cried.

"Who--Edgar?" said Melbury, abruptly. "Matter? Nothing. What, my
dear, and have you got home safe? Why, you are better already! But you
ought not to be out in the air like this."

"But he has been thrown off his horse!"

"I know; I know. I saw it. He got up again, and walked off as well as
ever. A fall on the leaves didn't hurt a spry fellow like him. He did
not come this way," he added, significantly. "I suppose he went to
look for his horse. I tried to find him, but could not. But after
seeing him go away under the trees I found the horse, and have led it
home for safety. So he must walk. Now, don't you stay out here in this
night air."

She returned to the house with her father. When she had again ascended
to the landing and to her own rooms beyond it was a great relief to her
to find that both Petticoat the First and Petticoat the Second of her
Bien-aime had silently disappeared. They had, in all probability,
heard the words of her father, and departed with their anxieties
relieved.

Presently her parents came up to Grace, and busied themselves to see
that she was comfortable. Perceiving soon that she would prefer to be
left alone they went away.

Grace waited on. The clock raised its voice now and then, but her
husband did not return. At her father's usual hour for retiring he
again came in to see her. "Do not stay up," she said, as soon as he
entered. "I am not at all tired. I will sit up for him."

"I think it will be useless, Grace," said Melbury, slowly.

"Why?"

"I have had a bitter quarrel with him; and on that account I hardly
think he will return to-night."

"A quarrel? Was that after the fall seen by the boy?"

Melbury nodded an affirmative, without taking his eyes off the candle.

"Yes; it was as we were coming home together," he said.

Something had been swelling up in Grace while her father was speaking.
"How could you want to quarrel with him?" she cried, suddenly. "Why
could you not let him come home quietly if he were inclined to? He is
my husband; and now you have married me to him surely you need not
provoke him unnecessarily. First you induce me to accept him, and then
you do things that divide us more than we should naturally be divided!"

"How can you speak so unjustly to me, Grace?" said Melbury, with
indignant sorrow. "I divide you from your husband, indeed! You little
think--"

He was inclined to say more--to tell her the whole story of the