'It is not quite certain yet, my noble lord,' said Jim cheerfully.
'But I hope 'twill not be long after the time when God A'mighty
christens the little apples.'

'And when is that?'

'St. Swithin's--the middle of July. 'Tis to be some time in that
month, she tells me.'

When Jim was gone the Baron seemed meditative. He went out, ascended
the mount, and entered the weather-screen, where he looked at the
seats, as though re-enacting in his fancy the scene of that memorable
morning of fog. He turned his eyes to the angle of the shelter,
round which Margery had suddenly appeared like a vision, and it was
plain that he would not have minded her appearing there then. The
juncture had indeed been such an impressive and critical one that she
must have seemed rather a heavenly messenger than a passing milkmaid,
more especially to a man like the Baron, who, despite the mystery of
his origin and life, revealed himself to be a melancholy, emotional
character--the Jacques of this forest and stream.

Behind the mount the ground rose yet higher, ascending to a
plantation which sheltered the house. The Baron strolled up here,
and bent his gaze over the distance. The valley of the Exe lay
before him, with its shining river, the brooks that fed it, and the
trickling springs that fed the brooks. The situation of Margery's
house was visible, though not the house itself; and the Baron gazed
that way for an infinitely long time, till, remembering himself, he
moved on.