“Doan’t knaw.  They ’m maggoty mostly at your age!”

“An’ they ’m milky mostly at yourn!”

“Listen to the bells an’ give awver chattering,” said Will.

“After gude store o’ drinks, a sad thing like holy bells ringing in the dark afar off do sting my nose an’ bring a drop to my eye,” confessed Mr. Blee.  “An’ you—­why, theer ’s a baaby hid away in the New Year for you—­a human creature as may do gert wonders in the land an’ turn out into Antichrist, for all you can say positive.  Theer ’s a braave thought for ’e!”

This remark sobered Blanchard and his mind travelled into the future, to
Phoebe, to the child coming in June.

Billy babbled on, and presently they reached Mrs. Blanchard’s cottage.  Damaris herself, with a shawl over her head, stood and listened to the bells, and Will, taking leave of Mr. Blee, hastened to wish his mother all happiness in the year now newly dawned.  He walked once or twice up and down the little garden beside her, and with a tongue loosened by liquor came near to telling her of his approaching action, but did not do so.  Meantime Mr. Blee steered himself with all caution over Rushford Bridge to Monks Barton.

Presently the veteran appeared before his master and Phoebe, who had waited for the advent of the New Year before retiring.  Miller Lyddon was about to suggest a night-cap for Billy, but changed his mind.

“Enough ’s as gude as a feast,” he said.  “Canst get up-stairs wi’out help?”

“Coourse I can!  But the chap to the ‘Green Man’s’ that perfuse wi’ his liquor at seasons of rejoicing.  More went down than was chalked up; I allow that.  If you’ll light my chamber cannel, I’ll thank ’e, missis; an’ a Happy New Year to all.”

Phoebe obeyed, launched Mr. Blee in the direction of his chamber, then turned to receive Will’s caress as he came home and locked the door behind him.

The night air still carried the music of the bells.  For an hour they pealed on; then the chime died slowly, a bell at a time, until two clanged each against the other.  Presently one stopped and the last, weakening softly, beat a few strokes more, then ceased to fret the frosty birth-hour of another year.

The darkness slipped away, and Blanchard who had long learned to rise without awakening his wife, was up and dressed again soon after five o’clock.  He descended silently, placed a letter on the mantelpiece in the kitchen, abstracted a leg of goose and a hunch of bread from the larder, then set out upon a chilly walk of five miles to Moreton Hampstead.  From there he designed to take train and proceed to Plymouth as directly and speedily as possible.

Some two hours later Will’s letter found itself in Mr. Lyddon’s hand, and his father-in-law learnt the secret.  Phoebe was almost as amazed as the miller himself when this knowledge came to her ear; for Will had not breathed his intention to her, and no suspicion had crossed his wife’s mind that he intended to act with such instant promptitude on the expiration of their contract.