, jacketed with
lichen and stockinged with moss. At their roots were stemless yellow
fungi like lemons and apricots, and tall fungi with more stem than
stool. Next were more trees close together, wrestling for existence,
their branches disfigured with wounds resulting from their mutual
rubbings and blows. It was the struggle between these neighbors that
she had heard in the night. Beneath them were the rotting stumps of
those of the group that had been vanquished long ago, rising from their
mossy setting like decayed teeth from green gums. Farther on were
other tufts of moss in islands divided by the shed leaves--variety upon
variety, dark green and pale green; moss-like little fir-trees, like
plush, like malachite stars, like nothing on earth except moss.

The strain upon Grace's mind in various ways was so great on this the
most desolate day she had passed there that she felt it would be
well-nigh impossible to spend another in such circumstances. The
evening came at last; the sun, when its chin was on the earth, found an
opening through which to pierce the shade, and stretched irradiated
gauzes across the damp atmosphere, making the wet trunks shine, and
throwing splotches of such ruddiness on the leaves beneath the beech
that they were turned to gory hues. When night at last arrived, and
with it the time for his return, she was nearly broken down with
suspense.

The simple evening meal, partly tea, partly supper, which Grace had
prepared, stood waiting upon the hearth; and yet Giles did not come.
It was now nearly twenty-four hours since she had seen him. As the room
grew darker, and only the firelight broke against the gloom of the
walls, she was convinced that it would be beyond her staying power to
pass the night without hearing from him or from somebody. Yet eight
o'clock drew on, and his form at the window did not appear.

The meal remained untasted. Suddenly rising from before the hearth of
smouldering embers, where she had been crouching with her hands clasped
over her knees, she crossed the room, unlocked the door, and listened.
Every breath of wind had ceased with the decline of day, but the rain
had resumed the steady dripping of the night before. Grace might have
stood there five minutes when she fancied she heard that old sound, a
cough, at no great distance; and it was presently repeated. If it were
Winterborne's, he must be near her; why, then, had he not visited her?

A horrid misgiving t