Fitzpiers’smentalsufferingsandsuspenseledhimatlasttotakeamelancholyjourneytotheneighborhoodofLittleHintock；andherehehoveredforhoursaroundthesceneofthepurestemotionalexperiencesthathehadeverknowninhislife。HewalkedaboutthewoodsthatsurroundedMelbury’shouse，keepingoutofsightlikeacriminal。Itwasafineevening，andonhiswayhomewardhepassednearMartySouth’scottage。Asusualshehadlightedhercandlewithoutclosinghershutters；hesawherwithinashehadseenhermanytimesbefore。
Shewaspolishingtools，andthoughhehadnotwishedtoshowhimself，hecouldnotresistspeakingintoherthroughthehalf-
opendoor。“Whatareyoudoingthatfor，Marty？”
“BecauseIwanttocleanthem。Theyarenotmine。”Hecouldsee，indeed，thattheywerenothers，foronewasaspade，largeandheavy，andanotherwasabill-hookwhichshecouldonlyhaveusedwithbothhands。Thespade，thoughnotanewone，hadbeensocompletelyburnishedthatitwasbrightassilver。
FitzpierssomehowdivinedthattheywereGilesWinterborne’s，andheputthequestiontoher。