determined abandonment of the whole landscape that lay
in her direction.

Oh, how she longed to make it up with him! Her father coming in the
evening--which meant, she supposed, that all formalities would be in
train, her marriage virtually annulled, and she be free to be won
again--how could she look him in the face if he should see them
estranged thus?

It was a fair green evening in June. She was seated in the garden, in
the rustic chair which stood under the laurel-bushes--made of peeled
oak-branches that came to Melbury's premises as refuse after
barking-time. The mass of full-juiced leafage on the heights around
her was just swayed into faint gestures by a nearly spent wind which,
even in its enfeebled state, did not reach her shelter. All day she
had expected Giles to call--to inquire how she had got home, or
something or other; but he had not come. And he still tantalized her
by going athwart and across that orchard opposite. She could see him
as she sat.

A slight diversion was presently created by Creedle bringing him a
letter. She knew from this that Creedle had just come from Sherton,
and had called as usual at the post-office for anything that had
arrived by the afternoon post, of which there was no delivery at
Hintock. She pondered on what the letter might contain--particularly
whether it were a second refresher for Winterborne from her father,
like her own of the morning.

But it appeared to have no bearing upon herself whatever. Giles read
its contents; and almost immediately turned away to a gap in the hedge
of the orchard--if that could be called a hedge which, owing to the
drippings of the trees, was little more than a bank with a bush upon it
here and there. He entered the plantation, and was no doubt going that
way homeward to the mysterious hut he occupied on the other side of the
woodland.

The sad sands were running swiftly through Time's glass; she had often
felt it in these latter days; and, like Giles, she felt it doubly now
after the solemn and pathetic reminder in her father's communication.
Her freshness would pass, the long-suffering devotion of Giles might
suddenly end--might end that very hour. Men were so strange. The
thought took away from her all her former reticence, and made her
action bold. She started from her seat. If the little breach,
quarrel, or whatever it might be called, of yesterday, was to be healed
up it must be done by her on the instant. She crossed