were most prominently displayed, and superficial students of character usually rated him lower than others really worse than himself, but who had wit to parade their best traits.  Now, however, he rode and strode the country a mere scowling ruffian, with his uppermost emotions still stamped on his face.  The calamity also bred an unsuspected sensitiveness in him, and he smarted often under the reflection of what others must be thinking.  His capability towards vindictiveness proved very considerable.  Formerly his anger against his fellow-men had been as a thunder-storm, tremendous but brief in duration; now, before this bolt of his own forging, a steady, malignant activity germinated and spread through the whole tissue of his mind.

Those distractions open to a man of Grimbal’s calibre presently blunted the edge of his loss, and successful developments of business also served to occupy him during the visit he paid to Africa; but no interests as yet had arisen to obscure or dull his hatred of Will Blanchard.  The original blaze of rage sank to a steady, abiding fire, less obviously tremendous than that first conflagration, but in reality hotter.  In a nature unsubtle, revenge will not flourish as a grand passion for any length of time.  It must reach its outlet quickly and attain to its ambition without overmuch delay, else it shrivels and withers to a mere stubborn, perhaps lifelong, enmity—­a dwarfish, mulish thing, devoid of any tragic splendour.  But up to the point that John Grimbal had reached as yet, his character, though commonplace in most affairs, had unexpectedly quickened to a condition quite profound where his revenge was concerned.

He still cherished the certainty of a crushing retaliation.  He was glad he had not done Blanchard any lifelong injury; he was glad the man yet lived for time and him to busy themselves about; he was even glad (and herein appeared the unsuspected subtlety) that Will had prospered and come by a little show of fortune.  Half unconsciously he hoped for the boy something of his own experiences, and had determined with himself—­in a spirit very melodramatic but perfectly sincere at present—­to ruin his enemy if patience and determination could accomplish it.

In this mood, with his wrongs sharpened by return to Chagford and his purposes red-hot, John Grimbal now ran against his dearest foe, received the horsewhip from him, and listened to his offer of peace.

He still kept silence and Will lowered the half-lifted arm and spoke again.

“As you please.  I can bide very easy without your gude word.”

“That’s well, then,” said the other, in his big voice, as his hands tightened.  “We’ve met again.  I’m glad I didn’t break your neck, for your heart’s left to break, and by the living God I’ll break it!  I can wait.  I’m older than you, but young enough.  Remember, I’ll run you down sooner or later.  I’ve hunted most things, and men aren’t the cleverest