These words, from Martin's point of view, embraced a definite assurance that Chris was free; and, as they walked homewards, he kept silence upon this thought for the space of half an hour. The uneasy hopes and black fears of love circled him about. Perhaps his timorous mind, in some moods, had been almost relieved at declaration of the girl's engagement to another. But now the tremendous task of storming a virgin heart lay ahead of him, as he imagined. Torments unfelt by those of less sensitive mould also awaited Martin Grimbal. The self-assertive sort of man, who rates himself as not valueless, and whose love will not prevent callous calculation on the weight of his own person and purse upon the argument, is doubtless wise in his generation, and his sanguine temperament enables him to escape oceans of unrest, hurricanes of torment; but self-distrust and humility have their value, and those who are oppressed by them fall into no such pitiable extreme as that too hopeful lover on whose sanguine ear "No" falls like a thunderbolt from red lips that were already considered to have spoken "Yes." A suitor who plunges from lofty peaks of assured victory into failure falls far indeed; but Martin Grimbal stood little chance of suffering in that sort as his brother John had done. The antiquary spoke presently, fearing he must seem too self-absorbed, but Clement had little to say. Yet a chance meeting twisted the conversation round to its former topic as they neared home. Upon Chagford Bridge appeared Miller Lyddon and Mr. Blee. The latter had been whitewashing the apple-tree stems--a course to which his master attached more importance than that pursued on Old Christmas Eve--and through the gathering dusk the trunks now stood out livid and wan as a regiment of ghosts. "Heard from your brother since he left?" Mr. Lyddon inquired after evening greetings. "I cannot yet. I hope he may write, but you are more likely to hear than I." "Not me. I'm nothing to un now." "Things will come right. Don't let it prey on your mind. No woman ever made a good wife who didn't marry where her heart was," declared Martin, exhibiting some ignorance of the subject he presumed to discuss. "Ah! you was ag'in' us, I mind," said the miller, drawing in. "He said as much that terrible night." "He was wrong--utterly. I only spoke for his good. I saw that your daughter couldn't stand the sight of him and shivered if he touched her. It was my duty to speak. Strange you didn't see too." "So easy to talk afterwards! I had her spoken word, hadn't I? She'd never lied in all her life afore. Strange if I _had_ seen, I reckon." "You frightened her into falsehood. Any girl might have been expected to lie in that position," said Clement coolly; then Mr. Blee, who had been fretting to join the conversation, burst into it unbidden.