The Woodlanders

"What is it?" he said, more seriously for this little defeat.

She made no answer beyond, "Mr. Fitzpiers, I have had no breakfast, I

must go in."

"Come," he insisted, fixing his eyes upon her. "Tell me at once, I

say."

It was the greater strength against the smaller; but she was mastered

less by his manner than by her own sense of the unfairness of silence.

"I looked out of the window," she said, with hesitation. "I'll tell

you by-and-by. I must go in-doors. I have had no breakfast."

By a sort of divination his conjecture went straight to the fact. "Nor

I," said he, lightly. "Indeed, I rose late to-day. I have had a

broken night, or rather morning. A girl of the village--I don't know

her name--came and rang at my bell as soon as it was light--between

four and five, I should think it was--perfectly maddened with an aching

tooth. As no-body heard her ring, she threw some gravel at my window,

till at last I heard her and slipped on my dressing-gown and went down.

The poor thing begged me with tears in her eyes to take out her

tormentor, if I dragged her head off. Down she sat and out it came--a

lovely molar, not a speck upon it; and off she went with it in her

handkerchief, much contented, though it would have done good work for

her for fifty years to come."

It was all so plausible--so completely explained. Knowing nothing of

the incident in the wood on old Midsummer-eve, Grace felt that her

suspicions were unworthy and absurd, and with the readiness of an

honest heart she jumped at the opportunity of honoring his word. At

the moment of her mental liberation the bushes about the garden had

moved, and her father emerged into the shady glade. "Well, I hope it is

made up?" he said, cheerily.

"Oh yes," said Fitzpiers, with his eyes fixed on Grace, whose eyes were

shyly bent downward.

"Now," said her father, "tell me, the pair of ye, that you still mean

to take one another for good and all; and on the strength o't you shall

have another couple of hundred paid down. I swear it by the name."

Fitzpiers took her hand. "We declare it, do we not, my dear Grace?"

said he.

Relieved of her doubt, somewhat overawed, and ever anxious to please,

she was disposed to settle the matter; yet, womanlike, she would not

relinquish her opportunity of asking a concession of some sort. "If

our wedding can be at church, I say yes," she answered, in a measured

voice. "If not, I say no."