now in
your heart that I'm speaking the truth when I say so."

"Stick to your gate-posts and old walls and cow-comforts and dead
stones. We all know you can look farther into Dartmoor granite than most
men, if that's anything; but human beings are beyond you and always
were. You'd have come home a pauper but for me."

"D' you think I'm not grateful? No man ever had a better brother than
you, and you've stood between me and trouble a thousand times. Now I
want to stand between you and trouble."

"What the deuce d' you mean by naming Phoebe, then?"

"That is the trouble. Listen and don't shout me down. She's breaking her
heart--blind or not blind, I see that--breaking her heart, not for you,
but Will Blanchard. Nobody else has found it out; but I have, and I know
it's my duty to tell you; and I've done it."

An ugly twist came into John Grimbal's face. "You've done it; yes. Go
on."

"That's all, brother, and from your manner I don't believe it's entirely
news to you."

"Then get you gone, damned snake in the grass! Get gone, 'fore I lay a
hand on you! You to turn and bite _me!_ Me, that's made you! I see it
all--your blasted sheep's eyes at Chris Blanchard, and her always at
Monks Barton! Don't lie about it," he roared, as Martin raised his hand
to speak; "not a word more will I hear from your traitor's lips. Get out
of my sight, you sneaking hypocrite, and never call me 'brother' no
more, for I'll not own to it!"

"You'll be sorry for this, John."

"And you too. You'll smart all your life long when you think of this
dirty trick played against a brother who never did you no hurt. You to
come between me and the girl that's promised to marry me! And for your
own ends. A manly, brotherly plot, by God!"

"I swear, on my sacred honour, there's no plot against you. I've never
spoken to a soul about this thing, nor has a soul spoken of it to me;
that's the truth."

"Rot you, and your sacred honour too! Go, and take your lies with you,
and keep your own friends henceforth, and never cross my threshold
more--you or your sacred, stinking honour either."

Martin rose from his chair dazed and bewildered. He had seen his
brother's passion wither up many a rascal in the past; but he himself
had never suffered until now, and the savagery of this language hurled
against his own pure motives staggered him. He, of course, knew nothing
about Will Blanchard's enterprise, and his blundering and ill-judged
effort to restrain hi