anxious to be free of all further business, realised his wealth and now
knew the limits of his income.

The brothers supped in good spirits and Will Blanchard's sister waited
upon them. Chris was her "brother in petticoats," people said, and
indeed she resembled him greatly in face and disposition. But her eyes
were brown, like her dead father's, and a gypsy splendour of black hair
crowned her head. She was a year younger than Will, wholly wrapped up in
him and one other.

A familiarity, shy on Martin's side and patronising in John, obtained
between the brothers and their pretty attendant, for she knew all about
them and the very cottage in which their parents had dwelt and died. The
girl came and went, answered John Grimbal's jests readily, and
ministered to them as one not inferior to those she served. The elder
man's blue eyes were full of earthy admiration. He picked his teeth
between the courses and admired aloud, while Chris was from the room.

"'Tis wonderful how pretty all the women look, coming back to them after
ten years of nigger girls. Roses and cream isn't in it with their skins,
though this one's dark as a clear night--Spanish fashion."

"Miss Blanchard seems very beautiful to me certainly," admitted Martin.

"I've seen only two maids--since setting foot in Chagford," continued
his brother, "and it would puzzle the devil to say which was best to
look at."

"Your heart will soon be lost, I'll wager--to a Chagford girl, I hope. I
know you talked about flying high, but you might be happier to take a