Anon, Mr. Norcot set off for Chagford, and Grace, yielding to her father's wish, rode with him for some miles. Behind them followed John Lee and Thomas Putt. The former had come to escort Grace home again; the latter carried Mr. Norcot's luggage. As for Lee, Peter's well-knit figure and prosperous mien quite filled the forefront of his thoughts. His own helplessness especially crushed him when Norcot occupied his mind, and while Peter and Grace exchanged ideas, John kept a dark silence behind them, nor could Putt win any word from him. At last Miss Malherb reached the turning-point and prepared to take her farewell. "I wish you could find a reason for your coldness," said Norcot, as they drew up on the lonely heights of Believer. "I'm a logical man. If you convinced me of error, it would be so different. But I have yet to know why I shouldn't love you and why you shouldn't marry me." "I don't love you." "Tut, tut! That's nothing. What a pitiful fellow should I be to let so small an accident frighten me from a noble purpose! Besides, 'don't' and 'won't' are very different words. Patience is my strong point, and you can't remain a child for ever." "Words--words, Peter! I often wonder what your real life is behind so much talking." "Marry me and find out." "Never. You think I may love you presently. It is absolutely impossible, so spare yourself the delusion, and spare me." "As to that, delusion is half the joy of life, and at least three parts of true love. Hear Waller. His address to the 'Mutable Fair' might do you good. "'For still to be deluded so, Is all the pleasure lovers know; Who, like good falconers, take delight, Not in the quarry, but the flight.' Farewell, sweet Grace, until we meet again." He bent over her hand in a very courtly fashion, and then set off for Chagford with Putt after him. When they were out of sight Grace turned to her lover and quickly felt his arm round her, his gentle kisses upon her cheek. "'Tis very well," she said; "but I can't live even on your kisses, sweetheart. This man quite overclouds my spirit. I gasp for air; I suffocate with quotations. You'll have to run away with me, John." "Whither, my lovely Grace?" "Why--to your grandmother. I'll dye myself nut-brown and pick snails for Lovey Lee." Than her jest nothing had better served to show young John the futility of his hopes. He groaned aloud. "I have been mad," he said; "each day, each hour shows me how mad." "Your love must find the way. Read some of my story-books. I'll warrant they'll hearten you. You are meant to do dashing deeds." "Life falls out so different. What can I do? How shall I set about proving that I'm worthy to tie your shoe-string? The bitter truth is that I'm not." "Now I see that Mr. Norcot has oppressed you as he oppresses me. I always feel not good enough, nor great enough to breathe the same air with him." "But he is not good, nor yet great," John answered.