He had to wait long. Autumn drew shiveringly to its end. One day

something seemed to be gone from the gardens; the tenderer leaves of

vegetables had shrunk under the first smart frost, and hung like faded

linen rags; then the forest leaves, which had been descending at

leisure, descended in haste and in multitudes, and all the golden

colors that had hung overhead were now crowded together in a degraded

mass underfoot, where the fallen myriads got redder and hornier, and

curled themselves up to rot. The only suspicious features in Mrs.

Charmond's existence at this season were two: the first, that she lived

with no companion or relative about her, which, considering her age and

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attractions, was somewhat unusual conduct for a young widow in a lonely

country-house; the other, that she did not, as in previous years,

start from Hintock to winter abroad. In Fitzpiers, the only change

from his last autumn's habits lay in his abandonment of night

study--his lamp never shone from his new dwelling as from his old.

If the suspected ones met, it was by such adroit contrivances that even

Melbury's vigilance could not encounter them together. A simple call

at her house by the doctor had nothing irregular about it, and that he

had paid two or three such calls was certain. What had passed at those

interviews was known only to the parties themselves; but that Felice

Charmond was under some one's influence Melbury soon had opportunity of

perceiving.

Winter had come on. Owls began to be noisy in the mornings and

evenings, and flocks of wood-pigeons made themselves prominent again.

One day in February, about six months after the marriage of Fitzpiers,

Melbury was returning from Great Hintock on foot through the lane, when

he saw before him the surgeon also walking. Melbury would have

overtaken him, but at that moment Fitzpiers turned in through a gate to

one of the rambling drives among the trees at this side of the wood,

which led to nowhere in particular, and the beauty of whose serpentine

curves was the only justification of their existence. Felice almost

simultaneously trotted down the lane towards the timber-dealer, in a

little basket-carriage which she sometimes drove about the estate,

unaccompanied by a servant. She turned in at the same place without

having seen either Melbury or apparently Fitzpiers. Melbury was soon at

the spot, despite his aches and his sixty years. Mrs. Charmond had

come up with the doctor, who was standing immediately behind the

carriage. She had turned to him, her arm being thrown carelessly over

the back of the seat. They looked in each other's faces without

uttering a word, an arch yet gloomy smile wreathing her lips.

Fitzpiers clasped her hanging hand, and, while she still remained in

the same listless attitude, looking volumes into his eyes, he

stealthily unbuttoned her glove, and stripped her hand of it by rolling

back the gauntlet over the fingers, so that it came off inside out. He

then raised her hand to his month, she still reclining passively,

watching him as she might have watched a fly upon her dress. At last

she said, "Well, sir, what excuse for this disobedience?"




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