The Woodlanders

She turned as if to hasten away. But Felice Charmond's sobs came to

her ear: deep darkness circled her about, the funereal trees rocked and

chanted their diriges and placebos around her, and she did not know

which way to go. After a moment of energy she felt mild again, and

turned to the motionless woman at her feet.

"Are you rested?" she asked, in what seemed something like her own

voice grown ten years older.

Without an answer Mrs. Charmond slowly rose.

"You mean to betray me!" she said from the bitterest depths of her

soul. "Oh fool, fool I!"

"No," said Grace, shortly. "I mean no such thing. But let us be quick

now. We have a serious undertaking before us. Think of nothing but

going straight on."

They walked on in profound silence, pulling back boughs now growing

wet, and treading down woodbine, but still keeping a pretty straight

course. Grace began to be thoroughly worn out, and her companion too,

when, on a sudden, they broke into the deserted highway at the hill-top

on which the Sherton man had waited for Mrs. Dollery's van. Grace

recognized the spot as soon as she looked around her.

"How we have got here I cannot tell," she said, with cold civility.

"We have made a complete circuit of Little Hintock. The hazel copse is

quite on the other side. Now we have only to follow the road."

They dragged themselves onward, turned into the lane, passed the track

to Little Hintock, and so reached the park.

"Here I turn back," said Grace, in the same passionless voice. "You are

quite near home."

Mrs. Charmond stood inert, seeming appalled by her late admission.

"I have told you something in a moment of irresistible desire to

unburden my soul which all but a fool would have kept silent as the

grave," she said. "I cannot help it now. Is it to be a secret--or do

you mean war?"

"A secret, certainly," said Grace, mournfully. "How can you expect war

from such a helpless, wretched being as I!"

"And I'll do my best not to see him. I am his slave; but I'll try."

Grace was naturally kind; but she could not help using a small dagger

now.

"Pray don't distress yourself," she said, with exquisitely fine scorn.

"You may keep him--for me." Had she been wounded instead of mortified

she could not have used the words; but Fitzpiers's hold upon her heart

was slight.