"’Twas just such a hit as the Tipton gave Tass Parker in their last fight--to compare small things with great," said Fogo. "When a man’s shaky, a smack like that is a receipt in full. A pretty finish, but it ought never to have come to it. Bowden was beat half an hour ago, and if our chap hadn’t been so milk-hearted, he’d be the winner this minute. If he’d had a bit of the other’s kill-devil in him, ’twould have been all over long ago. He fought better and wrestled better; but there it was--the human nature in him couldn’t punish, though the fight depended on it and t’other man was blind. He was never meant for a fighting man--more the dancing master turn of mind." "Very fond of the ladies, I believe," said Timothy Mattacott. "So I’ve found; and if that amazing girl with the chin had been in his corner with me instead of the ’Dumpling,’ I believe that Crocker would have won," declared ’Frosty.’ At this moment there hastened frantically down a hill from the south certain devoted peacemakers. Bartley’s relatives had learned at the vicarage that Mr. Merle and others were gone at break of day to the pike by Ringmoor Down, and they had struggled upward with the fatal truth. Now it happened that these deceived upholders of the law came full upon Mr. Fogo and a select company, on their way to the inn. Whereupon the clergyman thrust among them and stood before Mr. Fogo, his face dark as a mulberry with rage. "You infamous scoundrel!" he shouted. "What is the meaning of this?" The old man stared blankly and unknowingly before him. Not a spark of recognition lighted his eagle features. "I don’t quite understand," he answered; then he turned to his friends. "Who may these snowy gentlemen be?" he asked. "His reverence seems to be a little put out. But he’s got a kind expression of countenance. If they wanted to see the mill, they ought to have started a bit earlier." But then Mr. Fogo saw Mrs. Crocker approaching and he did not hesitate to run with his bodyguard about him. Snow began to fall in earnest at last. Heavier and heavier it came, until Sheepstor and the churchyard and the bull-ring, with hills and valleys round about, vanished under a silent, far-flung cloth of silver. After all the riot and life, noise and blood-letting, peace fell like a pall at noon. The folk kept their cottages. Only at ’The Corner House’ persisted a mighty din and clatter of tongues, while the larder and many bottles were emptied, the barrels were heavily drawn upon and the battle was fought and lost again a dozen times before nightfall. *BOOK II* *CHAPTER I* *’MEAVY COT’*