on a day when the storm had sunk to a grim memory, when cold winds blustered and more snow fell through the dark and sunless weeks before spring-time, did harvey woodman and richard beer hold converse with ancient kekewich. for once the pessimist had those of the household with him; but no sooner were the labouring men reduced to a condition of absolute hopelessness before the picture he painted, when kekewich changed sides, according to his wont, took up his master's part and foretold fair things out of contradiction.

"ban't our business," declared woodman, "an' yet even a common man have eyes; an' touching the potatoes, a fool could see he's wrong."

"actually feeding the stock on 'em, an' grumbling when my wife goes to fill a sack for the house!" said beer. "ban't good husbandry or good sense to feed beastes on such human food. lord knows they potatoes cost enough to fetch up out o' the airth. 'twould be better far to face the trouble an' buy fodder in a big spirit."

"no method to him, if a man may say so without disrespect," answered woodman. "of course you wants to look forward more 'pon dartymoor."

"he fights the moor same as he fights life," explained kekewich. "the masterfulness of un be so tremendous that us might almost look to see nature go down afore him."

"nature don't go down; 'tis us that do," replied beer; "an' if the storm haven't taught him that, nothing won't. 'tis no sense your telling that sort o' rummage, kek, an' very well you know it."

"not but the gentleman have his black moments," continued woodman. "i've seed him pass by me many a time wi' a cloud on's face, an' a puzzled look in his eyes, as if he was trying to read in a book an' couldn't catch the meaning. essterday he stood in the opeway an' stared out afore him so grim as a ghost, as if he might have been waiting a message from the sky."

"he'll get a message as he won't like the taste of afore long," foretold beer.

"he don't go about the right way to larn, i'm sure—to say it without offence," added woodman.

"he won't larn nought from you dumpheads, that's sartain," said kekewich. "but he'm far off a fool, an' his heart's got eyes if his head haven't. when all's said, 'tis for his lady an' his darter he thinks an' plans. he lies waking o' nights for the honour an' glory of the family. things will fall out right yet, an us shall live to see it."

"'tis very well, though you'm the first to holler 'ruin' yourself most days," retorted beer, rather indignant that kekewich should thus take up a position so unusual. "us all knows the man do mean well as an angel, yet it looks a very unhandsome thing to thrust his maiden into matrimony with a chap she hates like sin."

"so it do," assented woodman. "you'm right, richard. he'll take his stand behind his darter's welfare an' put a husband she hates upon her. wise it may be; christian it ban't. but everything's cut and dried now, and mordecai cockey, the journeyman tailor, be coming in six weeks to make the clothes, so my wife tells me."

"the maiden's malherb, faither or no faither," said beer, "and dinah, as understands such affairs, have marked by many a foretoken that she won't wed out of her heart—not for fifty faithers."

"matters be coming to a climax then," declared harvey woodman solemnly. "my wife dreamed o' blood t'other night; an' for my part i've seen childe's tomb in my dreams, wi' childe hisself rising up like a ragged foreign bear. i do hate for things to come in a heap this way. ban't natural we should be called upon to suffer more ills than one to a time. there's the whole book of lamentations bearing down on fox tor farm in my opinion, an' i'd so soon be away as not."

"he've got money, however," argued beer. "money will stem a good few mortal ills, let them as haven't got none say what they please."

"as to that, my mary heard him tell missis something about a canal somewheres that's gone scat; an' the lady turned white as curds an' went in her chamber for to get over it unseen," answered woodman. "if you ax me, i reckon he'm driven for money. when i spoke to un of half a dozen more drashels,[*] as wouldn't have cost half-a-crown, he got so touchy as proud-flesh, an' told me to run out of his sight, an' said us was a lot o' lazy good-for-nothing hirelings as never thought of his pocket. of course he was round next day as usual with a cheerful word an' the money; but i tented un to the quick when i axed for it first."

[*] drashels: flails.

"an' that's why miss grace have got to marry mr. norcot, no doubt," declared beer. "'tis so much for her father's good as her own belike."

he nodded to where grace rode past the barn. she was clad in a snug, short habit of purple totnes serge; and upon her hands were a pair of gloves made from the skin of a wild cat that had been captured after prodigious exertions by thomas putt. behind grace rode john lee, and their enterprise was secret, for it had to do with the young man's recent great discovery. now grace, despite the languor of these days and the anti-climax that followed upon cecil stark's departure, found herself awake and much alive. darkness shadowed her life and her home. she knew that trouble slept with her parents and haunted her father in all his goings; she suffered for them; yet she believed that no such sorrow as her own private sorrow had ever crushed into a human life before; that no such tragic experience as this mistake of emotion for passion, had until now tortured an unhappy young heart. yet to fight upon her father's side seemed good. she desired dangers and difficulties to lift her from her personal tribulations. she herself had planned the present expedition, and lee was in some concern, for though undertaken by daylight, it lacked not danger. john had at last discovered lovey's hiding-place, and now he was taking his mistress to see it.

"your star-bright eyes will find this wondrous treasure if 'tis there," he said. "for myself i could light on nothing but money-bags. they had gold in 'em and were ranged on stone ledges as high as i could reach. for the rest, there was a pitcher under trickling water that runs in a corner of the place; a basin, with mouldy bread and cheese in it; and a great stone upon which stood half a dozen rush-lights. and as i first climbed down, 'twas like the story of arabia that you told me, for the walls of the hole all shone as though they were plastered with pure gold. a light in darkness they made. 'tis a shining moss that glitters there on the damp rocks. i'm right glad to have found the place; an' yet my mind misgives me that more evil than good will come out of it."

"the only evil that can come out is lovey lee. if she caught us!"

"no—that won't happen. she's safe for to-day. you'll laugh, but you know there's force in the old charms for all your laughing. they work, though wiseacres may know better."

"john, john!"

"a maiden nail has power, i tell you, despite all scoffing."

"a maiden nail! and what is that?"

"a nail fresh made from bar iron—one that has never touched ground. drive such in the threshold of a witch's door and for a day and night she cannot hurt a fly."

"really, john lee, i could blush for you—here at the beginning of the nineteenth century, in these dazzling days of enlightenment!"

"i got 'em from noah newcombe, hot off his anvil," said john, "and i've driven them home into the dern of grandmother's door. believe it or not, i very well know she's harmless to all mankind this day."

"i wish i had such faith in men as you have in nails, john," said the girl thoughtfully. then silence fell between them, and grace reflected upon her sweetheart's credulity. she had never realised the extent of it until recent events and the intercourse with the american prisoner. peter norcot's manifold ingenuities and petty cleverness of quips and cranks had but served to make john lee's simplicity shine bright by contrast; but the light that stark cast over thought was a white light, and smote pitiless upon both the others.

"you have faith in one man sure?" said john presently. he had thought of her words long before replying to them.

"in two—in two," she answered hastily; but more she would not say.

"'tis old kekewich and me," he mused aloud. "a very strange thing, my lady dear, that two such men should get to be trusted by your sweet spirit, afore all the rest of the world."

but she could not let him remain in ignorance.

"i meant mr. stark, not kek," she answered.

he nodded and looked away.

"i know you meant him. 'twas only to see if you'd tell me, that i pretended you meant kek. a sly thing to do, but somehow i was tempted."

she did not answer, nor did he speak again until they reached the ruin in hangman's hollow.

"here we are at last—a queer sort of place. 'twould call for little fancy to see my grandmother meeting the devil himself here after dark. 'pon that rowan above the gravel-pit a man hanged himself a little while back, 'cause he found he'd been cheated over a horse. here, under our feet, is granny's den. we'll dismount, tether up; an' then you follow me down this blind alley-way to the top of the mound. by the wall-side at the end, is a stone that will turn when we set foot upon it, and open a hole down the blowing-house chimney into a great chamber underground."

grace dismounted; john fastened up their horses and soon led the way whither lovey lee had vanished.

"but 'twas no miracle after all, you see. there—the stone twists on a regular pivot. 'tis balanced beneath like a logan."

he showed where a large piece of granite slowly yielded under his weight. then he retained it in position with a stick and made it firm. a black, perpendicular pit appeared, and upon the side of it rough stones protruded irregularly and formed a ladder.

"i'll go down," said lee, "and light a candle. 'tis day-proof and air-proof nearly; but you'll soon see and breathe when you're used to it."

he disappeared, and from beneath grace heard him strike flint and steel, then saw the gleam of candlelight, and prepared to descend. the way proved easy enough to one of her activity, and soon she found herself beside john lee, ten feet beneath the earth, in a large irregular chamber. the place was half natural, and half built of masonry now ruinous. a shaft of daylight from above revealed the steps, and the walls of the grotto diffused a glimmering and golden radiance, so that it seemed to grace that she had, indeed, descended into some storehouse of fabulous treasure. the shining moss[*] encrusted the cavern with its phosphorescent light, and water tinkled drop by drop unseen. lee held above his head a candle that he had brought with him, and slowly details stole out of the gloom as their eyes focussed them.

[*] the shining moss: schistostega osmundacea.

for some time they found nothing more than john had already recorded. then the desiccated remains of a dog in a corner made grace exclaim with sorrow. the beast was fastened by its neck to a staple in the wall, and had clearly perished of starvation there. close scrutiny revealed nine or ten money-bags perched aloft in nooks of the granite and holes of the broken building. grace opened three, and all contained the same amount—one hundred pounds in gold. they restored every bag to its proper hiding-place, and continued their search. yet the girl grew listless, and john lee felt it by his senses, although he could not see her face.

presently he hit his shins against a square box corded up with ropes, and his companion's heart throbbed as she thought that within an hour the malherb amphora would be restored to its owner's hand. then, while yet their new discovery remained unproved, a dull indifference again invaded her spirit; and john stood amazed to find her in no way disappointed when the box was found to contain nothing more precious than silver plate, sundry fine french snuff-boxes, watches and other trinkets.

"how brave you are!" he said. "yet this is something worth discovering, for i'll wager my grandmother stole what is here from your family in times past."

"be just to her. these french things perchance came from the prisoners. tie them up carefully, and put them where you found them. lovey must never guess that we have seen her secrets."

the man obeyed, and for half an hour they continued to make laborious and unrewarded search.

"'tis a rogue's roost of a hole!" cried lee. "you shall stop in it no longer, else you'll faint for lack of sweet air. 'twill take much time and patience to exhaust all these crannies and clefts. my candle wanes."

"let us depart then and visit the place again presently when time allows it."

"but you've lost your old eagerness," he said shortly.

"not so. i care very much. why, it is life or death almost—for father. i know him to be sore driven for money."

"for your father. and is it nothing that it means life or death for jack lee? have you forgotten what you yourself proposed? oh, grace, i'm afraid you have. i was to go to the wars——"

"the wars are like to be soon over now, dear john."

he made no answer, but lighted her to the steps and helped her to ascend them. things recently suspected, like clouds lifting their furrowed foreheads above a remote horizon, grew daily nearer, and this experience within the treasure house had brought alarm to the very zenith of john lee's mind. he was quick to see and to read each mood and humour of grace malherb. a hesitation before a kiss, a wayward breaking off in mid-speech, sudden ardours to atone for periods of coldness—all these shadows and half-shades of change, and of a sense of honour at war with overmastering love, had made themselves manifest in the girl; and lee had read them while she was ignorant of their visible existence. at first such apparitions from her inner self merely mystified him, and the memory of them vanished with the mood that displayed them; but now more clearly he began to perceive that her highest graciousness followed upon coolness; that she was kindest after being least kind; that her outbursts of wild affection sprang not from love, but remorse. he battled against the belief; but it grew into a conviction, bitter and sure.

to-day, as he restored the cover-stone of the cave, he felt that another nail was struck into hope's coffin; and the thought wakened no indignation against grace, but rather a mighty, melancholy anger with himself, that he had proved a man too feeble to hold his pearl against all comers.

"we must seek and seek and never despair," said grace as they turned to ride homeward. "i feel positive that the amphora is there. if necessary you will have to hide in the den of the tigress yourself, john, and mark her when she supposes herself alone. yet i should tremble for you. 'twill be an awful day for that old woman when she loses the amphora. it is her god."

"if i got it, i could almost find it in my heart to break it."

"john lee!"

"why, i spoke as i felt. i'm beginning to see terrible things beyond your strength to hide, gracie. you would hide them if you could; you think in your heart that they are hidden; but they peep out and scourge me for my awful folly."

"what—what can you mean?"

"don't think to deceive me, for you deceive yourself, dearest heart, if you do. i'm sensible in flashes, though mostly blind with you. i've read the riddle ever since he went away; now i've read the answer too."

"you wrong me to speak so. i have not changed to you, john; and to him i am nothing in the world."

"be angry; be angry; i could rage, too; i could tear up the earth and—and—but i haven't the heart. i wouldn't hurt him excepting as man to man. i'd pray to heaven to bring us face to face in war. i'd seek him out on land or sea—i'd——" he broke off, dropped his rein, and pressed his hands to his face. then grace rode close to him and touched his arm.

"you are unhappy, and i have made you so. this must not be, dear john. 'tis life and death between—between lovers, to speak pure honesty at all times. listen. he grew to love me. 'twas the loneliness and friendlessness of his life. his eyes had seen no woman for years; therefore he made more of me than i deserved. he—he asked me to marry him some day; and i told him that i belonged to another. then he went out of my life and blessed the unknown man who had been more fortunate than himself. that is the truth; and if i've been half-hearted and my wits a wool-gathering, forgive me, for the thought of master stark's sorrow has made me sad. i have much desired the war to end that he might go home to those who love him; and—and—don't look at me like that, john, for god knows i speak the truth to you. i hoped for his sake that the war might cease; for yours that it might not cease. then i settled it by praying for peace with america—for his sake, and war with france—for yours. i'm only a fool, john, but i'm a truthful fool. there's nothing else in my silly heart but that."

"but there is—looking out of your eyes when you forget to shut them and hide it. my pretty darling—oh, god, to give you up! i cannot. i never will. a thousand heroes shall not take you——"

"give me up—what do you mean?" she cried, and her heart beat fiercely.

"why, 'tis true there must be no secrets betwixt us," he said in a gentle voice, "not so long as we are what we are to one another. 'pure honesty' was your word. you tell me he asked you to marry him. and you tell me what you answered. i know all that right well without your telling me. but i've got to know more; i've got to know what you felt as well as said."

"sorry for him—most truly sorry for him, dear john. i did like him. i'll own to that."

"don't speak in a tone so light, sweetheart. 'sweetheart' still a little longer. you women do think a tone of voice makes truth less true and falsehood less false. you say the same words in different voices and mean different by them. and a man must grow skilled in your sounds, like a hunter grows clever in the sounds of wild things, not counting the weight of the words. you say you liked him as you might like such a one that held your stirrup or opened a gate; but you and me are at a place now where you've got to speak sacred truth—solemn, slow, each word forged to last till doom. did you love that man?"

"what is it to love a man?"

he bowed his head.

"i'm answered," he said. "oh, gracie dear—once mine, never mine—you know what 'tis to love a man; but you never did afore you saw him."

she marvelled that one who had yesterday driven maiden nails into a doorpost could see so deep. she remembered that it was she who had taught him to read. tears came to her eyes and shining drops fell glittering on her horse's neck.

"you break my heart," she said.

"please god, never! you didn't know; you mistook—what? you mistook something else for love. we were a boy and a girl; and i couldn't choose but worship—you were so lovely in soul and body—so gentle to me—so——"

"john," she declared solemnly, "i shall marry you or no man."

"you mean it with your whole heart, gracie? right well i know you do, and i love to hear you say it, and to see you think it while your beautiful, steadfast eyes fright the tears away."

"i love you, i love you indeed, john."

"i am content to be loved so," he answered slowly. "and maybe the time that's coming will show the colour of my love for you, since 'tis all too big for words. 'twill take deeds to set it forth. it calls for deeds to show the pattern of a man's life, and love for you be all that's left of life for me henceforward."