again, looked out into the world, set his
dusty desk in order, and sought once more amidst the relics of the past
for comfort and consolation. He threw himself upon his book and told
himself that it must surely reward his pains; he toiled mightily at his
lonely task, and added a little to man's knowledge.

Once it happened that the Rev. Shorto-Champernowne met Martin. Riding
over the Moor after a visit to his clerical colleague of Gidleigh, the
clergyman trotted through Scorhill Circle, above northern Teign, and
seeing a well-known parishioner, drew up a while.

"How prosper your profound studies?" he inquired. "Do these evidences of
aboriginal races lead you to any conclusions of note? For my part, I am
not wholly devoid of suspicion that a man might better employ his time,
though I should not presume to make any such suggestion to you."

"You may be right; but one is generally unwise to stamp on his ruling
passion if it takes him along an intellectual road. These cryptic stones
are my life. I want to get the secret of them or find at least a little
of it. What are these lonely rings? Where are we standing now? In a
place of worship, where men prayed to the thunder and the sun and stars?
Or a council chamber? Or a court of justice, that has seen many a doom
pronounced, much red blood flow? Or is it a grave? 'T is the fashion to
reject the notion that they represent any religious purpose; yet I
cannot see any argument against the theory. I go on peeping and prying
after a spark of truth. I probe here, and in the fallen circle yonder
towards Cosdon; I follow the stone rows to Fernworthy; I trudge again
and again to the Grey Wethers--that shattered double ring on Sittaford
Tor. I eat them up with my eyes and repeople the heath with those who
raised them. Some clay a gleam of light may come. And if it does, it
will reach me through deep study on those stone men of old. It is along
the human side of my investigations I shall learn, if I learn anything
at all."

"I hope you may achieve your purpose, though the memoranda and data are
scanty. Your name is mentioned in the _Western Morning News_ as a
painstaking inquirer."

"Yet when theories demand proof--that's the rub!"

"Yes, indeed. You are a knight of forlorn hopes, Grimbal," answered the
Vicar, alluding to Martin's past search for Chris as much as to his
present archaeologic ambitions. Then he trotted on over the river, and
the pedestrian remained as before seated