other copse-ware, for which purpose he had been
obliged to buy several acres of brushwood standing. He was now engaged
in the cutting and manufacture of the same, proceeding with the work
daily like an automaton.

The hazel-tree did not belie its name to-day. The whole of the
copse-wood where the mist had cleared returned purest tints of that
hue, amid which Winterborne himself was in the act of making a hurdle,
the stakes being driven firmly into the ground in a row, over which he
bent and wove the twigs. Beside him was a square, compact pile like
the altar of Cain, formed of hurdles already finished, which bristled
on all sides with the sharp points of their stakes. At a little
distance the men in his employ were assisting him to carry out his
contract. Rows of copse-wood lay on the ground as it had fallen under
the axe; and a shelter had been constructed near at hand, in front of
which burned the fire whose smoke had attracted him. The air was so
dank that the smoke hung heavy, and crept away amid the bushes without
rising from the ground.

After wistfully regarding Winterborne a while, Melbury drew nearer, and
briefly inquired of Giles how he came to be so busily engaged, with an
undertone of slight surprise that Winterborne could seem so thriving
after being deprived of Grace. Melbury was not without emotion at the
meeting; for Grace's affairs had divided them, and ended their intimacy
of old times.

Winterborne explained just as briefly, without raising his eyes from
his occupation of chopping a bough that he held in front of him.

"'Twill be up in April before you get it all cleared," said Melbury.

"Yes, there or thereabouts," said Winterborne, a chop of the billhook
jerking the last word into two pieces.

There was another interval; Melbury still looked on, a chip from
Winterborne's hook occasionally flying against the waistcoat and legs
of his visitor, who took no heed.

"Ah, Giles--you should have been my partner. You should have been my
son-in-law," the old man said at last. "It would have been far better
for her and for me."

Winterborne saw that something had gone wrong with his former friend,
and throwing down the switch he was about to interweave, he responded
only too readily to the mood of the timber-dealer. "Is she ill?" he
said, hurriedly.

"No, no." Melbury stood without speaking for some minutes, and then, as
though he could not bring himself to proceed, turned to go away.

Wi