ne before
her--thinking of her friend, lost as soon as found, Mrs. Charmond; of
her capricious conduct, and of the contrasting scenes she was possibly
enjoying at that very moment in other climes, to which Grace herself
had hoped to be introduced by her friend's means. She wondered if this
patronizing lady would return to Hintock during the summer, and whether
the acquaintance which had been nipped on the last occasion of her
residence there would develop on the next.

Melbury told ancient timber-stories as he sat, relating them directly
to Fitzpiers, and obliquely to the men, who had heard them often
before. Marty, who poured out tea, was just saying, "I think I'll take
out a cup to Miss Grace," when they heard a clashing of the
gig-harness, and turning round Melbury saw that the horse had become
restless, and was jerking about the vehicle in a way which alarmed its
occupant, though she refrained from screaming. Melbury jumped up
immediately, but not more quickly than Fitzpiers; and while her father
ran to the horse's head and speedily began to control him, Fitzpiers
was alongside the gig assisting Grace to descend. Her surprise at his
appearance was so great that, far from making a calm and independent
descent, she was very nearly lifted down in his arms. He relinquished
her when she touched ground, and hoped she was not frightened.

"Oh no, not much," she managed to say. "There was no danger--unless he
had run under the trees where the boughs are low enough to hit my head."

"Which was by no means an impossibility, and justifies any amount of
alarm."

He referred to what he thought he saw written in her face, and she
could not tell him that this had little to do with the horse, but much
with himself. His contiguity had, in fact, the same effect upon her as
on those former occasions when he had come closer to her than
usual--that of producing in her an unaccountable tendency to
tearfulness. Melbury soon put the horse to rights, and seeing that
Grace was safe, turned again to the work-people. His daughter's
nervous distress had passed off in a few moments, and she said quite
gayly to Fitzpiers as she walked with him towards the group, "There's
destiny in it, you see. I was doomed to join in your picnic, although
I did not intend to do so."

Marty prepared her a comfortable place, and she sat down in the circle,
and listened to Fitzpiers while he drew from her father and the
bark-rippers sundry narrative