With this in view he took her out for a walk, a custom of his when he
wished to say anything specially impressive. Their way was over the
top of that lofty ridge dividing their woodland from the cider
district, whence they had in the spring beheld the miles of apple-trees
in bloom. All was now deep green. The spot recalled to Grace's mind
the last occasion of her presence there, and she said, "The promise of
an enormous apple-crop is fulfilling itself, is it not? I suppose
Giles is getting his mills and presses ready."

This was just what her father had not come there to talk about. Without
replying he raised his arm, and moved his finger till he fixed it at a
point. "There," he said, "you see that plantation reaching over the
hill like a great slug, and just behind the hill a particularly green
sheltered bottom? That's where Mr. Fitzpiers's family were lords of
the manor for I don't know how many hundred years, and there stands the
village of Buckbury Fitzpiers. A wonderful property 'twas--wonderful!"

"But they are not lords of the manor there now."

"Why, no. But good and great things die as well as little and foolish.
The only ones representing the family now, I believe, are our doctor
and a maiden lady living I don't know where. You can't help being
happy, Grace, in allying yourself with such a romantical family.
You'll feel as if you've stepped into history."