Now the object of Malherb's secret pilgrimage was one which he would sooner have perished than declare. The man's soft heart prompted him upon this mission; a simple matter of sentiment, hidden jealously from every eye, took him forth into the night. The morning kiss that he gave to Grace was always formal and cold; and if sometimes he stroked her hair or patted her soft cheek, he instantly assumed an attitude of indifference or said some harsh word, as though contemptuous of his own weakness. Annabel Malherb, affectionate and warm-hearted though she was, possessed far more common-sense and infinitely more self-possession in matters of human affection than did her husband. She showed all that she felt and very properly passed for a gentle and a tender-hearted woman; he secreted his emotions and banked up volcanic fires out of sight. Thus he suffered as only those at once self-conscious and deeply feeling can suffer. Upon returning from Exeter, Mr. Malherb supped with his wife and heard how Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt had called upon his homeward way after hunting and taken a dish of tea and a cordial. "'Twas a very good run--one hour and twenty minutes. They killed upon East Dart, near Dury, and my lady Bastard had the brush." "What of Grace?" "Sir Thomas saw her once, well up. Doubtless she returned with the Fentons to Holne. Her things were sent in good time, for Dinah Beer went in to market there and took 'em with her." "Yes, yes, of course," said the farmer, and spoke of other matters. Yet sleep refused to close his eyes; and while Annabel slumbered placidly enough, well knowing that her daughter was safe and happy, the father, equally sure of the fact in his reason, found a paternal instinct above reason keeping him awake and restless. He tossed to the right and left; he swore half-sleeping; then he started into wakefulness and saw his window full of moonlight. The illumination decided him. With a shamed face he stole from the side of his wife, and ten minutes later was ready to take the road. Creeping out of doors, he went to the stable, saddled a hack and rode off towards Holne village with a sulky and guilty satisfaction. The thought of any human eye upon him had driven him into a furious passion at once. He was ashamed of himself, yet well content to be upon this business.