Mr. Reeve's heart had not leapt in his bosom
without cause; he was already deeply in love,
and his passion grew with every hour. Nor
did it seem to him that his case was hopeless;
for, during the absence of the lady's brother,
he was admitted whenever he called, and
allowed to join Miss Emily—she was known
by no other name—in the exercise of which
she was so fond, and knowing the country for
miles round, he proved an excellent guide.
He used generally to manage to bring her
home by Hewish, and the last day on which
they rode out together, she dismounted to see
his garden and homestead,, and all the
plenishing of the farm and while they walked by
the bring of Pit Pond he made her an offer
of marriage. It was never known exactly in
what way the offer was received. Some said
it was at once rejected in an angry manner;
others that Miss Emily cried a great deal,
and said it was impossible; but Mrs. Barlow
who lived at Hewish farm as Mr Reeve's
housekeeper, and is reported to have seen
something of what took place, always
declared that whatever Miss Emily might have
replied, she was sure Mr. Reeve kissed her
more than once and called her his own; after
which, without coming into the house again,
they mounted their horses and rode away.
Whether this were true or not, at all events
Mr. Reeve did not accompany her into
Marlborough, but must have taken leave of her
somewhere on the road, for she was alone
when she got to the door of the Castle
inn. What became of him afterwards for
several hours is a mystery, since he did not
return till past midnight, long after Mrs.
Barlow had gone to bed, but she heard him
stable his horse and afterwards go up to his
own room, where he walked to and fro, she
said, till sunrise. All that day, and the next,
and the next after that, and so on for several
more, he looked very pale and ill, and didn't
ride out, or go over the farm, but sat near the
window, making as if he was reading,
though, as Mrs. Barlow added, "his eye was
on the road all the time, and every five
minutes he went to the gate to see if the
postman was in sight," for it seemed he
expected a letter. He got one at last, but
matters were not at all mended  by it: on the
contrary, he got paler and thinner, and used
to shut himself up in his room, and write by
the hour together. Whom he wrote to nobody
knew; for he never entrusted his letters to
any one, but rode off with them himself,
without leaving word where he was gone to
or when he should be back.

After about two months had gone by in
this manner, another letter came for him. It
was charged with a heavy postage, and
Jacob Stride, the postman, said it came from
abroad. The next day Mr. Reeve told his
housekeeper he was going away for some
time: he left money with her to pay all
necessary expenses from that time till Christmas,
and then set out. He took the coach
to London, but where he went afterwards
nobody at Hewish ever heard.

It was not till New Year's eve that he
returned, and when he did so, those who
knew him best could scarcely have sworn
that he was the same person who, six months
before, had been such a quiet, contented,
happy-looking young man. Deep lines were
in his face now, his hair had grown gray, his
frame was meagre; there was restlessness in
his eye, and impatience on. his lips, as if he
struggled with mental more than with bodily
pain. His manner, too, was as much altered
as his person: formerly he had a kind word
for every one — now, he spoke seldom, and
always harshly. He seemed to take no pleasure
in anything, unless it were to stand for
hours at a time on the brink of Pit Pond,
looking down into the water.

Let me give the rest of this tale as the
shepherd told it:

"After not seeming to care much what
had become of the farm while he was away,
or to take any pride in it when he got back,
one morning in February—it was Candlemas
day Mr. Reeve got up early, just as he used
to do aforetime, and went round to my father
and said, as it was lambing time, and the
snow was on the ground, he'd like him to
look well after the young lambs as soon as
they was dropped, and keep 'em nice and
warm; and my father said he'd be sure to,
for he was glad to see his master take an
interest in the poor dumb things; he fancied
it a good sign. He little thought what was
going to happen. Breakfast time come, but
Mr. Reeve was wanting, and Mrs. Barlow
she waited an hour or more, wondering where
he was. At last she sent out to look for
him, and the first person the girl met was the
cowboy, who told her he'd seen his master,
an hour before, walking round and round Pit
Pond, but stopping every now and then, and
saying something to himself. What it was,
the boy was too far off to hear, but he
thought he heard the name of 'Em'ly ' twice
repeated, and then Mr. Reeve looked up, and
seeming to think the boy was watching of
him, sent him with a message to a place a
mile off ; and the boy said he should never
forget his master's look when he spoke to
him, it was so cold-like and ghastly. They
begun now to suspect that something had
gone wrong with Mr. Reeve, and away they
all hurries down to Pit Pond, and there, sure
enough, they sees Mr. Reeve's hat floating
atop of the water. They got rakes and they
got hooks, and poles and ropes, and everything
they could think of, and dragged the
pond right through and through, but they
could find nothing: whatever he'd done with
himself, he warn't drownded. So they sets
about to look somewhere else, and my father,
who'd joined the rest, he spied footmarks in
the snow that looked like Mr. Reeve's, for
they was littler than the farm servants'; and
they led to a barn where there hadn't been