f-control. His eye was cleared from passion; he saw the base
nature of his action and judged himself as others would judge him. This
spectacle produced a definite mental issue and aroused long-stagnant
emotions from their troubled slumbers. He discovered that a frank hatred
of Will Blanchard awoke and lived. He told himself this man was to blame
for all, and not content with poisoning his life, now ravaged his soul
also and blighted every outlook of his being. Like a speck upon an
eyeball, which blots the survey of the whole eye, so this wretch had
fastened upon him, ruined his ambitions, wrecked his life, and now
dragged his honour and his very manhood into the dust. John Grimbal
found himself near choked by a raging fit of passion at last. He burnt
into sheer frenzy against Blanchard; and the fuel of the fire was the
consciousness of his own craven performance of that morning. Flying from
self-contemplation, he sought distraction and even oblivion at any
source where his mind could win it; and now he laid all blame on his
enemy and suffered the passion of his own shame and remorse to rise, as
it had been a red mist, against this man who was playing havoc with his
body and soul. He trembled under the loneliness of the woods in a
debauch of mere brute rage that exhausted him and left a mark on the
rest of his life. Even his present powers appeared trifling and their
exercise a deed unsatisfying before this frenzy. What happiness could be
achieved by flinging Blanchard into prison for a few months at most?
What salve could be won from thought of this man's disgrace and social
ruin? The spectacle sank into pettiness now. His blood was surging
through his veins and crying for action. Primitive passion gripped him
and craved primitive outlet. At that hour, in his own deepest
degradation, the man came near madness, and every savage voice in him
shouted for blood and blows and batterings in the flesh.

Phoebe Blauchard hastened home, meanwhile, and kept her own counsel upon
the subject of the dawn's sensational incidents. Her first instinct was
to tell her husband everything at the earliest opportunity, but Will had
departed to his work before she reached the farm, and on second thoughts
she hesitated to speak or give John Grimbal's message. She feared to
precipitate the inevitable. In her own heart what mystery revolved about
Will's past performances undoubtedly embraced the child fashioned in his
likeness; and though she had