THE SECRET OUT

NOW many different persons in various places were simultaneously concerned with Will Blanchard and his affairs.

At Newtake, Martin Grimbal was quietly buying a few lots—­and those worth the most money.  He designed these as a gift for Phoebe; and his object was not wholly disinterested.  The antiquary could by no means bring himself to accept his last dismissal from Chris. Seeing the vague nature of those terms in which she had couched her refusal, and remembering her frank admission that she could love him, he still hoped.  All his soul was wrapped up in the winning of Chris, and her face came between him and the proof-sheets of his book; the first thoughts of his wakening mind turned to the same problem; the last reflections of a brain sinking to rest were likewise occupied with it.  How could he win her?  Sometimes his yearning desires clamoured for any possible road to the precious goal, and he remembered his brother’s hint that a secret existed in Will’s life.  At such times he wished that he knew it, and wondered vaguely if the knowledge were of a nature to further his own ambition.  Then he blushed and thought ill of himself But this personal accusation was unjust, for it is the property of a strong intellect engaged about affairs of supreme importance, to suggest every possible action and present every possible point of view by the mere mechanical processes of thinking.  The larger a brain, the more alternative courses are offered, the more facets gleam with thought, the more numerous the roads submitted to judgment.  It is a question of intellect, not ethics.  Right actions and crooked are alike remorselessly presented, and the Council of Perfection, which holds that to think amiss is sin, must convict every saint of unnumbered offences.  As reasonably might we blame him who dreams murder.  Departure from rectitude can only begin where evil thought is converted into evil action, for thought alone of all man’s possessions and antecedents is free, and a lifetime of self-control and high thinking will not shut the door against ideas.  That Martin—­a man of luminous if limited intellect—­should have considered every possible line of action which might assist him to come at the highest good life could offer was inevitable; but he missed the reason of certain sinister notions and accused himself of baseness in giving birth to them.  Nevertheless, the idea recurred and took shape.  He associated John’s assertion of a secret with another rumour that had spread much farther afield.  This concerned the parentage of little Timothy the foundling, for it was whispered widely of late that the child belonged to Blanchard.  Of course many people knew all the facts, were delighted to retail them, and could give the mother’s name.  Only those most vitally concerned had heard nothing as yet.

These various matters were weighing not lightly on Martin’s mind during the hours of the Newtake sale; and meantime Will thundered into his mother’s cottage and roared the news.  He would hear of no objection to his wish, that one and all should straightway proceed to Monks Barton, and he poured forth the miller’s praises, while Phoebe was reduced to tears by perusal of her father’s letter to Will.