d on
Cosdon Beacon upon the occasion of a visit to its summit. By this time
he had grown friendly with Hicks and must have learnt all and more than
he desired to know but for the bee-keeper's curious taciturnity. For
some whim Clement never mentioned his engagement; it was a subject as
absent from his conversation as his own extreme poverty; but while the
last fact Martin had already guessed, the former remained utterly
concealed from him. Neither did any chance discover it until some time
afterwards.

The hut-circles on Cosdon's south-eastern flank occupied Martin's
pencil. Clement gazed once upon the drawing, then turned away, for no
feeling or poetry inspired the work; it was merely very accurate. The
sketches made, both men ascended immense Cosdon, where its crown of
cairns frets the long summit; and here, to the sound of the wind in the
dead heather, with all the wide world of Northern Devon extended beneath
his gaze under a savage sunset, Martin found courage to speak. At first
Hicks did not hear. His eyes were on the pageant of the sky and paid
tribute of sad thought before an infinity of dying cloud splendours. But
the antiquary repeated his remark. It related to Will Blanchard, and
upon Clement dropping a monosyllabic reply his companion continued:

"A very handsome fellow, too. Miss Blanchard puts me in mind of him."

"They're much alike in some things. But though Chris knows her brother
to be good to look at, you'll never get Will to praise her. Funny, isn't
it? Yet to his Phoebe, she's the sun to a star."

"I think so too indeed. In fact, Miss Blanchard is the most beautiful
woman I ever saw."

Clement did not answer. He was gazing through the sunset at Chris, and
as he looked he smiled, and the sadness lifted a little from off his
face.

"Strange some lucky fellow has not won her before now," proceeded the
other, glancing away to hide the blush that followed his diplomacy.

Here, by all experience and reason, and in the natural sequence of
events Clement Hicks might have been expected to make his confession and
rejoice in his prize, but for some cause, from some queer cross-current
of disposition, he shut his mouth upon the greatest fact of his life. He
answered, indeed, but his words conveyed a false impression. What
sinister twist of mind was responsible for his silence he himself could
not have explained; a mere senseless monkey-mischief seemed to inspire
it. Martin had not deceived him, because