for improving, saving, increasing possibilities in a hundred
directions. He pictured himself putting money into the miller's pocket.
He determined to bring that about if he had to work four-and-twenty
hours a day to do it. He almost wished some profound peril would
threaten his father-in-law, that he, at the cost of half his life, if
need be, might rescue him and so pay a little of this great debt. Ship,
taking the cue from his master, as a dog will, leapt and barked before
him. In the valley below, Phoebe wept on Mrs. Blanchard's bosom, and
Chris said hard things of those in authority at Monks Barton; up aloft
at Newtake, shillings rather than pounds changed hands and many a poor
lot found no purchaser.

Passing by a gate beneath the great hill of Middledown, Will saw two
sportsmen with a keeper and a brace of terriers, emerge from the wild
land above. They were come from rabbit shooting, as the attendant's
heavy bag testified. They faced him as he passed, and, recognising John
Grimbal, Will did not look at his companion. At rest with the world just
then, happy and contented to a degree he had not reached for years, the
young farmer was in such amiable mood that he had given the devil "good
day" on slightest provocation. Now he was carried out of himself, and
spoke upon a joyous inclination of the moment.

"Marnin' to 'e, Jan Grimbal! Glad to hear tell as your greyhound winned
the cup down to Newton coursing."

The other was surprised into a sort of grunt; then, as Will moved
rapidly out of earshot, Grimbal's companion addressed him. It was Major
Tremayne; and now the soldier regarded Blanchard's vanishing figure with
evident amazement, then spoke.

"By Jove! Tom Newcombe, by all that's wonderful," he said.

CHAPTER VI

THE SECRET OUT

NOW many different persons in various places were simultaneously
concerned with Will Blanchard and his affairs.

At Newtake, Martin Grimbal was quietly buying a few lots--and those
worth the most money. He designed these as a gift for Phoebe; and his
object was not wholly disinterested. The antiquary could by no means
bring himself to accept his last dismissal from Chris. Seeing the vague
nature of those terms in which she had couched her refusal, and
remembering her frank admission that she could love him, he still hoped.
All his soul was wrapped up in the winning of Chris, and her face came
between him and the proof-sheets of his book; the first thoughts of his
waken