his attitude would
last, and what idiosyncrasy of character led to it, matters little. The
fact remained that Grimbal's mental posture towards Blanchard now more
nearly resembled that which he wore to his other interests in life. The
circumstance still stood first, but partook of the nature of his
emotions towards matters of sport. When a heavy trout had beaten him
more than once, Grimbal would repair again and again to its particular
haunt and leave no legitimate plan for its destruction untried. But any
unsportsmanlike method of capturing or slaying bird, beast, or fish
enraged him. So he left the churchyard with a sullen determination to
pursue his sinister purpose straightforwardly.

All interested in Clement Hicks attended the funeral, including his
mother and Chris. The last had yielded to Mrs. Blanchard's desire and
promised to stop at home; but she changed her mind and conducted herself
at the ceremony with a stoic fortitude. This she achieved only by an
effort of will which separated her consciousness entirely from her
environment and alike blinded her eyes and deafened her ears to the
mournful sights and sounds around her. With her own future every fibre
of her mind was occupied; and as they lowered her lover's coffin into
the earth a line of action leapt into her brain.

Less than four-and-twenty hours later it seemed that the last act of the
tragedy had begun. Then, hoarse as the raven that croaked Duncan's
coming, Mr. Blee returned to Monks Barton from an early visit to the
village. Phoebe was staying with her father for a fortnight, and it was
she who met the old man as he paddled breathlessly home.

"More gert news!" he gasped; "if it ban't too much for wan in your way
o' health."

"Nothing wrong at Newtake?" cried Phoebe, turning pale.

"No, no; but family news for all that."

The girl raised her hand to her heart, and Miller Lyddon, attracted by
Billy's excited voice, hastened to his daughter and put his arm round
her.

"Out with it," he said. "I see news in 'e. What's the worst or best?"

"Bad, bad as heart can wish. A peck o' trouble, by the looks of it.
Chris Blanchard be gone--vanished like a dream! Mother Blanchard called
her this marnin', an' found her bed not so much as creased. She've
flown, an' there's a braave upstore 'bout it, for every Blanchard's
wrong in the head more or less, beggin' your pardon, missis, as be awnly
wan by marriage."

"But no sign? No word or anything left?"