The next morning Grace was at the window early. She felt determined to
see him somehow that day, and prepared his breakfast eagerly. Eight
o'clock struck, and she had remembered that he had not come to arouse
her by a knocking, as usual, her own anxiety having caused her to stir.

The breakfast was set in its place without. But he did not arrive to
take it; and she waited on. Nine o'clock arrived, and the breakfast
was cold; and still there was no Giles. A thrush, that had been
repeating itself a good deal on an opposite bush for some time, came
and took a morsel from the plate and bolted it, waited, looked around,
and took another. At ten o'clock she drew in the tray, and sat down to
her own solitary meal. He must have been called away on business
early, the rain having cleared off.

Yet she would have liked to assure herself, by thoroughly exploring the
precincts of the hut, that he was nowhere in its vicinity; but as the
day was comparatively fine, the dread lest some stray passenger or
woodman should encounter her in such a reconnoitre paralyzed her wish.
The solitude was further accentuated to-day by the stopping of the
clock for want of winding, and the fall into the chimney-corner of
flakes of soot loosened by the rains. At noon she heard a slight
rustling outside the window, and found that it was caused by an eft
which had crept out of the leaves to bask in the last sun-rays that
would be worth having till the following May.