The work was troublesome, for the tree was large. The afternoon wore

on, turning dark and misty about four o'clock. From time to time Giles

cast his eyes across towards the bedroom window of South, where, by the

flickering fire in the chamber, he could see the old man watching him,

sitting motionless with a hand upon each arm of the chair. Beside him

sat Marty, also straining her eyes towards the skyey field of his

operations.

A curious question suddenly occurred to Winterborne, and he stopped his

chopping. He was operating on another person's property to prolong the

years of a lease by whose termination that person would considerably

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benefit. In that aspect of the case he doubted if he ought to go on.

On the other hand he was working to save a man's life, and this seemed

to empower him to adopt arbitrary measures.

The wind had died down to a calm, and while he was weighing the

circumstances he saw coming along the road through the increasing mist

a figure which, indistinct as it was, he knew well. It was Grace

Melbury, on her way out from the house, probably for a short evening

walk before dark. He arranged himself for a greeting from her, since

she could hardly avoid passing immediately beneath the tree.

But Grace, though she looked up and saw him, was just at that time too

full of the words of her father to give him any encouragement. The

years-long regard that she had had for him was not kindled by her

return into a flame of sufficient brilliancy to make her rebellious.

Thinking that she might not see him, he cried, "Miss Melbury, here I

am."

She looked up again. She was near enough to see the expression of his

face, and the nails in his soles, silver-bright with constant walking.

But she did not reply; and dropping her glance again, went on.

Winterborne's face grew strange; he mused, and proceeded automatically

with his work. Grace meanwhile had not gone far. She had reached a

gate, whereon she had leaned sadly, and whispered to herself, "What

shall I do?"

A sudden fog came on, and she curtailed her walk, passing under the

tree again on her return. Again he addressed her. "Grace," he said,

when she was close to the trunk, "speak to me." She shook her head

without stopping, and went on to a little distance, where she stood

observing him from behind the hedge.

Her coldness had been kindly meant. If it was to be done, she had said

to herself, it should be begun at once. While she stood out of

observation Giles seemed to recognize her meaning; with a sudden start

he worked on, climbing higher, and cutting himself off more and more

from all intercourse with the sublunary world. At last he had worked

himself so high up the elm, and the mist had so thickened, that he

could only just be discerned as a dark-gray spot on the light-gray sky:

he would have been altogether out of notice but for the stroke of his

billhook and the flight of a bough downward, and its crash upon the

hedge at intervals.




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