Mr. Norcot invited himself to Fox Tor Farm for Christmas, but Maurice Malherb begged him to change his mind. Peter\'s generous offer of a loan had not been accepted; but he knew that Fox Tor Farm was now mortgaged to meet Malherb\'s demands.

Within the home circle a great difference of opinion obtained, yet it was impossible to argue the matter out, because it referred to Lovey Lee. Grace felt positive that the miser had returned to her hiding-place; the master expressed an opinion equally strong that John Lee had abstracted the fortune and hastened with it for safety to the Continent. His reasons he would not give; but that made no uncommon difficulty, for he was not used to offer reasons. His daughter marvelled at his obstinacy, for her heart well knew that John was incapable of such an act. He understood the significance of the amphora, and would have gloried to restore it at any personal risk. The matter slowly ceased to be a subject of conversation, not that Malherb forbade it, for he longed to discuss the possibility, and welcomed any shadow of hope; but now rumours of peace had grown into a promise. It seemed to Grace Malherb as though her ambitions for John Lee and Cecil Stark were to be realised; because while peace with America was soon to be declared, Bonaparte had left Elba, and Europe awakened from her brief respite.

Malherb sank into a settled but a gentle melancholy. Gloom folded him like a garment; yet he was kindly and even considerate to all. He ceased to hunt, a circumstance that brought more tears to his wife\'s eyes than any other, for she appreciated its full force. A thousand times he had dreaded the day when his passion for sport could be gratified no more. She had heard him desire to die before infirmity should keep him from riding to hounds. Now he abandoned his delight without a murmur; at a wrench he tore twenty years out of his book of life and performed the operation with indifference. In secret he marvelled at himself and at the tremendous operations of chance that could thus alter the whole ingrained tenour and bent of his existence.

Christmas came, and Grace with her mother rode to worship at Holne. Harvey Woodman was responsible for Annabel\'s safety, since she sat on a pillion behind him; while Grace rode \'C?sar.\'

"Peace comes to us through every sense," said Mrs. Malherb as they returned homeward. "It is in the air to feel, on men\'s tongues to hear, in their eyes to see. \'Peace on earth,\' too, I pray. Peace everywhere, but——"

She broke off with a sigh. To speak further was not possible before Mr. Woodman. But now Harvey made a diversion. They were at the top of Ter Hill, half a mile distant from home, when his keen eyes caught sight of a small black object afar off on the Moor. He watched a while, then spoke.

"If there ban\'t that baggering sow as got out a week ago an\' master thought was stolen! \'Tis her for sartain."

The wandering beast was a distinguished matron, and her loss had caused annoyance.

"How glad the master will be!" cried Mrs. Malherb. "Don\'t lose sight of her on any account, Woodman. Indeed, you will do well to follow her at once. I can easily walk home from here."

She alighted, and Harvey galloped off to secure the pig.

"Send Bickford or one of \'em after me!" he shouted back to the ladies.

The day was fine and the Moor dry and frozen, but Bickford grumbled not a little at his duty, for the Christmas dinner only waited to be eaten when Mrs. Malherb and her daughter returned. The servants\' hall was full of grateful savours; the peat blazed in a pure, still heart of red-hot fire under a purple corona of flame; the walls were decked with holly and fir; it was a scene painful to leave. But the labourer soon returned, for he had not gone far when he met Harvey riding homeward at a great pace.

"Where\'s the pig to?" he asked.

"\'Twas no pig at all, but a message from Heaven," gasped Mr. Woodman.

"If I didn\'t know, I should say you was drunk," answered Bickford; "but you wouldn\'t have dared get in liquor, having to ride back with missis. Be you mazed or pixy-led in daylight?"

"Mazed I be—to think—but five mile from our very doors—that awful—my flesh be creaming to my bones with the sight, an\' my scalp\'s crawling down my back."

"You\'ve catched the small-pox, I reckon. I\'d best walk to windward of \'e."

"I can say nought till I stand afore the company. Then I\'ll properly terrify the whole pack of \'e."

As they entered the servants\' hall Maurice Malherb was already standing over a great sirloin at one end of the table, while Mr. Beer carved two turkeys at the other. Threads of holly berries glittered against the shining green. There was a smell of gravy and evergreens in the air, and bright sunshine poured through the windows. On Christmas Day the family dined with their men and women, for it was an old custom of the Malherbs to do so.

Now appeared Harvey Woodman, and conscious that perhaps the greatest moment of his life had come, he determined to make the most of it.

"For the love of charity a drop of brandy, souls!" he cried. "Oh, your honour\'s goodness—such a shock as I\'ve had—such a thing! I failed away in my middle when I seed it an\' nigh dropped off the hoss."

"Fegs!" said Bickford, "when I comed to un, the man looked as if he\'d been drawed through a brimble hedge backwards!"

Mrs. Woodman rushed to her husband\'s side, and Malherb, putting down the carvers, also approached.

"Speak," he said. "What has happened? Are you ill?"

"The pig, the pig, your honour. To the Beam her went—straight as any Christian; an\' me after her. Then, far beyond, in they gashly bogs where the Jacky-twoads dance on moony summer nights, I seed the horridest sight ever these eyes rested on. I knowed there was a dead thing there very soon, an\' thought \'twas a pony. But when I comed nearer—there—let me have another drink—my inward organs turn to vinegar when I think upon it."

"Speak on," said Malherb. He stood before Mr. Woodman with his eyes fixed upon him.

"First I seed a great patch of rotted turf; for a dead body decays the grass under it, your honour; then I seed a litter of bones lying on the stones around about, where the crows an\' buzzards had carried \'em for cleaner picking; an\' then—lor-amercy! a human face-bone staring at me with hollow eyes an\' grinning like Death! I plucked up courage, however, an\' got off my hoss an\' went up to the rames of the poor soul. An\' next thing I knowed was ............