he red, and showing in dark profile every beck and
movement of three pheasants that were settling themselves down on it in
a row to roost.

"It will be fine to-morrow," said Marty, observing them with the
vermilion light of the sun in the pupils of her eyes, "for they are
a-croupied down nearly at the end of the bough. If it were going to be
stormy they'd squeeze close to the trunk. The weather is almost all
they have to think of, isn't it, Mr. Winterborne? and so they must be
lighter-hearted than we."

"I dare say they are," said Winterborne.

Before taking a single step in the preparations, Winterborne, with no
great hopes, went across that evening to the timber-merchant's to
ascertain if Grace and her parents would honor him with their presence.
Having first to set his nightly gins in the garden, to catch the
rabbits that ate his winter-greens, his call was delayed till just
after the rising of the moon, whose rays reached the Hintock houses but
fitfully as yet, on account of the trees. Melbury was crossing his yard
on his way to call on some one at the larger village, but he readily
turned and walked up and down the path with the young man.

Giles, in his self-deprecatory sense of living on a much smaller scale
than the Melburys did, would not for the world imply that his
invitation was to a gathering of any importance. So he put it in the
mild form of "Can you come in for an hour, when you have done business,
the day after to-morrow; and Mrs. and Miss Melbury, if they have
nothing more pressing to do?"

Melbury would give no answer at once. "No, I can't tell you to-day,"
he said. "I must talk it over with the women. As far as I am
concerned, my dear Giles, you know I'll come with pleasure. But how do
I know what Grace's notions may be? You see, she has been away among
cultivated folks a good while; and now this acquaintance with Mrs.
Charmond--Well, I'll ask her. I can say no more."

When Winterborne was gone the timber-merchant went on his way. He knew
very well that Grace, whatever her own feelings, would either go or not
go, according as he suggested; and his instinct was, for the moment, to
suggest the negative. His errand took him past the church, and the way
to his destination was either across the church-yard or along-side it,
the distances being the same. For some reason or other he chose the
former way.

The moon was faintly lighting up the gravestones, and the path, and the
front of