; but she drew it out. That relation was -beyond the present problem and did not influence her decision. She had -twice dismissed the man, and doubtless her second refusal would be taken -by him as final. - -She came to a conclusion with herself and decided to do nothing but -watch. Such a task pained her to reflect upon; but there was none to -whom she could speak, for she had none to be regarded in any light of -close friendship but her brother. Her father, her mother, her elder -sister were of no account. Therefore she determined to wait and watch -as a duty to David. She hoped that a brief period of such work would -bring peace back to her mind; and she went about it with a rising gorge, -in doubt whether to be ashamed of herself or not. - -But it happened, only two days later, that opportunity to modify this -plan offered and David himself gave it to her. Thankfully she took it, -and after a conversation to which he opened the way, Rhoda felt a -happier woman than she had felt for many weeks. - -He was mending some garden tools in his outhouse at dark and called for -another candle. She carried it to him and stopped with him while he -worked. The man was in a very good temper and happened to wax -enthusiastic over his life and his wife. - -"'Tis borne in upon me more and more, Rhoda, that I have better luck -than I deserve. Me--such a stand-off chap--yet I'm always treated civil -and respectful and taken as a serious and important sort of person. -Sometimes, looking back, I can hardly believe it all. But I suppose -'tis my gert power of holding to work does it." - -"'Tis because you'm a straight man and never known to go from truth and -honesty by a hair," she said. "People see that your word's your bond, -and that you set truth higher than gain. You deserve all you get or -ever will get--and more." - -"Like you to say it; and well you know that my good is your good, -Rhoda." - -Then he praised his wife. His admiration was genuine but mechanical. - -"What with you and her--Margaret--I've got a lot more than falls to -most. Needn't say nought about you: we're one; but she's different. -She can't see so deep and far off as we do; but she can feel more; and -she trusts me; and I'm proud of the simplicity of her. Never wants no -figures nor nothing. Never asks no questions. Leaves her life in my -hands as trusting as the dogs are with you. And ever thinking for me. -I said a bit ago as I dearly loved cold rabbit pie, made after mother's -way. Well, the pie to-night was like the Ditsworthy pies. I thought -for sure 'twas a present from home; but not a bit of it. She went -up-along two days ago and larned the trick of it. If only--but 'twould -be mean in me even to name it with such a woman--" - -"If only what? All the same, I know. There's compensations against -childer, David. Leave that and go on feeling grateful for her goodness; -and--and wake up to a bit more too." - -She spoke suddenly and with no little feeling. An inspiration had come -to her--a brilliant thought greater and finer far than her recent -solitary imaginings under the moon. - -"'Wake up'!" he exclaimed. "Whatever do you mean, Rhoda? If I'm not -wide awake, who is?" - -Her ideas struggled within her. She strove to say the right thing, yet -almost despaired. He waited during her silence, then spoke again. - -"Don't think I'm not grateful to God for such a good wife. I love her -more than she knows, or ever will know. I'm even down about her -sometimes, when I think she don't know. Yet what more can I do? If -there's anything, 'tis your bounden duty to tell me." - -He made the way clear; yet she felt a doubt that if she did speak, he -might take it ill. She was frightened--an emotion so rare that she did -not recognise it and feared that some physical evil must be threatening -her. - -"I saw Simon Snell not long since," she said. "Didn't mention it at the -time, for 'twasn't interesting, except to me; but I will now. He gave -me a lift on my way to Buckland and said a good few very sensible -things, as his manner is. He told me of a saying he heard made by that -Screech that married Dorcas. Screech was speaking of you and your wife, -and he said you was like a moulting cock and hen sometimes--both down on -your luck and didn't know what was the matter." - -David laughed. - -"So much for that then. I'll tell you how that happened. I fell in -with the man--we're friends of a sort now--and chanced to talk of -children. I may have just hinted I was sorry to be without 'em. But -that was all. He's jealous of me as a matter of fact. He's getting on -pretty well too; but he don't get on as quick as me; and he's -handicapped by his mother and his children." - -"He spoke of Margaret, too, however." - -"What he may have heard her say I can't guess. Nought against her home, -that I will swear. Of course, 'tis only human nature to have our up and -down moments." - -"No doubt that spiteful woman--Dorcas I mean--would be quick to make -mischief if 'twas in her power," declared Rhoda. - -"It isn't. There's no power on God's earth powerful enough to make -mischief between me and Madge." - -"Then look after her closer," said his sister. - -It was out and she expected a shower of exclamations and questions. But -they did not come. David dropped a hammer, stood up, and replied. He -had not wholly understood. - -"I will," he answered. "I'll think this very night how to give her a -bit of a treat. 'Tis natural, without a cradle in the house, she's -moped. Us must make it up to her a little, Rhoda. Such towsers for -work as you and me forget sometimes that some natures call for a little -play as well. I'll look closer after her pleasure and such like. We'll -go to Tavistock revel. I hadn't thought to do it; but we'll all take a -whole holiday and not do a stroke of work for the day. At least no more -than we'm bound to do." - -"I mean all the time, David, not just for a day." - -"Fancy your saying this to me! And now I'll surprise you too. You -ban't the first who has talked like this. Crocker did the very same a -bit ago, and I took it as kind in him, for I'm that sort of man. I'm -not a jealous chap--too sensible for that. But if 'twas known what I -felt for Madge, I dare say people, that see me so busy and wrapped up in -getting on, might wonder. Even you don't quite see it, Rhoda. Still, -this I will say I blame myself as I did before. I'm not one to think -I'm always right; and love should out, not lie asleep in the heart. -'Tis nought unless you see it and let it work all the time, as you say." - -"Don't for God's sake, talk like that," she begged earnestly. "Who am I -to lecture you? What do I know of love? What do I want to know of it? -I only care for you and your good, else I wouldn't have said this much." - -She was thinking more of what he had just spoken than what she herself -was saying. Bartley Crocker had taken her brother to task on this -identical theme! She gasped with secret amazement at such extraordinary -news. Doubtless this meant that Crocker and Margaret-- Here she barred -her own thoughts. She refused to examine what such a fact could mean. - -Her brother made an end of his work. - -"Now I'm going in to have a tell with Madge," he said. "You come too." - -But Rhoda refused. - -"I'm for a walk. 'Tis a fair night." - -They parted; he returned to his house; she loosed two dogs and went off -on to the Moor. - -David lighted his pipe and sat by his fire. Margaret was working at the -table. For a time he kept silence, and then she spoke. - -"What are you thinking on, dear heart? I hope all be going well at -Tavistock?" - -"I wasn't troubling about Tavistock," he answered. "I was thinking what -a wonder you be, and how you spoil me, and how I'm not worth it--such a -man as me." - -"David!" - -"To think as you went to Ditsworthy about rabbit pies! 'Tis things like -that make me wonder." - -Her face shone and she set down her work and came to him. - -"'Twas nought; but 'tis lovely to know you marked it and was pleased," -she said. - -"I don't mark enough," he answered. "I'm that set on driving ahead, and -making a bit of a splash, and getting up in the world for you--for you, -Madge,--that I forget here and there. Don't gainsay me. Too well I -know it in my leisure moments." - -"You shan't say so. 'Tis all along of me being so small-minded and not -looking on ahead like you do, but living in the stupid every-day things. -I know they don't matter; and I know what you feel to me; and 'tis for -me to see things with your eyes, not for you to see 'em with mine." - -"'Tis for me to set higher store by the every-day things," he declared. -"'Tis for me to value better the home you keep always sweet and ready -for me; and the food you cook, and the hundred little odd worries and -bothers many married men have to face, but me never. You don't bring no -trouble to me; but you'm always ready and willing to hear my troubles. -I can't expect you to understand when I talk about figures and such -like. Such things ban't your part. But you'm always ready with your -bright eyes to be glad and rejoice when good comes; and 'tis for me to -be glad and rejoice in lesser things when you tell me about 'em. I -don't let you know how clever I think you. And you always hold yourself -so cheap that 'tis my duty to lift you up in your own conceit, for if -you thought half so well of yourself as I think of you, you'd be the -proudest woman in England, Madge." - -She sat on his lap and put her arms round his neck and kissed him. - -"'Tis like life to me to hear you say such things," she answered. -"Though too well I know how little I deserve 'em. I wish I was a -better, cleverer sort to lend a hand with high matters like figures and -work and sheep. But I'm only useful here." - -"Us will each stick to our own share of the load," he said. "We'm both -doing our part pretty well, I believe; and so long as you never forget -that I mark your cleverness and love you better every day of your life, -the rest don't matter. I've been a thought too buried in my own hopes -of late, and I own it and I'm sorry for it. But my eyes was opened half -an hour agone, and I want you to forgive me, Madge. 'Twas only seeming, -mind you; but I doubt it looked real and it's made you down-daunted, as -well it may have; and I'm truly sorry for it." - -"You've a deal more to forgive than me. Many men would fling it in my -face every day of my life as I'd brought 'em no family." - -"I'm not that sort, and I'm hopeful in that matter as in every other. -Put that out of your mind, same as I do. Man plants, but God gives the -increase. I've found out--all my life so far--that, if we do our part, -He's very willing to do His. And if He holds back--that's His business -and not for His creatures to fall foul of. Who knows best?" - -She tightened her arms round him and her tears flowed. - -"Doan't 'e cry," he said, "unless 'tis for happiness. And I'll speak yet -further, Madge, since I'm confessing my sins to-night. There's another -that must have credit for this useful talk betwixt me and you." - -Her thoughts leapt to Hartley Crocker; but she did not speak. - -"I was saying to Rhoda a minute ago in the shed, that 'twas just like -you to go up to Ditsworthy for the secret of mother's rabbit pies. And -then she--Rhoda, I mean--told me a thing or two I ought to have found -out for myself." - -"I know right well Rhoda loves me dearly. Whatever--" began his wife; -then she broke off. - -"Of course--like every other mortal. And she's a woman, and soft -too--though not like you. She's content with me as I am, but you're -not; and there's no reason why you should be. You're right to ask for a -bit of worship from me; and the hard thing is you should have to ask." - -"I never--never did, David. I was content too--always content, and -proud of you always." - -"I know. You didn't ask with your lips. But maybe you asked another -way; and I didn't see the question till--till others in the past, and -again to-day, put it afore me. I'm a contrite man. I'm--" - -She put her hand over his mouth. - -"You're a million times too fine and great for me. And I won't hear -another word. There ban't a happier she on Dartmoor this minute than -me!" - -"Look here," he said. "I'll tell you what: we'll have a lark next week. -There's a revel to Tavistock and we'll all go--you and Rhoda and me. -Would you like it?" - -"Dearly, and--d'you think, David, that we might ax Bartley Crocker to -come? For his own sake and for Rhoda's?" - -"Ax him an' welcome. But I'm afraid 'tis all up. She's actually against -him now, I should judge, and at best she merely kept an open mind. She -never cared a straw about the man, and never will. I'm sorry for him, -because he's very fond of her; but I'm not sorry for her." - -"I am. Any woman with a good husband must be sorry for them who haven't -got one." - -"But 'tis no use thinking about it. She'll die an old maid unless -something very different from Crocker comes along. I met poor Snell but -yesterday and asked him how the world wagged with him. And he said as -he saw his way clearer than ever he had, owing to a talk with Rhoda. -Rhoda of all people! 'Glad you see what a sensible woman she is,' I -told him, and he swore he'd always seen it, but never more than when she -told the risks of marriage were greater than the gains. 'I'm off it for -evermore,' he says; 'and so be she--I've got her word.' Never a man was -more relieved in his mind, I should reckon." - -"Nonsense!" declared Margaret. "She's young for her years, and maidens -all talk like that. I won't believe it yet awhile. I won't even -believe that Bartley's not the man. I see a lot of him and none knows -him better. He's gained a deal of sense and patience of late. He's a -kind-hearted, gentle creature, and she'd soon wake up to know what -happiness really meant if she'd take him." - -"She's happy enough in her own way." - -"I hope 'tis so; yet how can such a lone life be happy?" - -"The heron be so happy as the starling," said David; "though one's his -own company most times and t'other goes in flocks. She needn't trouble -you. However, since you still think it may be, I'll forget a thing here -and there and help you, though 'tis against my own wish in a way. Of -course Rhoda's good is as much to me as my good have always been to her. -I want her to be a happy woman and a married woman too, if Mr. Right -comes along. But all the same, I can't think whatever I should do if -Bartley Crocker was to win her and take her off to Canada." - -"The thing is to make her happy," answered his wife. "Before all else I -want to do it. We're as happy as birds. 'Tis for us, one way or -another way, to fill her cup fuller." - -"We'll do what we may," he replied. "At least be sure that no man nor -woman cares for her more than we do." - -"And poor Bartley--don't leave him out. He mustn't be left out," she -said. - -His mind for the moment was on another issue. - -"I'll grant in one particular she's not too happy," he remarked -suddenly. "And that's over Dorcas. I'm not speaking a word for Dorcas. -She behaved very badly and she's very well out of it, with a lot more -luck than she deserves. Screech isn't what I thought him, and I've -admitted I was wrong in my opinion of him; but Rhoda can't pardon her. -I'm feared to say much, though she knows, for that matter, that I go so -far as to nod to Dorcas now, and give her 'good-morning' or 'good-night' -when we meet. But Rhoda won't budge an inch. I suppose 'tis out of our -power, Madge, to soften her a little bit in that quarter?" - -"I've tried full often, but I'll gladly try again," she answered. "And -you're right and put your finger on the sore place, no doubt. You can -see so deep into people, David. For certain 'tis being out with her own -flesh and blood that makes Rhoda wisht and mournful. But we'll try yet -again to bring 'em together. I know 'tis a great thorn in Dorcas, -though she pretends not to care about it." - - - - - *CHAPTER VII* - - *A SHARP TONGUE* - - -Timothy Mattacott and his life-long friend, Ernest Maunder, walked and -talked together. The latter was on duty, but since the way led over an -open space skirted with wild and empty land, the constable relaxed his -official manner and gave ear to Mattacott. - -"I ban't too easy," confessed the elder man; "for it's rumoured that -along of that silly business on Christmas Eve, when Screech hollered out -Stanbury's name in the fog to Crazywell, and the wrong people heard him, -that Mrs. Stanbury's going out of her mind. Something ought to be done." - -"Something certainly ought to be done," admitted Maunder. "You couldn't -say strictly that it comes under the head of law, else I should take -steps; but we must consider of it before the woman gets worse." - -"I don't want to anger Screech, for he took a lot of trouble, and -'twasn't his fault that Jane didn't hear the voice. For that matter, -'twas as good as if she had done, and she's holding off even now from -Bart Stanbury, as Screech foretold me she would do. But I don't get no -forwarder with her, and 'tis only an evil postponed from my point of -view, because she's plainly told me that she likes Bart better than me, -and she's only waiting to see if there was anything in that voice, or if -'twas all nonsense and stuff." - -"In other words," said Mr. Maunder, "if the man lives over into next -year, which, of course, he will do, then she'll take him." - -"Yes, exactly so. If he died she'd have me, but on no other terms." - -"I'm afraid then, to say it kindly, Tim, the game's up," declared -Ernest. "You see, the man ban't going to die, and you'm harrying his -mother silly for nought. If I may venture to advise, I'd urge for you to -let it out and give her up." - -"I don't mind for myself, but there's Billy Screech." - -"If you've lost her, 'tis no good keeping up these hookem-snivey doings. -Nought's gained by it. To use craft, though foreign to my nature, I -hope, in a general way, I should advise that Screech lets the thing out -sudden. He might pretend that he's just heard tell about it, and his -wife could tell Mrs. Stanbury's daughter, Margaret Bowden. Then 'twould -be all right in a day, and the poor creature might recover her senses -and rest in peace." - -"As 'tis," explained Timothy, "she's in a double mess, which we never -thought upon--no, not the cleverest among us--for she can't tell whether -'tis her son or her husband be going to drop. And she goes in fear -according." - -"It oughtn't to be. It mustn't be," declared the other. "'Tis unworthy -and improper; and though I couldn't say 'twas an actual crime against -law, yet 'tis a very indecent situation, and if the poor creature was to -go mad, you'd feel a heavy load on your conscience, Timothy, even though -Billy Screech may be so built as not to care." - -"Yes, I should," admitted Mr. Mattacott; "and something must be -done--especially so, since I've lost the woman. 'Tis very vexatious in -her, for she's as near as damn it said 'yes' a score of times." - -"You'll do better to look elsewhere, whether or no. Them uncertain -creatures afore marriage are often uncertain afterwards, and then they -be the very mischief," said Ernest. "And as for wits, upon my life I -don't think Mrs. Stanbury's the only one that's tottering. 'Twouldn't -maze me any day to hear as Reuben Shillabeer had to be handled. That -man's not what he was." - -"He hath a wandering eye, I grant you." - -"More than that, and worse than that. 'Tis my business, in its higher -branches, to take thought of what be passing in a man's brain, Timothy, -and oft of late I've marked the 'Dumpling' waver in his speech and break -off and lose the thread." - -"Have you now!" - -"True as I'm here on duty. He don't fix his intellects as he used." - -"He's always down--I grant that. 'The Corner House' ban't very lively -nowadays." - -"He is down, and that's a sign of a screw loose. Say nought, however, -for 'twould be libel and land you in trouble; but mark me, the poor -fellow changes from his old self, though never a cheerful creature since -his wife went." - -They overtook a woman and both saluted Rhoda Bowden. She had just -crossed Lether Tor bridge, and was proceeding by the road to Lowery. -They talked concerning Mr. Shillabeer a while longer, and then Mr. -Maunder mentioned Dorcas and her children. Whereupon from urbanity -Rhoda lapsed into silence, soon bade them good-day, and turned off the -main road into a lane. They passed on, and having left the track, Rhoda -pursued the way she had chosen. It wound to her right, skirted a quarry -on Lowery Tor, and returned to the main thoroughfare half a mile beyond. -The detour was of no account, and yet, owing to this trivial incident, -there happened presently an event that set rolling deep waves along the -shore of chance. - -The rough footpath led directly behind Mr. Billy Screech's cottage, and -just as Rhoda was speeding by with her eyes turned from the place, the -eldest child of Dorcas--a boy of more than three years old--fell -headlong out of the hedge at her feet. The accident looked serious. -For a moment her nephew lay motionless and silent, then he began to -utter piercing screams and cry for his mother. The noise stilled -Rhoda's alarm and brought Dorcas flying from her cottage, with her -mother-in-law after her. When they arrived at the hedge Rhoda had -picked up her sister's first-born, and was endeavouring to calm it. - -The lesser William Screech was found to have escaped with no worse hurt -than fright and bruises. He was soon in his mother's arms, and she -handed him on to his grandmother. Dorcas thanked Rhoda and told the -elder Mrs. Screech to depart; then, the opportunity being a good one, -she descended into the road herself, set her face, shook her red fringe -out of her eyes, and resolutely overtook Rhoda, who had hastened -forward. - -"Stop, if you please," she said. "It's a free country and you've no -right to deny speech to any civil-spoken creature. I want to speak to -you, and I'll be obliged if you'll listen for a minute. You can't -refuse to hear me." - -Even at this moment Rhoda was struck by the calm authority in her -younger sister's voice. She spoke as the superior woman, with all the -weight of a husband, a family, and a home behind her. The aggressive -personality of Dorcas was something new. - -"I don't want to have aught to do with you," said Rhoda. - -"Nor I with you," answered the other. "But we've all got to do a lot of -things we don't like in this world--you and me among the rest." - -"Speak then," said the elder. She had not stood face to face with her -sister for some years, and now she marked that Dorcas looked better far -than of old. She had filled into neat matronly lines; her eyes were -stronger; her gift of ready words was still with her. - -"'Tis this: I'm weary of the scandal between us. I'm looked up to and -treated proper by other women, and 'tis a wonder to them all why you -hold off as you do. I don't want your friendship, God knows, nor yet -your good word; but civility I've a right to ask for, and 'tis a -beastly, obstinate wickedness in you that refuses it. Here, but three -days since, Madge comed in and said how hard she'd tried again to make -you see different, but not a kindly thought to your own flesh and blood -have you got. A minute agone, if you'd known 'twas my child you'd -picked up, no doubt you'd have let the poor little toad drop again. And -Madge says you won't make friends and be civil, even on the outside, out -of respect to everybody; and I'll ask you why and thank you to tell me." - -Rhoda lacked the usual armoury of women. Her mind moved slowly; her -words did the like. She made no instant answer, but looked down into -the angry eyes of Mrs. Screech and noticed her hands were wet and puffy. - -"'Tis washing-day with you, I see," she said in a mechanical voice. Why -she made this remark she had not the least idea. It was certainly not -meant as an offence; but Dorcas held such irrelevance as rude. - -"Never mind whether 'tis my washing-day or not. Please to answer me and -give me a reason for what you'm doing year after year. I suppose you -think 'tis terrible fine to stick your vartuous nose up in the air, and -pretend you'm a holy saint and not a common woman. Terrible fine, no -doubt--and terrible foolish--like many other terrible fine things be. -Don't you judge your betters so free, and sneer at every woman who does -her first duty in the world and helps the world along; but look at home -a bit and see what a nasty-minded, foul-thinking creature you be, -without enough charity to keep your brains sweet. You was very fond of -bally-ragging me in the old days, when I was a stupid girl and didn't -know what I was born for; but you shan't come it over me no more, and I -warn you not to try." - -Her voice was shrill, and Rhoda, listening to the sound, perceived -another whom marriage had made a shrew. - -"What's the use of this noise?" she asked coldly. "You can't make me -have aught to do with you or your children, and I refuse to do it. 'Tis -playing with the past to ask the reason. You know the reason. I never -would speak, and never will speak to any woman who does what you did. -I'm jealous for women, and the like of you, that makes them a scorn and -a laughing-stock, should be cast out by all right-minded females. Then -such things as you did wouldn't be done no more." - -"No! If the women were like you, there'd mighty soon be no more -women--nor men neither--a poor, unfinished thing--like a frost-bitten -carrot--good for nought. You to talk to me out of your empty life! You -to say I'm not fit company for people--me as be bringing brave boys and -girls into the world, while you look after puppies and lambs! Why, damn -you, you be no more than a useless lump of flesh, as might so well be -underground as here! You--out of your empty, silly life--to talk to me -in my full, busy days! I spit at you; and if you think to punish me, -then I'll punish you too. I can bite so well as bark; and if you ban't -on your knees pretty soon, I'll have you and David by the ears--then -we'll see what becomes of you!" - -Mrs. Screech suggested a woman suffering under too much alcohol. But -she was merely drunk with anger. Her sister's calm attitude and patient -indifference to this attack did not help to soothe her. Rhoda looked at -the sun, and Dorcas knew that she was judging the time of day. - -"You'll call for the hours to move a bit faster afore long," she said. -"Don't you think you can insult me and my husband, year 'pon year like -this, and not smart for it. We know very well how to hit back, and if -it hadn't been for a better woman than you, I'd have done it a long time -ago. I don't forget how you boxed my ears once, because I knowed how to -love a man. You'd have better axed me what the secret was and begged to -know it. But you think you've got no use for a man; and they've got no -use for you and never will have--as you'll live to find out. And I'll -sting you to the quick now--now--this instant moment, if you don't say -you'm sorry for the past and promise on your honour to treat me and mine -decent in future. I warn you to mind afore you speak." - -A malignant light shone over the face of Dorcas. She set her teeth and -panted at her own great wrongs, while she waited for the other to speak. - -"You can't hurt me," said Rhoda, "and you know it." - -"Can't I? We'll see then! God defend the world from white virgins like -you--that's what I say. A holy terror you are; and we're all to be -brought up for judgment, I suppose--to have our heads chopped off, -because we dare to be made of flesh and blood instead of dead earth. -Pure and clean--is it? What _you_ call pure. All the same, the likes -of you does things, and thinks things, us married women would blush to -do and think." - -"If that's all you want to say, I'll thank you to get out of my road," -answered the other. - -"'Tisn't all, as it happens. I'm going to talk of Bartley Crocker now, -and then you can take away something to think about yourself, you frozen -wretch! I suppose, in your pride, you fancy he's after you all these -days, and comes because he wants to marry you--wants to marry a lump of -granite! 'Tisn't you he thinks about, or cares about, or ever will; -'tis one whose shoes you ban't worthy to black--or David either. Between -you she'd be like to die of starvation, I reckon; and who shall blame -her if she does take her hungry heart to somebody, else? You and -him--good God! 'tis like living between two ice images--enough to kill -the nature in any creature higher than a dog. And she knows it, and a -good few more--Bartley Crocker among the number--knows it. Belike Madge -grows tired of being moss to his stone, and working her fingers raw for -such as you and her husband. And even your precious David ban't the -only man in the world. And so a decent chap like Bartley comes along, -an old friend that knows a little about girls and what they feel like, -and knows they be different from sheep and heifers. Hear that! 'Tis not -for you the man seeks your house. He uses your name like a blind. He -laughs at you and your airs and graces. He's got no use for you and -never will have. They meet here and there and everywhere--and why not? -'Fallen woman' be the word for me, I suppose. 'Tis you be the fallen -woman; and to call you woman is too good for you! You never was a -woman; but Madge is, and I hope to God you'll wake one day to find -she've had pluck and sense enough to leave you and David and run for it -with a better man. You may stare your owl's eyes out of your head. But -you've got it now, and you've earned it." - -Dorcas stopped, panting from her tirade, and passed her sister and -disappeared without more speech. Rhoda, left alone, stood quite still -for a little while; then she proceeded on her business. Not a shadow of -anger clouded her mind, only dreadful dismay at the things she had -heard. She was not galled for herself; she did not wince at the foul -torrent loosed upon her. It passed over her harmlessly. But her -thoughts busied themselves entirely with David. That Dorcas should thus -have supported her own fears, and driven home her own cloudy suspicions -and terrors, struck Rhoda dumb. Here was the thing that she had hidden -and suffered to gnaw her breast without a sign, now shouted on the loud, -vulgar tongue of the world, as represented by Dorcas. Here was the -secret that she had suspected, and searched out in fear and trembling, -blurted coarsely for any ear. - -A period of increased happiness had recently passed over 'Meavy Cot,' -and Madge, who appeared to hide her emotions no more than a bird, went -singing and cheerful through it. Then matters drifted into the old -ways. Now much of hope deferred was upon David's mind and some -abstraction and silence clouded the home again, for the Tavistock -appointment remained still a matter of uncertainty. But the -circumstance chiefly in Rhoda's thoughts at this moment was the attitude -of her brother to Bartley Crocker. - -Their relations had grown more and more friendly of late. Crocker often -came uninvited to 'Meavy Cot,' and David always appeared well pleased to -see him. When the younger was not by, her brother often spoke of him, -and both he and Margaret endeavoured to make Rhoda share their high -opinion. From Madge she had always turned impatiently away; but to -David she had listened and not seldom wondered that he and she--who -found themselves thinking alike in most questions of life and -character--should differ so widely upon the subject of this man. The -reason was now easy to discover: she knew the truth and her brother did -not. Her judgment was confirmed. Then, upon this appalling conclusion, -came doubt and deepest perplexity. Why should such a woman as Dorcas be -right? Her evil heart might have invented the whole story with no -purpose but to torture and torment. Rhoda had next reluctantly to -consider Crocker himself and his bearing when they met. - -If he was acting a lie, he was acting it well. He had made it clear -half a hundred times, though without offering another formal proposal, -that he would be rejoiced and thankful above measure if she threw in her -lot with him, and married him, and accompanied him to Canada. She asked -herself what would happen if she accepted him. Her thoughts grew more -and more difficult. She reached the lowest depth of discomfort that -life had shown her. - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII* - - *UNDER THE TREES* - - -There is a lonely wood where Meavy hides upon her way and whence her -waters cry like siren voices from copse and thicket and the darkness -under great trees. Hither she passes, amid mossy stones and through -secret places curtained by green things. At the feet of Lether Tor -there rise forests of oak and beech; and here, by day and night, through -all times and seasons, two songs are mingling. The melodies change as -the singers do; but they never cease. In summer the shrunken river -tinkles to the murmur of the leafy canopy above it, and her voices -ascend fitfully to meet the whisper of the leaf and the sigh of the -larch; in winter the legions of the branch have vanished and naked -woodland and swollen stream make wilder music. Then the trees lend -their lyres to the north wind, and the rocks beneath utter strange cries -that combine their choral measures with fierce throbbing of the forest -harps above. The foliage fallen, Lether Tor's grey castles and jagged -slopes are visible, lifted against the west and seen through a lattice -of innumerable boughs. Behind this mountain sinks the sun, now in an -orange-tawny aureole above the purple, and now wrapped with sullen, -lifeless cloud; now upon the clearness of summer twilights, and now -through the flaming arms of a red mist. - -To-day, in August, this haunt of Meavy was a nest of light and cool -shadows dappled together, a tent of leaves--dark overhead, where the sky -filled the fretwork of the tree-tops, and alive at the forest edge with -a glory of gold, where sunshine poured through loops and ragged, -feathered fringes of translucent foliage. The leaves formed a -commonwealth of song and gladness and harmonious concessions. Each -integral of the arboreal courts advanced the same beauty, lifted to the -same zephyr, glittered to the same sun and moon, drank life from the -same dew, trembled to the same threat of autumn and of death. Beneath, -through rifts in the bosom of the wood, the blue-green brake-fern shone -and panted out her fragrance on the hillside. A colour contrast very -vivid was thus offered through the frames of the forest; and beyond this -region of rock-strewn fern there spread a haze of light and darkness--of -indigo and silver blended about the shaggy knees of Lether Tor where it -lifted to the sky. - -Through the midst of the dingle under shadows, yet with her breast bared -to those amber shafts of sunshine that fell upon it, came Meavy, with -many a curl and turn and leisurely dawdling in deep pool. Fern fronds, -fingered with light, bent over the face of the water; fresh-coloured -flowers of agrimony rose above; flash of golden-rod and the seeding -spires of foxgloves mingled there; while a ripple of filched fire from -the sun-shaft broke the glass of each smooth pool, and heaven's blue was -also reflected from many a rift in the veil of the leaves. Bramble and -woodrush spanned the stream and nodded, linked together with a spider's -trembling web; by broken, subterranean channels the river held her way; -light, sobered into half light where moss sponges soaked crystal water -and golden sunshine together, penetrated through the heaviest shade; -darkness only dwelt in the deepest rifts and crannies and upon the -black, submerged vegetation of the rocks. Out of these mysteries arose -new songs and whispers, where the stream slid stealthily forth from her -secret places and the hidden homes of unseen things that she also -blessed and forgot not. Here the sun stars, catching upon her convex -ripples, were reflected and thrown upward, to dance and flash unexpected -brightness into gloom, or set wonderful radiance upon the under-face of -leaves. - -Life, in shape of bird and beast and fish, prospered here; and -glittering insects--ichneumons, that hung motionless like golden beads -in some beam of light; butterflies, that came and went; and long-legged -spiders and great ants--likewise justified themselves. The trees were -garlanded with ivy, polypody, and many mosses, that hung in festoons and -fell even to the dim, moist river-ways, where shy flowers blossomed in -shade, and the filmy fern spread its small loveliness upon the stone. - -Here, at the hour near summer twilight, when life ranges at full stress -and passion before rest, one may see, in the low red light that pierces -to each inviolate place, some vision of the shepherd god aglowing; and -through the wail of insects, under the melody of ripple and frond, there -steals sweet warbling of the syrinx at Pan's own puckered lips. Music -full of the unfulfilled he plays--music fraught with world sorrow and -world joy. Now it is mellow as the dying day, now tender and triumphant -as the dawn; but it is never satisfied; it is never satisfying; because -it whispers of precious things felt but not known; it hungers after the -ultimate mystery; it thirsts for the secrets behind the sunset. - -At one spot in this wood a young beech leapt from a rock, and the earth -cushion which supported it hung over the river. A little precipice fell -beneath to water's edge, and the whole force of Meavy struck here and -leapt on again, crested with light. It was a human haunt and suited -well a soul who went between sadness and fitful happiness, who declared -herself reconciled and contented, yet knew that it was not so. Hither -Margaret often came and found a temple of peace. She brought sorrow and -doubt here; and sometimes the glen lifted it; and sometimes she departed -again not happier than she came. - -To-day she sat with her back to the beech; and two others shared these -precincts with her. One reclined at her feet; the other watched unseen. - - -Prospects of important employment kept David Bowden much from home at -this season. The matter was now as good as accomplished and it appeared -certain that, with the new year, he would leave Dartmoor and enter the -service of a cattle-breeder at Tavistock. Such a position opened -possibilities far better than the man could have expected at his present -work. With mingled feelings Margaret contemplated the change; and she -met with Crocker on two or three occasions at this period during her -husband's prolonged absence. She made no secret of these appointments, -yet it came about that one most vitally interested did not always hear -of them; because Rhoda had of late lapsed into a very saturnine vein and -eschewed converse with her sister-in-law. Madge, therefore, judging -that her affairs were of no consequence or interest to Rhoda, kept them -to herself. They were at 'Meavy Cot' alone together and, in all -kindness, the wife had proposed that Rhoda should take this opportunity -of David's absence and herself visit Ditsworthy for a day or two. Mrs. -Bowden had expressed a desire to this effect and the opportunity seemed -good. But Rhoda curtly refused. Her dogs might be trusty guardians for -the hearth and home of 'Meavy Cot'; but they could not guard the -mistress of it or protect her from herself. - -The elder woman stopped therefore, and, the more suspicious for this -invitation to depart, watched in secret. - -She was watching now, while Margaret and Bartley, under the beech, sat -close together and talked like kind-hearted children about the welfare -of another person. He had great information for her and promised to lift -a sustained cloud of darkness from her mind. - -"What'll you give me for the best piece of news you've heard this year?" -he asked; and she replied that she had nothing in the world to give -anybody but good-will. - -"If I could give you Rhoda, I would," she said; "but nobody can give her -to you save herself." - -"I've made a great discovery--or so good as made it," he answered. -"'Twas out of Tim Mattacott of all people that I got a clue. Him and -Maunder are well-meaning, harmless men, and in the bar--at -Shillabeer's--three days ago--I heard them talking together. They were -at my elbow and I couldn't help listening to a few words. After that I -didn't blame myself for listening to a few more. It's all about your -brother Bart and Jane West, and your mother." - -"Whatever do you mean?" - -"Why, there's been a plot, and I'm after the ringleader. I may or may -not find him, but one thing is clear, and that's all that matters. -Somebody--not Mattacott himself but a friend of his--has tried to help -him to get Jane West away from Bart." - -"It looks as if they had succeeded too," said Margaret; "for Bart tells -me the girl won't say 'yes' and won't say 'no.'" - -"There it is! 'Twas a deep idea to stop her once and for all. How, -d'you think? By letting her hear the Voice of Crazywell call out Bart's -name! 'Twas planned very clever that she and Bart should actually hear -it on Christmas Eve; and they would have done so, but for the fog that -kept 'em to the road. Instead, as luck would have it, your mother of -all people, hears the Voice. And now, as far as I can gather, those in -the secret--or some of them--hearing how she's taking on, begin to be a -bit uneasy--as well they may." - -"Oh, Bartley!" - -"'Tis true; but we must go to work witty and catch the sinner himself. -'Sinner' I call him, yet that's too strong a word belike. All that -really matters is for you to tell your mother 'twas nonsense, and that a -man lay hid by the pool, and that 'twas never meant to fret her to -fiddle-strings about it." - -Margaret jumped to her feet. - -"Sit down," he said. "Can't let you off like this before I've been here -two minutes. We'll go up over to Coombeshead together presently. Must -talk a bit first. An hour more or less won't make no difference to your -mother." - -She sat by him and put her hand on his arm. Then she bent and kissed -his hand impulsively. - -"You've paid me after all!" he laughed. - -"I'd give you your heart's desire and the keys of heaven, if I could," -she answered. "This is the best fortune that's come to me for many, -many a long day; and I bless you for bringing it." - -"Thought you'd be pleased. But tell 'em to say nought yet. I'm putting -my mind into it, for I've got nothing to do now but twiddle my thumbs -and wait till I can decently go to her--Rhoda--for the third and last -time of asking. I doubt 'tis a vain thing, though. She likes me less -and less, I believe." - -"I hope not; but this I know: she likes me less and less." - -"You!" - -"Yes--for reasons I can't fathom. Either that, or she've got some deep -matter on her mind that keeps her more than common silent. With David -away the nights be cruel. Sometimes 'tis all I can do to help crying -out and begging her, for pity, to open her mouth. I get off to bed so -soon as I can; and so like as not, when I'm gone up, she'll go abroad -again and keep out, Lord knows where, till long after midnight." - -"I don't call it respectable," said Bartley, shaking his head with -pretence of disapproval. "I really don't, Madge. I wish I could meet -her on one of these moony walks. Perhaps she'd listen to reason -then--if she didn't set her pack of dogs on me!" - -"'Tis hard to live so close to a fellow-creature and understand her so -little." - -"I understand her well enough--if she'd only believe it," he said. - -For a moment they lapsed into silence. Then he plucked a long -grass-blade and began to tickle her ear. She shook her head and laughed. -A bright thought came to her mind. - -"I heard by letter from David this morning. The matter's settled. -He'll be bailiff of the great breeding farm--everything under him--the -actual head man under the master. I feel very proud about it, for it -shows how high the people rate him." - -"And well they may. You could trust him with the Bank of England. -Never was such a dead straight, lofty-minded man in the world before." - -"I like you to praise him. He thinks such a lot of you. He's even been -at Rhoda about you too." - -"What will she do if you go to Tavistock? I reckon 'tis the thought of -that more than me, or anything else, is making her down on her luck." - -"I was hopeful 'twould perhaps turn her more to you. She could never -live in Tavistock." - -"No," he said, "that's a certainty. She wants more room than a town can -give her. You're right, Madge: this must make her think a bit more of -me. Canada, or here, or the North Pole--'tis all one to me if she'll -come. And if she says 'no' again, then I'm off alone--to the Dominion. -Why I'm drawn that way I hardly know. But I am." - -"Third time's lucky. How I hope it will be!" - -"If she cared for me, even half as much as you do, I'd win her." - -"If she knew what a rare good chap you are, you'd win her, or any -woman." - -"You're always too easy with me," he said. "Lucky you didn't marry me: -you would have spoilt me utterly--not that there was much to spoil. Yet -I daresay we should have jogged along very comfortable." - -"Who knows? Perhaps none too well, Bartley." - -"Perhaps not. We're too much alike," he declared. - -"In many things we are." - -"But the weak help the weak. You'll see a pair of bryony stems twirl -round each other, and so do far better and go farther than ever they -could single-handed." - -"'Twould be the blind leading the blind--you and me together. The oak's -more good to the ivy than anything soft like itself." - -"Pity I haven't a bit of David's iron in me," he confessed. - -"It is," she admitted. "A pity I haven't too." - -"And a pity he haven't got a bit of my--" - -She nodded strong assent. - -"That's pity too," she said. "That's what I've wished many and many a -time--just like a silly creature to wish what can't be. 'Tis worse than -a child crying for the moon to want a man's nature changed." - -"Yet half the people spend their time wanting the other half to change," -he told her. - -Again there was a pause and then he spoke. - -"So long as it's well with you, I don't care." - -"Well enough--if I could see it," she said. - -"If you could see it!" - -"I mean if I could feel it." - -"If you don't feel it, then 'tisn't well." - -"It can't be well because we've got no family. 'Tis a grievance--and a -just grievance. But yet 'tis well with me none the less, Bartley. The -real way to be happy is never to look at home too much. Perhaps, better -still, never to look at home at all. By 'home' I mean a person's own -heart. Keep out of that and always be busy for other people. Then you -haven't time to be miserable." - -He shook his head. - -"We've all got time for that; there's always the night," he answered. -"Nature gives us the night time for sleep, and life takes a big slice -out of it for trouble." - -"I ought to understand him by now. But 'tis the ups and downs I never -can get used to," she explained. "My dear man will be a husband in a -thousand now and again, and I'll thank God in my prayers and say to -myself as he understands my poor feeble nature at last, and that we -never shan't see a cloud again; then he's off and hidden away behind -himself for months at a time, and I can't win a smile from him or hardly -a good word." - -"He's so ambitious." - -"No doubt 'tis that. 'Twas Rhoda herself got him into his good way last -time; and a right glad week we had of it. Then there came all this over -his mind. Somehow he can't bring himself to ask my advice over anything -bigger than his own clothes. He lets me choose them, bless him. That's -something." - -"And jolly smart he always looks. But mind this, Madge, you talk of ups -and downs. That's no hardship--'tis the natural, healthy state, like -the ebb of the river in summer drought and the seasons coming round one -after the other. You can't have ups without downs, and if you want one -you must brave the other." - -"I don't want neither," she said. "I'd sooner far we kept at a steady -jog-trot and got closer to each other every year we lived, and saw with -the same eyes, and felt with one heart." - -"Things balance out pretty fair. That sort be comfortable, but 'tis -terrible tame work. If you don't fall out, you never make it up, and my -experience of females is that almost the best part of the fun with 'em -is making it up. They like it as much as we do too." - -"Marriage is different." - -"Nought keeps the air of marriage sweeter than a good healthy breeze now -and again." - -"You talk as one outside. You know nothing at all about it!" - -"I'll kiss _you_ in a minute--and not on the hand neither!" he laughed. -"And 'twill be for punishment, not payment, if you can say such hard -things to me. No, I'm not married, worse luck; but you oughtn't to throw -it in my face like that, for 'tis no fault of mine, I'm sure." - -"I'd be happier than any woman ever was on Dartmoor, I do think, if -she'd take you." - -"You've done all you could--so's David. But there's no more in your -power. If I can't rise to the skill to win her, then so much the worse -for me." - -"Come and do a kind thing," she said suddenly. "Come and explain to my -dear mother this wonder you've found out. Nobody but you ever would -have been so clever as to do it." - -"And may I come home and have supper with you and Rhoda afterwards as a -reward?" - -"And welcome," she answered. - -"There's a moon and everything. I wish to God she'd let me go out -walking in the dark with her afterwards." - -"Perhaps she might. She took walks with Mr. Snell." - -"Not by moonlight? No--no, 'tis all waste of time and hope and sense. -But, good Lord! if she's so frosty under the summer sun, what must she -be in moonlight? Freezing cold enough to make a man's heart stand -still!" - -"Perhaps 'tis all the other way and the dark hours soften her," -suggested Margaret. - -They rose and she brushed his back, which was covered with scraps of -leaf and moss. - -Presently they moved away together towards Coombeshead; and then from -her lair in a brake fifty yards distant, Rhoda departed to return home. -Their speech had been entirely hidden from her, but their actions were -all observed; and their actions, unlit by the spirit that informed them, -left her soul dark. - -Mr. Crocker, on second thoughts, decided that he would not sup at 'Meavy -Cot' until David came back, and Madge went her way alone after bringing -large comfort and peace to Mrs. Stanbury. She was full of the incident -when she came back to Rhoda, and gave her silent and sceptical listener -the true account of the meeting by Meavy. - - - - - *CHAPTER IX* - - *DARKNESS AT 'THE CORNER HOUSE'* - - -As time advanced even the least observant took note of an increasing -gloom that hung over Reuben Shillabeer. It fluctuated but set steadily -in upon him. He grew more silent and more fanatical where matters of -religion formed the topic. He talked of giving up 'The Corner House.' -He declared that had it been in his power, he would long since have -emulated the bold Bendigo and preached to his fellow men. - -"I can't do that, along of having no flow of words," said Mr. Shillabeer -moodily. "Speech in the pulpit manner have been denied to me. All the -same, I may have done more for the Lord than any of you men know about." - -He addressed a Saturday night bar and reduced most of those who listened -to an embarrassed silence. - -"'Tis things like that we don't expect and have a right to object to in -a public house," declared Mr. Screech afterwards. "We come here for -peace and quietness and a pint. At this rate 'the Dumpling' will very -soon want to end the evening with a prayer meeting; and I for one shall -be very glad when he goes and us get a cheerfuller pattern of publican -there." - -Many were of Billy's mind. Two potmen in succession left 'The Corner -House' owing to the depressed atmosphere of that establishment; the -regular guests held serious meetings to discuss the situation. Some -were for strong measures; others held the evil must soon cure itself. - -"Either the poor soul will go melancholy mad and have to be taken from -among us--and 'twill ask for half a dozen strong men to do it--or else -the cloud will pass off," explained Mr. Moses. "Be it as 'twill, we -can't go on like this. I advise that we wait till the turn of the year; -and then, if nothing happens, we'll make a regular orderly deputation, -with me and Mr. Bowden as ringleaders, and wait upon Sir Guy Flamank and -explain to him that 'The Corner House' under Shillabeer isn't what it -should be." - -"'Twould be better far," Ernest Maunder had said, "if the man would be -as good as his word and retire. If we can urge him without unkindness to -do so, he might get calmer and easier in his mind in private life." - -"Not him," prophesied Screech. "Take the life and company and stir of -the bar from him, and he'd become a drivelling old mump-head in six -months. As 'tis he may be seen half a dozen times in a week sitting on -his wife's grave, when he ought to be to work in his house." - -"Mr. Merle have said the same," admitted Charles Moses. "To me the man -said it. 'I don't like to have poor Shillabeer in the churchyard so -often,' was his word. 'Tisn't seemly for the people to observe him with -his hand over his face and his hat off beside him sitting there. To -display his grief in this manner, after nearly fifteen years, is not -true to nature, and I feel very alarmed about it.' That was what his -reverence said to me; and I answered that he echoed my very thought." - -"The man wants to be lifted to more wholesome ideas," declared Mr. -Maunder. "Nobody can say of me that I'm against the Bible; but there's -times and seasons--a time for everything and everything in its time--as -the Book says itself, I believe; but he thrusts Scripture into -conversation and peppers talk with texts till free speech be smothered. -He ought to go--to say it without feeling." - -And meantime the anti-social instinct in Shillabeer, filtering by secret -ways through the old man's brain, took another turn and led him upon a -road none had foreseen. Vaguely at first he glimpsed it, and on his -declining years a dark short cut to peace suddenly yawned. - -The first glimpse of this haunting evil that now crept upon the old -prize-fighter was revealed to a woman; and on the occasion Mr. -Shillabeer not only shocked her with a thought, but astonished her by a -confession. - -First, however, there came dark words between them, as happens at the -meeting of unhappy and restless spirits. Then Margaret Bowden, for it -was she, learnt the man's simple secret. It argued some unexpected -cunning in him that he could have pursued his purpose and also hidden -it; and the circumstance taken in conjunction with the present theme, -made her fear for his sanity. Not the subject so much startled her as -its existence in this particular man's brain. She listened, was -surprised to find how reasonable his arguments seemed, yet strove with -all her wits to refute them. - -One day on his way back from Princetown Mr. Shillabeer noted the smoke -rising from 'Meavy Cot' under Black Tor. He had never seen David -Bowden's home and the opportunity was a good one. He left the main -road, therefore, and soon reached the house. David happened to be away, -and Rhoda was also out. But Margaret made the visitor welcome, hastened -the hour of tea-drinking, and insisted that he should stop for it. - -"As nice a house as one might wish for," he said. "And I'd like to say -that I'm among them that wish all joy and good fortune and good luck to -your husband. He's one of the fortunate ones, and well he deserves to -be. I suppose it won't be long now afore he takes up the new work?" - -"We go after the winter," she answered. - -"A position of great trust. 'Tis wonderful to me to think that when I -first come to Sheepstor he was a little fellow in a lamb's-wool coat, as -wanted his mother's hand to help him over the rough ground. And I've -lived to see him rise into manhood, and show his valour in the ring, and -take a wife, and now stand up among leading people and rise to be the -right hand of one of the richest personages in the county." - -"Very wonderful, as you say. Yet not wonderful neither. 'Tis David -that is wonderful--not the things as happen to him. Given such a man, -he was bound to get up top." - -"True," declared Mr. Shillabeer, passing his cup to be refilled; "the -very same thought often came in my mind when my wife was alive. She was -the wonder, and I was sure to be lucky and fortunate when I married her. -But death's stronger than the most wonderful life that ever was lived. -She went and took her luck with her; and her gone, I sank again to be a -common man. And when you feel puffed up, Margaret, always remember that -death lies behind every hedge and makes ready the gun trigger for this -man, the flood for that; the weak lynch-pin here, and the mad dog there. -Another thing as you may have noticed; 'tis always the usefulest be -picked off. Heaven's terrible jealous of a real valuable man. It ain't -got no need of the rogues and wastrels no more than we have; but if a -male or female be doing for the Lord with both hands, so often as not -the Lord says, 'That's the very man or woman I want for such and such a -bit of real high work.' And they'm cut down like the grass of the -field." - -"Yes," she said. "The Lord harvests His own way, Mr. Shillabeer; and -because a beautiful, useful life goes, ban't for us to mourn, but to say -'twas needed for higher things." - -"And another point I'd have you to know," he added. "I ban't at all sure -if the right of private judgment be withheld either. Parson will tell -you, and most people will also tell you, that 'tis a very bad -come-along-of-it for a human creature to say 'I ban't wanted no more and -so I'll be off;' but I won't go so far as that myself. I've tried to -look at this matter with the eyes of God A'mighty, and I've done it." - -She stared at him. - -"You'm surprised," he said; "but listen to me. I'm a man of many -troubles and griefs, and I hope you'll never see half a quarter the -sorrows I have. Still as the sparks fly upwards, so you'll have your -share and know what it is to suffer." - -"Yes, for certain." - -"But don't you ever suppose that we're put here for nought but suffering -and nought but happiness. I tell you, Margaret, that suffering and -happiness be both beside the great question." - -"We're put here for usefulness," she said, and he eagerly agreed with -her. - -"The very word! Trouble or joy be an accident--always a matter of -chance. You can see it everywhere. There's wise and sensible people -wading through nought but trouble and opening their eyes on it at every -sun up; and there's born fools sailing along in nought but fine weather; -and so you get men like me full of doubt and darkness, because we can't -trust our own wisdom; and fools such as--but I won't name no -names--thinking themselves terrible clever and giving themselves -terrible airs because they suppose their good be a matter of their own -making, instead of simple kind fortune." - -"I suppose things come out pretty fair all round in the long run," she -said. "If you've got money, you miss childer; if you've got love you -miss luck; if you've got health--" - -"As to health, nought matters less than that," declared Mr. Shillabeer. - -"You speak as one who never had an ache or pain," she said. - -"Bah!" he answered, "this carcase be less to me than the bones the crows -have plucked beside the way. I've reached a high pitch of mind now when -I could drive a red-hot needle through the calf of my leg and care -nought for the pang. D'you think these things matter to a man who have -been hammered into a heap of bruised, senseless flesh four different -times in his life like what I have? 'Tis the inner pain that hurts me, -and if I was canker-bitten and racked with every human ill, I'd laugh at -it all, if only my wife had been spared to sit beside me and hold my -hand. Things ban't fairly planned here. You say they are, but it isn't -so. I know 'tis a common speech on easy tongues, but it won't stand the -test of workaday life. Happy people may say it to calm their -consciences if they be having an extra good life, but 'tisn't true, and -never was true. Things ban't fair all round--nothing like it." - -"No, they're not," she confessed. "'Tis just a foolish parrot speech. -I know they're not fair as well as you do really." - -"Then I go on to my argeyment," said Reuben. "Granted the Lord, for His -own secret ends, ban't concerned to play fair with us, then, being a -just God, He must let us right the balance and use our own judgment -where we have the power. If even you--with all your big share of good -luck--allow on second thoughts that things don't fall fair, how much -more must the most of people feel it so?" - -"My luck--" she began, and stopped, but her tone indicated she was about -to demur, and he invited her to do so. - -"There again," he said, "we can only speak what we see, but what we see -ban't always the truth. The outside ban't a glass pane to show the -inside, but more often a clever door to hide it. I say in my haste how -that none ever had more luck to her share than you. Well, I've no right -to say that. Perhaps I'm wrong." - -"In a way, yes. David, you must know, is a great man now, and 'tisn't -the least of a loving woman's hardships to see her husband growing great -and herself biding little." - -"Good Lord! what a silly point of view!" said he. "Ban't you bone of his -bone and flesh of his flesh? How the deuce can the man grow great and -leave you behind?" - -"I can't explain," she said. "But 'tis so--off and on. Sometimes he -catches sight of me in his life, if you understand, and remembers me, -and we have precious days. Then again he loses sight of me for a bit. -I tell you these things, because you be such a big-hearted, -understanding man, Mr. Shillabeer." - -"I am," he said. "'Tis my sole vartue to be so. But my usefulness is -nearly over. So we come back to that usefulness we started with." - -"Your usefulness ban't ended, I'm very sure." - -"'Tis only ourselves know about that. A thinking creature, unless he's -growing old and weak in the head, knows very well when his usefulness be -coming to an end. Old I may be growing, but my mind is clear enough, -and it tells me that my work's pretty nearly done. Think if 'twas you, -Margaret, and them you loved best was in heaven, and there come into -your mind the certainty that there was nought to keep you an hour from -them--what would you do?" - -"Wait the Lord's time." - -"What happens must be in the Lord's time, and can't fall out in any -other time. But if the thought comes into your heart to join the dead, -ban't it the Lord as sent the thoughts; and if you do join 'em, can it -be done without the Lord's wish and will?" - -"Of course nothing can happen without the Lord permits, because He's -all-powerful and wills nought but good." - -"That's all I want for you to see. And it follows--don't it?--that if -the still small voice tells me I may go home, the way be clear?" - -"Go home!" - -"To the home that's waiting where my woman be. I'm home-sick for -it--terrible home-sick. And the thought have come very strong of late -that there's nothing left to bide for. And a simple thing--such a -simple thing! 'Tis merely putting something between you and the air of -heaven for a brief minute--a drop of water, or a rope round your throat. -Or, if your nature goes against that way, you can let the immortal soul -out through a hole--" - -His great eyes stared into vacancy, and she gazed with horrified -interest at him. - -"To kill yourself! Oh, dear Mr. Shillabeer, what are you saying?" - -"You may call it killing," he said, "but I don't. I call it opening the -half-hatch of the door and going home. They say self-slaughterers be -mad mostly--at least, so 'tis brought in most times by a crowner's jury -of busy men--men as don't care a button about the job, but want to get -back to their work. But I tell you 'tis no mark of weak intellects to -do it. A cowardly deed it may be sometimes, but a coward isn't daft as -a rule. And now and then 'tis the bravest thing a man can do, and now -and then the wisest." - -"Never--never!" - -"You wait till you've seen life move into the middle time, or lost -what's better than life. Keep your own opinions, but don't grow narrow, -and don't tell me that the still small voice ever whispered a lie to a -Christian man. Usefulness ended, 'tis our place to seek a new bit of -ground again where we can be useful anew; and if this world have done -with us, who's to say the next won't be very glad of a new workman?" - -"But not to go like that, surely?" - -"I tell you the Lord's over all," he answered again solemnly. "The Lord -chooses the fly for the fish, and hedge-sparrow for the hawk, and the -mouse for the owl. The Lord comes to me by night, and He says, -'Shillabeer,' and I say, 'I be listening, Lord.'" - -Margaret shivered, yet felt no fear of him. - -"And then," he continued, "the Lord says 'They've done with you, -Shillabeer; they want a cheerfuller, hopefuller pattern of man;' and I -say, ''Tis so, Lord; I read it in their faces.'" - -He broke off suddenly and spoke of other things. - -"D'you mind when holy words sprang up on the gates and lintels round -about--like corn springs after rain? 'Twas my work! You're the first -to know it, and I must ax of you to keep it dark 'till I'm gone to my -reward. But 'twas my thought and deed. By night I'd do it; and of -lonely grey evenings; and often afore the sun was up. I've walked with -God, woman!" - -"And much good those texts in the lone places did. I know they warmed my -heart more than once, Mr. Shillabeer." - -"Yes, they did a power of good. I could see that." - -"To think you was never found out!" - -"The Lord hid me. 'Twas His idea, not mine. Every idea be the Lord's -first; and the cleverest things we can do be planned out by Him and then -slipped into a man's intellects, like we post a letter or whisper into a -ear." - -"But the wicked thoughts?" - -"Good men don't get 'em. Proper-thinking people don't let 'em in. Be -the God of Hosts going to suffer a humble, faithful servant like me to -be pestered with Satan's nonsense at my time of life? Would that be a -fair thing? If a man ban't done with the Devil when he's in sight of -seventy, 'tis a bad lookout for him. And God's nearly always been a fair -sportsman, you mind." - -"Somebody far wiser and cleverer than me ought to hear about this," she -declared. "I do think and believe you're terribly wrong." - -He shook his great head impatiently. - -"No, no. I'm in the right. I met Mr. Merle in the churchyard, when I -was sitting beside my wife's bones a bit ago, and he walked over and had -a tell with me; and I axed him if our inner thoughts come from God--just -to see what he'd say. He answered that every good and perfect thought -comed from the Father of Gifts. So there you are. What is it--this -thing driving me to be gone? Why, 'tis the voice of Heaven calling -me--just like you yourself might call the cows home off the moor at -milking time." - -"You make a terrible mistake." - -He held up his hand. - -"Say not a word, my dear. 'Tis no better than speaking against the -Master of all flesh to tell me I've heard wrong. My wife's in Heaven. -I've got her that loved me best among the angels at the Throne of Grace. -Belike she's just fretting her spirit with cruel impatience because I -hang fire. You might think, perhaps, that there wasn't no great haste, -eternity being what it is. But if you loved your husband like my wife -loved me, you'd know eternity's self was none too long for us to be -together again. There's only one little thing that makes me hang back." - -"'Tis the Word of God." - -"Not a bit. 'Tis the way of man. I'm very doubtful of parson -Merle--not as a righteous creature before Heaven; but he's human, and -he's a terrible narrow thinker here and there. If I take myself off, -'tis so like as not he'll get some bee in his bonnet and withhold the -burial service or maim it over me, like he did when Pritchard hung -himself. Not that that would trouble me very greatly; but supposing -that he wouldn't let my bones go beside hers? Such a thing happening -would turn me into a wandering ghost till Doom without a doubt." - -"Don't give him the chance. Think a very great deal about it," she -urged. "You may be all wrong in your opinions, dear Mr. Shillabeer, and -right well I know you are. Perhaps, if you was to pray about it to -Christ, He'd show you how awful mistaken you was. And as for -usefulness, there's no more useful and well thought on man among us." - -"I've done my duty, and my duty's done," he said. - -"Promise me not to do anything till you've talked to me again," she -urged. "At least you might do that. I knew your wife, and she loved -me." - -"Yes, my wife was very fond of you when you was a child," he said. -"I'll do your bidding that far then. You speak what be put into you to -speak, no doubt. Now I look at you, there's sense as well as sadness in -your face. I hope the sense will bide and the sadness lift in God's -good time." - -The old man departed, and that night Margaret told David of all that she -had heard and the condition of Reuben Shillabeer's mind. He took the -matter very seriously and resolved to be busy on the sufferer's behalf. - -"I can ill spare the time," he said. "But for a neighbour in such a fix -our own affairs must be put aside. I'll go to doctor at Tavistock -to-morrow the first thing. He's a rare sportsman and a very keen man. -'Twas him that stood referee in the fight. 'Tis time he took the poor -old chap in hand; and Shillabeer's got high respect for him and will -trust him I hope, if he goes about his work clever." - -David was not surprised to hear the secret of the texts. - -"As a matter of fact amongst a few of us--my father and me and -others--'twas an open secret," he said. "Father himself first guessed -it. But we didn't say a word for fear of vexing poor old 'Dumpling.' -'Twas a harmless thing, and very likely it did good now and again." - - - - - *CHAPTER X* - - *THIRD TIME OF ASKING* - - -The circumstances and necessities of Bartley Crocker's wooing were -peculiar, because one-sided. Rhoda naturally never assisted him; indeed, -many carefully laid plans for meeting were consciously frustrated by her -when she chanced to learn them. At last, however, thanks to Margaret's -aid, opportunity fell for a final proposal, and Bartley used it to the -best of his power. A day came when David drove Madge over to Tavistock -to look at certain houses, and Rhoda stopped at home. - -Her own plans began to be very doubtful now, and choice lay before her -of returning to her father or continuing to live with David. Her love -had made light even of Tavistock; but, in a town, Rhoda's occupation -would be gone: at such a place she must cease to justify existence. Her -greatest sorrow was reached at thought of living away from David; and a -second emotion, only less disturbing, made decision doubly difficult. -The apparent complications and secrets of her sister-in-law's life had -first alarmed Rhoda, and now they angered her. She read the facts in -the light of her own wisdom, and her wisdom led her wide of the mark. -She believed that Crocker was using alleged love of her as a pretence -and excuse for very different affection. Some such dim thought had long -haunted her, and it remained for Dorcas and her brutal speeches to -convince Rhoda that she did Margaret no wrong by the suspicion. In -sober truth Rhoda had felt shame upon herself when first the fear arose; -but then came her hidden watches, the spectacle of familiar meetings and -the vigorous word of Mrs. Screech. She knew that Dorcas loved Madge and -had not spoken to injure David's wife. Her sister, indeed, evidently -approved; and the circumstance convinced Rhoda that her opinion of -Dorcas was correct. - -And now, upon restless loneliness, came Crocker knowing that he would -find her alone. He sneered at himself for a fool as he knocked at the -door of 'Meavy Cot'; but he had sworn to ask her thrice and would not go -from his word, though the vanity of troubling her a third time was very -clear to him. - -After noon on a late autumn day did Bartley call, and Rhoda, not -guessing who it was that knocked, but thinking it to be one of her -brothers, who was due from Ditsworthy, cried out, "Come in!" - -She was eating her dinner of a baked potato, bread, cold mutton, and a -glass of water; and she leapt up as Mr. Crocker appeared. - -"Go on," he said. "Please go on--or I'll walk about outside till you've -finished, if you'd rather I did." - -"I thought 'twas my brother," she said. "I've done my food. David's -not at home, if you want him." - -"I know," he answered. "I've come to see the only one who was at home; -and that's yourself." - -She stood by the table. Her mind moved swiftly. She sought to find some -advantage in this meeting; but she could not think what to say. David -was her sole thought, and how best to serve him she knew not. - -"It's a long time since I had a chance to speak to you," said the -visitor, "and I'm afraid, from your looks, you wouldn't have given me -the chance even now if you hadn't been caught and cornered. But there's -no need for you to grudge ten minutes of talk. 'Twill be the last -time--unless there's a glimmer of another sort of feeling in you." - -Her way of escape seemed to lie through this man's departure alone. She -hated every tone of his voice and wished that he was dead. - -"If you're going out of it, 'twill be by the blessing of God for all in -this house," she answered. - -He started and his colour changed to pale. - -"A glimmer of another sort of feeling with a vengeance!" he said. "But -not the sort I was still fond fool enough to hope for. You shall talk, -since you're so fired to do it, and I'll listen. Yes, I'm going. And -you won't come?" - -Her silence spoke scornfully. - -"Well," he continued, "I'm paid what I deserve, I suppose: I've made you -loathe me instead of love me. It's bad luck, for I've felt for three -years--however, such queer things often happen." - -"You never loved a woman like a decent man, for 'tisn't in you to do -it," she said. "You think you hide yourself; but you don't. You're -evil all through, and the touch of you is evil." - -"Why do you say these harsh things? What have I done but court you like -an honest man and a patient one?" - -"Ask yourself--not me. Ask yourself what you've been doing, and -plotting, and amusing yourself about of late. Ask yourself who 'tis you -meet in this place and that!" - -"Well, I never! So you've been interested in me all the time! -Interested enough to care what I was doing and thinking about. By all -right understanding that ought to mean you cared a bit for me. Women -don't spy on a man, save for love or hate. And hate me you can't -without a cause, though you speak and look as if you did. If I thought -you were jealous--but that's too good to be true. Who is it? Out with -it.' At least I've a right to know who 'tis that I meet so secret while -you peep at us." - -He bantered her and cared little that she grew rosy and furious; for he -knew it was all over now and that they would probably never speak -together again. - -"You ask that and pretend--and pretend!" she burst out. "As if it might -be a score of women! But I know, and 'twasn't for love nor yet hate -that I watched you--not for love of you or her anyway." - -"Come now--no puzzles! Then I'm after another man's sweetheart on the -quiet. Is that it? Well, who is she? I've a right to know in the face -of such a charge." - -"You're after another man's wife," she said, and faced him without -flinching. But still he laughed. - -"You maidens! What hen dragons of virtue you are, to be sure. 'Another -man's wife'--eh? Then no wonder you look a thought awry at me. Poor -fellow! He's terribly wronged, to be sure. Have you told him what I'm -doing? Or are you in love with this other chap?" - -"Go," she said furiously. "You know the truth in your wicked heart, and -I know it, and it's devilish in you to take it like this. I'll suffer -no more of you; I'll never breathe the same air with you no more;--and -them I care about shan't, if I can help it. You ought to be torn in a -thousand pieces by honest men and women--vile thing that you are!" - -He sat down calmly and patted a dog that rose from the hearth and -growled at him in some uneasiness before Rhoda's fury. - -"Can't leave you like this--must understand what you're driving at," he -declared. - -"Then I'll go," she said. "What do you take me for? Have you sunk so -low that you don't know a clean-minded creature when you meet one? I'm -not a fool, and I am not blind; and I've seen too well what's been doing -of late; therefore I warn you to be gone afore the storm is let loose on -you." - -"No fear of missing the storm while you're about. And off I shall be ere -long now. There's nothing more to keep me, since you've gone out of -your wits. All the same, I believe you've thrust yourself under the law -for such talk as this. To tell me I'm going wrong with a married woman! -Damn it all, Rhoda, what nasty thoughts have crept into your head? Why -don't you name her and have done with it? 'Tis bad enough to know you -hate me; but hear this: May the Almighty find and finish me where I sit -if--" - -"Don't!" she cried out. "Don't take His name here and belike leave your -stricken dust rooted in that chair for me to watch till others come! -I'll hear no oath and I'll name no names. I know you--I've seen -it--I've heard it--heard it from another as quick to do evil as ever you -was." - -"By God, this is too bad!" he cried, leaping up. "You--you to accuse me -of loose conduct and wrong-doing! Look to your eyes that have seen what -never happened; and your ears that have listened to lies; and your -tongue too--your tongue that can talk thus to a man who loved you truly -and uprightly and has kept as straight as yourself from the day he loved -you and longed for you! You can't love me and I don't blame you there. -You can't love me; but is that a just reason why you should lie about -me? See to yourself, Rhoda, and you'll find a bitter weed in your own -heart that's better out and away. And threaten no more neither. You may -drag me as deep as you please through the dirt that's got into your -mind--God help you; but don't drag some innocent woman through it. -Anyway, you'll never see my face again--spy as you may--for I shall be -gone for good in a month or two." - -She did not answer and he abruptly left her. He was very angry, very -startled, and very shocked that she could believe and repeat such a -monstrous error. He cast about for some ground in reason, and examined -his life. He could only think of the meetings with Margaret Bowden; but -that these were actually what Rhoda referred to did not even occur to -him. He had, as a matter of fact, travelled recently as far as Plymouth -with a woman, but she was Rhoda's own widowed sister from Ditsworthy, -and it seemed impossible that she could refer to her. - -He puzzled to know what this assault might mean; but apart from these -unexpected circumstances attending her refusal, the final negative was -all that mattered. That she believed him a libertine soon ceased to -trouble Hartley. His anger swiftly vanished before the immediate -interest of the future. Nothing remained but to follow his previous -plans and depart. He had only waited for Rhoda and now the coast was -clear. Before he reached home, he had finally determined to leave -England early in the new year. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI* - - *BAD NEWS OF MR. BOWDEN* - - -Mrs. Stanbury's habit of mind died hard, even after the truth concerning -the Voice at Crazywell had been impressed upon her. Slowly she -appreciated the great fact that neither her husband nor her son might -longer be considered as under sentence of death; but often still she -woke in fear or rose in gloom, while yet her mind retained only the past -terror and forgot the more recent joy. Billy Screech had explained to -Bartley; and since Bartley was of opinion that no real blame attached to -anybody, and that the plot was perfectly reasonable in its original -purpose--all things being fair in love--the matter soon blew over. Bart, -indeed, declared that Mattacott and Billy ought to pay the doctor's bill -for his mother; but they were not of his mind, and Mr. Stanbury, who, -despite stout assurances of indifference, felt really much relieved when -the truth appeared, very gladly met this charge. The immediate result of -the event was a decision on the part of Jane West. Bart, having safely -emerged from these supernatural threats of extinction, found her in the -most oncoming spirit, and they were now definitely engaged to be -married. - -With the turn of another year this fact became generally known, and -there fell a Sunday in late January when the party from 'Meavy Cot' -visited Coombeshead and assisted at a formal meal given in honour of -Bart's betrothed. - -David made efforts to rouse his mother-in-law from her invincible -distrust--both of herself and her blood in the veins of the next -generation. They talked apart after the meal, and she, as her custom -was, doubted her son's ability to fight the world successfully for a -wife and possible children. - -"A very good son, I can assure you--never a better. But whether he'll -prove a husband of any account, I'm sure I couldn't say," she murmured. - -"Of course he will," answered the other. "You don't know what a clever -chap Bart is. Jane's a very lucky woman; and she knows it well enough, -and her family know it well enough, even if you don't." - -It was an amiable fiction with Margaret's husband that she was largely -responsible for his success in life. He often solemnly declared that but -for her at the helm, he should never have prospered as was the case, and -certainly never have won the great prize at Tavistock. This statement he -would make repeatedly, despite his wife's protests and Rhoda's silences. -He made it now to Mrs. Stanbury. - -"Look at Madge," he said. "If she's such a splendid wife, why are you -afeared that Bart won't be a splendid husband? Madge took after you; -Bart takes after his father. Why, where should I be if it wasn't for -Madge? Not where I stand, I can tell you. She's the corner-stone of -the house, and always has been, and always will be. You ought to -believe what people tell you about your children." - -"'Tis very well to know you think so," she admitted; "all the same, a -mother's eye can't overlook the defects." - -"Not in your case, seemingly; but 'tis just what a mother's eye be -cleverest at doing as a rule," declared he. - -"'Tis no good pretending with yourself, as you do," she answered. "You -think our Madge have helped you to greatness, and if love and worship -could bring you up top, you'd be right. But it can't. You was too -strong and steady a man to want any woman's help." - -"No, no--never was such a man as that," her son-in-law answered, and -firmly believed it. "Madge has helped me to take big views," he -continued. "Why, there's no work that we do can taste so good as the -work we do for other people. Your daughter teached me that." - -The afternoon advanced and Margaret entered the parlour to say that tea -was ready in the kitchen. - -Bart and Jane comported themselves with high indifference under the -ordeal of this entertainment. They had accepted the good wishes and the -chaff; they had eaten heartily and departed together as soon as dinner -was done. - -"They won't be back for tea. They don't want no tea," declared Mr. -Stanbury. "Why, they've even got to naming the day! 'Twill be Martin -West's turn to find the spread and give the party this time; and if he -does all I did for you and Madge, David, I shall be surprised--though -he's a richer man than me by a good few pound, I warrant you." - -Talk ran on the new romance; then Rhoda reminded David that a Princetown -man was to see him that evening within an hour from the present time. -He rose at once and prepared to depart. But Margaret did not accompany -him. - -"I shan't be back afore supper," she said. "Bartley Crocker's coming up -presently. He won't see my father and mother no more, for his time is -getting short. So I shall bide here till he's been and gone." - -"He's so dark about dates," declared David. "We all want to give him a -bit of a dinner at 'The Corner House'--a real good send-off; and there's -a little subscription started to get the man a remembrance. But he's -not in very good spirits now the time's so near; and he rather wants to -escape without any fuss. However, if you have the chance, try and find -out exactly when he's going, Madge. He'll tell you the secret. The date -is fixed, I expect. Try and worm it out of him; and fetch him along to -supper, if he'll come." - -She promised and David departed with Rhoda. - -Bartley Crocker appeared in the valley as they went their way; and he -saw them going, but they did not see him. - -His sister's affairs now largely occupied young Bowden's mind, because -the future, from her standpoint, was difficult. He, however, did not -quite comprehend the moody and irritable spirit which Rhoda had of late -developed. It fell out, indeed, that this taciturnity and -self-absorption caused David first uneasiness and then mild annoyance. -Rhoda had ceased to be herself. She was not interested in the future. -She spoke of going out of his life. She showed no enthusiasm in any -direction, and her attitude to Margaret he had secretly resented on -several occasions. He deplored it to Margaret herself, but she had -begged him not to think of it again, and declared it a matter of no -account. She could afford to be large-minded now, for she believed that -Rhoda would soon be gone from her home for ever. As for David, he -supposed this unsettled and cloudy weather of his sister's mind to be -caused entirely by the forthcoming great upheaval in her life, and the -extreme difficulty of deciding on a plan of action. That she had -finally refused Crocker and determined to stop in England, he knew; but -whether she intended to accompany him and Madge to Tavistock, or return -to Ditsworthy, he did not know. None knew--not even the woman herself. -Her brother attributed Rhoda's darkness to the trouble of decision; yet -it surprised him that she should find decision so difficult. She was -one who usually made up her mind with swiftness and seldom departed from -a first resolution. But, for once, she appeared unequal to the task of -concluding upon any form of action. The truth of Rhoda's difficulties -he could not know; and in his ignorance he revealed a little impatience. -Observing this disquiet, she believed that the time had at last come to -speak. She knew the danger and perceived that the one thing she cared -for in life--her brother's regard--might be imperilled by such a step; -but as he, in his turn, now began openly to resent her implicit attitude -to Margaret, some decisive action was called for. - -And Rhoda upon that homeward walk proposed to speak, to put her -discomfort and fear before him, and to trust his affection and wisdom to -tide them all over a terrible difficulty. What might have fallen out -had she done so cannot be estimated. In the result she never spoke, for -there fell an interruption and she was still casting about for the first -word, when her brother, Napoleon, rode up on a pony. He had come from -Ditsworthy to 'Meavy Cot,' and his attire marked some haste, for he wore -his Sunday coat and waistcoat, but had taken off his trousers and -substituted workday garments of corduroy. - -"Just been to your place," he shouted as he approached them. "Farther -was took bad in the night, and he's a lot worse to-day and reckons he -may die of it. And Joshua's gone for doctor, and mother's in a proper -tantara. And faither wants for you and Rhoda to come up this moment." - -For an instant they stood, aghast and smitten. - -"What's took him?" asked David. - -"His breathing, and he's all afire and can't let down a morsel of food. -You'd better get on this pony and go right up along, David." - -"I suppose I had. Chap from Princetown will have his walk for his -pains; but it can't be helped." - -Napoleon dismounted and David took his place. "You'll come on, you two, -after me," he said. "Best to go across through Dennycoombe wood. -Please God, 'tis of no account. Faither's so strong and never knoweth -ache or pain; therefore what may be a small thing would seem worse to -him than it really is." - -He started and then turned back again. - -"When you pass Coombeshead, just run in, Nap, and tell Margaret what's -happened. I may be back home to-night, or I may not be. And bid her -remember the calves." - -"I shall be back for that," said Rhoda. "I shall go back to-night in -any case." - -"All right then," concluded David. Then he galloped off and soon -disappeared. - -His sister and the boy tramped without speech together until, glowing -like the bright fur of a wolf all grey and russet, Dennycoombe wood rose -before them, flung on the distant side of Sheep's Tor in evening light. - -"I'll wait for you by the gate yonder," said Rhoda. "Your nearest way -from here be to the left. Don't you stop talking, mind: you may be -useful up at home. Just tell Madge what's fallen out and then come after -me." - -"I can travel twice so fast as you," answered the boy. "No call for you -to wait. I'll over-get you long afore 'tis dark." - -He left her and she went forward, passed under Down Tor, crossed the -stream and skirted the great wood beyond. She reached the gate and -stopped for her brother as she had promised: but he did not come, and -presently she went her way through the edge of the trees. Then -suddenly, going on silent feet, she heard voices at hand. A great stone -towered there and in a moment she understood that her sister-in-law and -Bartley Crocker were on one side of it, and knew not that she was upon -the other. She guessed that the man had taken leave of the party at -Coombeshead Farm and that Margaret had departed with him. - -This indeed had happened. Bartley made but a short stay at the -Stanburys' and Madge left when he did. They were now sitting together -and talking. - -Rhoda listened but could not hear more than a chance word -intermittently. - -"Your husband wanted to give me a spread and a send-off in the -old-fashioned way, but, somehow, I've no stomach for any such thing just -at present," declared Mr. Crocker. - -"'Tis natural you shouldn't have." - -"I shall write to David. I can't stand all these good-byes, and all the -leave-taking business." - -"'Tis crushing to think you're so nearly gone." - -"But mind you keep the secret of the day and tell none, Madge--till I'm -off. Those I care for shall hear from me--t'others don't matter. -There's nothing left to keep me but you, and I can't make you happier by -staying." - -"Don't say that." - -"Not really I can't. We're beginning new lives in new places--you and -me." - -"So we are in a way." - -"What does Rhoda do?" - -"She can't make up her mind seemingly. She's very sad." - -"She's very mad, if you ask me. I wish to God some man could find how -to sweeten her mind. And you're sad because she is. I knew it the -moment I heard your voice half an hour ago." - -"'Tis wonderful to think how you can always tell by my tone of voice how -'tis with me! But then there's nobody like you for understanding us -women. You'd have made a rare husband for the right one, Bartley." - -"Yes; and the right one--well, perhaps I'll find her over the water. -'Tis the day after to-morrow I go. I sail off from Plymouth, so that's -all easy and straight-forward." - -"Be the _Shamrock_ a good big ship?" - -"Big enough for my fortunes." - -"We must see one another once more, Bartley." - -"Of course we must, Madge." - -They moved forward as they spoke, and Rhoda saw Bartley kiss Margaret -and observed that her sister-in-law was weeping. Then came hasty feet -and Napoleon appeared. He shouted from a distance. - -"She ban't there! She's gone! I waited a bit and had a dollop of figgy -pudden and told 'em the bad news about faither." - -"Hullo!" said Bartley to Rhoda. "You!" He looked blankly at her, but -she ignored him and turned to Margaret. Hate was in her voice. She -spoke quickly and waited for no reply, then moved on with her brother. - -"Napoleon have been to seek you at your father's farm, Margaret Bowden, -but you was better employed seemingly. My father is took very ill -indeed, and your husband be gone up over to him. You'd best get -home--if you can spare the time to think of your home. I shall be back -by night, but David may not be able to come." - -She swept on her way and left them staring at each other. Margaret was -dishevelled and the shock of this meeting had dried her tears. - -"Good Lord! that's bad luck. She saw me kiss you, I'll swear," murmured -Bartley. "And now she'll believe there's another married woman in the -case! Will she tell David?" - -"What if she does? I'll tell him myself. D'you think he'd care?" - -"Shall I go after her and explain?" - -"No," she answered. "Let her be." - -"It's time I was off anyhow. But poor old Elias! 'Very ill indeed,' she -said. I hope he's not booked. Can't think of Ditsworthy without him." - -They talked a little longer and Mr. Crocker was glad that there had come -distraction for Margaret's mind. She deeply felt parting from him, for -he had bulked largely in her life, and he too had enjoyed her loyal -friendship and owed her much, though her labours on his behalf were all -fruitless. But now the moment was come in which they must part; and he -knew that the parting was probably eternal. He did not, however, intend -that she should know it. He lied glibly about coming over to 'Meavy -Cot' on the following day; then he talked of other matters, and then, -when they had drifted down to Nosworthy bridge, pretended to be amazed -at the time. - -"I must be pushing back in a hurry. My boxes go off first thing -to-morrow. And I daresay I shall get up to Ditsworthy after dark and -may have a tell with David there. But if Rhoda has already told him she -saw me kissing you--!" - -"He'd laugh. He's not the sort to mind that between me and you." - -"I know he isn't. I was only joking." - -She revealed extreme solicitude for his future. - -"You'll take all care of yourself wherever you be; and you've promised, -on your word of honour, to come home and see old friends inside five -year." - -"On my word of honour. And you've got to write, and keep me up in the -news, and tell me all about the house at Tavistock and everywhere else -that's interesting." - -He shook hands and moved off quickly, while she, too, went on her way. -But, when her back was turned, he stood still and took his last look; -for, despite promises, the man had no intention to see her again. His -ship was to start after noon on the following day, and he meant to leave -Sheepstor at dawn of the morrow. - -Now Margaret swiftly faded into the dusk, and he went forward, subdued -and as melancholy as his spirit allowed. - -"So good and brave a woman as ever walked this earth," he said to -himself. "God send me such another; but 'tis hardly likely." - -For her sake he made time that night to go to Ditsworthy and speak with -David; and the following evening--at the hour in which he had promised -to visit 'Meavy Cot' for a final farewell--he was aboard and watching -Devon fade swiftly along the edge of the sea. A shadow lay above the -grey, rolling ridges; and then that shadow sank out of his eyes for -ever. - -But Bartley Crocker belonged to the order of lighter spirits who can -close the book of their past without a pang; and he did so now. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII* - - *RHODA AND MARGARET* - - -When Rhoda returned from Ditsworthy, she stated briefly that a doctor -had seen Mr. Bowden and declared there was no immediate cause for -uneasiness. David, however, proposed to stop for the night and help his -mother. - -The women supped silently--each angered with the other; and then -happened that which loosed the flood-gates of Rhoda's passion and -precipitated a deed which, since the recent meeting in the wood, she had -strongly considered. She had changed her mind with regard to David; and -now, instead, it had come to her as a reasonable thing to attack -Margaret directly. But she hesitated to do so until the latter -unconsciously provoked her. Rhoda had not spoken to David of the -meeting with Madge and Bartley Crocker; but now David's wife returned to -the subject and awoke anger in Rhoda, so that she lost self-control and -spilled out all the bitterness of her mind. - -"Since your father's not in danger, one has time for one's own thoughts -again," said Madge, "and they are dark enough for the minute. You -looked terrible surprised in Dennycoombe wood a bit ago, and you was -terrible rude to me; but why for I don't know. You puzzle me sometimes, -Rhoda. Can't you even feel that 'tis sad the man who loved you so well -be going so far ways off?" - -"The sooner the better." - -"You're heartless, I do believe." - -"You make up for it, if I am." - -"I suppose you're shocked because I kissed him. Did you tell David? I -lay he didn't pull a very long face about it. But what's come over me? -To think of me talking in this loud, wild way! Forgive me, Rhoda. I -meant nothing. You can't help being what you are, and feeling what you -feel, any more than I can. I'm not myself to-night. I shall miss him -cruel, and I don't care who knows it." - -The other kept silence. Her colour had gone and her breast was rising -and falling rapidly. Anger put a strain on her lungs and called for -air. - -"Oh, Rhoda," cried Madge feebly, "why didn't you take him? Nobody will -ever love you like that again; and nobody will ever understand you so -well as Bartley did. You were a fool--a fool not to take him. Now look -at it--your life all useless and nowhere to turn, unless you come to -Tavistock with us. Think better of it even now. Go to him to-morrow; -keep him here afore 'tis too late and he's gone." - -Then the other rose to her feet, and spoke slowly, and crushed the -slighter creature for ever. - -"So you've sunk to that! You can dare to sit there and say that openly -to me. I'm to marry him--I'm to drag myself through the dirt of that -man's life, so that you can have him always at your elbow!!" - -Margaret stared, and in her turn grew pale. - -"What are you saying or thinking?" she cried. "Are you out of your -mind?" - -"If I am, I've had enough to make me. But I'm sane enough--for my -brother's sake. I've kept sane all these cruel, cursed months, while -you've gone your way, and forgotten yourself, and disgraced his name. -Hear me, I say! Don't you shout, for I can shout louder than you. What -I tell be God's truth; and if you don't confess it, I'll do it for you. -D'you think I don't know what men are? Nine in ten be of the same -beastly pattern; and this man's the worst of all, for he's a liar and a -thief, and he came to me with his false tales, but his mind was always -running on you; and he came to David and pretended to be his friend -and--and--" - -She caught her breath and Margaret spoke swiftly. - -"What do you accuse me of?" - -"I accuse you of being unfaithful and untrue to my brother; and right -well you know it is so. I've watched--I know--and I'm not the only one. -My sister Dorcas--clever enough in evil she be--she knows it too. And -belike a many others among that knave's friends, for he's the sort to -rob a woman of her all, and then laugh to men about it. Maybe all the -world knows it but David's self. I say you've sinned against my -brother, and I say he must know it--now--now--afore he begins at -Tavistock. And, please God, he'll put you away from him, and choose -rather to live his life maimed alone, than with a foul wretch like you -under his roof." - -"These are hideous lies--you're dreaming--you're mad to say such things. -You--you to come to an honest wife with this filthy story! 'Tis you -shall be cast out--'tis you.--Oh, my God! to think that I should hear -such words uttered against me by another woman!" - -Madge's brief flash of fight died even as she spoke. She was not -fashioned to carry the battle with a high hand. She began to think of -her husband. - -"You shall say this to David and see where you find yourself," she -continued. "Is not a man's wife nearer to him than a sister? Will he -believe you rather than me? Will he believe Dorcas rather than Bartley -Crocker himself? That you--you, Rhoda, of all women, could sting me so! -That you--you we thought so pure and clean as newly-fallen snow--could -invent such a thing! That you, who know me so well and my love and -worship of David.... Oh, Rhoda, I'm sorry for you!" - -"Be sorry for yourself. Well--and too well--I know you. I had to spy. -I ban't ashamed of it. There was nothing else but to tell him and let -him spy. And I couldn't do that till I knew. 'Tis all of a piece--all -clear to any human mind--foul or fair. God judge me if I was quick to -think evil. I was slow to do it. I fought not to believe it. I tried -heart and soul not to see it. But you took good care I should see it. -Wasn't you always after him? Didn't you meet him in secret places -scores of times? How could I not see? And him coming to me; and you -pretending to want me to take him. Yet 'twas no pretence neither, for -'twould have suited you both well enough. And David, working day and -night, and trusting you, and always ready at a word to pleasure you. -That proud of you and hungry for your happiness-- But it's ended now. -It ended to-day when I saw you in the wood. Not that I've not seen you -kissing him afore--fawning on his hand, by God! I've watched--yes--and -seen enough to know all I didn't see. And he's going to know it -too--David. He's got to know for his own honour's sake, and he shall." - -"Will he believe it? Never! May God strike me here afore you, and kill -me slow the awfullest way that ever woman died, if by thought or deed -I've been false to him." - -"Ah! Even so the man talked, and he's alive yet. But the A'mighty won't -forget either of you. You add lies to lies as he did. But I know -they're lies. You needn't talk as if I was a fool; I know him well -enough--none better. Did such as him--lecherous-minded beast that he -was--dance about in lonely woods and secret places with you for nothing? -If an angel from heaven told me you was honest I'd not believe it. And -I'm stronger than you think--stronger far than you--with David, I mean. -He knows I'm single-minded, anyway. He knows I've got no thought or -hope in the whole world except his good. He knows right well that I've -been a kind sister to you, and never done anything but strive for your -happiness as well as his. Till now--till now. And he'll believe me; -for he knows that I couldn't lie if I was tortured for speaking the -truth. And I am tortured--tortured as never a woman was tortured yet. -But he's got to hear it; and he shall hear it afore that man goes. And, -as for you, whether he believes me or you, God's my eternal judge but -I'll never ope my mouth to you again as long as I live." - -She said no more and went up to her room. Margaret waited a while and -then followed her; but Rhoda's door was locked and she refused to answer -when the other spoke. - -Then the wife descended and sat with companionship of her thoughts. She -lived through many hours of poignant grief. Again and again she fell -away stricken by her own heart; but she returned as often to the theme; -she strove to pierce the problem and see what her sister-in-law could -mean. How was it possible that such transparent innocence as Margaret's -could from any standpoint look so vile? The bitterest enemy was -powerless to throw one shadow over her friendship with Bartley Crocker; -and yet here was her brother's sister frenzied with this fearful idea, -and speaking of it as a fact proved beyond question. Rhoda believed in -it as surely as she believed in her own life. She was prepared to stake -her future and David's love for her upon it. She was going to separate -Margaret from David, or herself from David, forever. One or other event -must inevitably happen. - -A thousand plans of action rushed through the wife's brain, and their -number defeated their varied purposes. Her native timidity served her -ill now. She did nothing but sit and think and reconstruct the past. -She remembered all the meetings with Bartley and their many plots and -plans to win Rhoda for him. She recollected the most intimate -conversations, when her nature or his formed the subject of their -speech. She had once kissed his hand in a sudden impulse, when he -announced the means to cure her mother. But she did not recall a single -perilous or dangerous pass between them; for indeed no such thing had -ever existed. Their regard was based on close and lifelong -understanding and friendship. There never had been a reciprocal passage -of passion, even in the days of her freedom. Her regard was the regard -of an ordinary woman for her favourite brother--an affection absolutely -untinged by any conscious sexual emotion whatsoever. Even at that, she -had not loved him as Rhoda loved David. She was not cast in the great -mould of Rhoda--great if unfinished. - -At waste of night she began to perceive that she could be no match for -Rhoda. Her instinct of self-preservation inclined her first to David, -then to Bartley, and then to her father's home. She determined at last -to rest until day, and sought her bed. She lighted a match in the dark -after a sleepless hour. It went out before she could reach a candle, -and she was struck by the trivial phenomenon that, long after the match -was extinguished, its light shone in her eyeballs and throbbed in the -gloom like fiery rings until the impression waned. She rose an hour -before dawn and dressed and descended. Then she went out and breathed -the chill morning wind. As yet it was quite dark. Looking up, she saw -that a candle burned in Rhoda's room. Some subtle psychological instinct -crushed her spirit before the spectacle of that woman's steadfast and -unsleeping watch. An impulse to get away from Rhoda overpowered -Margaret. She returned, fetched her sun-bonnet, and hastened off -without any fixed purpose of destination. - -When David's sister came down before six o'clock, the house was empty. -She, too, had passed through storms; she also had faltered at the hour -when life's pulses beat lowest and midnight sets its dead weight upon -human hearts. She had longed to rise and get into the air; but she was -determined not to lose sight of Margaret until David came home. Yet for -a time she had lost consciousness and slept awhile at edge of dawn. And -during those fitful slumbers, Margaret had departed. - -The day found Rhoda assured of her own action, though the result of it -she could not foretell; but thus to have thrust matters upon their -climax was a relief to her, and she felt only interested further to -learn the extent of David's future sufferings and her power to lessen -them. - -That Margaret had disappeared did not much astonish her. She doubted -not that her sister-in-law was gone to have the first speech with David. -Rhoda reviewed her own knowledge of facts and prepared her own -statement. She perceived that she herself must come vilely out of it, -as a spy and informer; but she kept her intentions and object in view, -and believed that, suffer as he must, David would not lose sight of her -motives. Her only desire was that her brother's home might be -cleansed--at any cost to its inhabitants. She thirsted to speak to -David and hear his voice. - -Yet, when she saw him coming alone through the morning, her thoughts -flashed along another train, and she held her peace until a more fitting -time for speech. And this she did because she guessed that something -vital had happened to Margaret--something which must justify her -attitude and sweep away the last shadow of doubt. - -Then her brother surprised her mightily; for, when she told him that -Margaret had gone from the house before daylight, he seemed but little -astonished to hear it. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII* - - *THE SEARCH* - - -More for thought of Margaret than the sick master of Ditsworthy, had -Crocker climbed to the Warren House upon his last evening at Sheepstor. -He asked to see David, spent half an hour with him, and spoke explicitly -of Rhoda, of his final failure to win her, and of the attitude that she -had adopted towards him during that interview. - -"God knows I wish her nought but good," he said; "and first and best -that her mind should be cleansed of things she's heard from some unknown -enemy and believes against me. She's got it in her head that I'm a -worthless blackguard, born to make trouble. When she met me with your -wife in Dennycoombe wood, a few hours since, she spoke as if I'd no -business to be talking to Margaret. I say this for Margaret's sake; -because, before saying 'good-bye,' I kissed Margaret, and your sister -saw me do so, and went white with passion. There's that about kissing -she can't forgive or forget, seemingly. But I'm off to-morrow and don't -want to leave any trouble behind me." - -David nodded. - -"You must allow for Rhoda. She's terrible fretted and has got a deal on -her mind just now," he said. - -"That's true enough; and she's often right; and I'm a fashion of man not -worthy to name in the same breath with her. I only mention these things -for your sake and Margaret's. Your sister is cruelly wrong about me, -anyway, and maybe time will show her so. Only she mustn't be wrong about -Madge. Me and Madge did very often meet, and even in secret, if you -like. But why? Not to hide anything from anybody but Rhoda herself. -Madge was very wishful for me to have Rhoda, and again and again we -planned and plotted together what she could do, and what I could do, to -bring it about. You understand that?" - -"Why, yes; Margaret always told me about it of course." - -"But perhaps Rhoda didn't see what we wanted to be together for behind -her back. A stupid muddle sure enough, and nothing but Madge wanting to -do her and me a good turn was the cause of it. You clear her mind for -her the first minute you can, David. And if she's had a row with -Margaret, make 'em be friends again. Only you can do it." - -Thus he spoke, and the other saw all clearly. - -"Rhoda's been unlike herself a good while," he answered. "And now I -begin to see daylight. Of course, if she had some wild, silly fancies -against you, and people have been telling her that you're not straight, -she may have been vexed and anxious that you saw so much of my wife. -For my sake she'd have felt so. But why she should have believed -anything against you, or who spoke against you--that I can't say. -However, your character is safe with me. I'll soon have it out and let -loose some common sense into her brains. You must allow a bit for -unmarried girls like her. They can't see life whole, and they get wrong -opinions about men's minds. She's wise as need be every other way; but -where men and women combined are the matter, she never can take proper -views. She's jealous for me without a doubt--maybe because I was never -known to be jealous for myself: too busy for that. And why should I be -with a wife like mine?" - -"You may well ask it. Madge would rather die than think an evil -thought, let alone do an evil deed, against you. As for Rhoda--she -beats me. Most of the man-hating sort be ugly and a bit hard at the -angles; but she--she's as pretty as any wife you ever saw in the world. -The Lord may send her a husband yet! And mind you let me know if it -happens, for I'd like to give her a wedding present worth having." - -They parted then. - -"Well, good luck to you," said the elder; "and don't forget to let us -home-staying chaps have a sight of you again presently, when a few years -be past and you've started on your fortune." - -"And all good wishes to you, David; and, for a last kindness, I'll ask -you to get Madge to see my Aunt Susan Saunders sometimes and cheer her -up. She badly wanted for me to take her along to Canada--poor old lady; -but of course I couldn't do that--such a wanderer as I shall be till I -find that place that pleases me." - -Thus it came about that when David returned to his home and heard that -Madge was not there, he felt no intense astonishment. He doubted not -that sharp words had passed and that his wife had left Rhoda until he -should come home. For the time, however, he kept silence. He -determined to speak to Rhoda and Madge together when the latter -reappeared. He felt certain that she had gone to Coombeshead; and he -also believed that she would stop with her parents until he went to -fetch her. - -"Put on the griddle and cook me a bit of meat for breakfast," he said to -Rhoda. "I'm very hungry, along of having sat up most of the night with -father. He's come well through it. He slept off and on, and feels he's -safe this morning. I shall go up again later, when Madge be back." - -He ate, then started to Coombeshead; but his wife was not there, neither -had any news been received concerning her. Then he walked across to -Sheepstor, but none had seen or heard of Margaret. He called at 'The -Corner House' to drink, and stopped there a while. But his mind was now -much agitated. He soon set off for Ditsworthy; and he prayed as he went -that there his increasing fears for Madge might be laid at rest. - -It was after noon when he arrived at his father's house, to learn that -the doctor had pronounced Mr. Bowden better. But no news of Margaret -greeted him. His twin brothers were just setting out for Princetown, to -procure certain medical comforts for their father. Now they went as far -as Coombeshead with David, and there he left them and returned again to -the Stanburys. Still they had heard nothing. In grave alarm the husband -went home, but Margaret was not there. Night now approached, and the -man braced himself to set about systematic search and summon responsible -aid. - -Rhoda had left a hot meal for him and he ate it quickly; but she herself -had departed. A pencilled note explained that she had gone to seek -Margaret at certain farms where chance might have led her. David now -much desired to cross-question Rhoda closely as to the matters that fell -between her and Margaret on the preceding evening; but for the present -this was impossible. He was just about to set off, give the alarm, and -institute search parties, when the twins, Samson and Richard, suddenly -appeared together and brought news. - - * * * * * - -When David's wife left her home before dawn, she walked aimlessly onward -until thought worked with her and directed her footsteps to a definite -goal. The first note of light in the sky presently beckoned her, and -unconsciously she set her feet in that direction. She moved along -eastward by the leat, where it raced down a steep place under Cramber -Tor; and she reflected between three courses. Her first thought was to -seek David before all others, tell him what Rhoda was going to tell him, -and explain the truth. Then she feared. The day broke very cold and -dawn chilled her and lowered her spirit. Next she considered of -Bartley; and it seemed a wise thing to seek him and go to David with -him. Finally she thought of her father, and wondered whether wisest -action might not take her to her old home. It was a father's and a -brother's part to fight this battle for her. They would stand before -David, man to man, and refute the infamy that Rhoda had prepared for his -ears. But some mood led to Bartley Crocker before the rest. She turned -presently and set her face to Sheepstor. And thus it happened that -standing near the village, on high ground above it, she actually saw the -early departure of her friend. He drove swiftly away under her eyes, -and she was powerless to reach him now or to communicate with him. He -had promised to see her again that evening; but doubtless to escape -emotional leave-takings and an elaborate departure he had planned this -secret exit. She did not blame him; but now that he was irrevocably -gone, she doubted terribly for herself and asked herself what next must -happen. She did not fear David, but she greatly feared Rhoda. She knew -her husband's estimate of Rhoda, and she suspected that in a deliberate -contest between them he might lean to the stronger nature. He had never -been jealous or shown the shadow of such an instinct, and that thought -comforted her; but Rhoda was very strong, and if Rhoda was not mad, then -she must be armed with arguments to support her awful belief. Margaret -had nothing but denials--and Bartley was gone. Perhaps, against the -lying testimony that Rhoda possessed, and doubtless believed, her bare -denial would prove all too weak. She amazed herself to find how calmly -she considered the sudden situation--a situation that yesterday she -would have fainted to consider. Now, looking at the empty road when -Bartley's vehicle had left it, she felt that salvation lay in one -direction alone. She must see David before Rhoda could see him. He -would return that morning; therefore her safest course was to go home -swiftly, lie hidden by the way, and intercept him as he came along. She -set off again, and as she returned, became conscious of physical hunger. -But the sensation passed and she pressed forward until her home -appeared. She came back in time to find herself too late; for she saw -her husband descend the hill to 'Meavy Cot' and enter the house while -yet she was half a mile distant. - -Now active fear got hold upon Margaret. In spirit she heard Rhoda's -voice; she listened to the indictment; she pictured David's incredulity. -He would surely start to see Bartley Crocker on the instant; and he -would find Bartley gone for ever. And then? Her thoughts turned again -to her own people. She cried out from her heart for protection. Her -mental weakness gained upon her as she grew physically more feeble. Her -legs trembled under her. She turned, and crouched, and crept behind a -wall, that no chance eye from 'Meavy Cot' might see her aloft on the -hill. Then she started to go to Coombeshead, and ran some distance -until she grew suddenly weak and was forced to sit and rest herself for -fear of fainting. David would doubtless guess that she had gone home. -He would follow; he was certain to be upon the way now, and he must -overtake her long before she reached Coombeshead. Increasing terror and -decreasing reason threw her into a shivering sweat. She jumped up and -left the road to Coombeshead, and so in reality avoided David, who had -now set out for the farm of the Stanburys. She actually saw him pass -within a hundred yards of her, and she rejoiced at her escape. Then, -when he had gone by, she went forward to Crazywell and hid there, in -deep gorse brakes not far distant from the water. Here she was safe -enough for the present. She drank from a spring, and then sat on a -stone until she grew very cold. - -The time for useful thought or a sensible decision was past; the -critical hours, when this woman's humble intellect might have led her to -salvation, had gone by. Now she stood weak every way--physically -reduced, mentally depressed and fear-stricken. She had declined upon a -state which found her a prey to unreal terrors, phantom-driven, pervious -to the secret evils of heredity. These intrinsic ills, latent in her -blood and brain, now found their vantage, and presently reduced the -daughter of Constance Stanbury to a condition of peril. It was in this -pitiful case, as she wandered some hours later near Crazywell, that -there came to her two children, and she had speech with them. She was -light-headed; but they did not know it. They stared at the things she -said and thought that brother David's wife was making very queer jokes. - -Samson and Richard, with their basket carried between them, staggered -steadily homewards through thickening dusk. They wondered which of the -luxuries in the basket their father would eat first; and they rather -envied him his collapse, when they considered the attractive nature of -these prescriptions. Then they came suddenly upon Margaret standing by -the gorse-brakes. She started and was about to dive into cover, like a -frightened beast or bird, when she recognised the boys. - -"Hullo!" cried Samson. "Why, 'tis Madge! Whatever be you doing up here -all by yourself?" - -She stared at them as they set down their basket and rested their arms. - -"Oh, Lord, these good things be heavy!" declared Richard. - -"Have 'e got a bit of meat there, Dicky?" she asked, her nature crying -for food. - -"I should just think we had. A half of a calf's head for soup, and -three bottles of jelly, and a bottle of wine. I wish I was faither!" - -"And grapes, took out of a barrel of sawdust," said Samson. - -"A long journey for your little legs; but nought to mine," she said. -"You must know, you boys, that I be going to set out on a journey myself -as far as from here to the stars--or further." - -They laughed at the idea. - -"Be you? And what'll David say?" asked Richard. - -"He'll understand very well. 'Tis for him I shall do it. I lay he'll -be glad." - -"Why don't he go along with you?" - -"Not yet; but he'll come after some day." - -"Where's your luggage to?" asked the practical Samson. - -"Don't want none--no luggage--no money--no ticket--only a pinch of -courage. Mr. Shillabeer taught me the way. If you've out-lived your -usefulness, 'tis better to make room for better people. And there's no -such thing as wrong-doing, Dick, because God A'mighty, being -all-powerful, won't let it happen. You and Samson might think as you do -wrong sometimes." - -"So they tell us," admitted Samson. - -"Not you--you're God's children and can't no more do wrong than the -birds and the angels." - -"That's worth knowing," said Richard. - -"Nor yet me: I must do what I must, and the journey's got to be took. -Because I may be useful in one place, though I can't be in another.... -'Tis a bitter cruel thing to be misunderstood, Samson." - -"So it is--as I said last time Joshua gave me a lacing and found out -after 'twas Nap," he answered. - -"When might you start?" asked Richard. - -"There's nought to keep me--my usefulness be ended. But I'm that -terrible hungry." - -"I should go home along and have a bit of supper first." - -"No, no, Sam. Good-byes be such sad things. Better I go without 'em. -Bartley, he went off without, and he was wise. But I see'd him set out. -All the same, his journey's but a span long to mine." - -The boys were puzzled. They talked together. - -"Might us give her a biscuit--one of them big uns?" whispered Richard; -but Samson refused. - -"No. 'Twill be found out, and of course they'll say we ate it." - -"Where do 'e set out from?" asked Richard. - -"From this here pool." - -"Funny place to go on a journey from," said Samson. "'Tis my belief -you'm having a game with us." - -Margaret shook her head. - -"Never no more," she said. "We've played many and many a good game--you -two and me. But they all be ended now. I'm going to new usefulness -somewhere long ways off--terrible busy I'll be, without a doubt; and you -be both growing into men, and busy too. But don't you forget me, you -boys--because I never will forget neither of you." - -"You talk as if you wasn't going to come back," said Richard. "I'm sure -David would make a terrible fuss if you was to go for long." - -"But Rhoda won't," added Samson. "Rhoda don't like you overmuch. For -that matter, she don't like anything but David and dogs. Me and Dick -don't set no store by Rhoda, do we, Dick?" - -"No," said Richard. "We do not." - -"I'll come back--I'll come back to watch over David," said Madge -suddenly. "Yes, I won't bide away altogether. I couldn't. But not -same as I am now--not a poor, broken-hearted, useless good-for-nothing, -as have worn out her welcome in the world. I'll be a shining, joyous -thing then--winged like a lark, and so sweet a singer too." - -"You can sing very nice, and always could," said Dick graciously. - -"I'd sing to you boys now, but there's no time. Be it night or morning -with us? I'm sure I couldn't say, for I've been up and about these days -and days." - -"They'm looking for you, come to think of it," said Samson suddenly. -"David was up over after dinner." - -"Was he kind or cross?" - -"Neither--but a good bit flurried seemingly." - -"He don't know about the journey, you see. I'm afraid he'll be -sorry--after. He'll be sorry, won't he, Dicky?" - -"He'll be terribly vexed without a doubt," declared Richard. "In fact, -if I was you, I'd change your mind. You oughtn't to do nothing without -telling him--ought her, Samson?" - -"No, her oughtn't," answered his brother. - -"You two--two at a birth," she said. "Got together and born together! -'Tis a very beautiful thing--a beautiful thing, sure enough. You'm -one--not two at all--one in heart and thought and feeling, one in your -little joys and fears and hopes. And even so I'd thought to be with -David. But I wasn't strong enough and understanding enough for that. -He's too much above me. And us had no childer, you see. There comed no -babby to my bosom, and so--there 'tis--the usefulness and hope of me all -gone--a withered, worn-out blossom as never set no fruit. And when the -flower be fallen, 'tis all over and forgot. My mother knowed best, you -see. She always feared it wouldn't come to good. How right she was!" - -"What silly old rummage you do talk," said Richard. "Never heard the -like! Why for don't you go home? Didn't Madge ought for to go home, -Sam?" - -"Yes, she did," said Samson, "this instant. She'm mazed, I believe." - -"Pisgies been at her, I reckon," hazarded his brother. - -"I'm going home," she answered. "On my solemn word of honour, as a -living Christian, I'm going home; and if I'm there afore them I care -about--what's the odds? Only there's no marrying nor giving in marriage -there. Won't Rhoda be happy then! But I tell you two witty boys that -I'm wickedly wronged, and the world will know it. I won't stoop to -defend myself--I'm above that; but my God will defend me, and you must -defend me--both of you. 'Tis a very cruel thing to tell lies against -the innocent--them as never did you harm--them as only thought and -planned always to better you and bring you happiness. And wasn't my -sorrow large enough, the black sorrow of the women that never rock -cradles--but she must--? .... you'll always have a good word for me, -Richard--won't 'e?--if 'tis only for the sake of the fun we've had." - -"So we will then," said Dick. "And if anybody says anything against -you, me and Sam won't suffer it. Because you're a jolly good sort and -always have been. Never was one like you for cake--never." - -Samson pulled at Richard's sleeve in the gathering gloom. - -"Us had better go," he whispered. - -"Us must go now," repeated Dicky to Margaret. - -"Good-bye then, and God bless you both--such little men as you be -growing! Yet 'tis cruel not to give me a bite from your basket. I'm -faint for want of food--God's my judge but I am." - -"Can't, for fear of catching it. You'll do best to go back home," -advised Samson. - -"I shall be there afore you are. 'Tis beautiful to be there first of -all, to welcome all the rest as they come in one after t'other, like -homing pigeons. If they only knowed ... if they only knowed how dearly -I've loved 'em all--Rhoda, too. I tried so hard to make her a happy -woman. But they will come to know at journey's end. And she'll know -then. 'Twill all be burning light then, with nothing hid and the last -heartache lifted." - -They took their basket and crept off. In the dark they stopped and -listened. She was singing. - -"Never knowed her like that afore," said Richard. "I've a good mind to -take back a biscuit for her and chance what they'll say. She's terrible -leery[#] and terrible queer." - - -[#] Hungry. - - -"Us had better get home and tell about her." - -They pushed on for a quarter of a mile, and then Samson had another -idea. - -"We'm nearer 'Meavy Cot' than anywheers," he said. "Us had better go and -tell David. 'Tis his job to look after Madge, I should think--him being -her husband." - -"'I'm cruel tired," answered Richard; "and as 'tis we shall catch it -pretty hot for being such a deuce of a time." - -"'We'll leave the basket here, and just run down and then come back for -it. And as to catching it, we shall catch it worse if we don't tell -David, and he comes to hear about it after Madge has sloped off." - -"You go, and I'll bide here and keep guard over the basket," suggested -Dick; but Samson would not have this. - -"No," he answered firmly, "I'm not going without you. You know very -well us can't do nought apart." - -They left the basket on the top of a wall and turned back and reached -'Meavy Cot.' Then they told David that Madge was by Crazywell, and much -to their disappointment, he seized his hat and rushed from the house -before they had time to give any description of their remarkable -conversation with her. Rhoda was not in, and finding themselves alone, -the boys sought the larder and ventured to eat heartily. Then they went -on their way, cheered at consciousness of well-doing and the reward of -well-doing. - -All that David had heard was how his brothers had met with Madge by -Crazywell. More he did not stop to learn; and when some time afterwards -he stood by the pool, tramped its shores and shouted Margaret's name -until the hollowed cup of the little tarn echoed, he judged that the -children had been mistaken in the darkness and imagined that some other -was Madge. Because he saw no sign of her and heard no answer to his -cries. For a time he wandered through the night and splashed along the -fringes of the pool; then he abandoned the search, groped his way -upwards, and returned home. - -His wife, however, had been within sound of his voice. Through the -locked portals of a sleeping ear his cries had reached and wakened her. -When Samson and Richard were gone, she sang a hymn about the joys of -heaven; and then nature made a sudden and imperious appeal for sleep. -She had not slumbered for forty hours, and now, succumbing swiftly, lay -down under the gorse and sank into oblivion. - -Anon her husband's voice reached her brain, and roused her -consciousness. His loud summons, filtering through the sleep-drenched -avenues of her brain, begot happy dreams therein. She smiled and -wakened. Then she heard him calling in the darkness, and sudden terrors -bound her hand and foot. His voice, lifted in deep anxiety, to her -seemed laden with wrath. Her dismantled mind hid the truth and turned -the man's cry into a sinister threat. Therefore she cowered motionless, -breathless, like a bird that sees a hawk at hand, until he was gone, and -silence returned. - -She slept no more, but it was not until midnight that her wounded -intellect again roused itself. Then chance, quickening propensities -that had for ever remained asleep in another environment, swept the -woman to action. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV* - - *DAVID AND RHODA* - - -Dawn brought forth a wonder in the sky and lighted accumulations of -little clouds that ranged in leagues under highest heaven. Like flakes -of mother-o'-pearl upon a ground of aquamarine the cirri were evenly and -regularly disposed. Seen horizontally, perspective massed them until -they hid the firmament, but overhead the pale interstices of space -appeared. Like a ridged beach at low tide was the sky--like a beach at -break of day when morning twinkles, between bars of wave-woven sand and -touches the transparent green water there. A glory irradiated heaven, -and each of the myriad cloudlets moving above the sunrise was streaked -upon its breast with amber. Then the herald light fell from them into -earth-born mists beneath. - -These phenomena were reflected in the eyes of Reuben Shillabeer; and for -a moment they roused within him thoughts of the gates of pearl and the -streets of gold that belonged to the haven of his hopes. He had risen -before day, and now moved across the Moor with his mind steadily -affirmed. The journey concerning which Margaret had babbled to her -husband's brothers, this old man now meant to make. But he had hidden -his secret close, and those who knew him best supposed that his mind had -entered a more peaceful and contented road of late. They were right. -After decision came great calm. His affairs were in order; his work was -finished. He walked now as one who had already taken his farewells of -the earth and all that belonged to it. The sky pleased him with its -splendour, for it promised happiness. He thought of his wife and -supposed her behind the dawn, moving uneasily, eagerly, full of -excitement and joy, counting the minutes that still separated him from -her. He was going up to Crazywell to drown himself. - -On his way the man stood still before one of his own messages. Black -along the top bar of a gate, a text confronted him: the same that had -led Bart Stanbury to hasten his proposal of marriage. - -"_Now is the accepted time._" - -The old prize-fighter was well satisfied at this omen. He tramped -through mist and over frost-white heaths among the ruined lodges of the -stone men; he breasted the gorse-clad hill above Kingsett, and presently -stood and looked down into the cup of the pool, and saw the fire and -flame of the morning sky mirrored sharply there. A thin vapour still -softened the reflections from above and hung about the water, and a -scurf of ice lay round the edges of Crazywell. The place was deserted. -Winter had made a home here and darkness of sleeping vegetation -encompassed all, save for the silver frost and the splendour of the sky -above. Heath, furze, grass, alike slumbered. - -Shillabeer was panting with his exertions. Now, very cautiously he -trusted his huge body on a path winding down to the water, and presently -he stood at the brink of the pool and trod the sandy beach. Crazywell -was supposed to be of fabulous depth; tradition declared that all the -ropes from the belfry of Walkhampton church had not plumbed it. Reuben -reflected upon this story. "No call to sink so deep as that," he -thought. "Please God; come presently, they'll fetch me out and let me -lie beside her; not that it matters much where they put this here frame, -so long as the thinking soul be joined to she. Still--till Doom--I'd -like to bide with her; and I hope parson will be large-minded enough to -allow it." - -For some little time he walked beside the water, then suddenly addressed -himself to action. - -"'Tis no good messing about," he said aloud. "I've got to go through -the pinch, and the sooner 'tis over the better." - -He took off his coat and hat, moistened his hands with his tongue, as -one about to do some hard work, clenched his fists, snorted like a bull, -and plunged in up to his knees. He felt his boots sinking upon the mud, -but the water was still shallow. Not far distant at the edge of the -pool, on the further side, a great stone rose. "I'll drop in off that," -said the man; "'twill throw me out of my depth and make a quicker job of -it." - -He emerged, walked round the margin of Crazywell, and clambered on to -the stone. Beneath it, where the water was more than four feet deep, -light fell full and radiant, and made all crystal-clear. - -Shillabeer was about to jump when he found himself not alone. Separated -from him only by the smooth surface of the pool, there appeared a -fellow-creature. A woman seemed to be looking up quietly at him from -beneath. - -The recent past, forgotten since he had slept, turned back upon him and -he remembered that Margaret Bowden was missing on the previous night. -He glared down at her now. - -"Well might they fail to find you!" he said. "Poor lamb--her of all -women! Whatever should take her in the water? And how long have she -been there?" - -He forgot his own purposes absolutely. He lowered himself into the pool -until his feet were at her side. Then he drew a long breath, dived in -his arms and head and groped round till he held her. A touch brought -her to the surface: in the water she weighed nothing; it was only -afterwards, when he dragged her out, that he found even his strength -only equal to carrying her body to the bank. - -How long she had been dead he knew not; but her face he found not -unhappy. It was impossible to bear her single-handed to her home, and -Shillabeer now climbed out of the cup and started to the adjacent farm -of Kingsett. But he marked a man by the leat and he shouted to him and -attracted his attention. - -Twenty minutes later Simon Snell and the innkeeper carried Margaret -Bowden between them on a hurdle. Mr. Shillabeer's coat covered the -corpse. They proceeded slowly and at last came in sight of 'Meavy Cot.' - -"I'll go so far as the wicket," said Snell; "but no further. I couldn't -face that chap--not with this load." - -"'Tis I that have been told off for the purpose. 'Tis I that have found -her, though 'pon a very different errand, I assure you. Yet not -different neither, Simon, for I went to meet death; and when I looked -down in the water, there was death, sure enough, glazing up at me." - -"And yet just as if she was no more than sound asleep--poor young -woman--save for the blueness," said Mr. Snell. - -"And so she looked, poor creature, when first I seed her. But death be -the name for sleep under water." - -"What was you doing up over, 'Dumpling'?" - -"There again! The ways of the Lord be past finding out, Simon. My wife -waiting at the golden gate--waiting and watching for the sight of a -certain man--namely me--and instead this young Margaret comes along." - -"My word!" said Mr. Snell. "Was you going for to make away with -yourself, Mr. Shillabeer? Please don't say so, for I've had as much as -I can stand this morning. I'm quivering to my innermost inwards." - -"I was going to do it; but not now--not now. Abraham found a ram in a -thicket, you'll remember; I find a woman in the water. The Lord works -with strange tools, Snell." - -"Without a doubt He do; and here's the gate. I'll take her no further. -David Bowden can come out and lend a hand hisself now." - -"And you'd best to let it be known far and wide," said Shillabeer. "And -doctor ought to see her, though of course no good. Still 'tis the -fashion. And crowner will sit--here's the man!" - -David Bowden appeared and Simon Snell ran away. For a moment Shillabeer -set himself between the dead and living. - -"'Tis I found her--Madge. She's gone to glory--she's drownded -herself--dead. Lord's will, David." - -"Found! Thank God--where?" asked the husband. He had only heard the -word 'Madge.' - -"If you can thank God, 'tis a good thing, Bowden. 'Twas long afore I -could, when this happened to me," answered the other. "Come. She's -here--behind the edge of the wall. 'Twas the best I could do." - -David had passed him, and when Shillabeer turned, the husband knelt -beside the hurdle. A moment later he tore at the clothing of the corpse -and pressed his hand over her heart. - -"Us must go for doctor as a matter of form, and he's at Princetown -to-day--his day there from eleven o'clock till two--so I'll traapse up -over and tell him to call. And I'll ax you for a dry shirt afore I -start, poor man." - -"She's dead!" said Bowden. - -"And cold. There's nought in all nature so cold as them that die by -drowning. But you must think of her as far ways off from here." - -"Dead--dead. God help me!" - -He rose to his feet and stared down. - -"You take it wildly, same as I did," remarked the elder. "When my wife -died, 'twas all three strong men could do to tear me off her. And when -the two old women comed to do what was right, I nearly knocked their -grey heads together, for I said, in my mad way, what business had them -to live to grey hairs and my wife die afore a lock was touched by time? -Brown her hair--pale brown to the end. Let me help you. She'm -water-logged--poor blessed creature." - -Margaret Bowden was brought to her little parlour and laid upon the -sofa. - -David said nothing; Shillabeer maundered on. - -"Like a dog on a grave you'll be, my poor David. And time's self will -find it hard to travel against your heart. You'll dare him to push on. -I know--I know. And to think that I'd have been back with her--my own -wife--but for this. Ess fay! Crazywell would have me if it hadn't had -she. But you mustn't speak about that. One be taken and t'other left." - -"She killed herself!" burst out the other man suddenly. "Mark me--this -was no accident. She took her own life--and to think that I was there -calling to her and she past hearing by then." - -"Yes, she went her way. She knowed, I suppose--but what did she know? -Weren't she useful no more? 'Tis only failure of usefulness allows this -deed." - -"Useful! What have I done? God knows what I've done. 'Tisn't -me--'tisn't me, I tell you--there's nought between us and never -was--nought but faithful love. There's another have done it--some -other--and I shall never know--and her dead. Is she dead? Maybe -there's a flicker in her yet, if we only knowed what to do." - -"Don't distress yourself," said Shillabeer; "only Christ could raise her -from the dead. I know death. She was lying like a woman asleep under -the water. She's dead enough, and as a thinking man who knows trouble -very close, I'll tell you for why. 'Tis along of' being childless--all -because she had no child." - -"What folly and wickedness to think so! If I didn't mind--why should -she?" - -"But they all mind, and the less sense, the more they take on. It was -just the same with mine; and only her large belief that God couldn't -make no mistakes kept her quiet." - -"Go--go!" suddenly cried David. "Who am I to bide here talking to you, -and that woman dead behind the door?" - -"I will go--this minute--'tis natural and quite proper, poor David, that -you feel like this. Break away from man you must; but don't break away -from God. Kneel beside her body and pray your heart out. 'Tis the only -thing will keep your brain steady. Work and pray--work like a team of -bosses and pray like a team of saints. Out of kindness I say it. I'm -gone-- She saved my life, mind. You must let me share the praying, for -by God's grace her death kept me alive. A pity you might say, poor man, -in your black misery and ignorance. But God knew which was wanted most. -I must live--He only knows why; and this young lovely thing, in full joy -of health and happiness, must cut her thread. 'Tis too much to expect -we can understand; but we ban't expected to understand all that happens. -I tell you the longest life ban't long enough to explain the way of God -to man, David. Now fetch me a wool shirt while I draw off this one. -Then I be going to catch doctor. And I must look at her once more." - -He went into the other room and David, having brought him a dry garment, -followed him. - -"A picture of a happy creature," said Reuben, as he stripped to the -waist and dried his huge body. "Remember that. This be only a perishing -bit of clay now, David--blue-vinnied, you see--ready to sink into -earth--but Madge--a very different tale. A lovely, shining angel is she -singing over our heads, along with my wife and all the good dead women. -You keep that in mind and say no more cruel words against Heaven than -you can help. They will out, but fight 'em down, same as I did." - -A few minutes afterward Shillabeer went away; but he was still talking -aloud to himself, rolling his head and waving his arms. - -Then David, left alone, strove wildly for some faint sign or promise -that his wife was not dead. He stripped her, fetched blankets, lighted -a fire, thrust hot bricks to her feet, and strove to warm her body. -Thus he laboured only that he might be doing something, and through -physical exertion cheat mental torture. He knew that all efforts were -vain, and presently he abandoned them, left his wife in peace, and went -into the kitchen and sat down there. - -Nobody came to him for some hours. Then the doctor arrived, expressed -deep sympathy, and promised to see those in authority. He departed in -less than half-an-hour and the man was left alone again. - -Two women came presently, did their office for the dead, and went away -again. - -Bowden's thoughts rose and fell like an ebbing and flowing sea. They -wearied him and sank away, leaving his mind a drowsy blank; then, with a -little rest, intellect gripped the catastrophe once more and the tide of -suffering flowed and overwhelmed his spirit. He connected Rhoda with -this event. The more he considered the more he suspected that something -terrible must have happened between the women. He went several times to -the door to look for Rhoda. But she did not come. - -She had taken her nightly way with the search parties and at dawn she -was in Sheepstor. There, too weary to return home, she had gone to the -wife of Charles Moses and slept in her house. For several hours they -had not wakened her, but suffered her to sleep on. She rose a little -before midday; and then she heard that Bartley Crocker had left England -very early on the previous morning, about the same time that her -sister-in-law disappeared. - -All search for Margaret had proved fruitless and news of her death did -not reach Sheepstor until Rhoda left it. Several met her and asked for -news, but none knew the truth. She believed now that the facts were -clear and she strung herself to tell her brother what had doubtless -happened. - -At dusk she returned to 'Meavy Cot' and found David, with his head on -the kitchen table, fast asleep. Outside it was growing dark and some -chained, ravenous dogs were barking loudly; inside all was silent. - -David slumbered uneasily owing to his position, but his sister hesitated -to wake him. First she mended the fire and made tea. She drank to -fortify herself. Then she went out, fed the dogs, and loitered until -darkness gathered upon the earth. Then she came in and lighted a lamp. -Still her brother slept. She reviewed the words that she must speak, -and then she wakened him. - -Reluctantly, irritably, he returned to consciousness and stared at her. - -"What the devil--?" he said; then he rubbed his eyes and yawned. - -"Take a dish of tea," she said. "I'm back. There's no news of her yet, -but I believe--" - -Slowly he began to connect his thoughts and link himself up with life -again. - -"I believe--I'm afraid I know--I'm almost certain I know." - -"What do you know?" he asked. Then the truth returned to him in a wave -that submerged him. - -"My God, my God!" he cried out. - -"'Tis bitter enough, but maybe the best that could have happened--for -you, David." - -Rhoda arrested him. She was looking straight into his face. - -"Make yourself clear," he said. "What do you know--or what do you think -you know? What's done be done, anyway." - -"'Tis done---and better done, since it had to be." - -"What do you know?" he repeated harshly. "Don't beat about. How much -do you know? D'you know why? What's the reason? I can't go on with my -life till I know who have done it. She never did, I'll swear to that. -'Twas forced upon her from outside." - -"Maybe I can't tell you more than you've found out for yourself, if you -speak so," she answered. "Yet 'twas she and only she could have done -it. None else had the power to." - -"Stop!" he cried out. "Don't play no more with words, if you don't want -to see me go mad afore your eyes. Speak clear and tell me exactly -what's in your head. I can't stand no more cloudy speeches. My mind's -a frozen fog. If you've got the power to throw one ray of light, then -do it. Light, I say--but there's no more light for me in this world -now." - -"Don't speak like that, David. Who can tell? Say nothing till time -works its way. If I hurt to heal, forgive me; and if I'm wrong, I'll -beg for you to forgive me. But I'm not wrong. It all joins together -very straight and smooth. She's gone beyond finding, else they'd have -found her by now." - -"Gone beyond finding." - -"Surely. There's not a brake or pit this side of Princetown, and not a -house and not a ruin that some man haven't hunted through and through -for her. But they'll have to hunt the ships of the sea afore they'll -find your wife that was. She's gone---she went the same time that -Bartley Crocker went--to an hour. Oh, David, she's with him! Find him -and you'll find her. That's the awful truth of it--clear--clear as truth -can be, and 'tis the worst that have ever fallen to me that I had to -tell you. But only I knew, and too well I knew through the bitter -past." - -He stared at her and laughed. - -"What a clever woman you are--and so wonderful understanding!" - -"She's happy enough, if that's anything. She's got what she played -for--she's--" - -His voice rose in a sudden yell. - -"Leave her name alone! Don't you take her name in your mouth again or -I'll silence you for evermore!" - -"I'm not afraid," she answered. "I'm doing what God Almighty drives me -to do. If I fail, I fail. I knew 'twas life or death. You can silence -me when you please and how you please. And the sooner the better; for -if you're going to hate me, I'd want to die as quick as you can put me -out of the way." - -"Go on," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I roared. You needn't fear me. -Say what you want to say. Explain just what you think you know." - -"I've said it. O' Sunday night, when I came back from Ditsworthy, I -spoke out to her. I couldn't hold it in no more. 'Twas poisoning me -heart and soul. I was going to tell you, but there came the boys and -father's sickness held my tongue. Then I met her--your wife with that -man--Crocker--and he kissed her--God's my judge if I don't tell you -truth. And that night I spoke to her and told her all I knew and all -I'd seen. I'd watched them many a time--spied if you like--but only for -you--only for your honour's sake. And I taxed her with it--with being -untrue to you." - -He put up his hand and she was silent. He struggled to master himself -and succeeded for one moment more. - -"And what did she answer?" - -"She denied it, but--" - -"And Christ will deny you, you wretch!" he thundered out. "All's -clear--all's clear now! You thought to damn her; but you've damned -yourself--damned your own soul through the blazing eternity of hell!" - -He leapt up and she faced him without flinching. - -"I know what I know," she said. - -"Then know a little more than you know!" - -He seized her by the wrist and dragged her into the adjoining room. It -was dark. Only blankets that covered the dead made a streak of pallid -light in the gloom. - -"With Crocker--eh? Happy--eh? Go there! Get on your knees, -murderess--look under that blanket and then ax yourself whether your -carcase be fit to feed dogs!" - -She realised in a moment the thing that had happened. She moved the -blanket; she touched; she recoiled; but she made no sound. - -"Your work--your filthy, lewd work, to drive that angel of goodness to -make an end of herself. She couldn't breathe the same air with you no -more. Murder, I say, if ever murder was. You--you--to think that -you--behind my back--in my home-- You thrust her in the water--you held -her down under it! Get out of my sight to hell--hide yourself--call the -hills to cover you afore the decent world finds what you are and tears -the flesh off your bones!" - -He flung himself on the dust of his wife, and Rhoda went out of the -room. - - - - - *CHAPTER XV* - - *NIGHT TENEBRIOUS* - - -Aimless, almost mindless, Rhoda Bowden dragged herself away from the -valley under Black Tor. She knew not where to turn. But there awakened -no desire to escape from the tyranny of existence; she suffered rather -from a mental palsy that blocked and barred every channel of thought or -outlook on action. - -She moved through the night-hidden valley of Meavy, and found herself -presently at Sheepstor village. The place slept and she drifted among -the darkened cottages, forgetting all else but the problems that now -cried vainly to be solved before the coming of another day. By instinct -her weary body obeyed the call of least resistance, and she sank down -the hill instead of climbing upward. Mechanically she descended, as -water seeks its own level, and by a footpath presently reached the -bottom of the valley and stood at Marchant's bridge, a mile under -Ringmoor Down. Across that wilderness lay her nearest way home; and now -it seemed to her, as she became conscious again of her vicinity and -physical condition, that her goal must indeed be Ditsworthy. She was far -spent and the time now approached midnight. - -The hour was dark, mild, very still under a clouded moon; and for a -moment, thinking upon the length of the way, Rhoda doubted her strength -to reach the warrens. She drank of the river and bathed her face. Then -she began the long climb upward to the Moor. Where her path left the -main road and ascended easterly, through furze-brakes beside a wood, a -tall grey shape, full eight feet high, stood silent by the way. It was -Marchant's Cross that appeared there on her right hand underneath an ash -tree; and the monument's high, squat shoulders and dim suggestion of -alert and watchful humanity startled her. Then she remembered what it -was, and climbed on. - -At the edge of the woods reigned sleep universal, and not one of the -common voices of night broke in upon it. The firs had ceased for a -moment their eternal whisper; the bare boughs of oak and larch were -still. The hour was breathless and so silent that the world seemed dead -rather than asleep. Once only a small creature hurried from Rhoda's -path and rustled in the leaves beside her; but for the rest no cry of -night bird, no bay of hound, no whinny of roaming horse broke the great -peace. Only the river lifted its voice like a sigh in the dimness, but -other murmur there was none. Diffused light scarcely defined a way amid -the black hillocks of the gorse. Earth under these conditions quite -changed its contours and withheld its tones. Such colour as persisted -was transformed and only the palest things--tree trunks and boulders -streaked and splashed with quartz--still stood forth in the vague blur -of darkness. Such obscurity and obliteration, with its hint of unseen -dangers and obvious doubts, had been sinister, if not terrific, to many -women; night's black hand upon the extinguished world had driven most -feminine spirits even from grievous thoughts to present dread; but for -Rhoda darkness was only less familiar than noonday. There existed -nothing in this immanent concealment to distract her torments, and all -the formless earth was distinct, clear, explicit as contrasted with the -chaos of her soul. - -Upon Ringmoor she came at last, and there some faint breath of air -seemed to be stirring by contrast with the stagnation beneath. It -touched her forehead and she sucked it in thirstily. Here the mighty -spaces of the waste were faintly lighted within a little radius of the -wanderer, but beyond, the naked earth rolled away into utter darkness at -every side. The sky, while luminous in contrast with the world beneath -it, was entirely overcast. A complete and featureless cloud, without -rift or rent to break its midnight monotony, spread upon the firmament. -Even the place of the moon might not be perceived. Below, Ringmoor -soaked up the illumination to almost total extinction; above, the -sombrous air hung heavy and clear, permeated evenly by lustre of the -hidden moon. Only at the horizon might one perceive the immense -difference between the light of earth and sky, and the large -illumination spread by the one and swallowed by the other. - -Ringmoor's black bosom opened for Rhoda, then shut behind her and -engulfed her. Along the path, from darkness into darkness, she -proceeded and bore her weight of agony through the insensible waste, as -a raindrop passes over a leaf and leaves no sign. Futile shadow of a -shade, she crept across the darkness and vanished beneath it; broken -with the greatest suffering her spirit was built to bear, she put forth -upon the void and tottered forward to the shuffle of her footsteps and -the muffled drumming of her own pulse. - -She rested presently where a great stone thrust up out of night beside -her way. She knew it for a friend and sank upon it now, and put her -forehead against it. Here reigned such a peace as only the deaf and the -desert sentinel can know--a peace beyond all experience of gregarious -man---a peace impossible within any hand-wrought dwelling but the grave. -There was no wind to strike sound from dry heath, or rush, or solitary -stone; no water flowed near enough to send its voices hither; no rain -fell to utter its whisper on earth. The silence was consummate. - -Light had long since been extinguished in the few dwellings visible from -Ringmoor. Trowlesworthy and Brisworthy and Ditsworthy--all were dim. -No ray penetrated the sky or glowed upon the land; and night's self now -began to darken, as the moon sank to her setting. - -And then from afar, out of the gloom of the south, a distant beacon -flashed even to this uplifted solitude; and a beam that blinked for the -ships now reached one life-foundered creature, where she sat in a -silence as deep, in a loneliness as vast, as the silence and the -loneliness of the sea. The light was familiar to Rhoda; through -wanderings and vigils in high places she had seen it many times; and she -knew that it spoke of danger to the vessels and guarded them upon their -ways. - -Time rolled on; the earth rolled on; only this conscious fragment of -life stranded here between time and earth lay still, chained down with -her load of grief and horror. Long she remained, until there stole over -Ringmoor the unspeakable stupor and lifelessness of the hour before -dawn. Now even creatures of night had made an end of their labours and -were sleeping in holt or den; and through this trance and absolute -desistance, the woman's soul still battled with its burdens and cried -out to her oblivious environment. - -She walked onward again and forced herself and her pangs upon the -earth's suspended animation. She outraged inert Ringmoor by thus moving -and suffering within its bosom, when the rule of the time was cessation -and dreamless peace. She rolled unsteadily in her going, where all else -was stable and motionless; she throbbed in her body and in her soul, -where all else was unconscious; her dust endured the tortures of hunger -and profound physical exhaustion, where nearly all other living things -were filled and sleeping; her mind rose, racked to a new and higher -anguish at the thought of the future, where all else was mindless and -without care or grief. She considered what must follow the rising of -another sun, and she longed that she might wander and suffer here, -through a moonless night, for evermore. - -Again she sank to earth for a space, and again she rose and breasted the -last slope which separated her from her home. Then another life made -vocal utterance and complaint of fate. A dog-fox barked out of -darkness, and the lonely ululation struck very loud upon the silence. -To the fellow-being who heard him, his forlorn protest spoke of a -creature to be envied; for he was only hungry and time would ease his -want. - -Among the burrows of the warren she threaded her way until, black -against the night, towered Ditsworthy. And she opened the outer gate, -reached the door, struck upon it and cried two words. Mournful they -rose, and deep, and heavy with the weight of her torments. - -"Father! Mother!" - -They came down to her out of broken sleep. They found her collapsed and -carried her in and roused the smouldering peat upon the hearth. Then to -their questions as they crowded round her--men, women, boys, candle-lit, -grotesque, hastily robed from bed--she answered slowly-- - -"Margaret is drowned--driven to it by me--and David have cast me out." - - - - - THE END - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - *GOOD FICTION* - - -*FREDERICK PALMER'S THE BIG FELLOW* - -A big American novel with a big American for its hero, one of the fine, -simple, magnetic big stories that everybody reads and that live for -years. Illustrated. $1.50. - - -*PHILLPOTTS and BENNETT'S THE STATUE* - -Scene, England. Period, to-day. 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