houldn't you put in
a pipe an' draw off a quart or so for her betterment? I'll swear 't
would strengthen the heart of her."

Time passed, and it happened on one occasion, while walking abroad
between his vigils, that Blanchard met John Grimbal. Will had reflected
curiously of late days into what ghostly proportions his affair with the
master of the Red House now dwindled before this greater calamity of his
mother's sickness; but sudden sight of the enemy roused passion and
threw back the man's mind to that occasion of their last conversation in
the woods.

Yet the first words that now passed were to John Grimbal's credit. He
made an astonishing and unexpected utterance. Indeed, the spoken word
surprised him as much as his listener, and he swore at himself for a
fool when Will's retort reached his ear.

They were passing at close quarters,--Blanchard on foot, John upon
horseback,--when the latter said,--

"How 's Mrs. Blanchard to-day?"

"Mind your awn business an' keep our name off your lips!" answered the
pedestrian, who misunderstood the question, as he did most questions
where possible, and now supposed that Grimbal meant Phoebe.

His harsh words woke instant wrath.

"What a snarling, cross-bred cur you are! I should judge your own family
will be the first to thank me for putting you under lock and key. Hell
to live with, you must be."

"God rot your dirty heart! Do it--do it; doan't jaw--do it! But if you
lay a finger 'pon me while my mother 's bad or have me took before she
'm stirring again, I'll kill you when I come out. God 's my judge if I
doan't!"

Then, forgetting what had taken him out of doors, and upon what matter
he was engaged, Will turned back in a tempest, and hastened to his
mother's cottage.

At Monks Barton Mr. Lyddon and his daughter had many and long
conversations upon the subject of Blanchard's difficulties. Both
trembled to think what might be the issue if his mother died; both began
to realise that there could be no more happiness for Will until a
definite extrication from his present position was forthcoming. At his
daughter's entreaty the miller finally determined on a strong step. He
made up his mind to visit Grimbal at the Red House, and win from him, if
possible, some undertaking which would enable him to relieve his
son-in-law of the present uncertainty.

Phoebe pleaded for silence, and prayed her father to get a promise at
any cost in that direction.

"Let him awnly prom