a fortnight after the visit to the old blowing-house, mr. peter norcot arrived from chagford to stay a while at fox tor farm, and with him he brought more snow. this fact by no means troubled his level temper. he was neither more plain-spoken nor less poetical than usual as he walked out with grace after noon, and reminded her of maurice malherb's intention that she should marry during the coming summer.
"do not think, my dear girl, that peter is blind. he knows all about endymion. but positively john lee as a husband!"
"'tis not the first time i have bade you mind your own business, peter. you have no right or reason to say these things to me. 'tis worse than your rhymes. if you were half the man he is!"
"hard words cannot break bones, or kill love. do what you please; say what you like,"
"'a very sandal i would be
to tread on—if trod on by thee.'
i can even rise superior to the necessity of being loved back. i love on and suffer on.
"'it is not for our good in ease to rest;
man, like to cassia, when bruised is best.'"
"i will never love you, nor marry you. is not that enough?"
"too much—more than i could bear, if i believed it. but you are very young, grace. i am often relieved to remember that you are too young to know your own mind."
she was going to deny it indignantly; but stopped, vividly conscious that he had come near the mark. therefore sadness followed anger in her face and cooled her cheek.
"i do most seriously believe that before next year you will find me a continual joy," declared peter. "'tis high time the world should see what a husband awaits the making in me. too long i've pined alone.
"'life's a short summer—man a flower,
he dies—alas! how soon he dies.'"
"'he lives—alas! how long he lives!' so has many an unhappy wife breathed to her soul; and so should i."
"you might, indeed, if, like certain foolish but authentic virgins, you married out of your status. now john lee——"
"have done, or i'll never speak to you more!" cried grace passionately. "i had rather a thousand times marry john lee than you; and if i please, i will."
"frankly, my poppet, you are something too much of a child to marry anybody yet. 'winter and wedlock tame maids and beasts.' a true west country proverb that. but i'd be your lover still, not your master. vile word! in sober honesty, however, you can be very provoking, mistress."
"never less than now. walk quicker and save your breath; more snow is coming."
the transient gleam of sun that had drawn them out on to the moor departed, and snow began to fall again.
"i've wanted that to happen," said mr. norcot. "now you shall hear a charming thing—not my own, i regret to say, but from petronius afranius—translated by one smart. for its perfection you must make a snowball and hurl it at me."
"i'm in no mood for fooling."
"i beg; i implore. 'twill be worth your pains."
she bent and picked up some snow.
"don't miss my manly bosom, or you'll spoil all," he said.
"there—i would it could cool your heart and freeze every thought of me out of your head!"
grace flung the snow, and, letting it melt upon his coat, mr. norcot struck an attitude while he recited another rhyme. his eyes were full of the snow light and seemed harder and brighter than usual as he gazed at her.
"'when, wanton fair, the snowy orb you throw,
i feel a fire before unknown in snow,
e'en coldest ice i find has pow'r to warm
y breast, when flung by gracie's lovely arm!'"
he swept off his hat and bowed; whereon she laughed outright.
"you should have been a player, for you are a most unreal man—for ever feigning to be something else than you are."
"then marry me and find the kernel in the nut."
"how can i marry one i do not know?"
"even such you should choose if you are wise; for the following sufficient reasons."
he prattled on, and presently maurice malherb joined them. the master had been that day in prince town upon various business, and he returned with news of a sort to interest his daughter. now her eyes asked him a question and he answered it.
"i paid my respects to commandant short at the prison. he is a gentleman, but i think the business of that place will tax his authority. a saint would grow impatient with the knaves."
"and your visitor?" inquired mr. norcot. "'twas a wonderful providence that sent him here."
"the rascal! and yet stark was one worthy of respect, had he been properly educated. he listened to me, as a young man should listen to his elders and betters. i could have found it in my heart to like him, but for his soaring nonsense and his disinclination to call treachery and revolt by their true names. doubtless his ideas are the common property of his country. he suffered but a week's detention in the cachot and is now with his friends again."
peter norcot from under amber eyelashes studied grace and found further material for interest.
"another!" he said to himself. "an inflammable wench truly! quick to catch fire from every torch but mine. well, well—may war last until we are wedded. i ask no more."
"there's further news of a parochial sort," continued malherb. "what think you, grace? the old hag on the hill is off! she's left siward's cross and gone to a hovel near the prison, where a few acres of land were to be let. she represented to the high bailiff, the duchy's man, that i'd robbed her of her best cattle lairs when i raised my boundaries! the old liar has money too—ay, and more than money."
"a wonderful creature. i mind her eyes that sparkled with gorgonian fire; her starved abode, and her penury. it called to my recollection lucilius—his miser and his mouse:—
"'"you greedy rogue, what brings you to my house?"
quoth an old miser to a little mouse;
"friend," says the vermin, "you need have no fear,
i only lodge with you; i dine elsewhere."'
ha-ha-ha! she feeds on snails and berries. such was sycorax."
"she's worth above twenty thousand pounds, nevertheless," declared malherb.
"impossible!"
"true and not true. she has stolen my amphora. she confessed it when we were without witnesses."
"now here's a matter indeed! can you be sure that she is not deceiving you?"
"she has it. it is her very life."
"then we'll be innocent murderers and deprive her of life at the first opportunity. nothing shall become her life like the leaving of it."
malherb turned and addressed peter out of grace's hearing indeed, the girl's heart beat fast at this conversation, and she was busy with many private thoughts.
"you speak unselfishly, for the jewel will be my son's—that is, grace's son's. it must remain under a malherb's roof for ever, not under yours, peter."
"most just. the amphora is an heirloom."
norcot glanced at grace and marked her profound indifference. a wave of real indignation made his forehead hot and much astonished him. it was a revelation of himself. then his mind chanced to roam towards prince town; he thought upon cecil stark and speculated whether the american could be of any service. while he thought clear prose he continued to utter epigrams for grace's amusement.
"'the wanton snowflakes to her breast
flew down, like birds into their nest,
and, vanquished by the whiteness there,
for grief they thawed into a tear.'"
then he turned to malherb again.
"the amphora must be recovered at any cost. i need not ask whether you have plans. do you seek assistance, or undertake the affair single-handed?"
"i work alone. bow street runners would not run far on dartmoor. lovey lee may well be left to my mercies. it shall never be said that an old and ignorant woman outwitted maurice malherb."
"spoken well! i'll wager the amphora will grace dear annabel's cabinet before wool-shearing. to think of that priceless fragment of glass in the keeping of such a bag of bones!"
"and to know that she gets joy of it," said grace, "that is the amazing matter. she, who eats vermin and wears old sacks, to find her greatest earthly pleasure in the plump cupids upon that antique!"
"human nature is full of these tricks," answered her father. "i have studied such freakish traits in mankind so long that nothing now has power to surprise me."
"not even yourself? now i, though so near to forty, can yet astonish myself. i have done so within this hour," confessed peter. "as to lovey," he continued, "she'll clothe herself with ashes as well as sackcloth when she loses her treasure."
"well, well, the snow increases. hasten home, the pair of you," answered malherb; then he left them together, and turned to an outlying shed where two men worked.
"what a fate!" murmured norcot when he had gone off; "what a pleasing fate, grace, to be imprisoned here, even as cecil stark was imprisoned! how gladly i'd make exchange with him—the rough with the smooth."
she made no answer, and he continued—
"talking of loves, 'twas a pretty thing that antonius tebaltius wrote, and thompson paraphrased, and norcot improved—
"'venus whipt cupid t'other day,
for having lost his bow and quiver;
the which he'd given both away
to gracie by a dartmoor river.
"mamma! you wrong me while you strike,"
cried weeping cupid, "for 'tis true
that you and she are so alike,
i thought that i had given 'em you!"'"
"you've missed the gate while you chattered," said grace; "now we must climb over the wall."
"i generally do miss the gate with you," he answered. "don't these beautiful pearls that i utter move even a spark of pity?"
"of pity—yes."
"'tis akin to love."
"as often akin to contempt."
"in mean natures; never in yours."
he helped her over the wall, then spoke again as they hurried on with heads bent to the snow.
"'twas that young american then? why so silent about it? why ashamed to tell frankly who 'tis you really do love? i blazon my emotions to the world and do it proudly. can you not be as open?"
"i hate everybody; and it's all your fault."
"well, well; mend your pace; we shall be frozen. and if you hate me, change every garment that you wear. i much fear that you are wet and cold."
this practical thought touched the woman in grace and softened her a little.
"i wish i could love you, peter, for it would be better for me and happier for us all if i did. but i never, never shall."
"well, try to tolerate me—fitfully. even a fitful toleration is something, and perhaps more beautiful than a fixed and steady flame—just as moonlit clouds are lovelier than the moon herself."
they talked awhile longer, then reached the house. grace retired immediately to don dry clothes, while mrs. malherb spoke with peter.
"lord! what a poet was marred when you commenced wool merchant," said she, while he drank a jorum of hot spirits and held his coat to the fire.
"nay, nay, annabel, the same man can serve both mistresses. thus, if i might but come at it, i would weave wool shorn off the sheep in paradise for grace's tender limbs; and i would clothe her mind also with a robe spun of the best and the most beautiful thoughts to be gleaned from books. but she'll none of me nor my stock-in-trade. 'tis the weather, not my prayers, that makes her wear flannel next her skin. yet i told her that i'd gladly be the wether that furnished the wool."
"and what said she?" inquired the lady.
"i will be honest with you," answered peter. "i will conceal nothing. she replied in one word, 'baa!' believe me, annabel, that never since this mundane egg was hatched did such a maddening maiden appear to torment honest men."
