The Woodlanders

The leaves over Hintock grew denser in their substance, and the

woodland seemed to change from an open filigree to a solid opaque body

of infinitely larger shape and importance. The boughs cast green

shades, which hurt the complexion of the girls who walked there; and a

fringe of them which overhung Mr. Melbury's garden dripped on his

seed-plots when it rained, pitting their surface all over as with

pock-marks, till Melbury declared that gardens in such a place were no

good at all. The two trees that had creaked all the winter left off

creaking, the whir of the night-jar, however, forming a very

satisfactory continuation of uncanny music from that quarter. Except

at mid-day the sun was not seen complete by the Hintock people, but

rather in the form of numerous little stars staring through the leaves.

Such an appearance it had on Midsummer Eve of this year, and as the

hour grew later, and nine o'clock drew on, the irradiation of the

daytime became broken up by weird shadows and ghostly nooks of

indistinctness. Imagination could trace upon the trunks and boughs

strange faces and figures shaped by the dying lights; the surfaces of

the holly-leaves would here and there shine like peeping eyes, while

such fragments of the sky as were visible between the trunks assumed

the aspect of sheeted forms and cloven tongues. This was before the

moonrise. Later on, when that planet was getting command of the upper

heaven, and consequently shining with an unbroken face into such open

glades as there were in the neighborhood of the hamlet, it became

apparent that the margin of the wood which approached the

timber-merchant's premises was not to be left to the customary

stillness of that reposeful time.

Fitzpiers having heard a voice or voices, was looking over his garden

gate--where he now looked more frequently than into his books--fancying

that Grace might be abroad with some friends. He was now irretrievably

committed in heart to Grace Melbury, though he was by no means sure

that she was so far committed to him. That the Idea had for once

completely fulfilled itself in the objective substance--which he had

hitherto deemed an impossibility--he was enchanted enough to fancy must

be the case at last. It was not Grace who had passed, however, but

several of the ordinary village girls in a group--some steadily

walking, some in a mood of wild gayety. He quietly asked his landlady,

who was also in the garden, what these girls were intending, and she

informed him that it being Old Midsummer Eve, they were about to

attempt some spell or enchantment which would afford them a glimpse of

their future partners for life. She declared it to be an ungodly

performance, and one which she for her part would never countenance;

saying which, she entered her house and retired to bed.