h hopes
and hopes, and more hopes for the future, and miss the paltry thing at
hand that might save me."

"Then miss it no more, love; seek closer, an' seek sharper. Maybe gude
work an' gude money 's awnly waitin' for 'e to find it. Doan't look at
the moon an' stars so much; think of me, an' look lower."

Slowly the beauty of the hour and the sweet-hearted girl at his elbow
threw some sunshine into Clement's moody heart. For a little while the
melancholy and shiftless dreamer grew happier. He promised renewed
activity in the future, and undertook, as a first step towards Martin
Grimbal, to inform the antiquary of that great fact which his foolish
whim had thus far concealed.

"Chance might have got it to his ears through more channels than one,
you would have thought; but he's a taciturn man, asks no questions, and
invites no confidences. I like him the better for it. Next week, come
what may, I'll speak to him and tell him the truth, like a plain, blunt
man."

"Do 'e that very thing," urged Chris. "Say we'm lovers these two year
an' more; an' that you'd be glad to wed me if your way o' life was
bettered. Ban't beggin', as he knaws, for nobody doubts you'm the most
book-learned man in Chagford after parson."

Together they followed the winding of the river and proceeded through
the valley, by wood, and stile, and meadow, until they reached Rushford
Bridge. Here they delayed a moment at the parapet and, while they did
so, John Grimbal passed on foot alone.

"His house is growing," said Clement, as they proceeded to Mrs.
Blanchard's cottage.

"Aye, and his hearth will be as cold as his heart--the wretch! Well he
may turn his hard face away from me and remember what fell out on this
identical spot! But for God's gude grace he'd have been hanged to Exeter
'fore now."

"You can't put yourself in his shoes, Chris; no woman can. Think what
the world looked like to him after his loss. The girl he wanted was so
near. His hands were stretched out for her; his heart was full of her.
Then to see her slip away."

"An' quite right, tu; as you was the first to say at the time. Who's
gwaine to pity a thief who loses the purse he's stole, or a poacher that
fires 'pon another man's bird an' misses it?"

"All the same, I doubt he would have made a better husband for Phoebe
Lyddon than ever your brother will."

His sweetheart gasped at criticism so unexpected.

"You--you to say that! You, Will's awn friend!"

"It's true;