When Thomas Putt reached Widecombe Church on the morning of the wedding, he found the company from Chagford had already arrived. Peter Norcot\'s bottle-green coat, gilt buttons, and noble shirt frill, presented an imposing and attractive appearance; his sister Gertrude was attired in lace and silk of a faded lavender hue; his man Mason wore a mighty bouquet of flowers on his new livery. Last of this party was the bridegroom\'s cousin from Exeter—a young Clerk in Orders, one Relton Norcot, whose flat and somewhat vacant countenance grew pale as he heard the news. He feared the issue and expected an explosion, but his knowledge of Mr. Norcot was small.

When Putt announced that Grace Malherb had vanished in the night, Peter\'s eyes contracted a little; he rose from his seat, thrust his hands deep in his breeches pockets, and began to pace up and down in front of the altar rails, regardless of the whispering crowd in the church. His reverend cousin drew him to the vestry; then the disappointed lover spoke.

"I\'m very little surprised. We must act with the utmost promptitude. She\'s not done this thing single-handed. I\'ll wager that groom John Lee\'s in this, and, like enough, Stark, too. He is the rascal for whom she suffered imprisonment."

Peter next turned to Putt.

"Tell us all you know," he said.

"Only that the window was open, your honour," answered Tom, who secretly prided himself on the entire conduct of the affair. "\'Twas by the window Miss Grace went out. Her left a letter for her mother. They do say—Mrs. Beer I mean—that her wrote her\'d rather die a thousand deaths than have you, begging your honour\'s pardon for mentioning it. She said as she was going to be in trusty hands also."

Peter nodded, while the young clergyman with the fatuous face began to get out of his surplice.

"She must have been very badly brought up," he remarked, and Norcot stared at his cousin; but his mind was on the matter in hand.

"I shall proceed instantly to Dartmouth," he said. "Tell Mason to saddle my horse and his own. Either from Dartmouth or Tor Quay they will endeavour to leave the country. Mark me, that man Stark has broke prison again. Is Mr. Malherb in communication with Prince Town?"

"Not that I knows about," answered Putt. "Master be like a bull of Bashan—to say it with all respect. He\'ve made Fox Tor Farm shake to its roots. He\'s lamed two horses a\'ready afore I started, an\' he\'s been tearing over the Moor since dawn, like the Wild Hunter. He \'pears to think he\'s been hardly treated by Providence; an\' he\'s called down fire from Heaven, by all accounts, on pretty near everybody as lives on Dartymoor. A proper tantara, I warn \'e! God knows how \'twill end. He roareth against all things but hisself."

"\'Tis a shattering stroke," wept Miss Norcot, "and you are a marvel, Peter, to bear it with such composure."

"Tut, tut! Get you home, you and Relton here. The marriage is postponed. See her home, Relton, and bide my coming. I may not be back for a day or two, but don\'t return to Exeter until you hear from me."

Then he again addressed Putt.

"Ride back at once and direct your master to set a sharp watch about Holne. They are lying close to-day; but they will doubtless try for the coast at nightfall. First ascertain if Mr. Stark has escaped again from the War Prison; next do all in your power to capture the person of that groom. I\'ve a hundred pounds for the man who takes John Lee and keeps him fast. Now be off; and let them know that I will be at Fox Tor Farm by midnight or later."

His horse was waiting for him, and quite indifferent to the crowd that had assembled round it, Peter mounted, bade the children get out of his way, and galloped off with his man after him. The disappointed bridegroom purposed to inform the authorities and place patrols above Dartmouth, both upon the roads and river.

As for Tom Putt, he rode home; while Miss Norcot and the clergyman returned to Chagford.


At Fox Tor Farm, as the day wore on, wild turmoil reigned, and the flock-master in fury was urging his exhausted labourers to further efforts. Every spot for miles around about was searched; the industrious Mark Bickford even tramped over Cater\'s Beam and through Hangman\'s Hollow; but Grace Malherb, securely hidden in Lovey\'s treasure-house, was beyond reach of discovery. John Lee had laid his plans with care, and knowing that his grandmother would stop at Prince Town until the completion of the tunnel and the liberation of the Americans, he selected her secret hiding-place for Grace. Here, until Lovey\'s next visit, she was safe; but the miser would soon herself be flying hither with her reward; and before that moment Grace must be gone.

"When she does come," said Lee on the night of the rescue, "she\'ll bring some fat money-bags with her; and she\'ll have to lie low henceforth, for if they catch her——"

"And there\'s danger for you too?"

"None to name," he answered. "My fear is only for your health—that you may suffer in this dismal pit. It is damp. But here\'s a snug cubby-hole I\'ve found—dry as a bone—and I\'ve filled it with sweet dead fern and heath. The water that trickles yonder is pure. And upon that shelf, beside the money-bags, you\'ll find bread and bacon and a jug of cider. \'Twas all I could furnish yesterday, but I\'ll come back to-night with better fare. Here\'s a few candles too, and a flint and steel. And—and he\'d be here now if he could—Master Stark—you know that right well; but he\'s got a great weight on his shoulders—five thousand fellow-men to answer for; and he knows you\'re safe while I draw breath."

"I can\'t thank you. Each word you say stabs me and makes me ashamed to live."

"Sleep—sleep soft and safe; and dream of him. \'Tis not going to be long before he comes to you; but it won\'t be here. To-morrow I see him; to-morrow night I\'ll return again. Don\'t fear for him. Think of the light he\'s got to show him his road! You\'re safe as sanctuary here. And remember, if time hangs heavy, that you may be within touching distance of the amphora."

She shook her head sadly.

"Father will never forgive me now. I have done a deed unpardonable. He cannot understand that I love him with all my heart, and yet deem my poor, wretched body a sacred thing—beyond his right to dispose of as he pleases. I only pray this will not drive him to distraction."

The man left her, and during that day had speech with Cecil Stark at the War Prison, as we have noted. He worked also for several hours besi............