In the little time that was afforded for putting the house in order the sweeping of Melbury's parlor was as the sweeping of the parlor at the Interpreter's which wellnigh choked the Pilgrim.

At the end of it Mrs.Melbury sat down, folded her hands and lips, and waited.

Her husband restlessly walked in and out from the timber-yard, stared at the interior of the room, jerked out "ay, ay," and retreated again.

Between four and five Fitzpiers arrived, hitching his horse to the hook outside the door.
As soon as he had walked in and perceived that Grace was not in the room, he seemed to have a misgiving.

Nothing less than her actual presence could long keep him to the level of this impassioned enterprise, and that lacking he appeared as one who wished to retrace his steps.
He mechanically talked at what he considered a woodland matron's level of thought till a rustling was heard on the stairs, and Grace came in.
Fitzpiers was for once as agitated as she.