She became lost in long ponderings on how far a person's conscience
might be bound by vows made without at the time a full recognition of
their force. That particular sentence, beginning "Whom God hath joined
together," was a staggerer for a gentlewoman of strong devotional
sentiment. She wondered whether God really did join them together.
Before she had done deliberating the time of her engagement drew near,
and she went out of the house almost at the moment that Tim Tangs
retired to his own.
The position of things at that critical juncture was briefly as follows.
Two hundred yards to the right of the upper end of Tangs's garden
Fitzpiers was still advancing, having now nearly reached the summit of
the wood-clothed ridge, the path being the actual one which further on
passed between the two young oaks. Thus far it was according to Tim's
conjecture. But about two hundred yards to the left, or rather less,
was arising a condition which he had not divined, the emergence of
Grace as aforesaid from the upper corner of her father's garden, with
the view of meeting Tim's intended victim. Midway between husband and
wife was the diabolical trap, silent, open, ready.
Fitzpiers's walk that night had been cheerful, for he was convinced
that the slow and gentle method he had adopted was promising success.
The very restraint that he was obliged to exercise upon himself, so as
not to kill the delicate bud of returning confidence, fed his flame.
He walked so much more rapidly than Grace that, if they continued
advancing as they had begun, he would reach the trap a good half-minute
before she could reach the same spot.
But here a new circumstance came in; to escape the unpleasantness of
being watched or listened to by lurkers--naturally curious by reason of
their strained relations--they had arranged that their meeting for
to-night should be at the holm-tree on the ridge above named. So soon,
accordingly, as Fitzpiers reached the tree he stood still to await her.
He had not paused under the prickly foliage more than two minutes when
he thought he heard a scream from the other side of the ridge.
Fitzpiers wondered what it could mean; but such wind as there was just
now blew in an adverse direction, and his mood was light. He set down
the origin of the sound to one of the superstitious freaks or
frolicsome scrimmages between sweethearts that still survived in
Hintock from old-English times; and waited on where he stood till ten
minutes had passed. Feeling then a little uneasy, his mind reverted to
the scream; and he went forward over the summit and down the embowered
incline, till he reached the pair of sister oaks with the narrow
opening between them.