“I knawed right well wheer you’d come from,” he said gloomily, “an’ I’d ‘a’ cut my right hand off rather than you should have done it.  You did n’t ought, Faither; for I’ll have no living man come between me an’ him.”

“I made it clear I was on my awn paart,” explained Mr. Lyddon; but that night Will wrote a letter to his enemy and despatched it by a lad before breakfast on the following morning.

     “Sir,” he said, “this comes to say that Miller seen you yesterday
     out of his own head, and if I had knowed he was coming I would have
     took good care to prevent it.

     “W.  BLANCHARD.”

CHAPTER XIV

ACTION

Time passed, and Mrs. Blanchard made a slow return to health.  Her daughter assumed control of the sick-room, and Martin Grimbal was denied the satisfaction of seeing Chris settled in her future home for a period of nearly two months.  Then, when the invalid became sufficiently restored to leave Chagford for change of air, both Martin and Chris accompanied her and spent a few weeks by the sea.

Will, meantime, revolved upon his own affairs and suffered torments long drawn out.  For these protracted troubles those of his own house were responsible, and both Phoebe and the miller greatly erred in their treatment of him at this season.  For the woman there were indeed excuses, but Mr. Lyddon might have been expected to show more wisdom and better knowledge of a character at all times transparent enough.  Phoebe, nearing maternal tribulation, threw a new obstacle in her husband’s way, and implored him by all holy things, now that he had desisted from confession thus far, to keep his secret yet a little longer and wait for the birth of the child.  She used every possible expedient to win this new undertaking from Will, and her father added his voice to hers.  The miller’s expressed wish, strongly urged, frequently repeated, at last triumphed, and against his own desire and mental promptings, Blanchard, at terrible cost to himself, had promised patience until June.

Life, thus clouded and choked, wrought havoc with the man.  His natural safety-valves were blocked, his nerves shattered, his temper poisoned.  Primitive characteristics appeared as a result of this position, and he exhibited the ferocity of an over-driven tame beast, or a hunted wild one.  In days long removed from this crisis he looked back with chill of body and shudder of mind to that nightmare springtime; and he never willingly permitted even those dearest to him to retrace the period.

The struggle lasted long, but his nature beat Blanchard before the end, burst its bonds, shattered promises and undertakings, weakened marital love for a while, and set him free by one tremendous explosion and victory of natural force.  There had come into his head of late a new sensation, as of busy fingers weaving threads within his skull and iron hands moulding the matter of his brain into new patterns.  The demon things responsible for his torment only slept when he slept, or when, as had happened once or twice, he drank himself indifferent to all mundane matters.  Yet he could not still them for long, and even Phoebe had heard mutterings and threats of the thread-spinners who were driving her husband mad.