Later on in the afternoon the hat was brought to Melbury, and, by a piece of ill-fortune, into Grace's presence.

It had doubtless lain in the wood ever since his fall from the horse, but it looked so clean and uninjured--the summer weather and leafy shelter having much favored its preservation--that Grace could not believe it had remained so long concealed.

A very little of fact was enough to set her fevered fancy at work at this juncture; she thought him still in the neighborhood; she feared his sudden appearance; and her nervous malady developed consequences so grave that Dr.Jones began to look serious, and the household was alarmed.
It was the beginning of June, and the cuckoo at this time of the summer scarcely ceased his cry for more than two or three hours during the night.

The bird's note, so familiar to her ears from infancy, was now absolute torture to the poor girl.

On the Friday following the Wednesday of Melbury's departure, and the day after the discovery of Fitzpiers's hat, the cuckoo began at two o'clock in the morning with a sudden cry from one of Melbury's apple-trees, not three yards from the window of Grace's room.
"Oh, he is coming!" she cried, and in her terror sprang clean from the bed out upon the floor.
These starts and frights continued till noon; and when the doctor had arrived and had seen her, and had talked with Mrs.Melbury, he sat down and meditated.