"The poor soul's feet would make a merry-andrew sober," said Woodman. "What he's suffered only him an' his Maker will ever know." "They'll be cured again afore his honour wants 'em," answered Richard Beer. "He'll rise so well as ever he was at the Trump, along with the best man amongst us." That night a coffin was built and the dead American's remains laid with reverence therein. A few papers and a watch were found in Miller's pockets, and Malherb, making a packet of them, handed all to the prisoner on parole. Then, two days afterwards, when the weather was bright and the temperature had a little risen, Stark found himself strong enough to rise and creep about and reach the grave that had been dug for his friend. Maurice Malherb selected a resting-place upon his own domain; and to Bickford himself the task of sinking six feet into the frozen soil was allotted. Thus within the bosom of Dartmoor, as many of his countrymen before him, a good and wise son of America was laid to rest; but his compatriots' dust mouldered under the prison walls; the sailor slept on the central waste. And still his pall is the solemn-moving and purple shadow of the clouds in summer, and in winter the unstained snow; still his knell is sounded in the musical echo of sheep-bells, or the cry of birds by night. The life and activity of Fox Tor Farm have vanished into the eternal past, and graves widely scattered hold those who buried Miller then; but none sleep so grand, so solitary as he in his forgotten tomb under the heather. A repulsed civilisation has retreated before the severity of the land, before the far-flung granite, hungry peat and rough greeting of winter winds and storms; but these forces, harsh to living man, are the patient watchers beside his grave; this earth and stone he cannot tame, yet they open their hearts to him at the last. The American was present as chief mourner at his friend's interment; while Maurice Malherb read the funeral service, and at his order all the human life of the farm assembled beside the grave. Stark, now restored to strength, exhibited no trace of emotion during the ceremony, and at the completion of it he limped homeward with Mrs. Malherb and her daughter. This he did by direct command. "Your health and the weather do not permit me to allow you to follow your wish," his host said curtly; "but I shall be proxy for you in my own person." Therefore Maurice Malherb waited beside the grave alone until Putt and Bickford had completely filled it up. CHAPTER XIV THE OLD AND THE NEW