to his hotel in a good
temper. He drank a brandy-and-soda at the bar, then went up to his rooms
and found Phoebe's letter; whereupon, as he was in muddy pink, he set
off straight for Monks Barton; and now he stood face to face with the
man on earth he most desired to meet. By the light of his match Will saw
a red coat, white teeth under a great yellow moustache, and a pair of
mad, flaming eyes, hungry for something. He knew what was coming, moved
quickly from the parapet of the bridge, and flung away his pipe to free
his hands. As he did so the other was on him. Will warded one tremendous
stroke from a hunting-crop; then they came to close quarters, and
Grimbal, dropping his whip, got in a heavy half-arm blow on his enemy's
face before they gripped in holds. The younger man, in no trim for
battle, reeled and tried to break away; but the other had him fast,
picked him clean off the ground, and, getting in his weight, used a
Yankee throw, with intent to drop Will against the granite of the
bridge. But though Blanchard went down like a child before the attack,
he disappeared rather than fell; and in the pitchy night it seemed as
though some amiable deity had caught up the vanquished into air. A
sudden pressure of the low parapet against his own legs as he staggered
forward, told John Grimbal what was done and, at the same moment, a
tremendous splash in the water below indicated his enemy's dismal
position. Teign, though not in flood at the time, ran high, and just
below the bridge a deep pool opened out. Around it were rocks upon which
rose the pillars of the bridge. No sound or cry followed Will
Blanchard's fall; no further splash of a swimmer, or rustle on the
river's bank, indicated any effort from him. Grimbal's first instincts
were those of regret that revenge had proved so brief. His desire was
past before he had tasted it. Then for a moment he hesitated, and the
first raving lust to kill Phoebe's husband waned a trifle before the
sudden conviction that he had done so. He crept down to the river,
ploughed about to find the man, questioning what he should do if he did
find him. His wrath waxed as he made search, and he told himself that he
should only trample Blanchard deeper into water if he came upon him. He
kicked here and there with his heavy boots; then abandoned the search
and proceeded to Monks Barton.

Into the presence of the miller he thundered, and for a time said
nothing of the conflict from which he had