“Yes; and the queens take each other’s places quick enough, for we’re fickle brutes.”

“A strange swarm we hive in our hearts, God knows.”

“And it eats out our hearts for our pains.”

“You’ve found out that, have you?” asked John curiously.

“Long ago.”

“Everybody does, sooner or later.”

There was a pause.  Overhead the multitude dwindled while the great glimmering cluster on the tree correspondingly increased, and the fierce humming of the bees was like the sound of a fire.  Clement feared nothing, but he had seen few face a hiving without some distrust.  The man beside him, however, stood with his hands in his pockets, indifferent and quite unprotected.

“You will be wiser to stand farther away, Mr. Grimbal.  You’re unlikely to come off scot-free if you keep so close.”

“What do I care?  I’ve been stung by worse than insects.”

“And I also,” answered Clement, with such evident passion that the other grew a little interested.  He had evidently pricked a sore point in this moody creature.

“Was it a woman stung you?”

“No, no; don’t heed me.”

Clement was on guard over himself again.  “Your business is with bees”—­his mother’s words echoed in his mind to the pulsing monotone of the swarm.  He tried to change the subject, sent for a pail of water, and drew a large syringe from his bag, though the circumstances really rendered this unnecessary.  But John Grimbal, always finding a sort of pleasure in his own torment, took occasion to cross-question Clement.

“I suppose I’m laughed at still in Chagford, am I not?  Not that it matters to me.”

“I don’t think so; an object of envy, rather, for good wives are easier to get than great riches.”

“That’s your opinion, is it?  I’m not so sure.  Are you married?”

“No.”

“Going to be, I’ll wager, if you think good wives can be picked off blackberry bushes.”

“I don’t say that at all.  But I am going to be married certainly.  I’m fortunate and unfortunate.  I’ve won a prize, but—­well, honey’s cheap.  I must wait.”

“D’ you trust her?  Is waiting so easy?”

“Yes, I trust her, as I trust the sun to swing up out of the east to-morrow, to set in the west to-night.  She’s the only being of my own breed I do trust.  As for the other question, no—­waiting isn’t easy.”

“Nor yet wise.  I shouldn’t wait.  Tell me who she is.  Women interest me, and the taking of ’em in marriage.”

Hicks hesitated.  Here he was drifting helpless under this man’s hard eyes—­helpless and yet not unwilling.  He told himself that he was safe enough and could put a stop on his mouth when he pleased.  Besides, John Grimbal was not only unaware that the bee-keeper knew anything against Blanchard, but had yet to learn that anybody else did,—­that there even existed facts unfavourable to him.  Something, however, told Hicks that mention of the common enemy would result from this present meeting, and the other’s last word brought the danger, if danger it might be, a step nearer.  Clement hesitated before replying to the question; then he answered it.