The Woodlanders

the case to Winterborne frankly, and in quite a friendly way. He declared that he did not like to be hard on a man when he was in difficulty; but he really did not see how Winterborne could marry his daughter now, without even a house to take her to.
Giles quite acquiesced in the awkwardness of his situation. But from a momentary feeling that he would like to know Grace’s mind from her own lips, he did not speak out positively there and then. He accordingly departed somewhat abruptly, and went home to consider whether he would seek to bring about a meeting with her.
In the evening, while he sat quietly pondering, he fancied that he heard a scraping on the wall outside his house. The boughs of a monthly rose which grew there made such a noise sometimes, but as no wind was stirring he knew that it could not be the rose-tree. He took up the candle and went out. Nobody was near. As he turned, the light flickered on the whitewashed rough case of the front, and he saw words written thereon in charcoal, which he read as follows:

“O Giles, you’ve lost your dwelling-place,

And therefore, Giles, you’ll lose your Grace.”

Giles went indoors. He had his suspicions as to the scrawler of those lines, but he could not be sure. What suddenly filled his heart far more than curiosity about their authorship was a terrible belief that they were turning out to be true, try to see Grace as he might. They decided the question for him. He sat down and wrote a formal note to Melbury, in which he briefly stated that he was placed in such a position as to make him share to the full Melbury’s view of his own and his daughter’s promise, made some years before; to wish that it should be considered as cancelled, and they themselves quite released from any obligation on account of it.
Having fastened up this their plenary absolution, he determined to get it out of his hands and have done with it; to which end he went off to Melbury’s at once. It was now so late that the family had all retired; he crept up to the house, thrust the note under the door, and stole away as silently as he had come.
Melbury himself was the first to rise the next morning, and when he had read the letter his relief was great. “Very honorable of Giles, very honorable,” he kept saying to himself. “I shall not forget him. Now to keep her up to her own true level.”
It happened that Grace went out for an early ramble that morning, passing through the door and gate while her father was in the spar-house. To go in her customary direction she could not avoid passing Winterborne’s house. The morning sun was shining flat upon its white surface, and the words, which still remained, were immediately visible to her. She read them. Her face flushed to crimson. She could see Giles and Creedle talking together at the back; the charred spar-gad with which the lines had been written lay on the ground beneath the wall. Feeling pretty sure that Winterborne would observe her action, she quickly went up to the wall, rubbed out “lose” and inserted “keep” in its stead. Then she made the best of her way home without looking behind her. Giles could draw an inference now if he chose.
There could not be the least doubt that gentle Grace was warming to more sympathy with, and interest in, Giles Winterborne than ever she had done while he was her promised lover; that since his misfortune those social shortcomings of his, which contrasted so awkwardly with her later experiences of life, had become obscured by the generous revival of an old romantic attachment to him. Though mentally trained and tilled into foreignness of view, as compared with her youthful time, Grace was not an ambitious girl, and might, if left to herself, have declined Winterborne without much discontent or unhappiness. Her feelings just now were so far from latent that the writing on the wall had thus quickened her to an unusual rashness.
Having returned from her walk she sat at breakfast silently. When her stepmother had left the room she said to her father, “I have made up my mind that I should like my engagement to Giles to continue, for the present at any rate, till I can see further what I ought to do.”
Melbury looked much surprised.
“Nonsense,” he said, sharply. “You don’t know what you are talking about. Look here.”
He handed across to her the letter received from Giles.
She read it, and said no more. Could he have seen her write on the wall? She did not know. Fate, it seemed, would have it this way, and there was nothing to do but to acquiesce.
It was a few hours after this that Winterborne, who, curiously enough, had not perceived Grace writing, was clearing away the tree from the front of South’s late dwelling. He saw Marty standing in her doorway, a slim figure in meagre black, almost without womanly contours as yet. He went up to her and said, “Marty, why did you write that on my wall last night? It was you, you know.”
“Because it was the truth. I didn’t mean to let it stay,  Mr. Winterborne; but when I was going to rub it out you came, and I was obliged to run off.”
“Having prophesied one thing, why did you alter it to another? Your predictions can’t be worth much.”
“I have not altered it.”
“But you have.”
“No.”
“It is altered. Go and see.”
She went, and read that, in spite of losing his dwelling-place, he would keep his Grace. Marty came back surprised.
“Well, I never,” she said. “Who can have made such nonsense of it?”
“Who, indeed?” said he.
“I have rubbed it all out, as the point of it is quite gone.”
“You’d no business to rub it out. I didn’t tell you to. I meant to let it