"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.
"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."