With almost gratuitous honesty they had let their intentions be widely known.  Christine, it is true, had rather shrunk from publicity at first; but Nicholas argued that their boldness in this respect would have good results.  With his friends he held that there was not the slightest probability of her being other than a widow, and a challenge to the missing man now, followed by no response, would stultify any unpleasant remarks which might be thrown at her after their union.  To this end a paragraph was inserted in the Wessex papers, announcing that their marriage was proposed to be celebrated on such and such a day in December.

His periodic walks along the south side of the valley to visit her were among the happiest experiences of his life.  The yellow leaves falling around him in the foreground, the well-watered meads on the left hand, and the woman he loved awaiting him at the back of the scene, promised a future of much serenity, as far as human judgment could foresee.  On arriving, he would sit with her in the ‘parlour’ of the wing she retained, her general sitting-room, where the only relics of her early surroundings were an old clock from the other end of the house, and her own piano.  Before it was quite dark they would stand, hand in hand, looking out of the window across the flat turf to the dark clump of trees which hid further view from their eyes.

‘Do you wish you were still mistress here, dear?’ he once said.

‘Not at all,’ said she cheerfully.  ’I have a good enough room, and a good enough fire, and a good enough friend.  Besides, my latter days as mistress of the house were not happy ones, and they spoilt the place for me.  It was a punishment for my faithlessness.  Nic, you do forgive me?  Really you do?’

The twenty-third of December, the eve of the wedding-day, had arrived at last in the train of such uneventful ones as these.  Nicholas had arranged to visit her that day a little later than usual, and see that everything was ready with her for the morrow’s event and her removal to his house; for he had begun to look after her domestic affairs, and to lighten as much as possible the duties of her housekeeping.

He was to come to an early supper, which she had arranged to take the place of a wedding-breakfast next day—­the latter not being feasible in her present situation.  An hour or so after dark the wife of the farmer who lived in the other part of the house entered Christine’s parlour to lay the cloth.

‘What with getting the ham skinned, and the black-puddings hotted up,’ she said, ’it will take me all my time before he’s here, if I begin this minute.’

‘I’ll lay the table myself,’ said Christine, jumping up.  ’Do you attend to the cooking.’

’Thank you, ma’am.  And perhaps ’tis no matter, seeing that it is the last night you’ll have to do such work.  I knew this sort of life wouldn’t last long for ‘ee, being born to better things.’