Where first this relic had risen, when yet its craftsman’s work was perfect and before the centuries had diminished its just proportions, no living man might say.  Martin Grimbal suspected that it had marked a meeting-place, indicated some Cistercian way, commemorated a notable deed, or served to direct the moorland pilgrim upon his road to that trinity of great monasteries which flourished aforetime at Plympton, at Tavistock, and at Buckland of the Monks; but between its first uprising and its last, a duration of many years doubtless extended.

The antiquary’s purpose had been to rescue the relic, judge, by close study of the hidden part, to what date it might be assigned, then investigate the history of Newtake Farm, and endeavour to trace the cross if possible.  After his second repulse, however, and following upon a conversation with Phoebe, whom he met at Chagford, Martin permitted the matter to remain in abeyance.  Now he set about regaining Will’s friendship’in a gradual and natural manner.  That done, he trusted to disinter the coveted granite at some future date and set it up on sanctified ground in Chagford churchyard, if the true nature of the relic justified that course.  For the present, however, he designed no step, for his purpose was to visit the Channel Islands early in the new year, that he might study their testimony to prehistoric times.

A winter, to cite whose parallel men looked back full twenty years, still held the land, though February had nearly run.  Blanchard daily debated the utmost possibility of his resources with Phoebe, and fought the inclement weather for his early lambs.  Such light as came into life at Newtake was furnished by little Will, who danced merrily through ice and snow, like a scarlet flower in his brilliant coat.  The cold pleased him; he trod the slippery duck pond in triumph, his bread-and-milk never failed.  To Phoebe her maternal right in the infant seemed recompense sufficient for all those tribulations existence just now brought with it; from which conviction resulted her steady courage and cheerfulness.  Her husband’s nebulous rationalism clouded Phoebe’s religious views not at all.  She daily prayed to Christ for her child’s welfare, and went to church whenever she could, at the express command of her father.  A flash of folly from Will had combined with hard weather to keep the miller from any visit to Newtake.  Mr. Lyddon, on the beginning of the great frost, had sent two pairs of thick blankets from the Monks Barton stores to Phoebe, and Will, opening the parcel during his wife’s absence, resented the gift exceedingly, and returned it by the bearer with a curt message of thanks and the information that he did not need them.  Much hurt, the donor turned his face from Newtake for six weeks after this incident, and Phoebe, who knew nothing of the matter, marvelled at her father’s lengthy and unusual silence.