And here it is necessary to leave the man for a period of brief hours, for ancillary matters now merge into our main theme at this—the climax of the record.
CHAPTER XIV.
FROM WORDS TO BLOWS
Honor by no means enjoyed such easy sleep as her husband after the thunderstorm; indeed it can scarcely be said concerning her night's rest that it held slumber. The tempest and a belief that Myles was alone in its midst, brought very real terror to her; nor did she win much comfort from her uncle's reiterated assurance that no ill could touch Myles Stapledon upon Dartmoor.
"Return he won't for certain until morning," declared the blind man. "Full of thought he went his way and forgot to raise a weather eye until suddenly surprised by the storm. Its loosened torrents cut him off on the high land and drowned his way home, no doubt; but whatever part of the waste he's upon, 'tis familiar ground to him, and he'll know the nearest way to shelter and doubtless take it."
In his mind, however, the speaker felt a cloud. He was alarmed rather for the storm that he believed might have burst within Stapledon's heart than for any chance accident of sudden tempest from without. Quite ignorant of the last phase of the other's trial; unaware that Myles had passed the point of highest peril and now approached happiness once more, old Endicott only suspected that this man had reached the climax of his tribulation, and believed Stapledon's long and lonely expedition was undertaken that he might wrestle with his fate and determine some final choice of way. Herein he judged rightly, but he knew not the modified enigma that lay before Myles upon that journey to the desert, and remained wholly unaware that the major problem stood solved. Thought upon the matter took Endicott along dark ways; he remembered words spoken long ago; and for once a mind usually most luminous in appraisement of human actions, deviated from the truth. Such a mistake had mattered little enough; for Mark was no harbinger of gloomy suspicions, and never word of his had made sorrow more sad or deepened any wound; but a time came when his conviction, supported by apparent evidence, was confirmed in his own mind; and from thence cruel chances willed that it should escape from him to another's keeping, should hasten night over a life scarcely advanced to its noon.
A morning of almost extravagant splendour followed upon the storm, and the soaked world under sunshine fortified human spirits unconsciously, wakened hopes and weakened fears in the breast of Honor. She walked out before breakfast, and upon the way back to Bear Down met Christopher Yeoland.
He was full of his own concerns, for the lightning had fallen upon Godleigh, slain certain beasts, and destroyed two ancient trees; but, hearing of Stapledon's absence, Christopher forgot his troubles, mentioned various comforting theories, and promised to ride far afield after breakfast upon the Moor.
"He'll probably come back a roundabout way and drive from Moreton," said Yeoland; "but there's a ghost of a chance that he may walk direct, after having put in a night at a cot or one of the miners' ruins. In that case he'll be starving and wretched every way. So I'll take a flask and some sandwiches. Poor beggar! I'm sorry for him; still he knows the Moor as well as we know our alphabet, so there's very little need for anxiety."
But the news of the thunderbolt in Godleigh Park by no means tended to make Honor more content, and she returned home in tribulation despite the sunshine. After breakfast she went out alone, and Christopher, true to his promise, made a wide perambulation on horseback; while others, who had planned no special pleasure for their holiday, also assisted the search, some upon ponies and some upon foot. Yet no news had reached Bear Down by midday, and then Christopher Yeoland arrived, after a ride of twenty miles.