"It is no use standing here," said her father. "He may come home fifty

ways...why, look here!--here be Darling's tracks--turned homeward and

nearly blown dry and hard! He must have come in hours ago without your

seeing him."

"He has not done that," said she.

They went back hastily. On entering their own gates they perceived

that the men had left the wagons, and were standing round the door of

the stable which had been appropriated to the doctor's use. "Is there

anything the matter?" cried Grace.

"Oh no, ma'am. All's well that ends well," said old Timothy Tangs.

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"I've heard of such things before--among workfolk, though not among

your gentle people--that's true."

They entered the stable, and saw the pale shape of Darling standing in

the middle of her stall, with Fitzpiers on her back, sound asleep.

Darling was munching hay as well as she could with the bit in her

month, and the reins, which had fallen from Fitzpiers's hand, hung upon

her neck.

Grace went and touched his hand; shook it before she could arouse him.

He moved, started, opened his eyes, and exclaimed, "Ah, Felice!...Oh,

it's Grace. I could not see in the gloom. What--am I in the saddle?"

"Yes," said she. "How do you come here?"

He collected his thoughts, and in a few minutes stammered, "I was

riding along homeward through the vale, very, very sleepy, having been

up so much of late. When I came opposite Holywell spring the mare

turned her head that way, as if she wanted to drink. I let her go in,

and she drank; I thought she would never finish. While she was

drinking, the clock of Owlscombe Church struck twelve. I distinctly

remember counting the strokes. From that moment I positively recollect

nothing till I saw you here by my side."

"The name! If it had been any other horse he'd have had a broken neck!"

murmured Melbury.

"'Tis wonderful, sure, how a quiet hoss will bring a man home at such

times!" said John Upjohn. "And what's more wonderful than keeping your

seat in a deep, slumbering sleep? I've knowed men drowze off walking

home from randies where the mead and other liquors have gone round

well, and keep walking for more than a mile on end without waking.

Well, doctor, I don't care who the man is, 'tis a mercy you wasn't a

drownded, or a splintered, or a hanged up to a tree like Absalom--also

a handsome gentleman like yerself, as the prophets say."




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