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Through her guarded manner,
her dignified speech, her placid countenance, he discerned the
interior of Grace's life only too truly, hidden as were its
incidents from every outer eye.
These incidents had become painful enough. Fitzpiers had latterly
developed an irritable discontent which vented itself in
monologues when Grace was present to hear them. The early morning
of this day had been dull, after a night of wind, and on looking
out of the window Fitzpiers had observed some of Melbury's men
dragging away a large limb which had been snapped off a beech-
tree. Everything was cold and colorless.
"My good Heaven!" he said, as he stood in his dressing-gown.
"This is life!" He did not know whether Grace was awake or not,
and he would not turn his head to ascertain. "Ah, fool," he went
on to himself, "to clip your own wings when you were free to
soar!...But I could not rest till I had done it. Why do I never
recognize an opportunity till I have missed it, nor the good or
ill of a step till it is irrevocable!.


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