To explain the ’s sudden proposal it is only necessary to go back to that moment when Anne, Festus, and Mrs. Garland were talking together on the down.  John Loveday had fallen behind so as not to with a meeting in which he was decidedly ; and his father, who guessed the trumpet-major’s secret, watched his face as he stood.  John’s face was sad, and his eyes followed Mrs. Garland’s encouraging manner to Festus in a way which plainly said that every parting of her lips was to him.  The miller loved his son as much as any miller or private gentleman could do, and he was pained to see John’s gloom at such a trivial circumstance.  So what did he resolve but to help John there and then by a matter which, had he himself been the only person concerned, he would have delayed for another six months.  
He had long liked the society of his , neighbour, Mrs. Garland; had mentally taken her up and pondered her in connexion with the question whether it would not be for the happiness of both if she were to share his home, even though she was a little his superior in antecedents and knowledge.  In fact he loved her; not , but to a very creditable extent for his years; that is, next to his sons, Bob and John, though he knew very well of that ploughed-ground appearance near the corners of her once handsome eyes, and that the little depression in her right cheek was not the lingering dimple it was assumed to be, but a result of the abstraction of some worn-out millstones within the cheek by Rootle, the Budmouth man, who lived by such practices on the heads of the elderly.  But what of that, when he had lost two to each one of hers, and exceeded her in age by some eight years!  To do John a service, then, he quickened his designs, and put the question to her while they were under the eyes of the younger pair.
 
Mrs. Garland, though she had been interested in the miller for a long time, and had for a moment now and then thought on this question as far as, ‘Suppose he should, ‘If he were to,’ and so on, had never thought much further; and she was really taken by surprise when the question came.  She answered without affectation that she would think over the proposal; and thus they parted.
 
Her mother’s infirmity of purpose set Anne thinking, and she was suddenly filled with a conviction that in such a case she ought to have some purpose herself.  Mrs. Garland’s complacency at the miller’s offer had, in truth, amazed her.  While her mother had held up her head, and recommended Festus, it had seemed a very pretty thing to rebel; but the pressure being removed an awful sense of her own responsibility took possession of her mind.  As there was no longer anybody to be wise or ambitious for her, surely she should be wise and ambitious for herself, discountenance her mother’s , and encourage Festus in his addresses, for her own and her mother’s good.  There had been a time when a Loveday thrilled her own heart; but that was long ago, before she had thought of position or differences.  To wake into cold daylight like this, when and because her mother had gone into the land of romance, was dreadful and new to her, and like an increase of years without living them.
 
But it was easier to think that she ought to marry the yeoman than to take steps for doing it; and she went on living just as before, only with a little more thoughtfulness in her eyes.
 
Two days after the visit to the camp, when she was again in the garden, Soldier Loveday said to her, at a distance of five rows of beans and a parsley-bed—
 
‘You have heard the news, Miss Garland?’
 
‘No,’ said Anne, without looking up from a book she was reading.
 
‘The King is coming to-morrow.’
 
‘The King?’ She looked up then.
 
‘Yes; to Gloucester ; and he will pass this way.  He can’t arrive till long past the middle of the night, if what they say is true, that he is timed to change horses at Woodyates Inn—between and South Wessex—at twelve o’clock,’ continued Loveday, encouraged by her interest to cut off the parsley-bed from the distance between them.
 
Miller Loveday came round the corner of the house.
 
‘Have ye heard about the King coming, Miss Maidy Anne?’ he said.
 
Anne said that she had just heard of it; and the trumpet-major, who hardly welcomed his father at such a moment, explained what he knew of the matter.
 
‘And you will go with your to meet ‘en, I suppose?’ said old Loveday.
 
Young Loveday said that the men of the German Legion were to perform that duty.  And turning half from his father, and half towards Anne, he added, in a tentative tone, that he thought he might get leave for the night, if anybody would like to be taken to the top of the Ridgeway over which the royal party must pass.
 
Anne, knowing by this time of the budding hope in the dragoon’s mind, and not wishing to encourage it, said, ‘I don’t want to go.’
 
The miller looked disappointed as well as John.
 
‘Your mother might like to?’
 
‘Yes, I am going indoors, and I’ll ask her if you wish me to,’ said she.
 
She went indoors and rather coldly told her mother of the proposal.  Mrs. Garland, though she had not to answer the miller’s question on matrimony just yet, was quite ready for this , and in spite of Anne she sailed off at once to the garden to hear more about it.  When she re-entered, she said—
 
‘Anne, I have not seen the King or the King’s horses for these many years; and I am going.’
 
‘Ah, it is well to be you, mother,’ said Anne, in an elderly tone.
 
‘Then you won’t come with us?’ said Mrs. Garland, rather rebuffed.
 
‘I have very different things to think of,’ said her daughter with emphasis, ‘than going to see sights at that time of night.’
 
Mrs. Garland was sorry, but resolved to adhere to the arrangement.  The night came on; and it having gone abroad that the King would pass by the road, many of the villagers went out to see the procession.  When the two Lovedays and Mrs. Garland were gone, Anne bolted the door for security, and sat down to think again on her grave responsibilities in the choice of a husband, now that her natural could no longer be trusted.
 
A knock came to the door.
 
Anne’s instinct was at once to be silent, that the comer might think the family had .
 
The knocking person, however, was not to be easily persuaded.  He had in fact seen rays of light over the top of the , and, unable to get an answer, went on to the door of the mill, which was still going, the miller sometimes grinding all night when busy.  The grinder accompanied the stranger to Mrs. Garland’s door.
 
‘The daughter is certainly at home, sir,’ said the grinder.  ‘I’ll go round to t’other side, and see if she’s there, Master Derriman.’
 
‘I want to take her out to see the King,’ said Festus.
 
Anne had started at the sound of the voice.  No opportunity could have been better for carrying out her new convictions on the disposal of her hand.  But in her mortal dislike of Festus, Anne forgot her principles, and her idea of keeping herself above the Lovedays.  Tossing on her hat and blowing out the candle, she slipped out at the back door, and hastily followed in the direction that her mother and the rest had taken.  She overtook them as they were beginning to climb the hill.
 
‘What! you have altered your mind after all?’ said the widow.  ‘How came you to do that, my dear?’
 
‘I thought I might as well come,’ said Anne.
 
‘To be sure you did,’ said the miller .  ‘A good deal better than at home there.’
 
John said nothing, though she could almost see through the gloom how glad he was that she had altered her mind.  When they reached the over which the highway stretched they found many of their neighbours who had got there before them idling on the grass border between the roadway and the hedge, enjoying a sort of midnight picnic, which it was easy to do, the air being still and dry.  Some carriages were also standing near, though most people of the district who four wheels, or even two, had driven into the town to await the King there.  From this height could be seen in the distance the position of the watering-place, an additional number of lanterns, lamps, and candles having been lighted to-night by the loyal burghers to grace the royal entry, if it should occur before dawn.
 
Mrs. Garland touched Anne’s elbow several times as they walked, and the young woman at last understood that this was meant as a hint to her to take the trumpet-major’s arm, which its owner was rather suggesting than offering to her.  Anne wondered what infatuation was possessing her mother, declined to take the arm, and to get in front with the miller, who mostly kept in the van to guide the others’ footsteps.  The trumpet-major was left with Mrs. Garland, and Anne’s encouraging pursuit of them induced him to say a few words to the former.
 
‘By your leave, ma’am, I’ll speak to you on something that concerns my mind very much indeed?’
 
‘Certainly.’
 
‘It is my wish to be allowed to pay my addresses to your daughter.’
 
‘I thought you meant that,’ said Mrs. Garland simply.
 
‘And you’ll not object?’
 
‘I shall leave it to her.  I don’t think she will agree, even if I do.’
 
The soldier sighed, and seemed helpless.  ‘Well, I can but ask her,’ he said.
 
The spot on which they had finally chosen to wait for the King was by a field gate, whence the white road could be seen for a long distance northwards by day, and some little distance now.  They lingered and lingered, but no King came to break the silence of that beautiful summer night.  As half-hour after half-hour by, and nobody came, Ann............