accepted beliefs, and approved dogmas spinning into chaos before its fiery onslaught—­love did not thus overpower Martin Grimbal.  His old-fashioned mind was no armour against it, and in that the passion proved true; religion appeared similarly powerless to influence him; yet now his extreme humility, his natural sense of justice and the dimensions of his passion itself combined to lead him by a lofty road.  Chris desired another man, and Martin Grimbal, loving her to that point where her perfect happiness dominated and, indeed, became his own, determined that his love should bear fruit worthy of its object.

This kindly design was frustrated, however, and the antiquary himself denied power to achieve the good action that he proposed, for on visiting Clement in person and inviting his aid in the clerical portions of a considerable work on moorland antiquities, the poet refused to assist.

“You come too late,” he said coldly.  “I would not help you now if I could, Martin Grimbal.  Don’t imagine pride or any such motive keeps me from doing so.  The true reason you may guess.”

“Indeed!  I can do nothing of the sort.  What reason is there against your accepting an offer to do remunerative and intellectual work in your leisure hours—­work that may last ten years for all I can see to the contrary?”

“The reason is that you invited another man’s judgment upon me, instead of taking your own.  Better follow Will Blanchard’s advice still.  Don’t think I’m blind.  It is Chris who has made you do this.”

“You’re a very difficult man to deal with, really.  Consider my suggestion, Hicks, and all it might mean.  I desire nothing but your welfare.”

“Which is only to say you are offering me charity.”

Martin looked at the other quietly, then took his hat and departed.  At the door he said a last word.

“I don’t want to think this is final.  You would be very useful to me, or I should not have asked you to aid my labour.  Let me hear from you within a week.”

But Clement was firm in his folly; while, although they met on more than one occasion, and John Grimbal repeated his offer of regular work, the bee-keeper refused that proposal, also.  He made some small sums out of the Red House hives, but would not undertake any regular daily labour there.  Clement’s refusal of Martin resulted from his own weak pride and self-conscious stupidity; but a more subtle tangle of conflicting motives was responsible for his action in respect of the elder Grimbal’s invitation.  Some loyalty to the man whom he so cordially disliked still inhabited his mind, and with it a very considerable distrust of himself.  He partly suspected the reason of John Grimbal’s offer of work, and the possibility of sudden temptation provoking from him utterance of words best left unsaid could not be ignored after his former experience at the hiving of the swarm.