CHAPTER XII

THROUGH ONE GREAT DAY

Just within the woods of Teign Valley, at a point not far distant from that where Will Blanchard met John Grimbal for the first time, and wrestled with him beside the river, there rises a tall bank, covered with fern, shadowed by oak trees. A mossy bridle-path winds below, while beyond it, seen through a screen of wych-elms and hazel, extend the outlying meadows of Monks Barton.

Upon this bank, making "sunshine in a shady place," reclined Chris, beneath a harmony of many greens, where the single, double, and triple shadows of the manifold leaves above her created a complex play of light and shade all splashed and gemmed with little sun discs. Drowsy noon-day peace marked the hour; Chris had some work in her hand, but was not engaged upon it; and Clement, who lolled beside her, likewise did nothing. His eyes were upon a mare and foal in the meadow below. The matron proceeded slowly, grazing as she went, while her lanky youngster nibbled at this or that inviting tuft, then raced joyously in wide circles and, returning, sought his mother's milk with the selfish roughness of youth.

"Happy as birds, they be," said Chris, referring to the young pair at Newtake. "It do make me long for us to be man an' wife, Clem, when I see 'em."

"We're that now, save for the hocus-pocus of the parsons you set such store by."

"No, I'll never believe it makes no difference."

"A c.u.mbrous, stupid, human contrivance like marriage! Was ever man and woman happier for being bound that way? Can free things feel their hearts beat closer because they are chained to one another by an effete dogma?"

"I doan't onderstand all that talk, sweetheart, an' you knaw I don't; but till some wise body invents a better-fashion way of joining man an'

maid than marriage, us must taake it as 'tis."

"There is a better way--Nature's."

She shook her head.

"If us could dwell in a hole at a tree-root, an' eat roots an' berries; but we'm thinking creatures in a Christian land."

She stretched herself out comfortably and smiled up at him where he sat with his chin in his hands. Then, looking down, he saw the delicious outline of her and his eyes grew hot.

"G.o.d's love! How long must it be?" he cried; then, before she could speak, he clipped her pa.s.sionately to him and hugged her closely.

"Dearie, you'm squeezin' my breath out o' me!" cried Chris, well used to these sudden storms and not averse to them. "We must bide patient an'

hold in our hearts," she said, lying in his arms with her face close to his. "'Twill be all the more butivul when we'm mated. Ess fay! I love 'e allus, but I love 'e better in this fiery mood than on the ice-cold days when you won't so much as hold my hand."

"The cold mood's the better notwithstanding, and colder yet would be better yet, and clay-cold best of all."

But he held her still, and pressed his beard against her brown neck.

Then the sound of a trotting horse reached his ears, he started up, looked below, and saw John Grimbal pa.s.sing by. Their eyes met, for the horseman chanced to glance up as Clement thrust his head above the fern; but Chris was invisible and remained so.

Grimbal stopped and greeted the bee-keeper.

"Have you forgotten your undertaking to see my hives once a month?"

"No, I meant coming next week."

"Well, as it happens I want to speak with you, and the present time's as good as another. I suppose you were only lying there dreaming?"

"That's all. I'll come and walk along beside your horse."

He squeezed his sweetheart's hand, whispered a promise to return immediately, then rose and stumbled down the bank, leaving Chris throned aloft in the fern. For a considerable time John Grimbal said nothing, then he began suddenly,--

"I suppose you know the Applebirds are leaving my farm?"

"Yes, Mrs. Applebird told my mother. Going to Sticklepath."

"Not easy to get a tenant to take their place."

"Is it not? Such a farm as yours? I should have thought there need be no difficulty."

"There are tenants and tenants. How would you like it--you and your mother? Then you could marry and be comfortable. No doubt Chris Blanchard would make a splendid farmer's wife."

"It would be like walking into paradise for me; but--"

"The rent needn't bother you. My first care is a good tenant. Besides, rent may take other shapes than pounds, shillings, and pence."

Hicks started.

"I see," he said; "you can't forget the chance word I spoke in anger so long ago."

"I can't, because it happened to be just the word I wanted to hear. My quarrel with Will Blanchard's no business of yours. The man's your enemy too; and you're a fool to stand in your own light, You know something that I don't know, concerning those weeks during which he disappeared.

Well, tell me. You can only live your life once. Why let it run to rot when the Red House Farm wants a tenant? A man you despise, too."

"No. I promised. Besides, you wouldn't be contented with the knowledge; you'd act on it."

Grimbal showed a lightning-quick perception of this admission; and Hicks, too late, saw that the other had realised its force. Then he made an effort to modify his a.s.sertion.

"When I say 'you'd act on it,' I mean that you might try to, though I much doubt really if anything I could tell you would damage Blanchard."

"If you think that, then there can be no conscientious objection to telling me. Besides, I don't say I should act on the knowledge. I don't say I shall or I shall not. All you ve got to do is to say whether you'll take the Red House Farm at a nominal rent from Michaelmas."

"No, man, no. You've met me in a bad moment, too, if you only knew. But think of it--brother and sister; and I, in order to marry the woman, betray the man. That's what it comes to. Such things don't happen."

"You re speaking plainly, at any rate. We ought to understand each other to-day, if ever. I'll make you the same offer for less return. Tell me where he was during those weeks--that's all. You needn't tell what he was doing."

"If you knew one, you'd find out the other. Once and for all, I'll tell you nothing. By an accidental question you discovered that I knew something. That was not my fault. But more you never will know from me--farm or no farm."

"You're a fool for your pains. And the end will be the same. The information must reach me. You're a coward at heart, for it's fear, not any tomfoolery of morals, that keeps your mouth shut. Don't deceive yourself. I've often talked with you before to-day, and I know you think as I do."

"What's that to do with it?"

"Everything. 'Good' and 'evil' are only two words, and what is man's good and what is man's evil takes something cleverer than man to know.

It's no nonsense of 'right' and 'wrong' that's keeping you from a happy home and a wife. What is it then?"

Hicks was silent a moment, then made answer.

"I don't know. I don't know any more than you do. Something has come over me; I can't tell you what. I'm more surprised than you are at my silence; but there it is. Why the devil I don't speak I don't know. I only know I'm not going to. Our characters are beyond our own power to understand."

"If you don't know, I'll tell you. You're frightened that he will find out. You're afraid of him."