As February merged in March, and lighter evenings broke the gloom of

the woodmen's homeward journey, the Hintocks Great and Little began to

have ears for a rumor of the events out of which had grown the

timber-dealer's troubles. It took the form of a wide sprinkling of

conjecture, wherein no man knew the exact truth. Tantalizing phenomena,

at once showing and concealing the real relationship of the persons

concerned, caused a diffusion of excited surprise. Honest people as

the woodlanders were, it was hardly to be expected that they could

remain immersed in the study of their trees and gardens amid such

circumstances, or sit with their backs turned like the good burghers of

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Coventry at the passage of the beautiful lady.

Rumor, for a wonder, exaggerated little. There were, in fact, in this

case as in thousands, the well-worn incidents, old as the hills, which,

with individual variations, made a mourner of Ariadne, a by-word of

Vashti, and a corpse of the Countess Amy. There were rencounters

accidental and contrived, stealthy correspondence, sudden misgivings on

one side, sudden self-reproaches on the other. The inner state of the

twain was one as of confused noise that would not allow the accents of

calmer reason to be heard. Determinations to go in this direction, and

headlong plunges in that; dignified safeguards, undignified collapses;

not a single rash step by deliberate intention, and all against

judgment.

It was all that Melbury had expected and feared. It was more, for he

had overlooked the publicity that would be likely to result, as it now

had done. What should he do--appeal to Mrs. Charmond himself, since

Grace would not? He bethought himself of Winterborne, and resolved to

consult him, feeling the strong need of some friend of his own sex to

whom he might unburden his mind.

He had entirely lost faith in his own judgment. That judgment on which

he had relied for so many years seemed recently, like a false companion

unmasked, to have disclosed unexpected depths of hypocrisy and

speciousness where all had seemed solidity. He felt almost afraid to

form a conjecture on the weather, or the time, or the fruit-promise, so

great was his self-abasement.

It was a rimy evening when he set out to look for Giles. The woods

seemed to be in a cold sweat; beads of perspiration hung from every

bare twig; the sky had no color, and the trees rose before him as

haggard, gray phantoms, whose days of substantiality were passed.

Melbury seldom saw Winterborne now, but he believed him to be occupying

a lonely hut just beyond the boundary of Mrs. Charmond's estate, though

still within the circuit of the woodland. The timber-merchant's thin

legs stalked on through the pale, damp scenery, his eyes on the dead

leaves of last year; while every now and then a hasty "Ay?" escaped his

lips in reply to some bitter proposition.




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