She said nothing, but he knew that she felt; then mother and child were gone, and Martin, dismissing his vehicle, proceeded to Monks Barton with the news that all was well.

Mrs. Blanchard heard her daughter’s story and its sequel.  She exhibited some emotion, but no grief.  The sorrow she may have suffered was never revealed to any eye by word or tear.

“I reckoned of late days theer was Blanchard blood to the child,” she said, “an’ I won’t hide from you I thought more’n wance you was so like to be the mother as Will the faither of un.  Go to bed now, if you caan’t eat, an’ taake the bwoy, an’ thank God for lining your dark cloud with this silver.  If He forgives ‘e, an’ this here gude grey Martin forgives ’e, who be I to fret?  Worse’n you’ve been forgived at fust hand by the Lard when He travelled on flesh-an’-blood feet ‘mong men; an’ folks have short memories for dates, an’ them as sniggers now will be dust or dotards ‘fore Tim’s grawed.  When you’ve been a lawful wife ten year an’ more, who’s gwaine to mind this?  Not little Tim’s fellow bwoys an’ gals, anyway.  His awn generation won’t trouble him, an’ he’ll find a wise guardian in Martin, an’ a lovin’ gran’mother in me.  Dry your eyes an’ be a Blanchard.  God A’mighty sends sawls in the world His awn way, an’ chooses the faithers an’ mothers for ’em; an’ He’s never taught Nature to go second to parson yet, worse luck.  ‘Tis done, an’ to grumble at a dead man’s doin’s—­specially if you caan’t mend ’em—­be vain.”

“My share was half, an’ not less,” said Chris.

“Aye, you say so, but ’tis a deed wheer the blame ban’t awften divided equal,” answered Mrs. Blanchard.  “Wheer’s the maiden as caan’t wait for her weddin’ bells?”

The use of the last two words magically swept Chris back into the past.  The coincidence was curious, and she remembered when a man, destined never to listen to such melody, declared impatiently that he heard it in the hidden heart of a summer day long past.  She did not reply to her mother, but arose and took her child and went to rest.

CHAPTER X

BAD NEWS FOR BLANCHARD

On the morning that saw the wedding of Chris and Martin, Phoebe Blanchard found heart and tongue to speak to her husband of the thing she still kept locked within her mind.  Since the meeting with John Grimbal she had suffered much in secret, but still kept silence; and now, after a quiet service before breakfast on a morning in mid-December, most of those who had been present as spectators returned to the valley, and Phoebe spoke to Will as they walked apart from the rest.  A sight of the enemy it was that loosed her lips, for, much to the surprise of all present, John Grimbal had attended his brother’s wedding.  As the little gathering streamed away after the ceremony, he had galloped off again with a groom behind him, and the incident now led to greater things.