' see him, as he'd tell 'bout you in the past, when you was
away that autumn-time 'fore us was married."

"Did he, by God! Doan't he wish he knawed!"

"He does knaw, Will--least he said he did."

"Never dream it, Phoebe. 'T is a lie. For why? 'Cause if he did knaw I
shouldn't--but theer, I've never tawld 'e, an' I ban't gwaine to now.
Awnly I'll say this,--if Grimbal really knawed he'd have--but he can't
knaw, and theer 's an end of it."

"To think I should have been frighted by such a story all these weeks!
An' not true. Oh! I wish I'd told 'e when he sent the message. 'T would
have saved me so much."

"Ess, never keep nothin' from me, Phoebe. Theer 's troubles that might
crush wan heart as comes a light load divided between two. What
message?"

"Some silly auld story 'bout a suit of grey clothes. He said I was to
tell 'e the things was received by the awner."

Will Blanchard stood still so suddenly that it seemed as though magic
had turned him into stone. He stood, and his hands unclasped, and
Phoebe's church service which he carried fell with a thud into the road.
His wife watched him change colour, and noted in his face an expression
she had never before seen there.

"Christ A'mighty!" he whispered, with his eyes reflecting a world of
sheer amazement and even terror; "he _does_ knaw!"

"What? Knaw what, Will? For the Lard's sake doan't 'e look at me like
that; you'll frighten my heart into my mouth."

"To think he knawed an' watched an' waited all these years! The spider
patience o' that man! I see how 't was. He let the world have its way
an' thought to see me broken wi'out any trouble from him. Then, when I
conquered, an' got to Miller's right hand, an' beat the world at its awn
game, he--an' been nursing this against me! The heart of un!"

He spoke to himself aloud, gazing straight before him at nothing.

"Will, tell me what 't is. Caan't your awn true wife help 'e now or
never?"

Recalled by her words he came to himself, picked up her book, and walked
on. She spoke again and then he answered,--

"No, 't is a coil wheer you caan't do nought--nor nobody. The black
power o' waitin'--'t is that I never heard tell of. I thought I knawed
what was in men to the core--me, thirty years of age, an' a ripe man if
ever theer was wan. But this malice! 'T is enough to make 'e believe in
the devil."

"What have you done?" she cried aloud. "Tell me the worst of it, an' how
gert a thing he've got against you."