te of John Grimbal was learned within an hour or two of Inspector
Chown's departure from Monks Barton; and by the time that Martin Grimbal
had been apprised of the matter his brother already lay at the Red
House.

John had been found at daybreak upon the grass-land where he rode
overnight on his journey to intercept the mail. A moment after he
descried the distant cart, his horse had set foot in a hole; and upon
the accident being discovered, the beast was found lying with a broken
leg within twenty yards of its insensible master. His horse was shot,
John Grimbal carried home with all despatch, and Doctor Parsons arrived
as quickly as possible, to do all that might be done for the sufferer
until an abler physician than himself reached the scene.

Three dreary days saw Grimbal at the door of death, then a brief
interval of consciousness rewarded unceasing care, and a rumour spread
that he might yet survive. Martin, when immediate fear for his brother's
life was relieved, busied himself about Blanchard, and went to Plymouth.
There he saw Will, learned all facts concerning the letter, and did his
best to win information of the prisoner's probable punishment. Fears,
magnified rumours, expressed opinions, mostly erroneous, buzzed in the
ears of the anxious party at Monks Barton. Then Martin Grimbal returned
to Chagford and there came an evening when those most interested met
after supper at the farm to hear all he could tell them.

Long faces grouped round Martin as he made his statement in a grey June
twilight. Mr. Blee and the miller smoked, Mrs. Blanchard sat with her
hand in her daughter's, and Phoebe occupied a comfortable arm-chair by
the wood fire. Between intervals of long silence came loud, juicy,
sounds from Billy's pipe, and when light waned they still talked on
until Chris stirred herself and sought the lamp.

"They tell me," began Martin, "that a deserting soldier is punished
according to his character and with regard to the fact whether he
surrenders himself or is apprehended. Of course we know Will gave
himself up, but then they will find out that he knew poor John's
unfortunate letter had reached its destination--or at any rate started
for it; and they may argue, not knowing the truth, that it was the fact
of the information being finally despatched made Will surrender. They
will say, I am afraid, as they said to me: 'Why did he wait until now if
he meant to do the right thing? Why did he not give himself