says you are in the pouts, and
jealous, and I don't know what. Ha! ha! ha! as if there were any rival
to you, except vegetable nature, in this home of recluses! We know
better."

"Jealous; oh no, it is not so," said she, gravely. "That's a mistake
of his and yours, sir. I spoke to him so closely about the question of
marriage with you that he did not apprehend my state of mind."

"But there's something wrong--eh?" he asked, eying her narrowly, and
bending to kiss her. She shrank away, and his purposed kiss miscarried.

"What is it?" he said, more seriously for this little defeat.

She made no answer beyond, "Mr. Fitzpiers, I have had no breakfast, I
must go in."

"Come," he insisted, fixing his eyes upon her. "Tell me at once, I
say."

It was the greater strength against the smaller; but she was mastered
less by his manner than by her own sense of the unfairness of silence.
"I looked out of the window," she said, with hesitation. "I'll tell
you by-and-by. I must go in-doors. I have had no breakfast."

By a sort of divination his conjecture went straight to the fact. "Nor
I," said he, lightly. "Indeed, I rose late to-day. I have had a
broken night, or rather morning. A girl of the village--I don't know
her name--came and rang at my bell as soon as it was light--between
four and five, I should think it was--perfectly maddened with an aching
tooth. As no-body heard her ring, she threw some gravel at my window,
till at last I heard her and slipped on my dressing-gown and went down.
The poor thing begged me with tears in her eyes to take out her
tormentor, if I dragged her head off. Down she sat and out it came--a
lovely molar, not a speck upon it; and off she went with it in her
handkerchief, much contented, though it would have done good work for
her for fifty years to come."

It was all so plausible--so completely explained. Knowing nothing of
the incident in the wood on old Midsummer-eve, Grace felt that her
suspicions were unworthy and absurd, and with the readiness of an
honest heart she jumped at the opportunity of honoring his word. At
the moment of her mental liberation the bushes about the garden had
moved, and her father emerged into the shady glade. "Well, I hope it is
made up?" he said, cheerily.

"Oh yes," said Fitzpiers, with his eyes fixed on Grace, whose eyes were
shyly bent downward.

"Now," said her father, "tell me, the pair of ye, that you still mean
to take one another for go