cemetery of other men's dead
aspirations, he felt his heart swell to the world. Two clouds only
darkened his horizon then. One was the necessity of beginning the new
life without his life's partner; while the other, formerly tremendous
enough, had long since shrunk to a shadow on the horizon of the past.
His secret still remained, but that circumstance was too remote to
shadow the new enterprise. It existed, however, and its recurrence wove
occasional gloomy patterns into the web of Will Blanchard's thought.

CHAPTER III

OVER A RIDING-WHIP

Will completed his survey and already saw, in his mind's eye, a brave
masque of autumn gold spreading above the lean lands of Newtake. From
this spectacle to that of garnered harvests and great gleaming stacks
bursting with fatness the transition was natural and easy. He pictured
kine in the farmyard, many sheep upon the hills, and Phoebe with such
geese, ducks, and turkeys as should make her quite forget the poultry of
Monks Barton. Then, having built castles in the air until his
imagination was exhausted, Will shut the outer gate with the touch of
possession, turned a moment to see how Newtake looked from the roadway,
found only the shadow of it looming through the mist, and so departed,
whistling and slapping his gaiters with an ash sapling.

It happened that beside a gate which closed the moorland precincts to
prevent cattle from wandering, a horseman stood, and as the pedestrian
passed him in the gathering gloaming, he dropped his hunting-stock while
making an effort to open the gate without dismounting.

"Bide wheer you be!" said Will; "I'll pick un up an' ope the gate for
'e."

He did so and handed the whip back to its owner. Then each recognised
the other, and there was a moment of silence.

"'Tis you, Jan Grimbal, is it?" asked the younger. "I didn't knaw 'e in
the dimpsy light."

He hesitated, and his words when they came halted somewhat, but his
meaning was evident.

"I'm glad you'm back to home. I'll forget all what's gone, if you will.
'Twas give an' take, I s'pose. I took my awn anyway, an' you comed near
killing me for't, so we'm upsides now, eh? We'm men o' the world
likewise. So--so shall us shake hands an' let bygones be, Jan Grimbal?"

He half raised his hand, and looked up, with a smile at the corner of
his lip ready to jump into life if the rider should accept his
friendship. But Grimbal's response was otherwise.

To say little goodness dw