CHAPTER XV.
When Melbury heard what had happened he seemed much moved, and walkedthoughtfully about the premises. On South's own account he wasgenuinely sorry; and on Winterborne's he was the more grieved in thatthis catastrophe had so closely followed the somewhat harsh dismissalof Giles as the betrothed of his daughter.
He was quite angry with circumstances for so heedlessly inflicting onGiles a second trouble when the needful one inflicted by himself wasall that the proper order of events demanded. "I told Giles's fatherwhen he came into those houses not to spend too much money on lifeholdproperty held neither for his own life nor his son's," he exclaimed."But he wouldn't listen to me. And now Giles has to suffer for it."
"Poor Giles!" murmured Grace.
"Now, Grace, between us two, it is very, very remarkable. It is almostas if I had foreseen this; and I am thankful for your escape, though Iam sincerely sorry for Giles. Had we not dismissed him already, wecould hardly have found it in our hearts to dismiss him now. So I say,be thankful. I'll do all I can for him as a friend; but as a pretenderto the position of my son-in law, that can never be thought of more."
And yet at that very moment the impracticability to which poorWinterborne's suit had been reduced was touching Grace's heart to awarmer sentiment on his behalf than she had felt for years concerninghim.
He, meanwhile, was sitting down alone in the old familiar house whichhad ceased to be his, taking a calm if somewhat dismal survey ofaffairs. The pendulum of the clock bumped every now and then againstone side of the case in which it swung, as the muffled drum to hisworldly march. Looking out of the window he could perceive that aparalysis had come over Creedle's occupation of manuring the garden,owing, obviously, to a conviction that they might not be living therelong enough to profit by next season's crop.
He looked at the leases again and the letter attached. There was nodoubt that he had lost his houses by an accident which might easilyhave been circumvented if he had known the true conditions of hisholding. The time for performance had now lapsed in strict law; butmight not the intention be considered by the landholder when she becameaware of the circumstances, and his moral right to retain the holdingsfor the term of his life be conceded?
His heart sank within him when he perceived that despite all the legalreciprocities and safeguards prepared and written, the upshot of thematter amounted to this, that it depended upon the mere caprice--goodor ill--of the woman he had met the day before in such an unfortunateway, whether he was to possess his houses for life or no.
While he was sitting and thinking a step came to the door, and Melburyappeared, looking very sorry for his position. Winterborne welcomed himby a word and a look, and went on with his examination of theparchments. His visitor sat down.
"Giles," he said, "this is very awkward, and I am sorry for it. Whatare you going to do?"
Giles informed him of the real state of affairs, and how barely he hadmissed availing himself of his chance of renewal.
"What a misfortune! Why was this neglected? Well, the best thing youcan do is to write and tell her all about it, and throw yourself uponher generosity."
"I would rather not," murmured Giles.
"But you must," said Melbury.
In short, he argued so cogently that Giles allowed himself to bepersuaded, and the letter to Mrs. Charmond was written and sent toHintock House, whence, as he knew, it would at once be forwarded to her.
Melbury feeling that he had done so good an action in coming as almostto extenuate his previous arbitrary conduct to nothing, went home; andGiles was left alone to the suspense of waiting for a reply from thedivinity who shaped the ends of the Hintock population. By this timeall the villagers knew of the circumstances, and being wellnigh likeone family, a keen interest was the result all round.
Everybody thought of Giles; nobody thought of Marty. Had any of themlooked in upon her during those moonlight nights which preceded theburial of her father, they would have seen the girl absolutely alone inthe house with the dead man. Her own chamber being nearest the stairs,the coffin had been placed there for convenience; and at a certain hourof the night, when the moon arrived opposite the window, its beamsstreamed across the still profile of South, sublimed by the augustpresence of death, and onward a few feet farther upon the face of hisdaughter, lying in her little bed in the stillness of a repose almostas dignified as that of her companion--the repose of a guileless soulthat had nothing more left on earth to lose, except a life which shedid not overvalue.
South was buried, and a week passed, and Winterborne watched for areply from Mrs. Charmond. Melbury was very sanguine as to its tenor;but Winterborne had not told him of the encounter with her carriage,when, if ever he had heard an affronted tone on a woman's lips, he hadheard it on hers.
The postman's time for passing was just after Melbury's men hadassembled in the spar-house; and Winterborne, who when not busy on hisown account would lend assistance there, used to go out into the laneevery morning and meet the post-man at the end of one of the greenrides through the hazel copse, in the straight stretch of which hisladen figure could be seen a long way off. Grace also was veryanxious; more anxious than her father; more, perhaps, than Winterbornehimself. This anxiety led her into the spar-house on some pretext orother almost every morning while they were awaiting the reply.
Fitzpiers too, though he did not personally appear, was muchinterested, and not altogether easy in his mind; for he had beeninformed by an authority of what he had himself conjectured, that ifthe tree had been allowed to stand, the old man would have gone oncomplaining, but might have lived for twenty years.
Eleven times had Winterborne gone to that corner of the ride, andlooked up its long straight slope through the wet grays of winter dawn.But though the postman's bowed figure loomed in view pretty regularly,he brought nothing for Giles. On the twelfth day the man of missives,while yet in the extreme distance, held up his hand, and Winterbornesaw a letter in it. He took it into the spar-house before he broke theseal, and those who were there gathered round him while he read, Gracelooking in at the door.
The letter was not from Mrs. Charmond herself, but her agent atSherton. Winterborne glanced it over and looked up.
"It's all over," he said.
"Ah!" said they altogether.
"Her lawyer is instructed to say that Mrs. Charmond sees no reason fordisturbing the natural course of things, particularly as shecontemplates pulling the houses down," he said, quietly.
"Only think of that!" said several.
Winterborne had turned away, and said vehemently to himself, "Then lether pull 'em down, and be d--d to her!"
Creedle looked at him with a face of seven sorrows, saying, "Ah, 'twasthat sperrit that lost 'em for ye, maister!"
Winterborne subdued his feelings, and from that hour, whatever theywere, kept them entirely to himself. There could be no doubt that, upto this last moment, he had nourished a feeble hope of regaining Gracein the event of this negotiation turning out a success. Not beingaware of the fact that her father could have settled upon her a fortunesufficient to enable both to live in comfort, he deemed it now anabsurdity to dream any longer of such a vanity as making her his wife,and sank into silence forthwith.
Yet whatever the value of taciturnity to a man among strangers, it isapt to express more than talkativeness when he dwells among friends.The countryman who is obliged to judge the time of day from changes inexternal nature sees a thousand successive tints and traits in thelandscape which are never discerned by him who hears the regular chimeof a clock, because they are never in request. In like manner do weuse our eyes on our taciturn comrade. The infinitesimal movement ofmuscle, curve, hair, and wrinkle, which when accompanied by a voicegoes unregarded, is watched and translated in the lack of it, tillvirtually the whole surrounding circle of familiars is charged with thereserved one's moods and meanings.
This was the condition of affairs between Winterborne and his neighborsafter his stroke of ill-luc
k. He held his tongue; and they observedhim, and knew that he was discomposed.
Mr. Melbury, in his compunction, thought more of the matter than anyone else, except his daughter. Had Winterborne been going on in theold fashion, Grace's father could have alluded to his disapproval ofthe alliance every day with the greatest frankness; but to speak anyfurther on the subject he could not find it in his heart to do now. Hehoped that Giles would of his own accord make some final announcementthat he entirely withdrew his pretensions to Grace, and so get thething past and done with. For though Giles had in a measure acquiescedin the wish of her family, he could make matters unpleasant if he choseto work upon Grace; and hence, when Melbury saw the young manapproaching along the road one day, he kept friendliness and frigidityexactly balanced in his eye till he could see whether Giles's mannerwas presumptive or not.
His manner was that of a man who abandoned all claims. "I am glad tomeet ye, Mr. Melbury," he said, in a low voice, whose quality heendeavored to make as practical as possible. "I am afraid I shall notbe able to keep that mare I bought, and as I don't care to sell her, Ishould like--if you don't object--to give her to Miss Melbury. Thehorse is very quiet, and would be quite safe for her."
Mr. Melbury was rather affected at this. "You sha'n't hurt your pocketlike that on our account, Giles. Grace shall have the horse, but I'llpay you what you gave for her, and any expense you may have been put tofor her keep."
He would not hear of any other terms, and thus it was arranged. Theywere now opposite Melbury's house, and the timber-merchant pressedWinterborne to enter, Grace being out of the way.
"Pull round the settle, Giles," said the timber-merchant, as soon asthey were within. "I should like to have a serious talk with you."
Thereupon he put the case to Winterborne frankly, and in quite afriendly way. He declared that he did not like to be hard on a manwhen he was in difficulty; but he really did not see how Winterbornecould marry his daughter now, without even a house to take her to.
Giles quite acquiesced in the awkwardness of his situation. But from amomentary feeling that he would like to know Grace's mind from her ownlips, he did not speak out positively there and then. He accordinglydeparted somewhat abruptly, and went home to consider whether he wouldseek to bring about a meeting with her.
In the evening, while he sat quietly pondering, he fancied that heheard a scraping on the wall outside his house. The boughs of amonthly rose which grew there made such a noise sometimes, but as nowind was stirring he knew that it could not be the rose-tree. He tookup the candle and went out. Nobody was near. As he turned, the lightflickered on the whitewashed rough case of the front, and he saw wordswritten thereon in charcoal, which he read as follows:
"O Giles, you've lost your dwelling-place, And therefore, Giles, you'll lose your Grace."
Giles went in-doors. He had his suspicions as to the scrawler of thoselines, but he could not be sure. What suddenly filled his heart farmore than curiosity about their authorship was a terrible belief thatthey were turning out to be true, try to see Grace as he might. Theydecided the question for him. He sat down and wrote a formal note toMelbury, in which he briefly stated that he was placed in such aposition as to make him share to the full Melbury's view of his own andhis daughter's promise, made some years before; to wish that it shouldbe considered as cancelled, and they themselves quite released from anyobligation on account of it.
Having fastened up this their plenary absolution, he determined to getit out of his hands and have done with it; to which end he went off toMelbury's at once. It was now so late that the family had all retired;he crept up to the house, thrust the note under the door, and stoleaway as silently as he had come.
Melbury himself was the first to rise the next morning, and when he hadread the letter his relief was great. "Very honorable of Giles, veryhonorable," he kept saying to himself. "I shall not forget him. Nowto keep her up to her own true level."
It happened that Grace went out for an early ramble that morning,passing through the door and gate while her father was in thespar-house. To go in her customary direction she could not avoidpassing Winterborne's house. The morning sun was shining flat upon itswhite surface, and the words, which still remained, were immediatelyvisible to her. She read them. Her face flushed to crimson. Shecould see Giles and Creedle talking together at the back; the charredspar-gad with which the lines had been written lay on the groundbeneath the wall. Feeling pretty sure that Winterborne would observeher action, she quickly went up to the wall, rubbed out "lose" andinserted "keep" in its stead. Then she made the best of her way homewithout looking behind her. Giles could draw an inference now if hechose.
There could not be the least doubt that gentle Grace was warming tomore sympathy with, and interest in, Giles Winterborne than ever shehad done while he was her promised lover; that since his misfortunethose social shortcomings of his, which contrasted so awkwardly withher later experiences of life, had become obscured by the generousrevival of an old romantic attachment to him. Though mentally trainedand tilled into foreignness of view, as compared with her youthfultime, Grace was not an ambitious girl, and might, if left to herself,have declined Winterborne without much discontent or unhappiness. Herfeelings just now were so far from latent that the writing on the wallhad thus quickened her to an unusual rashness.
Having returned from her walk she sat at breakfast silently. When herstep-mother had left the room she said to her father, "I have made upmy mind that I should like my engagement to Giles to continue, for thepresent at any rate, till I can see further what I ought to do."
Melbury looked much surprised.
"Nonsense," he said, sharply. "You don't know what you are talkingabout. Look here."
He handed across to her the letter received from Giles.
She read it, and said no more. Could he have seen her write on thewall? She did not know. Fate, it seemed, would have it this way, andthere was nothing to do but to acquiesce.
It was a few hours after this that Winterborne, who, curiously enough,had NOT perceived Grace writing, was clearing away the tree from thefront of South's late dwelling. He saw Marty standing in her door-way,a slim figure in meagre black, almost without womanly contours as yet.He went up to her and said, "Marty, why did you write that on my walllast night? It WAS you, you know."
"Because it was the truth. I didn't mean to let it stay, Mr.Winterborne; but when I was going to rub it out you came, and I wasobliged to run off."
"Having prophesied one thing, why did you alter it to another? Yourpredictions can't be worth much."
"I have not altered it."
"But you have."
"No."
"It is altered. Go and see."
She went, and read that, in spite of losing his dwelling-place, hewould KEEP his Grace. Marty came back surprised.
"Well, I never," she said. "Who can have made such nonsense of it?"
"Who, indeed?" said he.
"I have rubbed it all out, as the point of it is quite gone."
"You'd no business to rub it out. I didn't tell you to. I meant tolet it stay a little longer."
"Some idle boy did it, no doubt," she murmured.
As this seemed very probable, and the actual perpetrator wasunsuspected, Winterborne said no more, and dismissed the matter fromhis mind.
From this day of his life onward for a considerable time, Winterborne,though not absolutely out of his house as yet, retired into thebackground of human life and action thereabout--a feat not particularlydifficult of performance anywhere when the doer has the assistance of alost prestige. Grace, thinking that Winterborne saw her write, made nofurther sign, and the frail bark of fidelity that she had thus timidlylaunched was stranded and lost.