CHAPTER IX

UNDER COSDON BEACON

Beneath a region where the “newtakes” straggle up Cosdon’s eastern flank and mark a struggle between man and the giant beacon, Chris Blanchard rested a while upon the grass by the highway.  Tim, wrapped in a shawl, slept soundly beside his mother, and she sat with her elbows on her knees and one hand under her chin.  It was already dusk; dark mist wreaths moved upon the Moor, and oncoming night winds sighed of rain.  Then a moment before her intended departure from this most solitary spot she heard footsteps upon the road.  Not interested to learn anything of the passer-by, Chris remained with her eyes upon the ground, but the footsteps stopped suddenly before her, whereupon she looked up and saw Martin Grimbal.

After a perambulation of twenty miles he had now set his face homewards, and thus the meeting was accomplished.  Utmost constraint at first marked the expression of both man and woman, and it was left for Martin to break the silence, for Chris only started at seeing him, but said nothing.  Her mind, however, ranged actively upon the reason of Grimbal’s sudden appearance, and she did not at first believe it accidental.

“Why, my dear, what is this?  You have wandered far afield!”

He addressed her in unnatural tones, for surprise and emotion sent his voice up into his head, and it came thin and tremulous as a woman’s.  Even as he spoke Martin feared.  From the knowledge gleaned by him that morning he suspected the meaning of this action, and thought that Chris was running away.

And she, at the same moment, divined that he guessed the truth in so far as the present position was concerned.  Still she did not speak, and he grew calmer and took her silence as an admission.

“You’re going away from Chagford?  Is it wise?”

“Ess, Martin, ‘tis best so.  You see this poor child be breedin’ trouble, an’ bringing bad talk against Will.  He ban’t wanted—­little Timothy—­an’ I ban’t wanted overmuch, so it comed to me I’d—­I’d just slip away out of the turmoil an’ taake Tim.  Then—­”

She stopped, for her heart was beating so fast that she could speak no more.  She remembered her own arguments in the recent past,—­that this flight must tell all who cared to reflect that the child was her own.  Now she looked up at Martin to see if he had guessed it.  But he exhibited extreme self-control and she was reassured.

“Just like your thoughtful self to try and save others from sorrow.  Where are you going to, Chris?  Don’t tell me more than you please; but I may be useful to you on this, the first stage of the journey.”

“To Okehampton to-night.  To-morrow—­but I’d rather not say any more.  I don’t care so long as you think I’m right.”

“I haven’t said that yet.  But I’ll go as far as Zeal with you.  Then we’ll get a covered cab or something.  We may reach the village before rain.”