“Most feel same as you.  No doubt you’re in the wrong, though the law caan’t drop on honest, straightforrard matrimony to my knowledge.  Maybe circumstances is for ’e.”

“Ess, they be—­every jack wan of ’em!” declared Will.  “An’ if I doan’t come here to stop, I’ll call in some day and tell ’e the upshot of this coil in a friendly way.”

“Do so, an’ bring your missis.  Shall be delighted to see the pair of ’e any time.  Ax for Thomas Bates.”

Will nodded and marched off, while the warder returned to his post, and when he had again made fast the door behind him, permitted the full splendor of his recent experience to tumble over his soul in a laughter perhaps louder than any heard before or since within the confines of one of Her Majesty’s prisons.

CHAPTER X

THE BRINGING OF THE NEWS

Phoebe meantime returned to Chagford, withdrew herself into her chamber, and feverishly busied brains and hands with a task commended that morning by Will when she had mentioned it to him.  The various trinkets and objects of value lavished of late upon her by John Grimbal she made into a neat packet, and tied up a sealskin jacket and other furs in a second and more bulky parcel.  With these and a letter she presently despatched a maid to Mr. Grimbal’s temporary address.  Phoebe’s note explained how, weak and friendless until the sudden return of Will into her life, she had been thrown upon wickedness, falsehood, and deceit to win her own salvation in the face of all about her.  She told him of the deed done that day, begged him to be patient and forget her, and implored him to forgive her husband, who had fought with the only weapons at his command.  It was a feeble communication, and Phoebe thought that her love for Will might have inspired words more forcible; but relief annihilated any other emotion; she felt thankful that the lying, evasion, and prevarication of the last horrible ten days were at an end.  From the nightmare of that time her poor, bruised conscience emerged sorely stricken; yet she felt that the battle now before her was a healthy thing by comparison, and might serve to brace her moral senses rather than not.

At the tea-table she first met her father, and there were present also Billy Blee and Mr. Chapple.  The latter had come to Monks Barton about a triumphal arch, already in course of erection at Chagford market-place, and his presence it was that precipitated her confession, and brought Phoebe’s news like a thunderbolt upon the company.

Mr. Chapple, looking up suddenly from the saucer that rested upon his outspread fingers and thumb, made a discovery, and spoke with some concern.

“Faith, Missy, that’s ill luck—­a wisht thing to do indeed!  Put un off, like a gude maid, for theer ‘s many a wise sayin’ ’gainst it.”

“What’s her done?” asked Billy anxiously.

“Luke ‘pon her weddin’ finger.  ’Tis poor speed to put un on ’fore her lard an’ master do it, at the proper moment ordained by Scripture.”