When Melbury heard what had happened he seemed much moved, and walked
thoughtfully about the premises. On South's own account he was
genuinely sorry; and on Winterborne's he was the more grieved in that
this catastrophe had so closely followed the somewhat harsh dismissal
of Giles as the betrothed of his daughter.
He was quite angry with circumstances for so heedlessly inflicting on
Giles a second trouble when the needful one inflicted by himself was
all that the proper order of events demanded. "I told Giles's father
when he came into those houses not to spend too much money on lifehold
property held neither for his own life nor his son's," he exclaimed.
"But he wouldn't listen to me. And now Giles has to suffer for it."
"Poor Giles!" murmured Grace.
"Now, Grace, between us two, it is very, very remarkable. It is almost
as if I had foreseen this; and I am thankful for your escape, though I
am sincerely sorry for Giles. Had we not dismissed him already, we
could hardly have found it in our hearts to dismiss him now. So I say,
be thankful. I'll do all I can for him as a friend; but as a pretender
to the position of my son-in law, that can never be thought of more."
And yet at that very moment the impracticability to which poor
Winterborne's suit had been reduced was touching Grace's heart to a
warmer sentiment on his behalf than she had felt for years concerning
him.
He, meanwhile, was sitting down alone in the old familiar house which
had ceased to be his, taking a calm if somewhat dismal survey of
affairs. The pendulum of the clock bumped every now and then against
one side of the case in which it swung, as the muffled drum to his
worldly march. Looking out of the window he could perceive that a
paralysis had come over Creedle's occupation of manuring the garden,
owing, obviously, to a conviction that they might not be living there
long enough to profit by next season's crop.
He looked at the leases again and the letter attached. There was no
doubt that he had lost his houses by an accident which might easily
have been circumvented if he had known the true conditions of his
holding. The time for performance had now lapsed in strict law; but
might not the intention be considered by the landholder when she became
aware of the circumstances, and his moral right to retain the holdings
for the term of his life be conceded?
His heart sank within him when he perceived that despite all the legal
reciprocities and safeguards prepared and written, the upshot of the
matter amounted to this, that it depended upon the mere caprice--good
or ill--of the woman he had met the day before in such an unfortunate
way, whether he was to possess his houses for life or no.