The Woodlanders

Even in the hour of Melbury's greatest assurance Winterborne had

harbored a suspicion that no law, new or old, could undo Grace's

marriage without her appearance in public; though he was not

sufficiently sure of what might have been enacted to destroy by his own

words her pleasing idea that a mere dash of the pen, on her father's

testimony, was going to be sufficient. But he had never suspected the

sad fact that the position was irremediable.

Poor Grace, perhaps feeling that she had indulged in too much fluster

for a mere kiss, calmed herself at finding how grave he was. "I am

glad we are friends again anyhow," she said, smiling through her tears.

"Giles, if you had only shown half the boldness before I married that

you show now, you would have carried me off for your own first instead

of second. If we do marry, I hope you will never think badly of me for

encouraging you a little, but my father is SO impatient, you know, as

his years and infirmities increase, that he will wish to see us a

little advanced when he comes. That is my only excuse."

To Winterborne all this was sadder than it was sweet. How could she so

trust her father's conjectures? He did not know how to tell her the

truth and shame himself. And yet he felt that it must be done. "We

may have been wrong," he began, almost fearfully, "in supposing that it

can all be carried out while we stay here at Hintock. I am not sure

but that people may have to appear in a public court even under the new

Act; and if there should be any difficulty, and we cannot marry after

all--"

Her cheeks became slowly bloodless. "Oh, Giles," she said, grasping

his arm, "you have heard something! What--cannot my father conclude it

there and now? Surely he has done it? Oh, Giles, Giles, don't deceive

me. What terrible position am I in?"

He could not tell her, try as he would. The sense of her implicit

trust in his honor absolutely disabled him. "I cannot inform you," he

murmured, his voice as husky as that of the leaves underfoot. "Your

father will soon be here. Then we shall know. I will take you home."

Inexpressibly dear as she was to him, he offered her his arm with the

most reserved air, as he added, correctingly, "I will take you, at any

rate, into the drive."

Thus they walked on together. Grace vibrating between happiness and

misgiving. It was only a few minutes' walk to where the drive ran, and

they had hardly descended into it when they heard a voice behind them

cry, "Take out that arm!"