Those most concerned knew nothing of the relation that now obtained between Grace and her servant, for that a daughter of his could look upon a groom1 was an idea beyond the wildest mental flight of Maurice Malherb; but humbler folks found themselves not wholly ignorant of recent developments. Harvey Woodman had hinted to his wife that the girl spent a great deal of her time in riding with miser3 Lee's grandson, and Mary Woodman murmured in secret upon this unquiet theme with Dinah Beer. The question in their minds related to Mrs. Malherb.
"Ought us to tell her?" asked Mary. "Such a good, high-minded lady as her be. An' Miss Gracie—so promising4 as a March calf5, bless her."
"'Tis a hard thing. I've nought6 against the boy for my part either," declared Dinah. "He's civil an' smart, an' his face would soften7 a stone. But they'm both young, an', loramercy! what Nature teaches boys an' girls ban't wisdom, for sartain! Mr. Norcot will never come it over her, for she hates him. Her told me once, when I catched her crying all alone, poor maiden8, that she couldn't abide9 his shadow, an' when I said as her parents knowed best about it, she talked treason wi' the fire in her cheeks. 'Love can't be made to order,' her said; an' when I telled something about her duty, she cut me short an' axed, 'Do you love your Richard, Dinah?' 'Ess fay!' I sez. 'An' if your faither an' mother had told you to marry some person else—what then?' she sez. 'There, Miss, let me get to my work,' I answered her; but the truth—I couldn't tell it: that me an' Dick runned an' got married against faither's orders, as meant for me to take a cordwainer to Tavistock."
"Shall we tell Kekewich?" suggested Mrs. Woodman. "For all his wickedness he'd never do an unwitty thing. He's terrible wise—not after the event, when us all be—but in time."
"I couldn't," declared Dinah. "It do always bring a cloud to my heart when I see his pain-stained face—such a prophet of evil as he be."
"He never promises any good to anybody, so he's always right," answered Mrs. Woodman, who was in a pessimistic vein10.
"My husband don't like him, no more don't I," replied the other woman. "Don't say nought to him—a baggering old Job's comforter. He'd get John Lee turned off without a character. Us have right an' reason to trust Miss Grace in such a thing. Only I do wish the proper one would turn up. She never sees a young man but him."
"A terrible pretty chap—Lee, I mean. Have 'e noticed how mincing11 he gets in's speech?"
"Dick an' your husband was laughing at him for it last night. He picks it up from Miss Grace."
"Which shows they must have a lot to say to one another."
Dinah nodded, and with an uneasy sense of guilt12 changed the conversation. But the truth was in fact nearer their suspicions than they guessed, and Grace Malherb, by slow degrees, had come to make a close friend and confidant of John Lee. He possessed13 other charms than beauty, for his mind was simple; his heart was generous; his disposition14 kindly15. Romance and some mystery hovered17 round him; and Grace, left much to her own devices, found the groom too often in her mind, his voice too often upon her ear.
A critical conversation fell out between them upon the day of Norcot's return to Fox Tor Farm. For three months Lee had now served his new master, and attended Grace to all parts of the Moor18. Sometimes Mr. Malherb accompanied these expeditions, and generally he superintended Grace's hurdle19 practice, for she was to hunt during the coming season; but the father did not always find himself at leisure to follow this pleasant task, and Lee, whose first duty was to wait upon Miss Malherb, went far afield with her alone.
From indifference20 Grace woke to pleasure at his delicate and refined nature. She encouraged him to talk, and presently heard as much of his scanty21 story as he himself knew. The narrative22 fired her imagination, and lent him a romantic interest to her mind. Gradually she divulged23 a few of her own secrets, and the less he apparently24 desired to know, the more she found herself telling him. His courteous25 reserve even piqued26 her upon occasion. Once she quarrelled with him, and bade him retire. But her apology upon the following day, brought him quickly to her side.
"'Twas not indifference, God knows, Miss Grace," he told her. "I held back for fear I might seem too forward in your affairs. Every breath you draw is a thing of account to me. I do know by the very light in your eyes whither your thoughts be tending—up or down. An' I'm loth to call Mr. Norcot into your mind; for his name brings a shadow over your face, like a cloud across noon sunshine."
"I thought you yawned yesterday, John, when I mentioned him. That is what angered me."
"'Yawned'! I've never yawned since I knowed you."
"Since you knew me, John. You are so slow to mend that weak ending of the past tense. 'Tis a part of Devon speech—a thing in their blood—but not in yours."
"I wish I knew all that was in my blood," he answered.
"You will some day. Light will come. Sometimes I think old Lovey stole you, as gipsies steal little children. 'Tis monstrous27 to suppose that you are kin16 of hers."
"Not so; her daughter was my dear good mother without a doubt."
"'Tis strange how a man's heart warms to the very name of his mother, though he has never known her," said Grace.
"Mine does, but I can only remember a white face and great frightened eyes that belonged to her. And when I ask my granddam for my father, she laughs—that laugh like tin beating on tin—and tells me to look in the river and I'll see him."
"He was a very handsome man then. You've got about the most beautiful ears I ever saw on anybody."
She spoke28 in a pensive29 and a critical tone with her eyes lifted to the hills, as though she spoke to them.
"Good Lord, Miss Grace. Have I?"
And so they talked and daily drifted nearer danger. A conversation of moment happened between them concerning Lovey Lee. John ransacked30 his memory for Grace's benefit and told her of early recollections, of his mother's funeral, of his arrival with Mrs. Lee at Siward's Cross when a child, and of his first labours upon the Moor.
"I had to collect the lichen31 of which they make dyes," he said; "then I went wool-gathering, and grew very clever at setting briars in the sheep-tracks. Later I learned to plait rexens, or rushes as I should call 'em; then a man taught me how to ride. And as I grew and got sense, my grandmother became a greater wonder and mystery to me. She lived two lives, and of one I knew nothing. Oftentimes I found that she went abroad by night. Lying in my straw near the cattle, with their sweet breath coming to me, I'd wake and see light in the slits32 of the boards overhead where Granny slept. Then she would dout the flame—put it out, I mean—and the boards would creak and she'd come down the ladder and go out into the night. 'Twas moonlight she always chose, and once, when I was a bit of a lad, up home twelve years old, I reckoned I'd follow after and see what 'twas that took her off so secret when all things slept. But 'twas a poor thought for me. I followed 'pon a summer night in staring moonlight; and half a mile from Fox Tor, under which she went, my foot slipped where I was sneaking33 along a hundred yards behind her and I fell into a bog34. She heard me splash out of it, and afore I could crouch35 down and hide, her cat's eyes had marked me and she turned and catched me, breathless an' soaking wet to the waist."
"Alack, John! And what did she do?" asked the girl, reining36 up her horse to hear his answer.
"Well, 'tisn't too strong a word to say that she very nearly knocked the life out of me. She changed from a woman into a demon37. She screamed like to a horrid38 vampire39, and clapper-clawed me from head to foot. 'You'd spy, you li'l devil!' she said. 'I'll larn you to peep 'pon my doings; I'll tear your liver out, I'll——' Then under her blows I went off fainty, an' she scratched me like a cat-a-mountain, an', no doubt, left me for dead. I was only a little boy, of course, and she was just the same as she is now, only six years stronger. When I come to again she'd gone; but I thought I'd waked to die, for there was a dreadful bitter pang40 in my breast. I crawled back to the cottage somehow, and next day, when she was out of the way, I caught a donkey she had, and got up to Prince Town. The doctor at the prison by good fortune passed me as I came, and I made bold to tell him I was ill, and he had a look at me and said two of my ribs41 were broken. They kept me at a cottage up there, where Granny was known, and 'twas a round six weeks afore I went back to her. Then first thing she said was that she'd kill me and salt me down in her snail42 barrel if ever I spied on her again; so you may be sure I never did."
The story fascinated Grace.
"How you must have suffered! But to think of the secrets that horrid old woman has hidden! It makes my mouth water, John. Father believes that she knows all about the Malherb amphora—the priceless glass vase that vanished, you know—and I believe she knows all about you. These things must be discovered; and 'twill be your task to find them out, John Lee."
"Ah! if I could find my father. But that's a search I'm almost fearful to make. I——"
He broke off, and Grace felt the matter too delicate for comment. Her interest in Lee grew daily, and, ignorant of love, the girl now believed her emotion towards him must be called by that name. He for his part loved indeed with all his young heart and soul. Care clouded his life, because he knew that he was wrong to think twice about his mistress. By night, when alone, his courage sometimes increased; but daylight and duty quenched43 it. Under darkness he dreamed dreams, yet when he rose to hear rough men laugh at his amended44 speech, and see Malherb order him hither and thither45, as he ordered the rest, John Lee's folly46 stared him in the face. He fought with himself to relinquish47 his task and depart from Fox Tor Farm; he fancied that he had conquered himself, and determined48 to go; then would come a long, lonely ride with Grace, and a return to vain unquiet hopes. His conscience urged him away; his power of will proved insufficient49 to take him beyond temptation. As for the girl, her tender feeling was an unconscious instinct of self-preservation. She desired a strong protector rather than a lover; and he who might secure her safety was sure to win her active regard. Grace's delight in John Lee, her increasing admiration50 for his goodness, honesty and chivalrous51 nature, she mistook for love. The fatuity52 of such a conclusion was not impressed on the girl's virgin53 mind; and the secret of John's parentage proved no obstacle to attachment54, but rather an incentive55. That he was a gentleman in every vital particular she perceived.
Upon this day a barrier fell down between them. She had found herself sad and weak before the approaching shadow of Peter Norcot; and John had waxed desperate, and forgotten everything in heaven and on earth but the lovely, mournful maid beside him. They were but seventeen and eighteen; of the world they knew nothing at all; but his world was in her eyes, and she believed that her future welfare and hopes of happiness now rode at her elbow in the handsome shape of the lad.
"John," she said, exactly one hour before Mr. Norcot's horse appeared nigh Cater's Beam—"John, he's coming to-day."
"I know it. I know the weather of your heart, Miss Grace, as soon as I look upon you; for the eyes are the sky of the mind."
"Come closer," she answered; "come closer and comfort me."
"Mr. Peter is a great man now—head of the Wool Factory, and worth many thousands of pounds."
"Cold comfort! If he was made of gold with diamond eyes he would still be Peter Norcot."
"'Tis strange, but you are the only person in the world that don't like him."
"And you," she said quickly, "you hate him too."
"Yes, I hate him well enough—because he's a coward and a hard-hearted man at bottom to plague you so, when you've made it clear you cannot love him. I hate him for that, I promise you. I could believe dark things against him gladly. Do you know what Tom Putt said?"
"No," replied Grace. "Not that Putt's opinion is of much moment save in matters of salmon56."
"He is courting a maiden at Chagford; and her brother—a man called Mason—is an outdoor servant to Mr. Norcot. And last Sunday, when the women were at church, Putt had speech with this man, and they got merry over drink. Tom praised Mr. Norcot mightily57, and his servant said with great admiration that he believed as like as not, Mr. Peter had killed his uncle to get head of the Wool Factory. Mason said he couldn't pay Mr. Norcot a higher compliment for skill and cleverness; but Tom Putt was rather afeared about it, and he's in doubt now whether to go on courting that man's sister."
"There was a mystery," declared Grace. "Peter Norcot last saw his uncle alive on the Moor. Oh, John—to think of it! He is cruel, for he sets man-traps and spring-guns in his woods. A man who would do that would—he may be even a murderer! Under all his rhymes and nonsense he surely has a tiger's heart!"
"You mustn't think of it—either that he could do so wicked a deed, or that you are going to marry him. Most gentlefolks put man-traps in their preserves nowadays. But, to be honest, he don't, for I heard him tell master he didn't last time he was here. And as for you, the right man must soon come. He——"
"Stop there, John! 'Tis like your kind self to talk so to me; yet I know very well how it hurts you."
"Sweet!" he cried. "I have told you how I love you. I couldn't choke it down longer. And you forgave me, and pitied me a little. You must let me hope and pray for the right man, since 'tis impossible I can ever be anything to you." Grace was silent, and he continued.
"I've learned better since that moment. I'm not a fool. My love at least is too big a pattern to offer it to you again."
"Can a man love a maid too much then?" she exclaimed.
"He may love too little and so offer himself. I love—there, my love's all of me. But who am I to dare to lift eyes to you?"
"'Tis just that, John," she said with a fluttering heart. "Who are you?"
"Until 'tis known——"
"What difference can that make? Can a fact not known alter a fact known? Mr. Norcot taught me that much. Facts never contradict themselves, he said once; and the fact is—you love me. If a king was your father, you still love me; and you are you—honest and true, and generous. And—and you've got a dear face like my dead brother's."
He stared in front of him, and Grace mused58 over his virtues59.
Suddenly he spoke.
"You'll make me mad again!" he cried. "I ought to spur away for dear life, and for honour and right; I ought to turn my back and gallop60 to the ends of the world; but I can't—I can't do it—more shame to me."
"You certainly love me with all your heart, John. Well, John dear, I think I love you too!"
"No, no," he said. "You must not; it can't be; 'tisn't in sober reason."
"So much more likely to be real," she answered. "True love is not reasonable, John. And you must fight a great battle for me, because all the world is against us."
"The world—the world's here—here! The rest I can put under my foot and forget. You love me—oh! Grace, my star—is it true?"
"Yes, for I've never felt so before, and I've done almost everything but fall in love in my time. 'Tis quite a new thing—sure it must be love; for what other name is there to give it? I love your beautiful face, and your voice, and your gentle ways; and I love you best of all for loving me, John."
"Every living thing loves you," he said solemnly. "Yet you can come to a useless, poor, humble2 man like me, and trust me with yourself!"
"Yes, I trust you, John," she said with gravity equal to his. "I know not what may betide; but you must stand between me and—and that man. Do you love me well enough to run risks and dangers for me?"
"May time prove it!"
"Your love is shield and buckler both to me," she said.
"And yours such a blessing61 as God Almighty62 never poured into any life before," he answered earnestly. "'Tis my prayer henceforth that I may lift myself up to be worthy64."
"I love you with all my heart, indeed. And some day, far on, when the world rolls kinder and everybody's wiser, and Mr. Norcot is an angel or a married man—then I'll be your wife, John Lee."
The lad appeared more weighted by this mighty63 promise than jubilant at it.
"Do 'e call home all it means, my lovely?" he asked. "Do 'e know that your whole beautiful life rests on whether 'tis a wise deed or a vain one?"
Grace nodded.
"Love casts out all fear," she said.
"Then I can only fall back upon God to be on our side," he answered. "'Tis my life and light and heaven on earth to hear you say that. Ay—you shall be my song for evermore. I'll try to live worthy of such bounty65. There's no going back now—none, for I'm only flesh and blood, and Michael and all his angels shan't take 'e from me any more!"
Before she could speak he was close at her side and she felt his arm about her waist, his kisses raining upon her cheeks.
"For ever and ever, Grace!"
"Oh yes, dear John. Love never dies."
"If we could ride away over the hills now——" he said, dreaming his golden dream.
"We should meet Mr. Norcot, for there he comes," she answered.
"I feel that I should like to go to him and take him out of his saddle and crush him like an eggshell."
"My valiant66 sweetheart! You may indeed have to do so some day. drop back now, dear John, and let my cheeks cool. Oh, how lovely a thing it is to have this mighty secret between us!"
"If I died now," he said, "I should have had far, far more than my share of the good of the world."
"Talk not of dying. You must live for me."
"That will I—and die for you if need be."
"We'll live and die together, John. Now fall you back, my own dear love—else Mr. Peter will grow jealous."
Thus it came about that when the manufacturer winked67 at young Lee and called him "a lucky dog," he uttered a great truth, although he was quite ignorant of the fact.
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1
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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hurdle
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| n.跳栏，栏架；障碍，困难；vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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divulged
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| v.吐露，泄露( divulge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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lichen
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| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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reining
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的现在分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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vampire
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| n.吸血鬼 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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41
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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snail
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| n.蜗牛 | |
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43
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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44
Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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45
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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46
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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47
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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48
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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49
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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50
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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51
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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52
fatuity
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| n.愚蠢，愚昧 | |
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53
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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54
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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55
incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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56
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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57
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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58
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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59
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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60
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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61
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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62
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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63
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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64
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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65
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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66
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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67
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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