"Certainly."
Fitzpiers left the cot, and the stroke of his feet was soon immersed in
the silence that pervaded the spot. Grace remained kneeling and
weeping, she hardly knew how long, and then she sat up, covered poor
Giles's features, and went towards the door where her husband had
stood. No sign of any other comer greeted her ear, the only
perceptible sounds being the tiny cracklings of the dead leaves, which,
like a feather-bed, had not yet done rising to their normal level where
indented by the pressure of her husband's receding footsteps. It
reminded her that she had been struck with the change in his aspect;
the extremely intellectual look that had always been in his face was
wrought to a finer phase by thinness, and a care-worn dignity had been
superadded. She returned to Winterborne's side, and during her
meditations another tread drew near the door, entered the outer room,
and halted at the entrance of the chamber where Grace was.
"What--Marty!" said Grace.
"Yes. I have heard," said Marty, whose demeanor had lost all its
girlishness under the stroke that seemed almost literally to have
bruised her.
"He died for me!" murmured Grace, heavily.
Marty did not fully comprehend; and she answered, "He belongs to
neither of us now, and your beauty is no more powerful with him than my
plainness. I have come to help you, ma'am. He never cared for me, and
he cared much for you; but he cares for us both alike now."
"Oh don't, don't, Marty!"
Marty said no more, but knelt over Winterborne from the other side.
"Did you meet my hus--Mr. Fitzpiers?"
"Then what brought you here?"
"I come this way sometimes. I have got to go to the farther side of
the wood this time of the year, and am obliged to get there before four
o'clock in the morning, to begin heating the oven for the early baking.
I have passed by here often at this time."
Grace looked at her quickly. "Then did you know I was here?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Did you tell anybody?"
"No. I knew you lived in the hut, that he had gied it up to ye, and
lodged out himself."
"Did you know where he lodged?"
"No. That I couldn't find out. Was it at Delborough?"
"No. It was not there, Marty. Would it had been! It would have
saved--saved--" To check her tears she turned, and seeing a book on the
window-bench, took it up. "Look, Marty, this is a Psalter. He was not
an outwardly religious man, but he was pure and perfect in his heart.
Shall we read a psalm over him?"