Jon Grimbal’s desires toward Blanchard lay dormant, and the usual interests of life filled his mind. The attitude he now assumed was one of sustained patience and observation; and it may best be described in words of his own employment.
Visiting Drewsteignton, about a month after the return of Chris Blanchard to her own, the man determined to extend his ride and return by devious ways. He passed, therefore, where the unique Devonian cromlech stands hard by Bradmere pool. 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. After his difference with Blanchard, the antiquary left Devon for another tour in connection with his work, and had devoted the past six months to study of prehistoric remains in Guernsey, Herm, and other of the Channel Islands.
Before departing, he had finally regained his brother’s friendship, though the close fraternal amity of the past appeared unlikely to return between them. Now John recognised Martin, and his first impulse produced pleasure, while his second was one of irritation. He felt glad to see his brother; he experienced annoyance that Martin should thus return to Chagford and not call immediately at the Red House.
“Hullo! Home again! I suppose you forgot you had a brother?”
“John, by all that’s surprising! Forget? Was it probable? Have I so many flesh-and-blood friends to remember? I arrived yesterday and called on you this morning, only to find you were at Drewsteignton; so I came to verify some figures at the cromlech, hoping we might meet the sooner.”
He was beside his brother by this time, and they shook hands over the hedge.
“I’ll leave the ladder and walk by you and have a chat.”
“It’s too hot to ride at a walk. Come you here to Bradmere Pool. We can lie down in the shade by the water, and I’ll tether my horse for half an hour.”
Five minutes later the brothers sat under the shadow of oaks and beeches at the edge of a little tarn set in fine foliage.