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Updated: May 17, 2025
Upon the way to Chagford Chris chanced to meet with Martin Grimbal, and, having long since accepted his offer of friendship, she did not hesitate to tell him of her present sorrow and invite his sympathy.
Subsequent practice, now that the range was found, produced results above the average in accuracy, and Major Tremayne's good-humour increased. "Five running plump into the redoubt! That's what we can do when we try," he said to Grimbal, while the amateur awarded his meed of praise and admiration.
He knew what was coming, moved quickly from the parapet of the bridge, and flung away his pipe to free his hands. As he did so the other was on him. Will warded one tremendous stroke from a hunting-crop; then they came to close quarters, and Grimbal, dropping his whip, got in a heavy half-arm blow on his enemy's face before they gripped in holds.
A lane separates this granite antiquity from the lake below, and as John Grimbal rode between them, his head high enough to look over the hedge, he observed a ladder raised against the Spinsters' Rock, as the cromlech is called, and a man with a tape-measure sitting on the cover stone. It was the industrious Martin, home once again.
"Please, please go and see! Oh, if 'tis Billy Blee come to grief, faither will be lost. Do 'e run, Mr. Grimbal Jan, I mean. If any grave matter's failed out, send them bwoys off red-hot for doctor." "Stop here, then. If any ugly thing has happened, there need be no occasion for you to see it."
Martin Grimbal watched Chris fondle the gasping Timothy, clean his wounds, calm his panting heart; then, as though a superhuman voice whispered in his ear, her secret stood solved, and the truth of Timothy's parentage confronted him in a lightning flash of the soul.
The spectacle of Grimbal, stern, grave, and older of manner than formerly, impressed Hicks not a little.
There the bees now living laboured, and those that followed would find their sweets in the clover, scarlet and purple and white, in the foxgloves, in the upland deserts of the heather with their oases of euphrasy and sweet wild thyme. "Is it a true swarm or a cast?" inquired John Grimbal. "A swarm, without much question, though it dawned an unlikely day for an old queen to leave the hive.
Upon this subject his wife found herself in complete disagreement with Blanchard, and did not hesitate to say so. "Martin Grimbal 's so gude a friend as any man could have, an' you did n't ought to have bullyragged him that way," she declared. "You say that! Ban't a man to speak his mind to thieves an' robbers?" "No such thing. 'T is a sacred stone an' not your property at all.
Besides, John Grimbal was not only unaware that the bee-keeper knew anything against Blanchard, but had yet to learn that anybody else did, that there even existed facts unfavourable to him. Something, however, told Hicks that mention of the common enemy would result from this present meeting, and the other's last word brought the danger, if danger it might be, a step nearer.
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