Grace Malherb meantime, suspecting nothing, entered the web of the spider and longed for her marriage hour to come. She beamed upon the house party assembled, was the soul of graciousness to Peter Norcot, counted the hours that still kept her from her father and mother, and mourned only one circumstance; that her sweetheart's wounded eyes would never see the sun shine upon his wedding day. It was understood by poor Grace that Cecil Stark must remain at Chagford until well again; while as soon as the marriage ceremony was ended, Peter had promised to escort her home. She was marvellously reconciled to the wool-stapler. From her first indignation and passion he had weaned her day by day, and as with the subtlest ingenuity he had developed his fairy story and lent to it the colours of reality, Grace at last believed and blessed his name. The natural desire of the lovers that they should meet, Norcot overruled by many pleas. Each continued to believe the other blind; each had seen the forgery; for the rest, oral messages passed between them and were carefully garbled to fit the pretended circumstances. With hyperbolical gleam and glitter did Peter do his work, and throw an enchanted mantle of verity over his enterprise. Actual genius marked his operations; he made the fantastic solid, the imaginary real. His masterpiece rang true; it was enduring and full of vitality. He had, of course, to do with a man and a woman plunged deep in love; and his deception was absolute. Now there remained to settle with John Lee, and Norcot prepared to undertake that task himself. Very accurately he gauged John's intentions, guessed his destination, and calculated the hour of his return. Once back again, he would risk all things to communicate with Stark; but he might be met upon the way, and stopped once for ever before he did further mischief. Peter planned his operations to an hour; saw Grace settled with his sister; prepared his study so that no ray of light could penetrate it; directed Relton Norcot exactly where to take his place; said a final word to his man, Mason; and then returned into the darkness. "He will come much faster than Malherb," reflected the wool-stapler, "and, yes--it may be necessary." He went back into the house, visited his dressing-room, and brought from it a double-barrelled pistol. There was but one way by which John Lee would return: down a narrow lane which separated Norcot's estate from the domains of the Manor; and here the wool-stapler stationed himself. It was still dark, and after a patient hour, the night wind quickened Peter's wits. Upon the first glimmer of dawn, he asked himself a question. Why wait a moment longer? Why not escape this simple difficulty by a little haste?