e?" said Mrs. Charmond; and on Suke pointing out the direction,
she made as if to go thither.

Grace barred the way. "He is not there," she said. "I have not seen
him any more than you. I have heard a report only--not so bad as you
think. It must have been exaggerated to you."

"Please do not conceal anything--let me know all!" said Felice,
doubtingly.

"You shall know all I know--you have a perfect right to know--who can
have a better than either of you?" said Grace, with a delicate sting
which was lost upon Felice Charmond now. "I repeat, I have only heard
a less alarming account than you have heard; how much it means, and how
little, I cannot say. I pray God that it means not much--in common
humanity. You probably pray the same--for other reasons."

She regarded them both there in the dim light a while.

They stood dumb in their trouble, not stinging back at her; not heeding
her mood. A tenderness spread over Grace like a dew. It was well,
very well, conventionally, to address either one of them in the wife's
regulation terms of virtuous sarcasm, as woman, creature, or thing, for
losing their hearts to her husband. But life, what was it, and who was
she? She had, like the singer of the psalm of Asaph, been plagued and
chastened all the day long; but could she, by retributive words, in
order to please herself--the individual--"offend against the
generation," as he would not?

"He is dying, perhaps," blubbered Suke Damson, putting her apron to her
eyes.

In their gestures and faces there were anxieties, affection, agony of
heart, all for a man who had wronged them--had never really behaved
towards either of them anyhow but selfishly. Neither one but would
have wellnigh sacrificed half her life to him, even now. The tears
which his possibly critical situation could not bring to her eyes
surged over at the contemplation of these fellow-women. She turned to
the balustrade, bent herself upon it, and wept.

Thereupon Felice began to cry also, without using her handkerchief, and
letting the tears run down silently. While these three poor women
stood together thus, pitying another though most to be pitied
themselves, the pacing of a horse or horses became audible in the
court, and in a moment Melbury's voice was heard calling to his
stableman. Grace at once started up, ran down the stairs and out into
the quadrangle as her father crossed it towards the door. "Father,
what is the matter with him?" she