THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE

by Thomas Hardy

PREFACE

The date at which the following events are assumed to have occurred maybe set down as between 1840 and 1850, when the old watering place hereincalled "Budmouth" still retained sufficient afterglow from its Georgiangaiety and prestige to lend it an absorbing attractiveness to theromantic and imaginative soul of a lonely dweller inland. 

Under the general name of "Egdon Heath, " which has been given to thesombre scene of the story, are united or typified heaths of various realnames, to the number of at least a dozen; these being virtually one incharacter and aspect, though their original unity, or partial unity, isnow somewhat disguised by intrusive strips and slices brought under theplough with varying degrees of success, or planted to woodland. 

It is pleasant to dream that some spot in the extensive tract whosesouthwestern quarter is here described, may be the heath of thattraditionary King of Wessex--Lear. 

July, 1895. 

 "To sorrow I bade good morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly; She is so constant to me, and so kind. I would deceive her, And so leave her, But ah! she is so constant and so kind. "

BOOK ONE -- THE THREE WOMEN

1--A Face on Which Time Makes but Little Impression

A Saturday afternoon in November was approaching the time of twilight, and the vast tract of unenclosed wild known as Egdon Heath embrowneditself moment by moment. Overhead the hollow stretch of whitish cloudshutting out the sky was as a tent which had the whole heath for itsfloor. 

The heaven being spread with this pallid screen and the earth withthe darkest vegetation, their meeting-line at the horizon was clearlymarked. In such contrast the heath wore the appearance of an instalmentof night which had taken up its place before its astronomical hour wascome: darkness had to a great extent arrived hereon, while day stooddistinct in the sky. Looking upwards, a furze-cutter would have beeninclined to continue work; looking down, he would have decided tofinish his faggot and go home. The distant rims of the world and of thefirmament seemed to be a division in time no less than a division inmatter. The face of the heath by its mere complexion added half anhour to evening; it could in like manner retard the dawn, sadden noon, anticipate the frowning of storms scarcely generated, and intensify theopacity of a moonless midnight to a cause of shaking and dread. 

In fact, precisely at this transitional point of its nightly roll intodarkness the great and particular glory of the Egdon waste began, andnobody could be said to understand the heath who had not been there atsuch a time. It could best be felt when it could not clearly be seen, its complete effect and explanation lying in this and the succeedinghours before the next dawn; then, and only then, did it tell its truetale. The spot was, indeed, a near relation of night, and when nightshowed itself an apparent tendency to gravitate together could beperceived in its shades and the scene. The sombre stretch of rounds andhollows seemed to rise and meet the evening gloom in pure sympathy, theheath exhaling darkness as rapidly as the heavens precipitated it. And so the obscurity in the air and the obscurity in the land closedtogether in a black fraternization towards which each advanced halfway. 

The place became full of a watchful intentness now; for when otherthings sank blooding to sleep the heath appeared slowly to awake andlisten. Every night its Titanic form seemed to await something; but ithad waited thus, unmoved, during so many centuries, through the crisesof so many things, that it could only be imagined to await one lastcrisis--the final overthrow. 

It was a spot which returned upon the memory of those who loved itwith an aspect of peculiar and kindly congruity. Smiling champaigns offlowers and fruit hardly do this, for they are permanently harmoniousonly with an existence of better reputation as to its issues than thepresent. Twilight combined with the scenery of Egdon Heath to evolve athing majestic without severity, impressive without showiness, emphaticin its admonitions, grand in its simplicity. The qualifications whichfrequently invest the facade of a prison with far more dignity than isfound in the facade of a palace double its size lent to this heath asublimity in which spots renowned for beauty of the accepted kind areutterly wanting. Fair prospects wed happily with fair times; but alas, if times be not fair! Men have oftener suffered from, the mockery ofa place too smiling for their reason than from the oppression ofsurroundings oversadly tinged. Haggard Egdon appealed to a subtler andscarcer instinct, to a more recently learnt emotion, than that whichresponds to the sort of beauty called charming and fair. 

Indeed, it is a question if the exclusive reign of this orthodox beautyis not approaching its last quarter. The new Vale of Tempe may be agaunt waste in Thule; human souls may find themselves in closer andcloser harmony with external things wearing a sombreness distasteful toour race when it was young. The time seems near, if it has not actuallyarrived, when the chastened sublimity of a moor, a sea, or a mountainwill be all of nature that is absolutely in keeping with the moodsof the more thinking among mankind. And ultimately, to the commonesttourist, spots like Iceland may become what the vineyards and myrtlegardens of South Europe are to him now; and Heidelberg and Badenbe passed unheeded as he hastens from the Alps to the sand dunes ofScheveningen. 

The most thoroughgoing ascetic could feel that he had a natural right towander on Egdon--he was keeping within the line of legitimate indulgencewhen he laid himself open to influences such as these. Colours andbeauties so far subdued were, at least, the birthright of all. Only insummer days of highest feather did its mood touch the level of gaiety. Intensity was more usually reached by way of the solemn than by way ofthe brilliant, and such a sort of intensity was often arrived atduring winter darkness, tempests, and mists. Then Egdon was aroused toreciprocity; for the storm was its lover, and the wind its friend. Then it became the home of strange phantoms; and it was found to be thehitherto unrecognized original of those wild regions of obscurity whichare vaguely felt to be compassing us about in midnight dreams of flightand disaster, and are never thought of after the dream till revived byscenes like this. 

It was at present a place perfectly accordant with man's nature--neitherghastly, hateful, nor ugly; neither commonplace, unmeaning, nor tame;but, like man, slighted and enduring; and withal singularly colossal andmysterious in its swarthy monotony. As with some persons who have longlived apart, solitude seemed to look out of its countenance. It had alonely face, suggesting tragical possibilities. 

This obscure, obsolete, superseded country figures in Domesday. Its condition is recorded therein as that of heathy, furzy, briarywilderness--"Bruaria. " Then follows the length and breadth in leagues;and, though some uncertainty exists as to the exact extent of thisancient lineal measure, it appears from the figures that the area ofEgdon down to the present day has but little diminished. "TurbariaBruaria"--the right of cutting heath-turf--occurs in charters relatingto the district. "Overgrown with heth and mosse, " says Leland of thesame dark sweep of country. 

Here at least were intelligible facts regarding landscape--far-reachingproofs productive of genuine satisfaction. The untameable, Ishmaelitishthing that Egdon now was it always had been. Civilization was its enemy;and ever since the beginning of vegetation its soil had worn thesame antique brown dress, the natural and invariable garment of theparticular formation. In its venerable one coat lay a certain vein ofsatire on human vanity in clothes. A person on a heath in raiment ofmodern cut and colours has more or less an anomalous look. We seem towant the oldest and simplest human clothing where the clothing of theearth is so primitive. 

To recline on a stump of thorn in the central valley of Egdon, betweenafternoon and night, as now, where the eye could reach nothing of theworld outside the summits and shoulders of heathland which filled thewhole circumference of its glance, and to know that everything aroundand underneath had been from prehistoric times as unaltered as the starsoverhead, gave ballast to the mind adrift on change, and harassed by theirrepressible New. The great inviolate place had an ancient permanencewhich the sea cannot claim. Who can say of a particular sea that it isold? Distilled by the sun, kneaded by the moon, it is renewed in ayear, in a day, or in an hour. The sea changed, the fields changed, therivers, the villages, and the people changed, yet Egdon remained. Thosesurfaces were neither so steep as to be destructible by weather, nor soflat as to be the victims of floods and deposits. With the exception ofan aged highway, and a still more aged barrow presently to be referredto--themselves almost crystallized to natural products by longcontinuance--even the trifling irregularities were not caused bypickaxe, plough, or spade, but remained as the very finger-touches ofthe last geological change. 

The above-mentioned highway traversed the lower levels of the heath, from one horizon to another. In many portions of its course it overlaidan old vicinal way, which branched from the great Western road of theRomans, the Via Iceniana, or Ikenild Street, hard by. On the eveningunder consideration it would have been noticed that, though the gloomhad increased sufficiently to confuse the minor features of the heath, the white surface of the road remained almost as clear as ever. 

2--Humanity Appears upon the Scene, Hand in Hand with Trouble

Along the road walked an old man. He was white-headed as a mountain, bowed in the shoulders, and faded in general aspect. He wore a glazedhat, an ancient boat-cloak, and shoes; his brass buttons bearing ananchor upon their face. In his hand was a silver-headed walking stick, which he used as a veritable third leg, perseveringly dotting the groundwith its point at every few inches' interval. One would have said thathe had been, in his day, a naval officer of some sort or other. 

Before him stretched the long, laborious road, dry, empty, and white. It was quite open to the heath on each side, and bisected that vast darksurface like the parting-line on a head of black hair, diminishing andbending away on the furthest horizon. 

The old man frequently stretched his eyes ahead to gaze over the tractthat he had yet to traverse. At length he discerned, a long distancein front of him, a moving spot, which appeared to be a vehicle, andit proved to be going the same way as that in which he himself wasjourneying. It was the single atom of life that the scene contained, andit only served to render the general loneliness more evident. Its rateof advance was slow, and the old man gained upon it sensibly. 

When he drew nearer he perceived it to be a spring van, ordinary inshape, but singular in colour, this being a lurid red. The driver walkedbeside it; and, like his van, he was completely red. One dye of thattincture covered his clothes, the cap upon his head, his boots, hisface, and his hands. He was not temporarily overlaid with the colour; itpermeated him. 

The old man knew the meaning of this. The traveller with the cart was areddleman--a person whose vocation it was to supply farmers with reddingfor their sheep. He was one of a class rapidly becoming extinct inWessex, filling at present in the rural world the place which, duringthe last century, the dodo occupied in the world of animals. He is acurious, interesting, and nearly perished link between obsolete forms oflife and those which generally prevail. 

The decayed officer, by degrees, came up alongside his fellow-wayfarer, and wished him good evening. The reddleman turned his head, and repliedin sad and occupied tones. He was young, and his face, if not exactlyhandsome, approached so near to handsome that nobody would havecontradicted an assertion that it really was so in its natural colour. His eye, which glared so strangely through his stain, was in itselfattractive--keen as that of a bird of prey, and blue as autumn mist. Hehad neither whisker nor moustache, which allowed the soft curves of thelower part of his face to be apparent. His lips were thin, and though, as it seemed, compressed by thought, there was a pleasant twitch attheir corners now and then. He was clothed throughout in a tight-fittingsuit of corduroy, excellent in quality, not much worn, and well-chosenfor its purpose, but deprived of its original colour by his trade. Itshowed to advantage the good shape of his figure. A certain well-to-doair about the man suggested that he was not poor for his degree. The natural query of an observer would have been, Why should sucha promising being as this have hidden his prepossessing exterior byadopting that singular occupation?

After replying to the old man's greeting he showed no inclination tocontinue in talk, although they still walked side by side, for the eldertraveller seemed to desire company. There were no sounds but that ofthe booming wind upon the stretch of tawny herbage around them, thecrackling wheels, the tread of the men, and the footsteps of the twoshaggy ponies which drew the van. They were small, hardy animals, of abreed between Galloway and Exmoor, and were known as "heath-croppers"here. 

Now, as they thus pursued their way, the reddleman occasionally left hiscompanion's side, and, stepping behind the van, looked into its interiorthrough a small window. The look was always anxious. He would thenreturn to the old man, who made another remark about the state of thecountry and so on, to which the reddleman again abstractedly replied, and then again they would lapse into silence. The silence conveyed toneither any sense of awkwardness; in these lonely places wayfarers, after a first greeting, frequently plod on for miles without speech;contiguity amounts to a tacit conversation where, otherwise than incities, such contiguity can be put an end to on the merest inclination, and where not to put an end to it is intercourse in itself. 

Possibly these two might not have spoken again till their parting, hadit not been for the reddleman's visits to his van. When he returnedfrom his fifth time of looking in the old man said, "You have somethinginside there besides your load?"

"Yes. "

"Somebody who wants looking after?"

"Yes. "

Not long after this a faint cry sounded from the interior. The reddlemanhastened to the back, looked in, and came away again. 

"You have a child there, my man?"

"No, sir, I have a woman. "

"The deuce you have! Why did she cry out?"

"Oh, she has fallen asleep, and not being used to traveling, she'suneasy, and keeps dreaming. "

"A young woman?"

"Yes, a young woman. "

"That would have interested me forty years ago. Perhaps she's yourwife?"

"My wife!" said the other bitterly. "She's above mating with such as I. But there's no reason why I should tell you about that. "

"That's true. And there's no reason why you should not. What harm can Ido to you or to her?"

The reddleman looked in the old man's face. "Well, sir, " he said atlast, "I knew her before today, though perhaps it would have been betterif I had not. But she's nothing to me, and I am nothing to her; and shewouldn't have been in my van if any better carriage had been there totake her. "

"Where, may I ask?"

"At Anglebury. "

"I know the town well. What was she doing there?"

"Oh, not much--to gossip about. However, she's tired to death now, andnot at all well, and that's what makes her so restless. She dropped offinto a nap about an hour ago, and 'twill do her good. "

"A nice-looking girl, no doubt?"

"You would say so. "

The other traveller turned his eyes with interest towards the vanwindow, and, without withdrawing them, said, "I presume I might look inupon her?"

"No, " said the reddleman abruptly. "It is getting too dark for you tosee much of her; and, more than that, I have no right to allow you. Thank God she sleeps so well, I hope she won't wake till she's home. "

"Who is she? One of the neighbourhood?"

"'Tis no matter who, excuse me. "

"It is not that girl of Blooms-End, who has been talked about more orless lately? If so, I know her; and I can guess what has happened. "

"'Tis no matter. .. . Now, sir, I am sorry to say that we shall soon haveto part company. My ponies are tired, and I have further to go, and I amgoing to rest them under this bank for an hour. "

The elder traveller nodded his head indifferently, and the reddlemanturned his horses and van in upon the turf, saying, "Good night. " Theold man replied, and proceeded on his way as before. 

The reddleman watched his form as it diminished to a speck on the roadand became absorbed in the thickening films of night. He then tooksome hay from a truss which was slung up under the van, and, throwing aportion of it in front of the horses, made a pad of the rest, which helaid on the ground beside his vehicle. Upon this he sat down, leaninghis back against the wheel. From the interior a low soft breathing cameto his ear. It appeared to satisfy him, and he musingly surveyed thescene, as if considering the next step that he should take. 

To do things musingly, and by small degrees, seemed, indeed, to be aduty in the Egdon valleys at this transitional hour, for there was thatin the condition of the heath itself which resembled protracted andhalting dubiousness. It was the quality of the repose appertainingto the scene. This was not the repose of actual stagnation, but theapparent repose of incredible slowness. A condition of healthy life sonearly resembling the torpor of death is a noticeable thing of itssort; to exhibit the inertness of the desert, and at the same time to beexercising powers akin to those of the meadow, and even of the forest, awakened in those who thought of it the attentiveness usually engenderedby understatement and reserve. 

The scene before the reddleman's eyes was a gradual series of ascentsfrom the level of the road backward into the heart of the heath. Itembraced hillocks, pits, ridges, acclivities, one behind the other, tillall was finished by a high hill cutting against the still light sky. The traveller's eye hovered about these things for a time, and finallysettled upon one noteworthy object up there. It was a barrow. This bossyprojection of earth above its natural level occupied the loftiest groundof the loneliest height that the heath contained. Although from thevale it appeared but as a wart on an Atlantean brow, its actual bulk wasgreat. It formed the pole and axis of this heathery world. 

As the resting man looked at the barrow he became aware that its summit, hitherto the highest object in the whole prospect round, was surmountedby something higher. It rose from the semiglobular mound like a spikefrom a helmet. The first instinct of an imaginative stranger might havebeen to suppose it the person of one of the Celts who built the barrow, so far had all of modern date withdrawn from the scene. It seemed a sortof last man among them, musing for a moment before dropping into eternalnight with the rest of his race. 

There the form stood, motionless as the hill beneath. Above the plainrose the hill, above the hill rose the barrow, and above the barrow rosethe figure. Above the figure was nothing that could be mapped elsewherethan on a celestial globe. 

Such a perfect, delicate, and necessary finish did the figure giveto the dark pile of hills that it seemed to be the only obviousjustification of their outline. Without it, there was the dome withoutthe lantern; with it the architectural demands of the mass weresatisfied. The scene was strangely homogeneous, in that the vale, theupland, the barrow, and the figure above it amounted only to unity. Looking at this or that member of the group was not observing a completething, but a fraction of a thing. 

The form was so much like an organic part of the entire motionlessstructure that to see it move would have impressed the mind as a strangephenomenon. Immobility being the chief characteristic of that wholewhich the person formed portion of, the discontinuance of immobility inany quarter suggested confusion. 

Yet that is what happened. The figure perceptibly gave up its fixity, shifted a step or two, and turned round. As if alarmed, it descended onthe right side of the barrow, with the glide of a water-drop down a bud, and then vanished. The movement had been sufficient to show more clearlythe characteristics of the figure, and that it was a woman's. 

The reason of her sudden displacement now appeared. With her droppingout of sight on the right side, a newcomer, bearing a burden, protrudedinto the sky on the left side, ascended the tumulus, and deposited theburden on the top. A second followed, then a third, a fourth, a fifth, and ultimately the whole barrow was peopled with burdened figures. 

The only intelligible meaning in this sky-backed pantomime ofsilhouettes was that the woman had no relation to the forms who hadtaken her place, was sedulously avoiding these, and had come thitherfor another object than theirs. The imagination of the observer clungby preference to that vanished, solitary figure, as to something moreinteresting, more important, more likely to have a history worth knowingthan these newcomers, and unconsciously regarded them as intruders. Butthey remained, and established themselves; and the lonely person whohitherto had been queen of the solitude did not at present seem likelyto return. 

3--The Custom of the Country

Had a looker-on been posted in the immediate vicinity of the barrow, he would have learned that these persons were boys and men of theneighbouring hamlets. Each, as he ascended the barrow, had been heavilyladen with furze faggots, carried upon the shoulder by means of a longstake sharpened at each end for impaling them easily--two in front andtwo behind. They came from a part of the heath a quarter of a mile tothe rear, where furze almost exclusively prevailed as a product. 

Every individual was so involved in furze by his method of carrying thefaggots that he appeared like a bush on legs till he had thrown themdown. The party had marched in trail, like a travelling flock of sheep;that is to say, the strongest first, the weak and young behind. 

The loads were all laid together, and a pyramid of furze thirty feet incircumference now occupied the crown of the tumulus, which was known asRainbarrow for many miles round. Some made themselves busy with matches, and in selecting the driest tufts of furze, others in loosening thebramble bonds which held the faggots together. Others, again, while thiswas in progress, lifted their eyes and swept the vast expanse of countrycommanded by their position, now lying nearly obliterated by shade. Inthe valleys of the heath nothing save its own wild face was visible atany time of day; but this spot commanded a horizon enclosing a tract offar extent, and in many cases lying beyond the heath country. None ofits features could be seen now, but the whole made itself felt as avague stretch of remoteness. 

While the men and lads were building the pile, a change took place inthe mass of shade which denoted the distant landscape. Red suns andtufts of fire one by one began to arise, flecking the whole countryround. They were the bonfires of other parishes and hamlets that wereengaged in the same sort of commemoration. Some were distant, and stoodin a dense atmosphere, so that bundles of pale straw-like beams radiatedaround them in the shape of a fan. Some were large and near, glowingscarlet-red from the shade, like wounds in a black hide. Some wereMaenades, with winy faces and blown hair. These tinctured the silentbosom of the clouds above them and lit up their ephemeral caves, whichseemed thenceforth to become scalding caldrons. Perhaps as manyas thirty bonfires could be counted within the whole bounds of thedistrict; and as the hour may be told on a clock-face when the figuresthemselves are invisible, so did the men recognize the locality of eachfire by its angle and direction, though nothing of the scenery could beviewed. 

The first tall flame from Rainbarrow sprang into the sky, attracting alleyes that had been fixed on the distant conflagrations back to their ownattempt in the same kind. The cheerful blaze streaked the inner surfaceof the human circle--now increased by other stragglers, male andfemale--with its own gold livery, and even overlaid the dark turf aroundwith a lively luminousness, which softened off into obscurity where thebarrow rounded downwards out of sight. It showed the barrow to be thesegment of a globe, as perfect as on the day when it was thrown up, eventhe little ditch remaining from which the earth was dug. Not a ploughhad ever disturbed a grain of that stubborn soil. In the heath'sbarrenness to the farmer lay its fertility to the historian. There hadbeen no obliteration, because there had been no tending. 

It seemed as if the bonfire-makers were standing in some radiant upperstory of the world, detached from and independent of the dark stretchesbelow. The heath down there was now a vast abyss, and no longer acontinuation of what they stood on; for their eyes, adapted tothe blaze, could see nothing of the deeps beyond its influence. Occasionally, it is true, a more vigorous flare than usual from theirfaggots sent darting lights like aides-de-camp down the inclines to somedistant bush, pool, or patch of white sand, kindling these to repliesof the same colour, till all was lost in darkness again. Then the wholeblack phenomenon beneath represented Limbo as viewed from the brink bythe sublime Florentine in his vision, and the muttered articulations ofthe wind in the hollows were as complaints and petitions from the "soulsof mighty worth" suspended therein. 

It was as if these men and boys had suddenly dived into past ages, andfetched therefrom an hour and deed which had before been familiar withthis spot. The ashes of the original British pyre which blazed from thatsummit lay fresh and undisturbed in the barrow beneath their tread. Theflames from funeral piles long ago kindled there had shone down upon thelowlands as these were shining now. Festival fires to Thor and Woden hadfollowed on the same ground and duly had their day. Indeed, it is prettywell known that such blazes as this the heathmen were now enjoying arerather the lineal descendants from jumbled Druidical rites and Saxonceremonies than the invention of popular feeling about Gunpowder Plot. 

Moreover to light a fire is the instinctive and resistant act of manwhen, at the winter ingress, the curfew is sounded throughout Nature. It indicates a spontaneous, Promethean rebelliousness against that fiatthat this recurrent season shall bring foul times, cold darkness, miseryand death. Black chaos comes, and the fettered gods of the earth say, Let there be light. 

The brilliant lights and sooty shades which struggled upon the skinand clothes of the persons standing round caused their lineaments andgeneral contours to be drawn with Dureresque vigour and dash. Yet thepermanent moral expression of each face it was impossible to discover, for as the nimble flames towered, nodded, and swooped through thesurrounding air, the blots of shade and flakes of light upon thecountenances of the group changed shape and position endlessly. Allwas unstable; quivering as leaves, evanescent as lightning. Shadowyeye-sockets, deep as those of a death's head, suddenly turned into pitsof lustre: a lantern-jaw was cavernous, then it was shining; wrinkleswere emphasized to ravines, or obliterated entirely by a changed ray. Nostrils were dark wells; sinews in old necks were gilt mouldings;things with no particular polish on them were glazed; bright objects, such as the tip of a furze-hook one of the men carried, were as glass;eyeballs glowed like little lanterns. Those whom Nature had depicted asmerely quaint became grotesque, the grotesque became preternatural; forall was in extremity. 

Hence it may be that the face of an old man, who had like others beencalled to the heights by the rising flames, was not really the mere noseand chin that it appeared to be, but an appreciable quantity of humancountenance. He stood complacently sunning himself in the heat. Witha speaker, or stake, he tossed the outlying scraps of fuel into theconflagration, looking at the midst of the pile, occasionally liftinghis eyes to measure the height of the flame, or to follow the greatsparks which rose with it and sailed away into darkness. The beamingsight, and the penetrating warmth, seemed to breed in him a cumulativecheerfulness, which soon amounted to delight. With his stick in his handhe began to jig a private minuet, a bunch of copper seals shining andswinging like a pendulum from under his waistcoat: he also began tosing, in the voice of a bee up a flue--

 "The king' call'd down' his no-bles all', By one', by two', by three'; Earl Mar'-shal, I'll' go shrive'-the queen', And thou' shalt wend' with me'. 

 "A boon', a boon', quoth Earl' Mar-shal', And fell' on his bend'-ded knee', That what'-so-e'er' the queen' shall say', No harm' there-of' may be'. "

Want of breath prevented a continuance of the song; and the breakdownattracted the attention of a firm-standing man of middle age, who kepteach corner of his crescent-shaped mouth rigorously drawn back into hischeek, as if to do away with any suspicion of mirthfulness which mighterroneously have attached to him. 

"A fair stave, Grandfer Cantle; but I am afeard 'tis too much forthe mouldy weasand of such a old man as you, " he said to the wrinkledreveller. "Dostn't wish th' wast three sixes again, Grandfer, as you waswhen you first learnt to sing it?"

"Hey?" said Grandfer Cantle, stopping in his dance. 

"Dostn't wish wast young again, I say? There's a hole in thy poorbellows nowadays seemingly. "

"But there's good art in me? If I couldn't make a little wind go along ways I should seem no younger than the most aged man, should I, Timothy?"

"And how about the new-married folks down there at the Quiet Woman Inn?"the other inquired, pointing towards a dim light in the direction of thedistant highway, but considerably apart from where the reddleman wasat that moment resting. "What's the rights of the matter about 'em? Youought to know, being an understanding man. "

"But a little rakish, hey? I own to it. Master Cantle is that, or he'snothing. Yet 'tis a gay fault, neigbbour Fairway, that age will cure. "

"I heard that they were coming home tonight. By this time they must havecome. What besides?"

"The next thing is for us to go and wish 'em joy, I suppose?"

"Well, no. "

"No? Now, I thought we must. I must, or 'twould be very unlike me--thefirst in every spree that's going!

 "Do thou' put on' a fri'-ar's coat', And I'll' put on' a-no'-ther, And we' will to' Queen Ele'anor go', Like Fri'ar and' his bro'ther. 

I met Mis'ess Yeobright, the young bride's aunt, last night, and shetold me that her son Clym was coming home a' Christmas. Wonderfulclever, 'a believe--ah, I should like to have all that's under thatyoung man's hair. Well, then, I spoke to her in my well-known merryway, and she said, 'O that what's shaped so venerable should talk like afool!'--that's what she said to me. I don't care for her, be jowned if Ido, and so I told her. 'Be jowned if I care for 'ee, ' I said. I had herthere--hey?"

"I rather think she had you, " said Fairway. 

"No, " said Grandfer Cantle, his countenance slightly flagging. "'Tisn'tso bad as that with me?"

"Seemingly 'tis, however, is it because of the wedding that Clym iscoming home a' Christmas--to make a new arrangement because his motheris now left in the house alone?"

"Yes, yes--that's it. But, Timothy, hearken to me, " said the Grandferearnestly. "Though known as such a joker, I be an understanding man ifyou catch me serious, and I am serious now. I can tell 'ee lots aboutthe married couple. Yes, this morning at six o'clock they went up thecountry to do the job, and neither vell nor mark have been seen of 'emsince, though I reckon that this afternoon has brought 'em home againman and woman--wife, that is. Isn't it spoke like a man, Timothy, andwasn't Mis'ess Yeobright wrong about me?"

"Yes, it will do. I didn't know the two had walked together since lastfall, when her aunt forbad the banns. How long has this new set-to beenin mangling then? Do you know, Humphrey?"

"Yes, how long?" said Grandfer Cantle smartly, likewise turning toHumphrey. "I ask that question. "

"Ever since her aunt altered her mind, and said she might have the manafter all, " replied Humphrey, without removing his eyes from the fire. He was a somewhat solemn young fellow, and carried the hook and leathergloves of a furze-cutter, his legs, by reason of that occupation, beingsheathed in bulging leggings as stiff as the Philistine's greaves ofbrass. "That's why they went away to be married, I count. You see, afterkicking up such a nunny-watch and forbidding the banns 'twould have madeMis'ess Yeobright seem foolish-like to have a banging wedding in thesame parish all as if she'd never gainsaid it. "

"Exactly--seem foolish-like; and that's very bad for the poor thingsthat be so, though I only guess as much, to be sure, " said GrandferCantle, still strenuously preserving a sensible bearing and mien. 

"Ah, well, I was at church that day, " said Fairway, "which was a verycurious thing to happen. "

"If 'twasn't my name's Simple, " said the Grandfer emphatically. "Iha'n't been there to-year; and now the winter is a-coming on I won't sayI shall. "

"I ha'n't been these three years, " said Humphrey; "for I'm so deadsleepy of a Sunday; and 'tis so terrible far to get there; and when youdo get there 'tis such a mortal poor chance that you'll be chose for upabove, when so many bain't, that I bide at home and don't go at all. "

"I not only happened to be there, " said Fairway, with a fresh collectionof emphasis, "but I was sitting in the same pew as Mis'ess Yeobright. And though you may not see it as such, it fairly made my blood run coldto hear her. Yes, it is a curious thing; but it made my blood runcold, for I was close at her elbow. " The speaker looked round uponthe bystanders, now drawing closer to hear him, with his lips gatheredtighter than ever in the rigorousness of his descriptive moderation. 

"'Tis a serious job to have things happen to 'ee there, " said a womanbehind. 

"'Ye are to declare it, ' was the parson's words, " Fairway continued. "And then up stood a woman at my side--a-touching of me. 'Well, bedamned if there isn't Mis'ess Yeobright a-standing up, ' I said tomyself. Yes, neighbours, though I was in the temple of prayer that'swhat I said. 'Tis against my conscience to curse and swear in company, and I hope any woman here will overlook it. Still what I did say I didsay, and 'twould be a lie if I didn't own it. "

"So 'twould, neighbour Fairway. "

"'Be damned if there isn't Mis'ess Yeobright a-standing up, ' I said, "the narrator repeated, giving out the bad word with the same passionlessseverity of face as before, which proved how entirely necessity and notgusto had to do with the iteration. "And the next thing I heard was, 'Iforbid the banns, ' from her. 'I'll speak to you after the service, 'said the parson, in quite a homely way--yes, turning all at once into acommon man no holier than you or I. Ah, her face was pale! Maybe youcan call to mind that monument in Weatherbury church--the cross-leggedsoldier that have had his arm knocked away by the schoolchildren? Well, he would about have matched that woman's face, when she said, 'I forbidthe banns. '"

The audience cleared their throats and tossed a few stalks into thefire, not because these deeds were urgent, but to give themselves timeto weigh the moral of the story. 

"I'm sure when I heard they'd been forbid I felt as glad as if anybodyhad gied me sixpence, " said an earnest voice--that of Olly Dowden, awoman who lived by making heath brooms, or besoms. Her nature was to becivil to enemies as well as to friends, and grateful to all the worldfor letting her remain alive. 

"And now the maid have married him just the same, " said Humphrey. 

"After that Mis'ess Yeobright came round and was quite agreeable, "Fairway resumed, with an unheeding air, to show that his words were noappendage to Humphrey's, but the result of independent reflection. 

"Supposing they were ashamed, I don't see why they shouldn't have doneit here-right, " said a wide-spread woman whose stays creaked likeshoes whenever she stooped or turned. "'Tis well to call the neighbourstogether and to hae a good racket once now and then; and it may aswell be when there's a wedding as at tide-times. I don't care for closeways. "

"Ah, now, you'd hardly believe it, but I don't care for gay weddings, "said Timothy Fairway, his eyes again travelling round. "I hardly blameThomasin Yeobright and neighbour Wildeve for doing it quiet, if I mustown it. A wedding at home means five and six-handed reels by the hour;and they do a man's legs no good when he's over forty. "

"True. Once at the woman's house you can hardly say nay to being one ina jig, knowing all the time that you be expected to make yourself worthyour victuals. "

"You be bound to dance at Christmas because 'tis the time o' year; youmust dance at weddings because 'tis the time o' life. At christeningsfolk will even smuggle in a reel or two, if 'tis no further on than thefirst or second chiel. And this is not naming the songs you've got tosing. .. . For my part I like a good hearty funeral as well as anything. You've as splendid victuals and drink as at other parties, and evenbetter. And it don't wear your legs to stumps in talking over a poorfellow's ways as it do to stand up in hornpipes. "

"Nine folks out of ten would own 'twas going too far to dance then, Isuppose?" suggested Grandfer Cantle. 

"'Tis the only sort of party a staid man can feel safe at after the mughave been round a few times. "

"Well, I can't understand a quiet ladylike little body like TamsinYeobright caring to be married in such a mean way, " said Susan Nunsuch, the wide woman, who preferred the original subject. "'Tis worse than thepoorest do. And I shouldn't have cared about the man, though some maysay he's good-looking. "

"To give him his due he's a clever, learned fellow in his way--a'most asclever as Clym Yeobright used to be. He was brought up to better thingsthan keeping the Quiet Woman. An engineer--that's what the man was, aswe know; but he threw away his chance, and so 'a took a public house tolive. His learning was no use to him at all. "

"Very often the case, " said Olly, the besom-maker. "And yet how peopledo strive after it and get it! The class of folk that couldn't use tomake a round O to save their bones from the pit can write their namesnow without a sputter of the pen, oftentimes without a single blot--whatdo I say?--why, almost without a desk to lean their stomachs and elbowsupon. "

"True--'tis amazing what a polish the world have been brought to, " saidHumphrey. 

"Why, afore I went a soldier in the Bang-up Locals (as we was called), in the year four, " chimed in Grandfer Cantle brightly, "I didn't know nomore what the world was like than the commonest man among ye. And now, jown it all, I won't say what I bain't fit for, hey?"

"Couldst sign the book, no doubt, " said Fairway, "if wast young enoughto join hands with a woman again, like Wildeve and Mis'ess Tamsin, which is more than Humph there could do, for he follows his father inlearning. Ah, Humph, well I can mind when I was married how I zid thyfather's mark staring me in the face as I went to put down my name. Heand your mother were the couple married just afore we were and therestood they father's cross with arms stretched out like a great bangingscarecrow. What a terrible black cross that was--thy father's verylikeness in en! To save my soul I couldn't help laughing when I zid en, though all the time I was as hot as dog-days, what with the marrying, and what with the woman a-hanging to me, and what with Jack Changleyand a lot more chaps grinning at me through church window. But the nextmoment a strawmote would have knocked me down, for I called to mindthat if thy father and mother had had high words once, they'd been atit twenty times since they'd been man and wife, and I zid myself as thenext poor stunpoll to get into the same mess. .. . Ah--well, what a day'twas!"

"Wildeve is older than Tamsin Yeobright by a good-few summers. A prettymaid too she is. A young woman with a home must be a fool to tear hersmock for a man like that. "

The speaker, a peat- or turf-cutter, who had newly joined the group, carried across his shoulder the singular heart-shaped spade of largedimensions used in that species of labour, and its well-whetted edgegleamed like a silver bow in the beams of the fire. 

"A hundred maidens would have had him if he'd asked 'em, " said the widewoman. 

"Didst ever know a man, neighbour, that no woman at all would marry?"inquired Humphrey. 

"I never did, " said the turf-cutter. 

"Nor I, " said another. 

"Nor I, " said Grandfer Cantle. 

"Well, now, I did once, " said Timothy Fairway, adding more firmness toone of his legs. "I did know of such a man. But only once, mind. " Hegave his throat a thorough rake round, as if it were the duty of everyperson not to be mistaken through thickness of voice. "Yes, I knew ofsuch a man, " he said. 

"And what ghastly gallicrow might the poor fellow have been like, MasterFairway?" asked the turf-cutter. 

"Well, 'a was neither a deaf man, nor a dumb man, nor a blind man. What'a was I don't say. "

"Is he known in these parts?" said Olly Dowden. 

"Hardly, " said Timothy; "but I name no name. .. . Come, keep the fire upthere, youngsters. "

"Whatever is Christian Cantle's teeth a-chattering for?" said a boy fromamid the smoke and shades on the other side of the blaze. "Be ye a-cold, Christian?"

A thin jibbering voice was heard to reply, "No, not at all. "

"Come forward, Christian, and show yourself. I didn't know you werehere, " said Fairway, with a humane look across towards that quarter. 

Thus requested, a faltering man, with reedy hair, no shoulders, and agreat quantity of wrist and ankle beyond his clothes, advanced a step ortwo by his own will, and was pushed by the will of others half a dozensteps more. He was Grandfer Cantle's youngest son. 

"What be ye quaking for, Christian?" said the turf-cutter kindly. 

"I'm the man. "

"What man?"

"The man no woman will marry. "

"The deuce you be!" said Timothy Fairway, enlarging his gaze to coverChristian's whole surface and a great deal more, Grandfer Cantlemeanwhile staring as a hen stares at the duck she has hatched. 

"Yes, I be he; and it makes me afeard, " said Christian. "D'ye think'twill hurt me? I shall always say I don't care, and swear to it, thoughI do care all the while. "

"Well, be damned if this isn't the queerest start ever I know'd, " saidMr. Fairway. "I didn't mean you at all. There's another in the country, then! Why did ye reveal yer misfortune, Christian?"

"'Twas to be if 'twas, I suppose. I can't help it, can I?" He turnedupon them his painfully circular eyes, surrounded by concentric lineslike targets. 

"No, that's true. But 'tis a melancholy thing, and my blood ran coldwhen you spoke, for I felt there were two poor fellows where I hadthought only one. 'Tis a sad thing for ye, Christian. How'st know thewomen won't hae thee?"

"I've asked 'em. "

"Sure I should never have thought you had the face. Well, and what didthe last one say to ye? Nothing that can't be got over, perhaps, afterall?"

"'Get out of my sight, you slack-twisted, slim-looking maphrotightfool, ' was the woman's words to me. "

"Not encouraging, I own, " said Fairway. "'Get out of my sight, youslack-twisted, slim-looking maphrotight fool, ' is rather a hard way ofsaying No. But even that might be overcome by time and patience, so asto let a few grey hairs show themselves in the hussy's head. How old beyou, Christian?"

"Thirty-one last tatie-digging, Mister Fairway. "

"Not a boy--not a boy. Still there's hope yet. "

"That's my age by baptism, because that's put down in the great book ofthe Judgment that they keep in church vestry; but Mother told me I wasborn some time afore I was christened. "

"Ah!"

"But she couldn't tell when, to save her life, except that there was nomoon. "

"No moon--that's bad. Hey, neighbours, that's bad for him!"

"Yes, 'tis bad, " said Grandfer Cantle, shaking his head. 

"Mother know'd 'twas no moon, for she asked another woman that hadan almanac, as she did whenever a boy was born to her, because of thesaying, 'No moon, no man, ' which made her afeard every man-child shehad. Do ye really think it serious, Mister Fairway, that there was nomoon?"

"Yes. 'No moon, no man. ' 'Tis one of the truest sayings ever spit out. The boy never comes to anything that's born at new moon. A bad job forthee, Christian, that you should have showed your nose then of all daysin the month. "

"I suppose the moon was terrible full when you were born?" saidChristian, with a look of hopeless admiration at Fairway. 

"Well, 'a was not new, " Mr. Fairway replied, with a disinterested gaze. 

"I'd sooner go without drink at Lammas-tide than be a man of no moon, "continued Christian, in the same shattered recitative. "'Tis said I beonly the rames of a man, and no good for my race at all; and I supposethat's the cause o't. "

"Ay, " said Grandfer Cantle, somewhat subdued in spirit; "and yet hismother cried for scores of hours when 'a was a boy, for fear he shouldoutgrow hisself and go for a soldier. "

"Well, there's many just as bad as he. " said Fairway. 

"Wethers must live their time as well as other sheep, poor soul. "

"So perhaps I shall rub on? Ought I to be afeared o' nights, MasterFairway?"

"You'll have to lie alone all your life; and 'tis not to married couplesbut to single sleepers that a ghost shows himself when 'a do come. Onehas been seen lately, too. A very strange one. "

"No--don't talk about it if 'tis agreeable of ye not to! 'Twill make myskin crawl when I think of it in bed alone. But you will--ah, you will, I know, Timothy; and I shall dream all night o't! A very strange one?What sort of a spirit did ye mean when ye said, a very strange one, Timothy?--no, no--don't tell me. "

"I don't half believe in spirits myself. But I think it ghostlyenough--what I was told. 'Twas a little boy that zid it. "

"What was it like?--no, don't--"

"A red one. Yes, most ghosts be white; but this is as if it had beendipped in blood. "

Christian drew a deep breath without letting it expand his body, andHumphrey said, "Where has it been seen?"

"Not exactly here; but in this same heth. But 'tisn't a thing to talkabout. What do ye say, " continued Fairway in brisker tones, and turningupon them as if the idea had not been Grandfer Cantle's--"what do yousay to giving the new man and wife a bit of a song tonight afore we goto bed--being their wedding-day? When folks are just married 'tis aswell to look glad o't, since looking sorry won't unjoin 'em. I am nodrinker, as we know, but when the womenfolk and youngsters have gonehome we can drop down across to the Quiet Woman, and strike up a balletin front of the married folks' door. 'Twill please the young wife, andthat's what I should like to do, for many's the skinful I've had at herhands when she lived with her aunt at Blooms-End. "

"Hey? And so we will!" said Grandfer Cantle, turning so briskly that hiscopper seals swung extravagantly. "I'm as dry as a kex with biding uphere in the wind, and I haven't seen the colour of drink sincenammet-time today. 'Tis said that the last brew at the Woman is verypretty drinking. And, neighbours, if we should be a little late in thefinishing, why, tomorrow's Sunday, and we can sleep it off?"

"Grandfer Cantle! you take things very careless for an old man, " saidthe wide woman. 

"I take things careless; I do--too careless to please the women! Klk!I'll sing the 'Jovial Crew, ' or any other song, when a weak old manwould cry his eyes out. Jown it; I am up for anything. 

 "The king' look'd o'-ver his left' shoul-der', And a grim' look look'-ed hee', Earl Mar'-shal, he said', but for' my oath' Or hang'-ed thou' shouldst bee'. "

"Well, that's what we'll do, " said Fairway. "We'll give 'em a song, an'it please the Lord. What's the good of Thomasin's cousin Clym a-cominghome after the deed's done? He should have come afore, if so be hewanted to stop it, and marry her himself. "

"Perhaps he's coming to bide with his mother a little time, as she mustfeel lonely now the maid's gone. "

"Now, 'tis very odd, but I never feel lonely--no, not at all, " saidGrandfer Cantle. "I am as brave in the nighttime as a' admiral!"

The bonfire was by this time beginning to sink low, for the fuel had notbeen of that substantial sort which can support a blaze long. Mostof the other fires within the wide horizon were also dwindling weak. Attentive observation of their brightness, colour, and length ofexistence would have revealed the quality of the material burnt, andthrough that, to some extent the natural produce of the district inwhich each bonfire was situate. The clear, kingly effulgence that hadcharacterized the majority expressed a heath and furze country liketheir own, which in one direction extended an unlimited number of miles;the rapid flares and extinctions at other points of the compass showedthe lightest of fuel--straw, beanstalks, and the usual waste fromarable land. The most enduring of all--steady unaltering eyes likePlanets--signified wood, such as hazel-branches, thorn-faggots, andstout billets. Fires of the last-mentioned materials were rare, andthough comparatively small in magnitude beside the transient blazes, nowbegan to get the best of them by mere long continuance. The great oneshad perished, but these remained. They occupied the remotest visiblepositions--sky-backed summits rising out of rich coppice and plantationdistricts to the north, where the soil was different, and heath foreignand strange. 

Save one; and this was the nearest of any, the moon of the whole shiningthrong. It lay in a direction precisely opposite to that of the littlewindow in the vale below. Its nearness was such that, notwithstandingits actual smallness, its glow infinitely transcended theirs. 

This quiet eye had attracted attention from time to time; and when theirown fire had become sunken and dim it attracted more; some even ofthe wood fires more recently lighted had reached their decline, but nochange was perceptible here. 

"To be sure, how near that fire is!" said Fairway. "Seemingly. I can seea fellow of some sort walking round it. Little and good must be said ofthat fire, surely. "

"I can throw a stone there, " said the boy. 

"And so can I!" said Grandfer Cantle. 

"No, no, you can't, my sonnies. That fire is not much less than a mileoff, for all that 'a seems so near. "

"'Tis in the heath, but no furze, " said the turf-cutter. 

"'Tis cleft-wood, that's what 'tis, " said Timothy Fairway. "Nothingwould burn like that except clean timber. And 'tis on the knap afore theold captain's house at Mistover. Such a queer mortal as that man is! Tohave a little fire inside your own bank and ditch, that nobody else mayenjoy it or come anigh it! And what a zany an old chap must be, to lighta bonfire when there's no youngsters to please. "

"Cap'n Vye has been for a long walk today, and is quite tired out, " saidGrandfer Cantle, "so 'tisn't likely to be he. "

"And he would hardly afford good fuel like that, " said the wide woman. 

"Then it must be his granddaughter, " said Fairway. "Not that a body ofher age can want a fire much. "

"She is very strange in her ways, living up there by herself, and suchthings please her, " said Susan. 

"She's a well-favoured maid enough, " said Humphrey the furze-cutter, "especially when she's got one of her dandy gowns on. "

"That's true, " said Fairway. "Well, let her bonfire burn an't will. Oursis well-nigh out by the look o't. "

"How dark 'tis now the fire's gone down!" said Christian Cantle, looking behind him with his hare eyes. "Don't ye think we'd better gethome-along, neighbours? The heth isn't haunted, I know; but we'd betterget home. .. . Ah, what was that?"

"Only the wind, " said the turf-cutter. 

"I don't think Fifth-of-Novembers ought to be kept up by night except intowns. It should be by day in outstep, ill-accounted places like this!"

"Nonsense, Christian. Lift up your spirits like a man! Susy, dear, youand I will have a jig--hey, my honey?--before 'tis quite too dark to seehow well-favoured you be still, though so many summers have passed sinceyour husband, a son of a witch, snapped you up from me. "

This was addressed to Susan Nunsuch; and the next circumstance of whichthe beholders were conscious was a vision of the matron's broad formwhisking off towards the space whereon the fire had been kindled. Shewas lifted bodily by Mr. Fairway's arm, which had been flung round herwaist before she had become aware of his intention. The site of the firewas now merely a circle of ashes flecked with red embers and sparks, thefurze having burnt completely away. Once within the circle he whirledher round and round in a dance. She was a woman noisily constructed;in addition to her enclosing framework of whalebone and lath, she worepattens summer and winter, in wet weather and in dry, to preserve herboots from wear; and when Fairway began to jump about with her, theclicking of the pattens, the creaking of the stays, and her screams ofsurprise, formed a very audible concert. 

"I'll crack thy numskull for thee, you mandy chap!" said Mrs. Nunsuch, as she helplessly danced round with him, her feet playing likedrumsticks among the sparks. "My ankles were all in a fever before, fromwalking through that prickly furze, and now you must make 'em worse withthese vlankers!"

The vagary of Timothy Fairway was infectious. The turf-cutter seized oldOlly Dowden, and, somewhat more gently, poussetted with her likewise. The young men were not slow to imitate the example of their elders, andseized the maids; Grandfer Cantle and his stick jigged in the form of athree-legged object among the rest; and in half a minute all that couldbe seen on Rainbarrow was a whirling of dark shapes amid a boilingconfusion of sparks, which leapt around the dancers as high as theirwaists. The chief noises were women's shrill cries, men's laughter, Susan's stays and pattens, Olly Dowden's "heu-heu-heu!" and thestrumming of the wind upon the furze-bushes, which formed a kind of tuneto the demoniac measure they trod. Christian alone stood aloof, uneasilyrocking himself as he murmured, "They ought not to do it--how thevlankers do fly! 'tis tempting the Wicked one, 'tis. "

"What was that?" said one of the lads, stopping. 

"Ah--where?" said Christian, hastily closing up to the rest. 

The dancers all lessened their speed. 

"'Twas behind you, Christian, that I heard it--down here. "

"Yes--'tis behind me!" Christian said. "Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, bless the bed that I lie on; four angels guard--"

"Hold your tongue. What is it?" said Fairway. 

"Hoi-i-i-i!" cried a voice from the darkness. 

"Halloo-o-o-o!" said Fairway. 

"Is there any cart track up across here to Mis'ess Yeobright's, ofBlooms-End?" came to them in the same voice, as a long, slim indistinctfigure approached the barrow. 

"Ought we not to run home as hard as we can, neighbours, as 'tis gettinglate?" said Christian. "Not run away from one another, you know; runclose together, I mean. " "Scrape up a few stray locks of furze, and makea blaze, so that we can see who the man is, " said Fairway. 

When the flame arose it revealed a young man in tight raiment, and redfrom top to toe. "Is there a track across here to Mis'ess Yeobright'shouse?" he repeated. 

"Ay--keep along the path down there. "

"I mean a way two horses and a van can travel over?"

"Well, yes; you can get up the vale below here with time. The track isrough, but if you've got a light your horses may pick along wi' care. Have ye brought your cart far up, neighbour reddleman?"

"I've left it in the bottom, about half a mile back, I stepped on infront to make sure of the way, as 'tis night-time, and I han't been herefor so long. "

"Oh, well you can get up, " said Fairway. "What a turn it did give mewhen I saw him!" he added to the whole group, the reddleman included. "Lord's sake, I thought, whatever fiery mommet is this come to troubleus? No slight to your looks, reddleman, for ye bain't bad-looking in thegroundwork, though the finish is queer. My meaning is just to say howcurious I felt. I half thought it 'twas the devil or the red ghost theboy told of. "

"It gied me a turn likewise, " said Susan Nunsuch, "for I had a dreamlast night of a death's head. "

"Don't ye talk o't no more, " said Christian. "If he had a handkerchiefover his head he'd look for all the world like the Devil in the pictureof the Temptation. "

"Well, thank you for telling me, " said the young reddleman, smilingfaintly. "And good night t'ye all. "

He withdrew from their sight down the barrow. 

"I fancy I've seen that young man's face before, " said Humphrey. "Butwhere, or how, or what his name is, I don't know. "

The reddleman had not been gone more than a few minutes when anotherperson approached the partially revived bonfire. It proved to be awell-known and respected widow of the neighbourhood, of a standing whichcan only be expressed by the word genteel. Her face, encompassed bythe blackness of the receding heath, showed whitely, and with-outhalf-lights, like a cameo. 

She was a woman of middle-age, with well-formed features of the typeusually found where perspicacity is the chief quality enthroned within. At moments she seemed to be regarding issues from a Nebo denied toothers around. She had something of an estranged mien; the solitudeexhaled from the heath was concentrated in this face that had risen fromit. The air with which she looked at the heathmen betokened a certainunconcern at their presence, or at what might be their opinions ofher for walking in that lonely spot at such an hour, thus indirectlyimplying that in some respect or other they were not up to her level. The explanation lay in the fact that though her husband had been a smallfarmer she herself was a curate's daughter, who had once dreamt of doingbetter things. 

Persons with any weight of character carry, like planets, theiratmospheres along with them in their orbits; and the matron who enterednow upon the scene could, and usually did, bring her own tone into acompany. Her normal manner among the heathfolk had that reticence whichresults from the consciousness of superior communicative power. Butthe effect of coming into society and light after lonely wandering indarkness is a sociability in the comer above its usual pitch, expressedin the features even more than in words. 

"Why, 'tis Mis'ess Yeobright, " said Fairway. "Mis'ess Yeobright, not tenminutes ago a man was here asking for you--a reddleman. "

"What did he want?" said she. 

"He didn't tell us. "

"Something to sell, I suppose; what it can be I am at a loss tounderstand. "

"I am glad to hear that your son Mr. Clym is coming home at Christmas, ma'am, " said Sam, the turf-cutter. "What a dog he used to be forbonfires!"

"Yes. I believe he is coming, " she said. 

"He must be a fine fellow by this time, " said Fairway. 

"He is a man now, " she replied quietly. 

"'Tis very lonesome for 'ee in the heth tonight, mis'ess, " saidChristian, coming from the seclusion he had hitherto maintained. "Mindyou don't get lost. Egdon Heth is a bad place to get lost in, and thewinds do huffle queerer tonight than ever I heard 'em afore. Them thatknow Egdon best have been pixy-led here at times. "

"Is that you, Christian?" said Mrs. Yeobright. "What made you hide awayfrom me?"

"'Twas that I didn't know you in this light, mis'ess; and being a man ofthe mournfullest make, I was scared a little, that's all. Oftentimes ifyou could see how terrible down I get in my mind, 'twould make 'ee quitenervous for fear I should die by my hand. "

"You don't take after your father, " said Mrs. Yeobright, looking towardsthe fire, where Grandfer Cantle, with some want of originality, wasdancing by himself among the sparks, as the others had done before. 

"Now, Grandfer, " said Timothy Fairway, "we are ashamed of ye. A reverentold patriarch man as you be--seventy if a day--to go hornpiping likethat by yourself!"

"A harrowing old man, Mis'ess Yeobright, " said Christian despondingly. "I wouldn't live with him a week, so playward as he is, if I could getaway. "

"'Twould be more seemly in ye to stand still and welcome Mis'essYeobright, and you the venerablest here, Grandfer Cantle, " said thebesom-woman. 

"Faith, and so it would, " said the reveller checking himselfrepentantly. "I've such a bad memory, Mis'ess Yeobright, that I forgethow I'm looked up to by the rest of 'em. My spirits must be wonderfulgood, you'll say? But not always. 'Tis a weight upon a man to be lookedup to as commander, and I often feel it. "

"I am sorry to stop the talk, " said Mrs. Yeobright. "But I must beleaving you now. I was passing down the Anglebury Road, towards myniece's new home, who is returning tonight with her husband; and seeingthe bonfire and hearing Olly's voice among the rest I came up here tolearn what was going on. I should like her to walk with me, as her wayis mine. "

"Ay, sure, ma'am, I'm just thinking of moving, " said Olly. 

"Why, you'll be safe to meet the reddleman that I told ye of, " saidFairway. "He's only gone back to get his van. We heard that your nieceand her husband were coming straight home as soon as they were married, and we are going down there shortly, to give 'em a song o' welcome. "

"Thank you indeed, " said Mrs. Yeobright. 

"But we shall take a shorter cut through the furze than you can go withlong clothes; so we won't trouble you to wait. "

"Very well--are you ready, Olly?"

"Yes, ma'am. And there's a light shining from your niece's window, see. It will help to keep us in the path. "

She indicated the faint light at the bottom of the valley which Fairwayhad pointed out; and the two women descended the tumulus. 

4--The Halt on the Turnpike Road

Down, downward they went, and yet further down--their descent at eachstep seeming to outmeasure their advance. Their skirts were scratchednoisily by the furze, their shoulders brushed by the ferns, which, though dead and dry, stood erect as when alive, no sufficient winterweather having as yet arrived to beat them down. Their Tartareansituation might by some have been called an imprudent one for twounattended women. But these shaggy recesses were at all seasons afamiliar surrounding to Olly and Mrs. Yeobright; and the addition ofdarkness lends no frightfulness to the face of a friend. 

"And so Tamsin has married him at last, " said Olly, when the inclinehad become so much less steep that their foot-steps no longer requiredundivided attention. 

Mrs. Yeobright answered slowly, "Yes; at last. "

"How you will miss her--living with 'ee as a daughter, as she alwayshave. "

"I do miss her. "

Olly, though without the tact to perceive when remarks were untimely, was saved by her very simplicity from rendering them offensive. Questions that would have been resented in others she could ask withimpunity. This accounted for Mrs. Yeobright's acquiescence in therevival of an evidently sore subject. 

"I was quite strook to hear you'd agreed to it, ma'am, that I was, "continued the besom-maker. 

"You were not more struck by it than I should have been last year thistime, Olly. There are a good many sides to that wedding. I could nottell you all of them, even if I tried. "

"I felt myself that he was hardly solid-going enough to mate with yourfamily. Keeping an inn--what is it? But 'a's clever, that's true, andthey say he was an engineering gentleman once, but has come down bybeing too outwardly given. "

"I saw that, upon the whole, it would be better she should marry whereshe wished. "

"Poor little thing, her feelings got the better of her, no doubt. 'Tisnature. Well, they may call him what they will--he've several acresof heth-ground broke up here, besides the public house, and theheth-croppers, and his manners be quite like a gentleman's. And what'sdone cannot be undone. "

"It cannot, " said Mrs. Yeobright. "See, here's the wagon-track at last. Now we shall get along better. "

The wedding subject was no further dwelt upon; and soon a faintdiverging path was reached, where they parted company, Olly firstbegging her companion to remind Mr. Wildeve that he had not senther sick husband the bottle of wine promised on the occasion of hismarriage. The besom-maker turned to the left towards her own house, behind a spur of the hill, and Mrs. Yeobright followed the straighttrack, which further on joined the highway by the Quiet Woman Inn, whither she supposed her niece to have returned with Wildeve from theirwedding at Anglebury that day. 

She first reached Wildeve's Patch, as it was called, a plot of landredeemed from the heath, and after long and laborious years brought intocultivation. The man who had discovered that it could be tilled died ofthe labour; the man who succeeded him in possession ruined himself infertilizing it. Wildeve came like Amerigo Vespucci, and received thehonours due to those who had gone before. 

When Mrs. Yeobright had drawn near to the inn, and was about to enter, she saw a horse and vehicle some two hundred yards beyond it, comingtowards her, a man walking alongside with a lantern in his hand. Itwas soon evident that this was the reddleman who had inquired for her. Instead of entering the inn at once, she walked by it and towards thevan. 

The conveyance came close, and the man was about to pass her withlittle notice, when she turned to him and said, "I think you have beeninquiring for me? I am Mrs. Yeobright of Blooms-End. "

The reddleman started, and held up his finger. He stopped the horses, and beckoned to her to withdraw with him a few yards aside, which shedid, wondering. 

"You don't know me, ma'am, I suppose?" he said. 

"I do not, " said she. "Why, yes, I do! You are young Venn--your fatherwas a dairyman somewhere here?"

"Yes; and I knew your niece, Miss Tamsin, a little. I have something badto tell you. "

"About her--no! She has just come home, I believe, with her husband. They arranged to return this afternoon--to the inn beyond here. "

"She's not there. "

"How do you know?"

"Because she's here. She's in my van, " he added slowly. 

"What new trouble has come?" murmured Mrs. Yeobright, putting her handover her eyes. 

"I can't explain much, ma'am. All I know is that, as I was going alongthe road this morning, about a mile out of Anglebury, I heard somethingtrotting after me like a doe, and looking round there she was, white asdeath itself. 'Oh, Diggory Venn!' she said, 'I thought 'twas you--willyou help me? I am in trouble. '"

"How did she know your Christian name?" said Mrs. Yeobright doubtingly. 

"I had met her as a lad before I went away in this trade. She asked thenif she might ride, and then down she fell in a faint. I picked her upand put her in, and there she has been ever since. She has cried a gooddeal, but she has hardly spoke; all she has told me being that she wasto have been married this morning. I tried to get her to eat something, but she couldn't; and at last she fell asleep. "

"Let me see her at once, " said Mrs. Yeobright, hastening towards thevan. 

The reddleman followed with the lantern, and, stepping up first, assisted Mrs. Yeobright to mount beside him. On the door being openedshe perceived at the end of the van an extemporized couch, around whichwas hung apparently all the drapery that the reddleman possessed, to keep the occupant of the little couch from contact with the redmaterials of his trade. A young girl lay thereon, covered with a cloak. She was asleep, and the light of the lantern fell upon her features. 

A fair, sweet, and honest country face was revealed, reposing in a nestof wavy chestnut hair. It was between pretty and beautiful. Though hereyes were closed, one could easily imagine the light necessarily shiningin them as the culmination of the luminous workmanship around. Thegroundwork of the face was hopefulness; but over it now I ay like aforeign substance a film of anxiety and grief. The grief had been thereso shortly as to have abstracted nothing of the bloom, and had as yetbut given a dignity to what it might eventually undermine. The scarletof her lips had not had time to abate, and just now it appeared stillmore intense by the absence of the neighbouring and more transientcolour of her cheek. The lips frequently parted, with a murmur of words. She seemed to belong rightly to a madrigal--to require viewing throughrhyme and harmony. 

One thing at least was obvious: she was not made to be looked atthus. The reddleman had appeared conscious of as much, and, while Mrs. Yeobright looked in upon her, he cast his eyes aside with a delicacywhich well became him. The sleeper apparently thought so too, for thenext moment she opened her own. 

The lips then parted with something of anticipation, something more ofdoubt; and her several thoughts and fractions of thoughts, as signalledby the changes on her face, were exhibited by the light to the utmostnicety. An ingenuous, transparent life was disclosed, as if the flow ofher existence could be seen passing within her. She understood the scenein a moment. 

"O yes, it is I, Aunt, " she cried. "I know how frightened you are, andhow you cannot believe it; but all the same, it is I who have come homelike this!"

"Tamsin, Tamsin!" said Mrs. Yeobright, stooping over the young woman andkissing her. "O my dear girl!"

Thomasin was now on the verge of a sob, but by an unexpectedself-command she uttered no sound. With a gentle panting breath she satupright. 

"I did not expect to see you in this state, any more than you me, " shewent on quickly. "Where am I, Aunt?"

"Nearly home, my dear. In Egdon Bottom. What dreadful thing is it?"

"I'll tell you in a moment. So near, are we? Then I will get out andwalk. I want to go home by the path. "

"But this kind man who has done so much will, I am sure, take youright on to my house?" said the aunt, turning to the reddleman, who hadwithdrawn from the front of the van on the awakening of the girl, andstood in the road. 

"Why should you think it necessary to ask me? I will, of course, " saidhe. 

"He is indeed kind, " murmured Thomasin. "I was once acquainted with him, Aunt, and when I saw him today I thought I should prefer his van to anyconveyance of a stranger. But I'll walk now. Reddleman, stop the horses, please. "

The man regarded her with tender reluctance, but stopped them

Aunt and niece then descended from the van, Mrs. Yeobright saying to itsowner, "I quite recognize you now. What made you change from the nicebusiness your father left you?"

"Well, I did, " he said, and looked at Thomasin, who blushed a little. "Then you'll not be wanting me any more tonight, ma'am?"

Mrs. Yeobright glanced around at the dark sky, at the hills, at theperishing bonfires, and at the lighted window of the inn they hadneared. "I think not, " she said, "since Thomasin wishes to walk. We cansoon run up the path and reach home--we know it well. "

And after a few further words they parted, the reddleman moving onwardswith his van, and the two women remaining standing in the road. As soonas the vehicle and its driver had withdrawn so far as to be beyond allpossible reach of her voice, Mrs. Yeobright turned to her niece. 

"Now, Thomasin, " she said sternly, "what's the meaning of thisdisgraceful performance?"

5--Perplexity among Honest People

Thomasin looked as if quite overcome by her aunt's change of manner. "It means just what it seems to mean: I am--not married, " she repliedfaintly. "Excuse me--for humiliating you, Aunt, by this mishap--I amsorry for it. But I cannot help it. "

"Me? Think of yourself first. "

"It was nobody's fault. When we got there the parson wouldn't marry usbecause of some trifling irregularity in the license. "

"What irregularity?"

"I don't know. Mr. Wildeve can explain. I did not think when I went awaythis morning that I should come back like this. " It being dark, Thomasinallowed her emotion to escape her by the silent way of tears, whichcould roll down her cheek unseen. 

"I could almost say that it serves you right--if I did not feel thatyou don't deserve it, " continued Mrs. Yeobright, who, possessing twodistinct moods in close contiguity, a gentle mood and an angry, flewfrom one to the other without the least warning. "Remember, Thomasin, this business was none of my seeking; from the very first, when youbegan to feel foolish about that man, I warned you he would not make youhappy. I felt it so strongly that I did what I would never have believedmyself capable of doing--stood up in the church, and made myself thepublic talk for weeks. But having once consented, I don't submit tothese fancies without good reason. Marry him you must after this. "

"Do you think I wish to do otherwise for one moment?" said Thomasin, with a heavy sigh. "I know how wrong it was of me to love him, but don'tpain me by talking like that, Aunt! You would not have had me stay therewith him, would you?--and your house is the only home I have to returnto. He says we can be married in a day or two. "

"I wish he had never seen you. "

"Very well; then I will be the miserablest woman in the world, and notlet him see me again. No, I won't have him!"

"It is too late to speak so. Come with me. I am going to the inn to seeif he has returned. Of course I shall get to the bottom of this storyat once. Mr. Wildeve must not suppose he can play tricks upon me, or anybelonging to me. "

"It was not that. The license was wrong, and he couldn't get another thesame day. He will tell you in a moment how it was, if he comes. "

"Why didn't he bring you back?"

"That was me!" again sobbed Thomasin. "When I found we could not bemarried I didn't like to come back with him, and I was very ill. ThenI saw Diggory Venn, and was glad to get him to take me home. I cannotexplain it any better, and you must be angry with me if you will. "

"I shall see about that, " said Mrs. Yeobright; and they turned towardsthe inn, known in the neighbourhood as the Quiet Woman, the sign ofwhich represented the figure of a matron carrying her head under herarm, beneath which gruesome design was written the couplet so well knownto frequenters of the inn:--

SINCE THE WOMAN'S QUIET LET NO MAN BREED A RIOT. (1)

 (1) The inn which really bore this sign and legend stood some miles to the northwest of the present scene, wherein the house more immediately referred to is now no longer an inn; and the surroundings are much changed. But another inn, some of whose features are also embodied in this description, the RED LION at Winfrith, still remains as a haven for the wayfarer (1912). 

The front of the house was towards the heath and Rainbarrow, whose darkshape seemed to threaten it from the sky. Upon the door was a neglectedbrass plate, bearing the unexpected inscription, "Mr. Wildeve, Engineer"--a useless yet cherished relic from the time when he had beenstarted in that profession in an office at Budmouth by those who hadhoped much from him, and had been disappointed. The garden was at theback, and behind this ran a still deep stream, forming the margin of theheath in that direction, meadow-land appearing beyond the stream. 

But the thick obscurity permitted only skylines to be visible of anyscene at present. The water at the back of the house could beheard, idly spinning whirpools in its creep between the rows of dryfeather-headed reeds which formed a stockade along each bank. Theirpresence was denoted by sounds as of a congregation praying humbly, produced by their rubbing against each other in the slow wind. 

The window, whence the candlelight had shone up the vale to the eyesof the bonfire group, was uncurtained, but the sill lay too high for apedestrian on the outside to look over it into the room. A vast shadow, in which could be dimly traced portions of a masculine contour, blottedhalf the ceiling. 

"He seems to be at home, " said Mrs. Yeobright. 

"Must I come in, too, Aunt?" asked Thomasin faintly. "I suppose not; itwould be wrong. "

"You must come, certainly--to confront him, so that he may make no falserepresentations to me. We shall not be five minutes in the house, andthen we'll walk home. "

Entering the open passage, she tapped at the door of the privateparlour, unfastened it, and looked in. 

The back and shoulders of a man came between Mrs. Yeobright's eyes andthe fire. Wildeve, whose form it was, immediately turned, arose, andadvanced to meet his visitors. 

He was quite a young man, and of the two properties, form and motion, the latter first attracted the eye in him. The grace of his movementwas singular--it was the pantomimic expression of a lady-killing career. Next came into notice the more material qualities, among which was aprofuse crop of hair impending over the top of his face, lending to hisforehead the high-cornered outline of an early Gothic shield; and a neckwhich was smooth and round as a cylinder. The lower half of his figurewas of light build. Altogether he was one in whom no man would have seenanything to admire, and in whom no woman would have seen anything todislike. 

He discerned the young girl's form in the passage, and said, "Thomasin, then, has reached home. How could you leave me in that way, darling?"And turning to Mrs. Yeobright--"It was useless to argue with her. Shewould go, and go alone. "

"But what's the meaning of it all?" demanded Mrs. Yeobright haughtily. 

"Take a seat, " said Wildeve, placing chairs for the two women. "Well, it was a very stupid mistake, but such mistakes will happen. The licensewas useless at Anglebury. It was made out for Budmouth, but as I didn'tread it I wasn't aware of that. "

"But you had been staying at Anglebury?"

"No. I had been at Budmouth--till two days ago--and that was where Ihad intended to take her; but when I came to fetch her we decided uponAnglebury, forgetting that a new license would be necessary. There wasnot time to get to Budmouth afterwards. "

"I think you are very much to blame, " said Mrs. Yeobright. 

"It was quite my fault we chose Anglebury, " Thomasin pleaded. "Iproposed it because I was not known there. "

"I know so well that I am to blame that you need not remind me of it, "replied Wildeve shortly. 

"Such things don't happen for nothing, " said the aunt. "It is a greatslight to me and my family; and when it gets known there will be avery unpleasant time for us. How can she look her friends in the facetomorrow? It is a very great injury, and one I cannot easily forgive. Itmay even reflect on her character. "

"Nonsense, " said Wildeve. 

Thomasin's large eyes had flown from the face of one to the face ofthe other during this discussion, and she now said anxiously, "Will youallow me, Aunt, to talk it over alone with Damon for five minutes? Willyou, Damon?"

"Certainly, dear, " said Wildeve, "if your aunt will excuse us. " He ledher into an adjoining room, leaving Mrs. Yeobright by the fire. 

As soon as they were alone, and the door closed, Thomasin said, turningup her pale, tearful face to him, "It is killing me, this, Damon! I didnot mean to part from you in anger at Anglebury this morning; but I wasfrightened and hardly knew what I said. I've not let Aunt know how muchI suffered today; and it is so hard to command my face and voice, and tosmile as if it were a slight thing to me; but I try to do so, that shemay not be still more indignant with you. I know you could not help it, dear, whatever Aunt may think. "

"She is very unpleasant. "

"Yes, " Thomasin murmured, "and I suppose I seem so now. .. . Damon, what doyou mean to do about me?"

"Do about you?"

"Yes. Those who don't like you whisper things which at moments make medoubt you. We mean to marry, I suppose, don't we?"

"Of course we do. We have only to go to Budmouth on Monday, and we marryat once. "

"Then do let us go!--O Damon, what you make me say!" She hid her face inher handkerchief. "Here am I asking you to marry me, when by rightsyou ought to be on your knees imploring me, your cruel mistress, notto refuse you, and saying it would break your heart if I did. I used tothink it would be pretty and sweet like that; but how different!"

"Yes, real life is never at all like that. "

"But I don't care personally if it never takes place, " she added with alittle dignity; "no, I can live without you. It is Aunt I think of. Sheis so proud, and thinks so much of her family respectability, that shewill be cut down with mortification if this story should get abroadbefore--it is done. My cousin Clym, too, will be much wounded. "

"Then he will be very unreasonable. In fact, you are all ratherunreasonable. "

Thomasin coloured a little, and not with love. But whatever themomentary feeling which caused that flush in her, it went as it came, and she humbly said, "I never mean to be, if I can help it. I merelyfeel that you have my aunt to some extent in your power at last. "

"As a matter of justice it is almost due to me, " said Wildeve. "Thinkwhat I have gone through to win her consent; the insult that it is toany man to have the banns forbidden--the double insult to a man unluckyenough to be cursed with sensitiveness, and blue demons, and Heavenknows what, as I am. I can never forget those banns. A harsher man wouldrejoice now in the power I have of turning upon your aunt by going nofurther in the business. "

She looked wistfully at him with her sorrowful eyes as he said thosewords, and her aspect showed that more than one person in the room coulddeplore the possession of sensitiveness. Seeing that she was reallysuffering he seemed disturbed and added, "This is merely a reflectionyou know. I have not the least intention to refuse to complete themarriage, Tamsie mine--I could not bear it. "

"You could not, I know!" said the fair girl, brightening. "You, whocannot bear the sight of pain in even an insect, or any disagreeablesound, or unpleasant smell even, will not long cause pain to me andmine. "

"I will not, if I can help it. "

"Your hand upon it, Damon. "

He carelessly gave her his hand. 

"Ah, by my crown, what's that?" he said suddenly. 

There fell upon their ears the sound of numerous voices singing infront of the house. Among these, two made themselves prominent by theirpeculiarity: one was a very strong bass, the other a wheezy thin piping. Thomasin recognized them as belonging to Timothy Fairway and GrandferCantle respectively. 

"What does it mean--it is not skimmity-riding, I hope?" she said, with afrightened gaze at Wildeve. 

"Of course not; no, it is that the heath-folk have come to sing to usa welcome. This is intolerable!" He began pacing about, the men outsidesinging cheerily--

"He told' her that she' was the joy' of his life', And if' she'dcon-sent' he would make her his wife'; She could' not refuse' him;to church' so they went', Young Will was forgot', and young Sue' wascontent'; And then' was she kiss'd' and set down' on his knee', No man'in the world' was so lov'-ing as he'!"

Mrs. Yeobright burst in from the outer room. "Thomasin, Thomasin!" shesaid, looking indignantly at Wildeve; "here's a pretty exposure! Let usescape at once. Come!"

It was, however, too late to get away by the passage. A rugged knockinghad begun upon the door of the front room. Wildeve, who had gone to thewindow, came back. 

"Stop!" he said imperiously, putting his hand upon Mrs. Yeobright's arm. "We are regularly besieged. There are fifty of them out there if there'sone. You stay in this room with Thomasin; I'll go out and face them. Youmust stay now, for my sake, till they are gone, so that it may seem asif all was right. Come, Tamsie dear, don't go making a scene--we mustmarry after this; that you can see as well as I. Sit still, that'sall--and don't speak much. I'll manage them. Blundering fools!"

He pressed the agitated girl into a seat, returned to the outer room andopened the door. Immediately outside, in the passage, appeared GrandferCantle singing in concert with those still standing in front of thehouse. He came into the room and nodded abstractedly to Wildeve, hislips still parted, and his features excruciatingly strained in theemission of the chorus. This being ended, he said heartily, "Here'swelcome to the new-made couple, and God bless 'em!"

"Thank you, " said Wildeve, with dry resentment, his face as gloomy as athunderstorm. 

At the Grandfer's heels now came the rest of the group, which includedFairway, Christian, Sam the turf-cutter, Humphrey, and a dozen others. All smiled upon Wildeve, and upon his tables and chairs likewise, froma general sense of friendliness towards the articles as well as towardstheir owner. 

"We be not here afore Mrs. Yeobright after all, " said Fairway, recognizing the matron's bonnet through the glass partition whichdivided the public apartment they had entered from the room where thewomen sat. "We struck down across, d'ye see, Mr. Wildeve, and she wentround by the path. "

"And I see the young bride's little head!" said Grandfer, peeping in thesame direction, and discerning Thomasin, who was waiting beside her auntin a miserable and awkward way. "Not quite settled in yet--well, well, there's plenty of time. "

Wildeve made no reply; and probably feeling that the sooner he treatedthem the sooner they would go, he produced a stone jar, which threw awarm halo over matters at once. 

"That's a drop of the right sort, I can see, " said Grandfer Cantle, withthe air of a man too well-mannered to show any hurry to taste it. 

"Yes, " said Wildeve, "'tis some old mead. I hope you will like it. "

"O ay!" replied the guests, in the hearty tones natural when the wordsdemanded by politeness coincide with those of deepest feeling. "Thereisn't a prettier drink under the sun. "

"I'll take my oath there isn't, " added Grandfer Cantle. "All that can besaid against mead is that 'tis rather heady, and apt to lie about a mana good while. But tomorrow's Sunday, thank God. "

"I feel'd for all the world like some bold soldier after I had had someonce, " said Christian. 

"You shall feel so again, " said Wildeve, with condescension, "Cups orglasses, gentlemen?"

"Well, if you don't mind, we'll have the beaker, and pass 'en round;'tis better than heling it out in dribbles. "

"Jown the slippery glasses, " said Grandfer Cantle. "What's the good ofa thing that you can't put down in the ashes to warm, hey, neighbours;that's what I ask?"

"Right, Grandfer, " said Sam; and the mead then circulated. 

"Well, " said Timothy Fairway, feeling demands upon his praise in someform or other, "'tis a worthy thing to be married, Mr. Wildeve; and thewoman you've got is a dimant, so says I. Yes, " he continued, to GrandferCantle, raising his voice so as to be heard through the partition, "herfather (inclining his head towards the inner room) was as good afeller as ever lived. He always had his great indignation ready againstanything underhand. "

"Is that very dangerous?" said Christian. 

"And there were few in these parts that were upsides with him, " saidSam. "Whenever a club walked he'd play the clarinet in the band thatmarched before 'em as if he'd never touched anything but a clarinet allhis life. And then, when they got to church door he'd throw down theclarinet, mount the gallery, snatch up the bass viol, and rozum away asif he'd never played anything but a bass viol. Folk would say--folk thatknowed what a true stave was--'Surely, surely that's never the same manthat I saw handling the clarinet so masterly by now!"

"I can mind it, " said the furze-cutter. "'Twas a wonderful thing thatone body could hold it all and never mix the fingering. "

"There was Kingsbere church likewise, " Fairway recommenced, as oneopening a new vein of the same mine of interest. 

Wildeve breathed the breath of one intolerably bored, and glancedthrough the partition at the prisoners. 

"He used to walk over there of a Sunday afternoon to visit his oldacquaintance Andrew Brown, the first clarinet there; a good man enough, but rather screechy in his music, if you can mind?"

"'A was. "

"And neighbour Yeobright would take Andrey's place for some part ofthe service, to let Andrey have a bit of a nap, as any friend wouldnaturally do. "

"As any friend would, " said Grandfer Cantle, the other listenersexpressing the same accord by the shorter way of nodding their heads. 

"No sooner was Andrey asleep and the first whiff of neighbourYeobright's wind had got inside Andrey's clarinet than everyone inchurch feeled in a moment there was a great soul among 'em. All headswould turn, and they'd say, 'Ah, I thought 'twas he!' One Sunday I canwell mind--a bass viol day that time, and Yeobright had brought his own. 'Twas the Hundred-and-thirty-third to 'Lydia'; and when they'd cometo 'Ran down his beard and o'er his robes its costly moisture shed, 'neighbour Yeobright, who had just warmed to his work, drove his bow intothem strings that glorious grand that he e'en a'most sawed the bassviol into two pieces. Every winder in church rattled as if 'twere athunderstorm. Old Pa'son Williams lifted his hands in his great holysurplice as natural as if he'd been in common clothes, and seemed to sayhisself, 'O for such a man in our parish!' But not a soul in Kingsberecould hold a candle to Yeobright. "

"Was it quite safe when the winder shook?" Christian inquired. 

He received no answer, all for the moment sitting rapt in admirationof the performance described. As with Farinelli's singing before theprincesses, Sheridan's renowned Begum Speech, and other such examples, the fortunate condition of its being for ever lost to the world investedthe deceased Mr. Yeobright's tour de force on that memorable afternoonwith a cumulative glory which comparative criticism, had that beenpossible, might considerably have shorn down. 

"He was the last you'd have expected to drop off in the prime of life, "said Humphrey. 

"Ah, well; he was looking for the earth some months afore he went. Atthat time women used to run for smocks and gown-pieces at GreenhillFair, and my wife that is now, being a long-legged slittering maid, hardly husband-high, went with the rest of the maidens, for 'a was agood, runner afore she got so heavy. When she came home I said--we werethen just beginning to walk together--'What have ye got, my honey?''I've won--well, I've won--a gown-piece, ' says she, her colours comingup in a moment. 'Tis a smock for a crown, I thought; and so it turnedout. Ay, when I think what she'll say to me now without a mossel of redin her face, it do seem strange that 'a wouldn't say such a little thingthen. .. . However, then she went on, and that's what made me bring up thestory. Well, whatever clothes I've won, white or figured, for eyes tosee or for eyes not to see' ('a could do a pretty stroke of modesty inthose days), 'I'd sooner have lost it than have seen what I have. PoorMr. Yeobright was took bad directly he reached the fair ground, and wasforced to go home again. ' That was the last time he ever went out of theparish. "

"'A faltered on from one day to another, and then we heard he was gone. "

"D'ye think he had great pain when 'a died?" said Christian. 

"O no--quite different. Nor any pain of mind. He was lucky enough to beGod A'mighty's own man. "

"And other folk--d'ye think 'twill be much pain to 'em, Mister Fairway?"

"That depends on whether they be afeard. "

"I bain't afeard at all, I thank God!" said Christian strenuously. "I'mglad I bain't, for then 'twon't pain me. .. . I don't think I be afeard--orif I be I can't help it, and I don't deserve to suffer. I wish I was notafeard at all!"

There was a solemn silence, and looking from the window, which wasunshuttered and unblinded, Timothy said, "Well, what a fess littlebonfire that one is, out by Cap'n Vye's! 'Tis burning just the same nowas ever, upon my life. "

All glances went through the window, and nobody noticed that Wildevedisguised a brief, telltale look. Far away up the sombre valley ofheath, and to the right of Rainbarrow, could indeed be seen the light, small, but steady and persistent as before. 

"It was lighted before ours was, " Fairway continued; "and yet every onein the country round is out afore 'n. "

"Perhaps there's meaning in it!" murmured Christian. 

"How meaning?" said Wildeve sharply. 

Christian was too scattered to reply, and Timothy helped him. 

"He means, sir, that the lonesome dark-eyed creature up there that somesay is a witch--ever I should call a fine young woman such a name--isalways up to some odd conceit or other; and so perhaps 'tis she. "

"I'd be very glad to ask her in wedlock, if she'd hae me and takethe risk of her wild dark eyes ill-wishing me, " said Grandfer Cantlestaunchly. 

"Don't ye say it, Father!" implored Christian. 

"Well, be dazed if he who do marry the maid won't hae an uncommonpicture for his best parlour, " said Fairway in a liquid tone, placingdown the cup of mead at the end of a good pull. 

"And a partner as deep as the North Star, " said Sam, taking up the cupand finishing the little that remained. "Well, really, now I think wemust be moving, " said Humphrey, observing the emptiness of the vessel. 

"But we'll gie 'em another song?" said Grandfer Cantle. "I'm as full ofnotes as a bird!"

"Thank you, Grandfer, " said Wildeve. "But we will not trouble you now. Some other day must do for that--when I have a party. "

"Be jown'd if I don't learn ten new songs for't, or I won't learn aline!" said Grandfer Cantle. "And you may be sure I won't disappoint yeby biding away, Mr. Wildeve. "

"I quite believe you, " said that gentleman. 

All then took their leave, wishing their entertainer long life andhappiness as a married man, with recapitulations which occupied sometime. Wildeve attended them to the door, beyond which the deep-dyedupward stretch of heath stood awaiting them, an amplitude of darknessreigning from their feet almost to the zenith, where a definite formfirst became visible in the lowering forehead of Rainbarrow. Divinginto the dense obscurity in a line headed by Sam the turf-cutter, theypursued their trackless way home. 

When the scratching of the furze against their leggings had fainted uponthe ear, Wildeve returned to the room where he had left Thomasin and heraunt. The women were gone. 

They could only have left the house in one way, by the back window; andthis was open. 

Wildeve laughed to himself, remained a moment thinking, and idlyreturned to the front room. Here his glance fell upon a bottle of winewhich stood on the mantelpiece. "Ah--old Dowden!" he murmured; and goingto the kitchen door shouted, "Is anybody here who can take something toold Dowden?"

There was no reply. The room was empty, the lad who acted as hisfactotum having gone to bed. Wildeve came back put on his hat, took thebottle, and left the house, turning the key in the door, for there wasno guest at the inn tonight. As soon as he was on the road the littlebonfire on Mistover Knap again met his eye. 

"Still waiting, are you, my lady?" he murmured. 

However, he did not proceed that way just then; but leaving the hill tothe left of him, he stumbled over a rutted road that brought him to acottage which, like all other habitations on the heath at this hour, wasonly saved from being visible by a faint shine from its bedroom window. This house was the home of Olly Dowden, the besom-maker, and he entered. 

The lower room was in darkness; but by feeling his way he found a table, whereon he placed the bottle, and a minute later emerged again upon theheath. He stood and looked northeast at the undying little fire--high upabove him, though not so high as Rainbarrow. 

We have been told what happens when a woman deliberates; and the epigramis not always terminable with woman, provided that one be in the case, and that a fair one. Wildeve stood, and stood longer, and breathedperplexedly, and then said to himself with resignation, "Yes--by Heaven, I must go to her, I suppose!"

Instead of turning in the direction of home he pressed on rapidly by apath under Rainbarrow towards what was evidently a signal light. 

6--The Figure against the Sky

When the whole Egdon concourse had left the site of the bonfire to itsaccustomed loneliness, a closely wrapped female figure approached thebarrow from that quarter of the heath in which the little fire lay. Hadthe reddleman been watching he might have recognized her as the womanwho had first stood there so singularly, and vanished at the approachof strangers. She ascended to her old position at the top, where the redcoals of the perishing fire greeted her like living eyes in the corpseof day. There she stood still around her stretching the vast nightatmosphere, whose incomplete darkness in comparison with the totaldarkness of the heath below it might have represented a venial beside amortal sin. 

That she was tall and straight in build, that she was lady-like in hermovements, was all that could be learnt of her just now, her form beingwrapped in a shawl folded in the old cornerwise fashion, and her head ina large kerchief, a protection not superfluous at this hour and place. Her back was towards the wind, which blew from the northwest; butwhether she had avoided that aspect because of the chilly gusts whichplayed about her exceptional position, or because her interest lay inthe southeast, did not at first appear. 

Her reason for standing so dead still as the pivot of this circleof heath-country was just as obscure. Her extraordinary fixity, herconspicuous loneliness, her heedlessness of night, betokened among otherthings an utter absence of fear. A tract of country unaltered from thatsinister condition which made Caesar anxious every year to get clear ofits glooms before the autumnal equinox, a kind of landscape and weatherwhich leads travellers from the South to describe our island as Homer'sCimmerian land, was not, on the face of it, friendly to women. 

It might reasonably have been supposed that she was listening to thewind, which rose somewhat as the night advanced, and laid hold of theattention. The wind, indeed, seemed made for the scene, as the sceneseemed made for the hour. Part of its tone was quite special; what washeard there could be heard nowhere else. Gusts in innumerable seriesfollowed each other from the northwest, and when each one of them racedpast the sound of its progress resolved into three. Treble, tenor, andbass notes were to be found therein. The general ricochet of the wholeover pits and prominences had the gravest pitch of the chime. Next therecould be heard the baritone buzz of a holly tree. Below these in force, above them in pitch, a dwindled voice strove hard at a husky tune, whichwas the peculiar local sound alluded to. Thinner and less immediatelytraceable than the other two, it was far more impressive than either. Init lay what may be called the linguistic peculiarity of the heath; andbeing audible nowhere on earth off a heath, it afforded a shadow ofreason for the woman's tenseness, which continued as unbroken as ever. 

Throughout the blowing of these plaintive November winds that notebore a great resemblance to the ruins of human song which remain to thethroat of fourscore and ten. It was a worn whisper, dry and papery, andit brushed so distinctly across the ear that, by the accustomed, thematerial minutiae in which it originated could be realized as by touch. It was the united products of infinitesimal vegetable causes, and thesewere neither stems, leaves, fruit, blades, prickles, lichen, nor moss. 

They were the mummied heathbells of the past summer, originally tenderand purple, now washed colourless by Michaelmas rains, and dried to deadskins by October suns. So low was an individual sound from these that acombination of hundreds only just emerged from silence, and the myriadsof the whole declivity reached the woman's ear but as a shrivelled andintermittent recitative. Yet scarcely a single accent among the manyafloat tonight could have such power to impress a listener withthoughts of its origin. One inwardly saw the infinity of those combinedmultitudes; and perceived that each of the tiny trumpets was seized onentered, scoured and emerged from by the wind as thoroughly as if itwere as vast as a crater. 

"The spirit moved them. " A meaning of the phrase forced itself upon theattention; and an emotional listener's fetichistic mood might haveended in one of more advanced quality. It was not, after all, that theleft-hand expanse of old blooms spoke, or the right-hand, or thoseof the slope in front; but it was the single person of something elsespeaking through each at once. 

Suddenly, on the barrow, there mingled with all this wild rhetoricof night a sound which modulated so naturally into the rest that itsbeginning and ending were hardly to be distinguished. The bluffs, andthe bushes, and the heather-bells had broken silence; at last, so didthe woman; and her articulation was but as another phrase of the samediscourse as theirs. Thrown out on the winds it became twined in withthem, and with them it flew away. 

What she uttered was a lengthened sighing, apparently at somethingin her mind which had led to her presence here. There was a spasmodicabandonment about it as if, in allowing herself to utter the sound thewoman's brain had authorized what it could not regulate. One point wasevident in this; that she had been existing in a suppressed state, andnot in one of languor, or stagnation. 

Far away down the valley the faint shine from the window of the innstill lasted on; and a few additional moments proved that the window, orwhat was within it, had more to do with the woman's sigh than had eitherher own actions or the scene immediately around. She lifted her lefthand, which held a closed telescope. This she rapidly extended, as ifshe were well accustomed to the operation, and raising it to her eyedirected it towards the light beaming from the inn. 

The handkerchief which had hooded her head was now a little thrown back, her face being somewhat elevated. A profile was visible against the dullmonochrome of cloud around her; and it was as though side shadows fromthe features of Sappho and Mrs. Siddons had converged upwards from thetomb to form an image like neither but suggesting both. This, however, was mere superficiality. In respect of character a face may make certainadmissions by its outline; but it fully confesses only in its changes. So much is this the case that what is called the play of the featuresoften helps more in understanding a man or woman than the earnestlabours of all the other members together. Thus the night revealedlittle of her whose form it was embracing, for the mobile parts of hercountenance could not be seen. 

At last she gave up her spying attitude, closed the telescope, andturned to the decaying embers. From these no appreciable beams nowradiated, except when a more than usually smart gust brushed over theirfaces and raised a fitful glow which came and went like the blush of agirl. She stooped over the silent circle, and selecting from the brandsa piece of stick which bore the largest live coal at its end, brought itto where she had been standing before. 

She held the brand to the ground, blowing the red coal with her mouth atthe same time; till it faintly illuminated the sod, and revealed a smallobject, which turned out to be an hourglass, though she wore a watch. She blew long enough to show that the sand had all slipped through. 

"Ah!" she said, as if surprised. 

The light raised by her breath had been very fitful, and a momentaryirradiation of flesh was all that it had disclosed of her face. Thatconsisted of two matchless lips and a cheek only, her head being stillenveloped. She threw away the stick, took the glass in her hand, thetelescope under her arm, and moved on. 

Along the ridge ran a faint foot-track, which the lady followed. Thosewho knew it well called it a path; and, while a mere visitor would havepassed it unnoticed even by day, the regular haunters of the heathwere at no loss for it at midnight. The whole secret of following theseincipient paths, when there was not light enough in the atmosphere toshow a turnpike road, lay in the development of the sense of touch inthe feet, which comes with years of night-rambling in little-troddenspots. To a walker practised in such places a difference between impacton maiden herbage, and on the crippled stalks of a slight footway, isperceptible through the thickest boot or shoe. 

The solitary figure who walked this beat took no notice of the windytune still played on the dead heathbells. She did not turn her head tolook at a group of dark creatures further on, who fled from her presenceas she skirted a ravine where they fed. They were about a score of thesmall wild ponies known as heath-croppers. They roamed at large on theundulations of Egdon, but in numbers too few to detract much from thesolitude. 

The pedestrian noticed nothing just now, and a clue to her abstractionwas afforded by a trivial incident. A bramble caught hold of her skirt, and checked her progress. Instead of putting it off and hastening along, she yielded herself up to the pull, and stood passively still. When shebegan to extricate herself it was by turning round and round, and sounwinding the prickly switch. She was in a desponding reverie. 

Her course was in the direction of the small undying fire which haddrawn the attention of the men on Rainbarrow and of Wildeve in thevalley below. A faint illumination from its rays began to glow uponher face, and the fire soon revealed itself to be lit, not on the levelground, but on a salient corner or redan of earth, at the junction oftwo converging bank fences. Outside was a ditch, dry except immediatelyunder the fire, where there was a large pool, bearded all round byheather and rushes. In the smooth water of the pool the fire appearedupside down. 

The banks meeting behind were bare of a hedge, save such as was formedby disconnected tufts of furze, standing upon stems along the top, likeimpaled heads above a city wall. A white mast, fitted up with sparsand other nautical tackle, could be seen rising against the dark cloudswhenever the flames played brightly enough to reach it. Altogether thescene had much the appearance of a fortification upon which had beenkindled a beacon fire. 

Nobody was visible; but ever and anon a whitish something moved abovethe bank from behind, and vanished again. This was a small human hand, in the act of lifting pieces of fuel into the fire, but for all thatcould be seen the hand, like that which troubled Belshazzar, was therealone. Occasionally an ember rolled off the bank, and dropped with ahiss into the pool. 

At one side of the pool rough steps built of clods enabled everyone whowished to do so to mount the bank; which the woman did. Within was apaddock in an uncultivated state, though bearing evidence of having oncebeen tilled; but the heath and fern had insidiously crept in, and werereasserting their old supremacy. Further ahead were dimly visible anirregular dwelling-house, garden, and outbuildings, backed by a clump offirs. 

The young lady--for youth had revealed its presence in her buoyant boundup the bank--walked along the top instead of descending inside, and cameto the corner where the fire was burning. One reason for the permanenceof the blaze was now manifest: the fuel consisted of hard pieces ofwood, cleft and sawn--the knotty boles of old thorn trees which grew intwos and threes about the hillsides. A yet unconsumed pile of these layin the inner angle of the bank; and from this corner the upturned faceof a little boy greeted her eyes. He was dilatorily throwing up a pieceof wood into the fire every now and then, a business which seemed tohave engaged him a considerable part of the evening, for his face wassomewhat weary. 

"I am glad you have come, Miss Eustacia, " he said, with a sigh ofrelief. "I don't like biding by myself. "

"Nonsense. I have only been a little way for a walk. I have been goneonly twenty minutes. "

"It seemed long, " murmured the sad boy. "And you have been so manytimes. "

"Why, I thought you would be pleased to have a bonfire. Are you not muchobliged to me for making you one?"

"Yes; but there's nobody here to play wi' me. "

"I suppose nobody has come while I've been away?"

"Nobody except your grandfather--he looked out of doors once for 'ee. I told him you were walking round upon the hill to look at the otherbonfires. "

"A good boy. "

"I think I hear him coming again, miss. "

An old man came into the remoter light of the fire from the directionof the homestead. He was the same who had overtaken the reddleman on theroad that afternoon. He looked wistfully to the top of the bank atthe woman who stood there, and his teeth, which were quite unimpaired, showed like parian from his parted lips. 

"When are you coming indoors, Eustacia?" he asked. "'Tis almost bedtime. I've been home these two hours, and am tired out. Surely 'tis somewhatchildish of you to stay out playing at bonfires so long, and wastingsuch fuel. My precious thorn roots, the rarest of all firing, that Ilaid by on purpose for Christmas--you have burnt 'em nearly all!"

"I promised Johnny a bonfire, and it pleases him not to let it go outjust yet, " said Eustacia, in a way which told at once that she wasabsolute queen here. "Grandfather, you go in to bed. I shall follow yousoon. You like the fire, don't you, Johnny?"

The boy looked up doubtfully at her and murmured, "I don't think I wantit any longer. "

Her grandfather had turned back again, and did not hear the boy's reply. As soon as the white-haired man had vanished she said in a tone of piqueto the child, "Ungrateful little boy, how can you contradict me? Nevershall you have a bonfire again unless you keep it up now. Come, tell meyou like to do things for me, and don't deny it. "

The repressed child said, "Yes, I do, miss, " and continued to stir thefire perfunctorily. 

"Stay a little longer and I will give you a crooked six-pence, " saidEustacia, more gently. "Put in one piece of wood every two or threeminutes, but not too much at once. I am going to walk along the ridge alittle longer, but I shall keep on coming to you. And if you hear a frogjump into the pond with a flounce like a stone thrown in, be sure yourun and tell me, because it is a sign of rain. "

"Yes, Eustacia. "

"Miss Vye, sir. "

"Miss Vy--stacia. "

"That will do. Now put in one stick more. "

The little slave went on feeding the fire as before. He seemed a mereautomaton, galvanized into moving and speaking by the wayward Eustacia'swill. He might have been the brass statue which Albertus Magnus is saidto have animated just so far as to make it chatter, and move, and be hisservant. 

Before going on her walk again the young girl stood still on the bankfor a few instants and listened. It was to the full as lonely a placeas Rainbarrow, though at rather a lower level; and it was more shelteredfrom wind and weather on account of the few firs to the north. The bankwhich enclosed the homestead, and protected it from the lawless state ofthe world without, was formed of thick square clods, dug from the ditchon the outside, and built up with a slight batter or incline, whichforms no slight defense where hedges will not grow because of the windand the wilderness, and where wall materials are unattainable. Otherwisethe situation was quite open, commanding the whole length of the valleywhich reached to the river behind Wildeve's house. High above this tothe right, and much nearer thitherward than the Quiet Woman Inn, theblurred contour of Rainbarrow obstructed the sky. 

After her attentive survey of the wild slopes and hollow ravines agesture of impatience escaped Eustacia. She vented petulant wordsevery now and then, but there were sighs between her words, and suddenlistenings between her sighs. Descending from her perch she againsauntered off towards Rainbarrow, though this time she did not go thewhole way. 

Twice she reappeared at intervals of a few minutes and each time shesaid--

"Not any flounce into the pond yet, little man?"

"No, Miss Eustacia, " the child replied. 

"Well, " she said at last, "I shall soon be going in, and then I willgive you the crooked sixpence, and let you go home. "

"Thank'ee, Miss Eustacia, " said the tired stoker, breathing more easily. And Eustacia again strolled away from the fire, but this time nottowards Rainbarrow. She skirted the bank and went round to the wicketbefore the house, where she stood motionless, looking at the scene. 

Fifty yards off rose the corner of the two converging banks, with thefire upon it; within the bank, lifting up to the fire one stick at atime, just as before, the figure of the little child. She idly watchedhim as he occasionally climbed up in the nook of the bank and stoodbeside the brands. The wind blew the smoke, and the child's hair, andthe corner of his pinafore, all in the same direction; the breeze died, and the pinafore and hair lay still, and the smoke went up straight. 

While Eustacia looked on from this distance the boy's form visiblystarted--he slid down the bank and ran across towards the white gate. 

"Well?" said Eustacia. 

"A hopfrog have jumped into the pond. Yes, I heard 'en!"

"Then it is going to rain, and you had better go home. You will not beafraid?" She spoke hurriedly, as if her heart had leapt into her throatat the boy's words. 

"No, because I shall hae the crooked sixpence. "

"Yes, here it is. Now run as fast as you can--not that way--through thegarden here. No other boy in the heath has had such a bonfire as yours. "

The boy, who clearly had had too much of a good thing, marched awayinto the shadows with alacrity. When he was gone Eustacia, leaving hertelescope and hourglass by the gate, brushed forward from the wickettowards the angle of the bank, under the fire. 

Here, screened by the outwork, she waited. In a few moments a splash wasaudible from the pond outside. Had the child been there he would havesaid that a second frog had jumped in; but by most people the soundwould have been likened to the fall of a stone into the water. Eustaciastepped upon the bank. 

"Yes?" she said, and held her breath. 

Thereupon the contour of a man became dimly visible against thelow-reaching sky over the valley, beyond the outer margin of the pool. He came round it and leapt upon the bank beside her. A low laugh escapedher--the third utterance which the girl had indulged in tonight. Thefirst, when she stood upon Rainbarrow, had expressed anxiety; thesecond, on the ridge, had expressed impatience; the present was oneof triumphant pleasure. She let her joyous eyes rest upon him withoutspeaking, as upon some wondrous thing she had created out of chaos. 

"I have come, " said the man, who was Wildeve. "You give me no peace. Whydo you not leave me alone? I have seen your bonfire all the evening. "The words were not without emotion, and retained their level tone as ifby a careful equipoise between imminent extremes. 

At this unexpectedly repressing manner in her lover the girl seemed torepress herself also. "Of course you have seen my fire, " she answeredwith languid calmness, artificially maintained. "Why shouldn't I have abonfire on the Fifth of November, like other denizens of the heath?"

"I knew it was meant for me. "

"How did you know it? I have had no word with you since you--you choseher, and walked about with her, and deserted me entirely, as if I hadnever been yours life and soul so irretrievably!"

"Eustacia! could I forget that last autumn at this same day of the monthand at this same place you lighted exactly such a fire as a signal forme to come and see you? Why should there have been a bonfire again byCaptain Vye's house if not for the same purpose?"

"Yes, yes--I own it, " she cried under her breath, with a drowsy fervourof manner and tone which was quite peculiar to her. "Don't beginspeaking to me as you did, Damon; you will drive me to say words I wouldnot wish to say to you. I had given you up, and resolved not to think ofyou any more; and then I heard the news, and I came out and got the fireready because I thought that you had been faithful to me. "

"What have you heard to make you think that?" said Wildeve, astonished. 

"That you did not marry her!" she murmured exultingly. "And I knew itwas because you loved me best, and couldn't do it. .. . Damon, you havebeen cruel to me to go away, and I have said I would never forgive you. I do not think I can forgive you entirely, even now--it is too much fora woman of any spirit to quite overlook. "

"If I had known you wished to call me up here only to reproach me, Iwouldn't have come. "

"But I don't mind it, and I do forgive you now that you have not marriedher, and have come back to me!"

"Who told you that I had not married her?"

"My grandfather. He took a long walk today, and as he was coming home heovertook some person who told him of a broken-off wedding--he thought itmight be yours, and I knew it was. "

"Does anybody else know?"

"I suppose not. Now Damon, do you see why I lit my signal fire? You didnot think I would have lit it if I had imagined you to have become thehusband of this woman. It is insulting my pride to suppose that. "

Wildeve was silent; it was evident that he had supposed as much. 

"Did you indeed think I believed you were married?" she again demandedearnestly. "Then you wronged me; and upon my life and heart I can hardlybear to recognize that you have such ill thoughts of me! Damon, you arenot worthy of me--I see it, and yet I love you. Never mind, let it go--Imust bear your mean opinion as best I may. .. . It is true, is it not, " sheadded with ill-concealed anxiety, on his making no demonstration, "thatyou could not bring yourself to give me up, and are still going to loveme best of all?"

"Yes; or why should I have come?" he said touchily. "Not thatfidelity will be any great merit in me after your kind speech about myunworthiness, which should have been said by myself if by anybody, andcomes with an ill grace from you. However, the curse of inflammabilityis upon me, and I must live under it, and take any snub from a woman. Ithas brought me down from engineering to innkeeping--what lower stage ithas in store for me I have yet to learn. " He continued to look upon hergloomily. 

She seized the moment, and throwing back the shawl so that the firelightshone full upon her face and throat, said with a smile, "Have you seenanything better than that in your travels?"

Eustacia was not one to commit herself to such a position without goodground. He said quietly, "No. "

"Not even on the shoulders of Thomasin?"

"Thomasin is a pleasing and innocent woman. "

"That's nothing to do with it, " she cried with quick passionateness. "Wewill leave her out; there are only you and me now to think of. " After along look at him she resumed with the old quiescent warmth, "Must I goon weakly confessing to you things a woman ought to conceal; andown that no words can express how gloomy I have been because of thatdreadful belief I held till two hours ago--that you had quite desertedme?"

"I am sorry I caused you that pain. "

"But perhaps it is not wholly because of you that I get gloomy, " shearchly added. "It is in my nature to feel like that. It was born in myblood, I suppose. "

"Hypochondriasis. "

"Or else it was coming into this wild heath. I was happy enough atBudmouth. O the times, O the days at Budmouth! But Egdon will bebrighter again now. "

"I hope it will, " said Wildeve moodily. "Do you know the consequenceof this recall to me, my old darling? I shall come to see you again asbefore, at Rainbarrow. "

"Of course you will. "

"And yet I declare that until I got here tonight I intended, after thisone good-bye, never to meet you again. "

"I don't thank you for that, " she said, turning away, while indignationspread through her like subterranean heat. "You may come again toRainbarrow if you like, but you won't see me; and you may call, but Ishall not listen; and you may tempt me, but I won't give myself to youany more. "

"You have said as much before, sweet; but such natures as yours don't soeasily adhere to their words. Neither, for the matter of that, do suchnatures as mine. "

"This is the pleasure I have won by my trouble, " she whispered bitterly. "Why did I try to recall you? Damon, a strange warring takes place in mymind occasionally. I think when I become calm after you woundings, 'DoI embrace a cloud of common fog after all?' You are a chameleon, and nowyou are at your worst colour. Go home, or I shall hate you!"

He looked absently towards Rainbarrow while one might have countedtwenty, and said, as if he did not much mind all this, "Yes, I will gohome. Do you mean to see me again?"

"If you own to me that the wedding is broken off because you love mebest. "

"I don't think it would be good policy, " said Wildeve, smiling. "Youwould get to know the extent of your power too clearly. "

"But tell me!"

"You know. "

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know. I prefer not to speak of her to you. I have not yetmarried her; I have come in obedience to your call. That is enough. "

"I merely lit that fire because I was dull, and thought I would get alittle excitement by calling you up and triumphing over you as the Witchof Endor called up Samuel. I determined you should come; and you havecome! I have shown my power. A mile and half hither, and a mile andhalf back again to your home--three miles in the dark for me. Have I notshown my power?"

He shook his head at her. "I know you too well, my Eustacia; I know youtoo well. There isn't a note in you which I don't know; and that hotlittle bosom couldn't play such a cold-blooded trick to save its life. Isaw a woman on Rainbarrow at dusk looking down towards my house. I thinkI drew out you before you drew out me. "

The revived embers of an old passion glowed clearly in Wildeve now; andhe leant forward as if about to put his face towards her cheek. 

"O no, " she said, intractably moving to the other side of the decayedfire. "What did you mean by that?"

"Perhaps I may kiss your hand?"

"No, you may not. "

"Then I may shake your hand?"

"No. "

"Then I wish you good night without caring for either. Good-bye, good-bye. "

She returned no answer, and with the bow of a dancing-master hevanished on the other side of the pool as he had come. 

Eustacia sighed--it was no fragile maiden sigh, but a sigh which shookher like a shiver. Whenever a flash of reason darted like anelectric light upon her lover--as it sometimes would--and showed hisimperfections, she shivered thus. But it was over in a second, andshe loved on. She knew that he trifled with her; but she loved on. Shescattered the half-burnt brands, went indoors immediately, and up toher bedroom without a light. Amid the rustles which denoted her to beundressing in the darkness other heavy breaths frequently came; and thesame kind of shudder occasionally moved through her when, ten minuteslater, she lay on her bed asleep. 

7--Queen of Night

Eustacia Vye was the raw material of a divinity. On Olympus she wouldhave done well with a little preparation. She had the passions andinstincts which make a model goddess, that is, those which make notquite a model woman. Had it been possible for the earth and mankind tobe entirely in her grasp for a while, she had handled the distaff, thespindle, and the shears at her own free will, few in the world wouldhave noticed the change of government. There would have been the sameinequality of lot, the same heaping up of favours here, of contumelythere, the same generosity before justice, the same perpetual dilemmas, the same captious alteration of caresses and blows that we endure now. 

She was in person full-limbed and somewhat heavy; without ruddiness, aswithout pallor; and soft to the touch as a cloud. To see her hair wasto fancy that a whole winter did not contain darkness enough to formits shadow--it closed over her forehead like nightfall extinguishing thewestern glow. 

Her nerves extended into those tresses, and her temper could alwaysbe softened by stroking them down. When her hair was brushed she wouldinstantly sink into stillness and look like the Sphinx. If, in passingunder one of the Egdon banks, any of its thick skeins were caught, as they sometimes were, by a prickly tuft of the large UlexEuropoeus--which will act as a sort of hairbrush--she would go back afew steps, and pass against it a second time. 

She had pagan eyes, full of nocturnal mysteries, and their light, asit came and went, and came again, was partially hampered by theiroppressive lids and lashes; and of these the under lid was much fullerthan it usually is with English women. This enabled her to indulge inreverie without seeming to do so--she might have been believed capableof sleeping without closing them up. Assuming that the souls of men andwomen were visible essences, you could fancy the colour of Eustacia'ssoul to be flamelike. The sparks from it that rose into her dark pupilsgave the same impression. 

The mouth seemed formed less to speak than to quiver, less to quiverthan to kiss. Some might have added, less to kiss than to curl. Viewedsideways, the closing-line of her lips formed, with almost geometricprecision, the curve so well known in the arts of design as thecima-recta, or ogee. The sight of such a flexible bend as that on grimEgdon was quite an apparition. It was felt at once that the mouth didnot come over from Sleswig with a band of Saxon pirates whose lips metlike the two halves of a muffin. One had fancied that such lip-curveswere mostly lurking underground in the South as fragments of forgottenmarbles. So fine were the lines of her lips that, though full, eachcorner of her mouth was as clearly cut as the point of a spear. Thiskeenness of corner was only blunted when she was given over to suddenfits of gloom, one of the phases of the night-side of sentiment whichshe knew too well for her years. 

Her presence brought memories of such things as Bourbon roses, rubies, and tropical midnight; her moods recalled lotus-eaters and the march inAthalie; her motions, the ebb and flow of the sea; her voice, the viola. In a dim light, and with a slight rearrangement of her hair, her generalfigure might have stood for that of either of the higher female deities. The new moon behind her head, an old helmet upon it, a diadem ofaccidental dewdrops round her brow, would have been adjuncts sufficientto strike the note of Artemis, Athena, or Hera respectively, with asclose an approximation to the antique as that which passes muster onmany respected canvases. 

But celestial imperiousness, love, wrath, and fervour had proved to besomewhat thrown away on netherward Egdon. Her power was limited, and theconsciousness of this limitation had biassed her development. Egdon washer Hades, and since coming there she had imbibed much of what was darkin its tone, though inwardly and eternally unreconciled thereto. Herappearance accorded well with this smouldering rebelliousness, andthe shady splendour of her beauty was the real surface of the sad andstifled warmth within her. A true Tartarean dignity sat upon her brow, and not factitiously or with marks of constraint, for it had grown inher with years. 

Across the upper part of her head she wore a thin fillet of blackvelvet, restraining the luxuriance of her shady hair, in a way whichadded much to this class of majesty by irregularly clouding herforehead. "Nothing can embellish a beautiful face more than a narrowband drawn over the brow, " says Richter. Some of the neighbouringgirls wore coloured ribbon for the same purpose, and sported metallicornaments elsewhere; but if anyone suggested coloured ribbon andmetallic ornaments to Eustacia Vye she laughed and went on. 

Why did a woman of this sort live on Egdon Heath? Budmouth was hernative place, a fashionable seaside resort at that date. She was thedaughter of the bandmaster of a regiment which had been quarteredthere--a Corfiote by birth, and a fine musician--who met his futurewife during her trip thither with her father the captain, a man of goodfamily. The marriage was scarcely in accord with the old man's wishes, for the bandmaster's pockets were as light as his occupation. But themusician did his best; adopted his wife's name, made England permanentlyhis home, took great trouble with his child's education, the expensesof which were defrayed by the grandfather, and throve as the chief localmusician till her mother's death, when he left off thriving, drank, anddied also. The girl was left to the care of her grandfather, who, sincethree of his ribs became broken in a shipwreck, had lived in this airyperch on Egdon, a spot which had taken his fancy because the house wasto be had for next to nothing, and because a remote blue tinge onthe horizon between the hills, visible from the cottage door, wastraditionally believed to be the English Channel. She hated the change;she felt like one banished; but here she was forced to abide. 

Thus it happened that in Eustacia's brain were juxtaposed the strangestassortment of ideas, from old time and from new. There was no middledistance in her perspective--romantic recollections of sunny afternoonson an esplanade, with military bands, officers, and gallants around, stood like gilded letters upon the dark tablet of surrounding Egdon. Every bizarre effect that could result from the random intertwining ofwatering-place glitter with the grand solemnity of a heath, was to befound in her. Seeing nothing of human life now, she imagined all themore of what she had seen. 

Where did her dignity come from? By a latent vein from Alcinous' line, her father hailing from Phaeacia's isle?--or from Fitzalan and De Vere, her maternal grandfather having had a cousin in the peerage? Perhaps itwas the gift of Heaven--a happy convergence of natural laws. Among otherthings opportunity had of late years been denied her of learning tobe undignified, for she lived lonely. Isolation on a heath rendersvulgarity well-nigh impossible. It would have been as easy for theheath-ponies, bats, and snakes to be vulgar as for her. A narrow life inBudmouth might have completely demeaned her. 

The only way to look queenly without realms or hearts to queen it overis to look as if you had lost them; and Eustacia did that to a triumph. In the captain's cottage she could suggest mansions she had never seen. Perhaps that was because she frequented a vaster mansion than any ofthem, the open hills. Like the summer condition of the place around her, she was an embodiment of the phrase "a populous solitude"--apparently solistless, void, and quiet, she was really busy and full. 

To be loved to madness--such was her great desire. Love was to her theone cordial which could drive away the eating loneliness of her days. And she seemed to long for the abstraction called passionate love morethan for any particular lover. 

She could show a most reproachful look at times, but it was directedless against human beings than against certain creatures of her mind, the chief of these being Destiny, through whose interference she dimlyfancied it arose that love alighted only on gliding youth--that any loveshe might win would sink simultaneously with the sand in the glass. She thought of it with an ever-growing consciousness of cruelty, whichtended to breed actions of reckless unconventionality, framed to snatcha year's, a week's, even an hour's passion from anywhere while it couldbe won. Through want of it she had sung without being merry, possessedwithout enjoying, outshone without triumphing. Her loneliness deepenedher desire. On Egdon, coldest and meanest kisses were at famine prices, and where was a mouth matching hers to be found?

Fidelity in love for fidelity's sake had less attraction for her thanfor most women; fidelity because of love's grip had much. A blaze oflove, and extinction, was better than a lantern glimmer of the samewhich should last long years. On this head she knew by prevision whatmost women learn only by experience--she had mentally walked round love, told the towers thereof, considered its palaces, and concluded that lovewas but a doleful joy. Yet she desired it, as one in a desert would bethankful for brackish water. 

She often repeated her prayers; not at particular times, but, like theunaffectedly devout, when she desired to pray. Her prayer was alwaysspontaneous, and often ran thus, "O deliver my heart from this fearfulgloom and loneliness; send me great love from somewhere, else I shalldie. "

Her high gods were William the Conqueror, Strafford, and NapoleonBuonaparte, as they had appeared in the Lady's History used at theestablishment in which she was educated. Had she been a mother she wouldhave christened her boys such names as Saul or Sisera in preference toJacob or David, neither of whom she admired. At school she had usedto side with the Philistines in several battles, and had wondered ifPontius Pilate were as handsome as he was frank and fair. 

Thus she was a girl of some forwardness of mind, indeed, weighed inrelation to her situation among the very rearward of thinkers, veryoriginal. Her instincts towards social non-comformity were at the rootof this. In the matter of holidays, her mood was that of horses who, when turned out to grass, enjoy looking upon their kind at work on thehighway. She only valued rest to herself when it came in the midst ofother people's labour. Hence she hated Sundays when all was at rest, andoften said they would be the death of her. To see the heathmen in theirSunday condition, that is, with their hands in their pockets, theirboots newly oiled, and not laced up (a particularly Sunday sign), walking leisurely among the turves and furze-faggots they had cut duringthe week, and kicking them critically as if their use were unknown, wasa fearful heaviness to her. To relieve the tedium of this untimely dayshe would overhaul the cupboards containing her grandfather's old chartsand other rubbish, humming Saturday-night ballads of the country peoplethe while. But on Saturday nights she would frequently sing a psalm, andit was always on a weekday that she read the Bible, that she might beunoppressed with a sense of doing her duty. 

Such views of life were to some extent the natural begettings of hersituation upon her nature. To dwell on a heath without studying itsmeanings was like wedding a foreigner without learning his tongue. Thesubtle beauties of the heath were lost to Eustacia; she only caught itsvapours. An environment which would have made a contented woman a poet, a suffering woman a devotee, a pious woman a psalmist, even a giddywoman thoughtful, made a rebellious woman saturnine. 

Eustacia had got beyond the vision of some marriage of inexpressibleglory; yet, though her emotions were in full vigour, she cared for nomeaner union. Thus we see her in a strange state of isolation. To havelost the godlike conceit that we may do what we will, and not to haveacquired a homely zest for doing what we can, shows a grandeur of temperwhich cannot be objected to in the abstract, for it denotes a mindthat, though disappointed, forswears compromise. But, if congenial tophilosophy, it is apt to be dangerous to the commonwealth. In a worldwhere doing means marrying, and the commonwealth is one of hearts andhands, the same peril attends the condition. 

And so we see our Eustacia--for at times she was not altogetherunlovable--arriving at that stage of enlightenment which feels thatnothing is worth while, and filling up the spare hours of her existenceby idealizing Wildeve for want of a better object. This was the solereason of his ascendency: she knew it herself. At moments her priderebelled against her passion for him, and she even had longed to befree. But there was only one circumstance which could dislodge him, andthat was the advent of a greater man. 

For the rest, she suffered much from depression of spirits, and tookslow walks to recover them, in which she carried her grandfather'stelescope and her grandmother's hourglass--the latter because of apeculiar pleasure she derived from watching a material representation oftime's gradual glide away. She seldom schemed, but when she did scheme, her plans showed rather the comprehensive strategy of a general than thesmall arts called womanish, though she could utter oracles of Delphianambiguity when she did not choose to be direct. In heaven she willprobably sit between the Heloises and the Cleopatras. 

8--Those Who Are Found Where There Is Said to Be Nobody

As soon as the sad little boy had withdrawn from the fire he claspedthe money tight in the palm of his hand, as if thereby to fortify hiscourage, and began to run. There was really little danger in allowing achild to go home alone on this part of Egdon Heath. The distance tothe boy's house was not more than three-eighths of a mile, his father'scottage, and one other a few yards further on, forming part of the smallhamlet of Mistover Knap: the third and only remaining house was thatof Captain Vye and Eustacia, which stood quite away from the smallcottages and was the loneliest of lonely houses on these thinlypopulated slopes. 

He ran until he was out of breath, and then, becoming more courageous, walked leisurely along, singing in an old voice a little song about asailor-boy and a fair one, and bright gold in store. In the middle ofthis the child stopped--from a pit under the hill ahead of him shone alight, whence proceeded a cloud of floating dust and a smacking noise. 

Only unusual sights and sounds frightened the boy. The shrivelled voiceof the heath did not alarm him, for that was familiar. The thornbusheswhich arose in his path from time to time were less satisfactory, forthey whistled gloomily, and had a ghastly habit after dark of puttingon the shapes of jumping madmen, sprawling giants, and hideous cripples. Lights were not uncommon this evening, but the nature of all of them wasdifferent from this. Discretion rather than terror prompted the boyto turn back instead of passing the light, with a view of asking MissEustacia Vye to let her servant accompany him home. 

When the boy had reascended to the top of the valley he found the fireto be still burning on the bank, though lower than before. Beside it, instead of Eustacia's solitary form, he saw two persons, the secondbeing a man. The boy crept along under the bank to ascertain fromthe nature of the proceedings if it would be prudent to interrupt sosplendid a creature as Miss Eustacia on his poor trivial account. 

After listening under the bank for some minutes to the talk he turned ina perplexed and doubting manner and began to withdraw as silently ashe had come. That he did not, upon the whole, think it advisable tointerrupt her conversation with Wildeve, without being prepared to bearthe whole weight of her displeasure, was obvious. 

Here was a Scyllaeo-Charybdean position for a poor boy. Pausing whenagain safe from discovery, he finally decided to face the pit phenomenonas the lesser evil. With a heavy sigh he retraced the slope, andfollowed the path he had followed before. 

The light had gone, the rising dust had disappeared--he hoped for ever. He marched resolutely along, and found nothing to alarm him till, comingwithin a few yards of the sandpit, he heard a slight noise in front, which led him to halt. The halt was but momentary, for the noiseresolved itself into the steady bites of two animals grazing. 

"Two he'th-croppers down here, " he said aloud. "I have never known 'emcome down so far afore. "

The animals were in the direct line of his path, but that the childthought little of; he had played round the fetlocks of horses from hisinfancy. On coming nearer, however, the boy was somewhat surprised tofind that the little creatures did not run off, and that each wore aclog, to prevent his going astray; this signified that they had beenbroken in. He could now see the interior of the pit, which, being inthe side of the hill, had a level entrance. In the innermost corner thesquare outline of a van appeared, with its back towards him. A lightcame from the interior, and threw a moving shadow upon the vertical faceof gravel at the further side of the pit into which the vehicle faced. 

The child assumed that this was the cart of a gipsy, and his dread ofthose wanderers reached but to that mild pitch which titillates ratherthan pains. Only a few inches of mud wall kept him and his family frombeing gipsies themselves. He skirted the gravel pit at a respectfuldistance, ascended the slope, and came forward upon the brow, in orderto look into the open door of the van and see the original of theshadow. 

The picture alarmed the boy. By a little stove inside the van sat afigure red from head to heels--the man who had been Thomasin's friend. He was darning a stocking, which was red like the rest of him. Moreover, as he darned he smoked a pipe, the stem and bowl of which were red also. 

At this moment one of the heath-croppers feeding in the outer shadowswas audibly shaking off the clog attached to its foot. Aroused by thesound, the reddleman laid down his stocking, lit a lantern which hungbeside him, and came out from the van. In sticking up the candle helifted the lantern to his face, and the light shone into the whitesof his eyes and upon his ivory teeth, which, in contrast with thered surrounding, lent him a startling aspect enough to the gaze of ajuvenile. The boy knew too well for his peace of mind upon whose lairhe had lighted. Uglier persons than gipsies were known to cross Egdon attimes, and a reddleman was one of them. 

"How I wish 'twas only a gipsy!" he murmured. 

The man was by this time coming back from the horses. In his fear ofbeing seen the boy rendered detection certain by nervous motion. Theheather and peat stratum overhung the brow of the pit in mats, hidingthe actual verge. The boy had stepped beyond the solid ground; theheather now gave way, and down he rolled over the scarp of grey sand tothe very foot of the man. 

The red man opened the lantern and turned it upon the figure of theprostrate boy. 

"Who be ye?" he said. 

"Johnny Nunsuch, master!"

"What were you doing up there?"

"I don't know. "

"Watching me, I suppose?"

"Yes, master. "

"What did you watch me for?"

"Because I was coming home from Miss Vye's bonfire. "

"Beest hurt?"

"No. "

"Why, yes, you be--your hand is bleeding. Come under my tilt and let metie it up. "

"Please let me look for my sixpence. "

"How did you come by that?"

"Miss Vye gied it to me for keeping up her bonfire. "

The sixpence was found, and the man went to the van, the boy behind, almost holding his breath. 

The man took a piece of rag from a satchel containing sewing materials, tore off a strip, which, like everything else, was tinged red, andproceeded to bind up the wound. 

"My eyes have got foggy-like--please may I sit down, master?" said theboy. 

"To be sure, poor chap. 'Tis enough to make you feel fainty. Sit on thatbundle. "

The man finished tying up the gash, and the boy said, "I think I'll gohome now, master. "

"You are rather afraid of me. Do you know what I be?"

The child surveyed his vermilion figure up and down with much misgivingand finally said, "Yes. "

"Well, what?"

"The reddleman!" he faltered. 

"Yes, that's what I be. Though there's more than one. You littlechildren think there's only one cuckoo, one fox, one giant, one devil, and one reddleman, when there's lots of us all. "

"Is there? You won't carry me off in your bags, will ye, master? 'Tissaid that the reddleman will sometimes. "

"Nonsense. All that reddlemen do is sell reddle. You see all these bagsat the back of my cart? They are not full of little boys--only full ofred stuff. "

"Was you born a reddleman?"

"No, I took to it. I should be as white as you if I were to give up thetrade--that is, I should be white in time--perhaps six months; not atfirst, because 'tis grow'd into my skin and won't wash out. Now, you'llnever be afraid of a reddleman again, will ye?"

"No, never. Willy Orchard said he seed a red ghost here t'otherday--perhaps that was you?"

"I was here t'other day. "

"Were you making that dusty light I saw by now?"

"Oh yes, I was beating out some bags. And have you had a good bonfire upthere? I saw the light. Why did Miss Vye want a bonfire so bad that sheshould give you sixpence to keep it up?"

"I don't know. I was tired, but she made me bide and keep up the firejust the same, while she kept going up across Rainbarrow way. "

"And how long did that last?"

"Until a hopfrog jumped into the pond. "

The reddleman suddenly ceased to talk idly. "A hopfrog?" he inquired. "Hopfrogs don't jump into ponds this time of year. "

"They do, for I heard one. "

"Certain-sure?"

"Yes. She told me afore that I should hear'n; and so I did. They sayshe's clever and deep, and perhaps she charmed 'en to come. "

"And what then?"

"Then I came down here, and I was afeard, and I went back; but I didn'tlike to speak to her, because of the gentleman, and I came on hereagain. "

"A gentleman--ah! What did she say to him, my man?"

"Told him she supposed he had not married the other woman because heliked his old sweetheart best; and things like that. "

"What did the gentleman say to her, my sonny?"

"He only said he did like her best, and how he was coming to see heragain under Rainbarrow o' nights. "

"Ha!" cried the reddleman, slapping his hand against the side of his vanso that the whole fabric shook under the blow. "That's the secret o't!"

The little boy jumped clean from the stool. 

"My man, don't you be afraid, " said the dealer in red, suddenly becominggentle. "I forgot you were here. That's only a curious way reddlemenhave of going mad for a moment; but they don't hurt anybody. And whatdid the lady say then?"

"I can't mind. Please, Master Reddleman, may I go home-along now?"

"Ay, to be sure you may. I'll go a bit of ways with you. "

He conducted the boy out of the gravel pit and into the path leadingto his mother's cottage. When the little figure had vanished in thedarkness the reddleman returned, resumed his seat by the fire, andproceeded to darn again. 

9--Love Leads a Shrewd Man into Strategy

Reddlemen of the old school are now but seldom seen. Since theintroduction of railways Wessex farmers have managed to do without theseMephistophelian visitants, and the bright pigment so largely used byshepherds in preparing sheep for the fair is obtained by other routes. Even those who yet survive are losing the poetry of existence whichcharacterized them when the pursuit of the trade meant periodicaljourneys to the pit whence the material was dug, a regular camping outfrom month to month, except in the depth of winter, a peregrinationamong farms which could be counted by the hundred, and in spite of thisArab existence the preservation of that respectability which is insuredby the never-failing production of a well-lined purse. 

Reddle spreads its lively hues over everything it lights on, and stampsunmistakably, as with the mark of Cain, any person who has handled ithalf an hour. 

A child's first sight of a reddleman was an epoch in his life. Thatblood-coloured figure was a sublimation of all the horrid dreamswhich had afflicted the juvenile spirit since imagination began. "Thereddleman is coming for you!" had been the formulated threat of Wessexmothers for many generations. He was successfully supplanted for awhile, at the beginning of the present century, by Buonaparte; but asprocess of time rendered the latter personage stale and ineffective theolder phrase resumed its early prominence. And now the reddleman hasin his turn followed Buonaparte to the land of worn-out bogeys, and hisplace is filled by modern inventions. 

The reddleman lived like a gipsy; but gipsies he scorned. He was aboutas thriving as travelling basket and mat makers; but he had nothingto do with them. He was more decently born and brought up than thecattledrovers who passed and repassed him in his wanderings; but theymerely nodded to him. His stock was more valuable than that of pedlars;but they did not think so, and passed his cart with eyes straight ahead. He was such an unnatural colour to look at that the men of roundaboutsand waxwork shows seemed gentlemen beside him; but he considered themlow company, and remained aloof. Among all these squatters and folksof the road the reddleman continually found himself; yet he was not ofthem. His occupation tended to isolate him, and isolated he was mostlyseen to be. 

It was sometimes suggested that reddlemen were criminals for whosemisdeeds other men wrongfully suffered--that in escaping the law theyhad not escaped their own consciences, and had taken to the trade as alifelong penance. Else why should they have chosen it? In the presentcase such a question would have been particularly apposite. Thereddleman who had entered Egdon that afternoon was an instance of thepleasing being wasted to form the ground-work of the singular, when anugly foundation would have done just as well for that purpose. The onepoint that was forbidding about this reddleman was his colour. Freedfrom that he would have been as agreeable a specimen of rustic manhoodas one would often see. A keen observer might have been inclined tothink--which was, indeed, partly the truth--that he had relinquishedhis proper station in life for want of interest in it. Moreover, afterlooking at him one would have hazarded the guess that good nature, andan acuteness as extreme as it could be without verging on craft, formedthe framework of his character. 

While he darned the stocking his face became rigid with thought. Softerexpressions followed this, and then again recurred the tender sadnesswhich had sat upon him during his drive along the highway thatafternoon. Presently his needle stopped. He laid down the stocking, arose from his seat, and took a leathern pouch from a hook in the cornerof the van. This contained among other articles a brown-paper packet, which, to judge from the hinge-like character of its worn folds, seemedto have been carefully opened and closed a good many times. He sat downon a three-legged milking stool that formed the only seat in the van, and, examining his packet by the light of a candle, took thence an oldletter and spread it open. The writing had originally been traced onwhite paper, but the letter had now assumed a pale red tinge from theaccident of its situation; and the black strokes of writing thereonlooked like the twigs of a winter hedge against a vermilion sunset. Theletter bore a date some two years previous to that time, and was signed"Thomasin Yeobright. " It ran as follows:--

DEAR DIGGORY VENN, --The question you put when you overtook me cominghome from Pond-close gave me such a surprise that I am afraid I did notmake you exactly understand what I meant. Of course, if my aunt had notmet me I could have explained all then at once, but as it was there wasno chance. I have been quite uneasy since, as you know I do not wishto pain you, yet I fear I shall be doing so now in contradicting whatI seemed to say then. I cannot, Diggory, marry you, or think of lettingyou call me your sweetheart. I could not, indeed, Diggory. I hope youwill not much mind my saying this, and feel in a great pain. It makes mevery sad when I think it may, for I like you very much, and I always putyou next to my cousin Clym in my mind. There are so many reasons why wecannot be married that I can hardly name them all in a letter. I did notin the least expect that you were going to speak on such a thing whenyou followed me, because I had never thought of you in the sense of alover at all. You must not becall me for laughing when you spoke; youmistook when you thought I laughed at you as a foolish man. I laughedbecause the idea was so odd, and not at you at all. The great reasonwith my own personal self for not letting you court me is, that I do notfeel the things a woman ought to feel who consents to walk with youwith the meaning of being your wife. It is not as you think, that I haveanother in my mind, for I do not encourage anybody, and never have inmy life. Another reason is my aunt. She would not, I know, agree to it, even if I wished to have you. She likes you very well, but she willwant me to look a little higher than a small dairy-farmer, and marrya professional man. I hope you will not set your heart against me forwriting plainly, but I felt you might try to see me again, and it isbetter that we should not meet. I shall always think of you as a goodman, and be anxious for your well-doing. I send this by Jane Orchard'slittle maid, --And remain Diggory, your faithful friend, THOMASIN YEOBRIGHT. 

To MR. VENN, Dairy-farmer. 

Since the arrival of that letter, on a certain autumn morning long ago, the reddleman and Thomasin had not met till today. During the intervalhe had shifted his position even further from hers than it hadoriginally been, by adopting the reddle trade; though he was really invery good circumstances still. Indeed, seeing that his expenditure wasonly one-fourth of his income, he might have been called a prosperousman. 

Rejected suitors take to roaming as naturally as unhived bees; and thebusiness to which he had cynically devoted himself was in many wayscongenial to Venn. But his wanderings, by mere stress of old emotions, had frequently taken an Egdon direction, though he never intruded uponher who attracted him thither. To be in Thomasin's heath, and near her, yet unseen, was the one ewe-lamb of pleasure left to him. 

Then came the incident of that day, and the reddleman, still lovingher well, was excited by this accidental service to her at a criticaljuncture to vow an active devotion to her cause, instead of, ashitherto, sighing and holding aloof. After what had happened it wasimpossible that he should not doubt the honesty of Wildeve's intentions. But her hope was apparently centred upon him; and dismissing his regretsVenn determined to aid her to be happy in her own chosen way. That thisway was, of all others, the most distressing to himself, was awkwardenough; but the reddleman's love was generous. 

His first active step in watching over Thomasin's interests was takenabout seven o'clock the next evening and was dictated by the news whichhe had learnt from the sad boy. That Eustacia was somehow the causeof Wildeve's carelessness in relation to the marriage had at once beenVenn's conclusion on hearing of the secret meeting between them. It didnot occur to his mind that Eustacia's love signal to Wildeve was thetender effect upon the deserted beauty of the intelligence which hergrandfather had brought home. His instinct was to regard her as aconspirator against rather than as an antecedent obstacle to Thomasin'shappiness. 

During the day he had been exceedingly anxious to learn the condition ofThomasin, but he did not venture to intrude upon a threshold to whichhe was a stranger, particularly at such an unpleasant moment as this. Hehad occupied his time in moving with his ponies and load to a new pointin the heath, eastward to his previous station; and here he selected anook with a careful eye to shelter from wind and rain, which seemed tomean that his stay there was to be a comparatively extended one. Afterthis he returned on foot some part of the way that he had come; and, it being now dark, he diverged to the left till he stood behind a hollybush on the edge of a pit not twenty yards from Rainbarrow. 

He watched for a meeting there, but he watched in vain. Nobody excepthimself came near the spot that night. 

But the loss of his labour produced little effect upon the reddleman. He had stood in the shoes of Tantalus, and seemed to look upon a certainmass of disappointment as the natural preface to all realizations, without which preface they would give cause for alarm. 

The same hour the next evening found him again at the same place; butEustacia and Wildeve, the expected trysters, did not appear. 

He pursued precisely the same course yet four nights longer, and withoutsuccess. But on the next, being the day-week of their previous meeting, he saw a female shape floating along the ridge and the outline ofa young man ascending from the valley. They met in the little ditchencircling the tumulus--the original excavation from which it had beenthrown up by the ancient British people. 

The reddleman, stung with suspicion of wrong to Thomasin, was arousedto strategy in a moment. He instantly left the bush and crept forward onhis hands and knees. When he had got as close as he might safely venturewithout discovery he found that, owing to a cross-wind, the conversationof the trysting pair could not be overheard. 

Near him, as in divers places about the heath, were areas strewn withlarge turves, which lay edgeways and upside down awaiting removal byTimothy Fairway, previous to the winter weather. He took two of theseas he lay, and dragged them over him till one covered his head andshoulders, the other his back and legs. The reddleman would now havebeen quite invisible, even by daylight; the turves, standing upon himwith the heather upwards, looked precisely as if they were growing. Hecrept along again, and the turves upon his back crept with him. Had heapproached without any covering the chances are that he would nothave been perceived in the dusk; approaching thus, it was as though heburrowed underground. In this manner he came quite close to where thetwo were standing. 

"Wish to consult me on the matter?" reached his ears in the rich, impetuous accents of Eustacia Vye. "Consult me? It is an indignity tome to talk so--I won't bear it any longer!" She began weeping. "I haveloved you, and have shown you that I loved you, much to my regret; andyet you can come and say in that frigid way that you wish to consultwith me whether it would not be better to marry Thomasin. Better--ofcourse it would be. Marry her--she is nearer to your own position inlife than I am!"

"Yes, yes; that's very well, " said Wildeve peremptorily. "But we mustlook at things as they are. Whatever blame may attach to me for havingbrought it about, Thomasin's position is at present much worse thanyours. I simply tell you that I am in a strait. "

"But you shall not tell me! You must see that it is only harassing me. Damon, you have not acted well; you have sunk in my opinion. You havenot valued my courtesy--the courtesy of a lady in loving you--who usedto think of far more ambitious things. But it was Thomasin's fault. 

"She won you away from me, and she deserves to suffer for it. Where isshe staying now? Not that I care, nor where I am myself. Ah, if I weredead and gone how glad she would be! Where is she, I ask?"

"Thomasin is now staying at her aunt's shut up in a bedroom, and keepingout of everybody's sight, " he said indifferently. 

"I don't think you care much about her even now, " said Eustacia withsudden joyousness, "for if you did you wouldn't talk so coolly abouther. Do you talk so coolly to her about me? Ah, I expect you do! Why didyou originally go away from me? I don't think I can ever forgive you, except on one condition, that whenever you desert me, you come backagain, sorry that you served me so. "

"I never wish to desert you. "

"I do not thank you for that. I should hate it to be all smooth. Indeed, I think I like you to desert me a little once now and then. Love is thedismallest thing where the lover is quite honest. O, it is a shame tosay so; but it is true!" She indulged in a little laugh. "My low spiritsbegin at the very idea. Don't you offer me tame love, or away you go!"

"I wish Tamsie were not such a confoundedly good little woman, " saidWildeve, "so that I could be faithful to you without injuring a worthyperson. It is I who am the sinner after all; I am not worth the littlefinger of either of you. "

"But you must not sacrifice yourself to her from any sense of justice, "replied Eustacia quickly. "If you do not love her it is the mostmerciful thing in the long run to leave her as she is. That's alwaysthe best way. There, now I have been unwomanly, I suppose. When you haveleft me I am always angry with myself for things that I have said toyou. "

Wildeve walked a pace or two among the heather without replying. Thepause was filled up by the intonation of a pollard thorn a little way towindward, the breezes filtering through its unyielding twigs as througha strainer. It was as if the night sang dirges with clenched teeth. 

She continued, half sorrowfully, "Since meeting you last, it hasoccurred to me once or twice that perhaps it was not for love of me youdid not marry her. Tell me, Damon--I'll try to bear it. Had I nothingwhatever to do with the matter?"

"Do you press me to tell?"

"Yes, I must know. I see I have been too ready to believe in my ownpower. "

"Well, the immediate reason was that the license would not do for theplace, and before I could get another she ran away. Up to that pointyou had nothing to do with it. Since then her aunt has spoken to me in atone which I don't at all like. "

"Yes, yes! I am nothing in it--I am nothing in it. You only trifle withme. Heaven, what can I, Eustacia Vye, be made of to think so much ofyou!"

"Nonsense; do not be so passionate. .. . Eustacia, how we roved among thesebushes last year, when the hot days had got cool, and the shades of thehills kept us almost invisible in the hollows!"

She remained in moody silence till she said, "Yes; and how I used tolaugh at you for daring to look up to me! But you have well made mesuffer for that since. "

"Yes, you served me cruelly enough until I thought I had found someonefairer than you. A blessed find for me, Eustacia. "

"Do you still think you found somebody fairer?"

"Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. The scales are balanced so nicelythat a feather would turn them. "

"But don't you really care whether I meet you or whether I don't?" shesaid slowly. 

"I care a little, but not enough to break my rest, " replied the youngman languidly. "No, all that's past. I find there are two flowers whereI thought there was only one. Perhaps there are three, or four, or anynumber as good as the first. .. . Mine is a curious fate. Who would havethought that all this could happen to me?"

She interrupted with a suppressed fire of which either love or angerseemed an equally possible issue, "Do you love me now?"

"Who can say?"

"Tell me; I will know it!"

"I do, and I do not, " said he mischievously. "That is, I have my timesand my seasons. One moment you are too tall, another moment you are toodo-nothing, another too melancholy, another too dark, another I don'tknow what, except--that you are not the whole world to me that you usedto be, my dear. But you are a pleasant lady to know and nice to meet, and I dare say as sweet as ever--almost. "

Eustacia was silent, and she turned from him, till she said, in a voiceof suspended mightiness, "I am for a walk, and this is my way. "

"Well, I can do worse than follow you. "

"You know you can't do otherwise, for all your moods and changes!" sheanswered defiantly. "Say what you will; try as you may; keep away fromme all that you can--you will never forget me. You will love me all yourlife long. You would jump to marry me!"

"So I would!" said Wildeve. "Such strange thoughts as I've had from timeto time, Eustacia; and they come to me this moment. You hate the heathas much as ever; that I know. "

"I do, " she murmured deeply. "'Tis my cross, my shame, and will be mydeath!"

"I abhor it too, " said he. "How mournfully the wind blows round us now!"

She did not answer. Its tone was indeed solemn and pervasive. Compoundutterances addressed themselves to their senses, and it was possible toview by ear the features of the neighbourhood. Acoustic pictures werereturned from the darkened scenery; they could hear where the tracts ofheather began and ended; where the furze was growing stalky and tall;where it had been recently cut; in what direction the fir-clump lay, and how near was the pit in which the hollies grew; for these differingfeatures had their voices no less than their shapes and colours. 

"God, how lonely it is!" resumed Wildeve. "What are picturesque ravinesand mists to us who see nothing else? Why should we stay here? Will yougo with me to America? I have kindred in Wisconsin. "

"That wants consideration. "

"It seems impossible to do well here, unless one were a wild bird or alandscape-painter. Well?"

"Give me time, " she softly said, taking his hand. "America is so faraway. Are you going to walk with me a little way?"

As Eustacia uttered the latter words she retired from the base of thebarrow, and Wildeve followed her, so that the reddleman could hear nomore. 

He lifted the turves and arose. Their black figures sank and disappearedfrom against the sky. They were as two horns which the sluggish heathhad put forth from its crown, like a mollusc, and had now again drawnin. 

The reddleman's walk across the vale, and over into the next where hiscart lay, was not sprightly for a slim young fellow of twenty-four. Hisspirit was perturbed to aching. The breezes that blew around his mouthin that walk carried off upon them the accents of a commination. 

He entered the van, where there was a fire in a stove. Without lightinghis candle he sat down at once on the three-legged stool, and ponderedon what he had seen and heard touching that still-loved one of his. He uttered a sound which was neither sigh nor sob, but was even moreindicative than either of a troubled mind. 

"My Tamsie, " he whispered heavily. "What can be done? Yes, I will seethat Eustacia Vye. "

10--A Desperate Attempt at Persuasion

The next morning, at the time when the height of the sun appeared veryinsignificant from any part of the heath as compared with the altitudeof Rainbarrow, and when all the little hills in the lower levels werelike an archipelago in a fog-formed Aegean, the reddleman came fromthe brambled nook which he had adopted as his quarters and ascended theslopes of Mistover Knap. 

Though these shaggy hills were apparently so solitary, several keenround eyes were always ready on such a wintry morning as this toconverge upon a passer-by. Feathered species sojourned here in hidingwhich would have created wonder if found elsewhere. A bustard hauntedthe spot, and not many years before this five and twenty might have beenseen in Egdon at one time. Marsh-harriers looked up from the valley byWildeve's. A cream-coloured courser had used to visit this hill, a birdso rare that not more than a dozen have ever been seen in England; buta barbarian rested neither night nor day till he had shot the Africantruant, and after that event cream-coloured coursers thought fit toenter Egdon no more. 

A traveller who should walk and observe any of these visitants as Vennobserved them now could feel himself to be in direct communication withregions unknown to man. Here in front of him was a wild mallard--justarrived from the home of the north wind. The creature brought withinhim an amplitude of Northern knowledge. Glacial catastrophes, snowstormepisodes, glittering auroral effects, Polaris in the zenith, Franklinunderfoot--the category of his commonplaces was wonderful. But the bird, like many other philosophers, seemed as he looked at the reddleman tothink that a present moment of comfortable reality was worth a decade ofmemories. 

Venn passed on through these towards the house of the isolated beautywho lived up among them and despised them. The day was Sunday; but asgoing to church, except to be married or buried, was exceptional atEgdon, this made little difference. He had determined upon the boldstroke of asking for an interview with Miss Vye--to attack her positionas Thomasin's rival either by art or by storm, showing therein, somewhattoo conspicuously, the want of gallantry characteristic of a certainastute sort of men, from clowns to kings. The great Frederick making waron the beautiful Archduchess, Napoleon refusing terms to the beautifulQueen of Prussia, were not more dead to difference of sex than thereddleman was, in his peculiar way, in planning the displacement ofEustacia. 

To call at the captain's cottage was always more or less an undertakingfor the inferior inhabitants. Though occasionally chatty, his moodswere erratic, and nobody could be certain how he would behave atany particular moment. Eustacia was reserved, and lived very muchto herself. Except the daughter of one of the cotters, who was theirservant, and a lad who worked in the garden and stable, scarcely anyonebut themselves ever entered the house. They were the only genteel peopleof the district except the Yeobrights, and though far from rich, theydid not feel that necessity for preserving a friendly face towards everyman, bird, and beast which influenced their poorer neighbours. 

When the reddleman entered the garden the old man was looking throughhis glass at the stain of blue sea in the distant landscape, the littleanchors on his buttons twinkling in the sun. He recognized Venn ashis companion on the highway, but made no remark on that circumstance, merely saying, "Ah, reddleman--you here? Have a glass of grog?"

Venn declined, on the plea of it being too early, and stated thathis business was with Miss Vye. The captain surveyed him from cap towaistcoat and from waistcoat to leggings for a few moments, and finallyasked him to go indoors. 

Miss Vye was not to be seen by anybody just then; and the reddlemanwaited in the window-bench of the kitchen, his hands hanging across hisdivergent knees, and his cap hanging from his hands. 

"I suppose the young lady is not up yet?" he presently said to theservant. 

"Not quite yet. Folks never call upon ladies at this time of day. "

"Then I'll step outside, " said Venn. "If she is willing to see me, willshe please send out word, and I'll come in. "

The reddleman left the house and loitered on the hill adjoining. Aconsiderable time elapsed, and no request for his presence was brought. He was beginning to think that his scheme had failed, when he beheldthe form of Eustacia herself coming leisurely towards him. A sense ofnovelty in giving audience to that singular figure had been sufficientto draw her forth. 

She seemed to feel, after a bare look at Diggory Venn, that the man hadcome on a strange errand, and that he was not so mean as she had thoughthim; for her close approach did not cause him to writhe uneasily, or shift his feet, or show any of those little signs which escape aningenuous rustic at the advent of the uncommon in womankind. On hisinquiring if he might have a conversation with her she replied, "Yes, walk beside me, " and continued to move on. 

Before they had gone far it occurred to the perspicacious reddleman thathe would have acted more wisely by appearing less unimpressionable, andhe resolved to correct the error as soon as he could find opportunity. 

"I have made so bold, miss, as to step across and tell you some strangenews which has come to my ears about that man. "

"Ah! what man?"

He jerked his elbow to the southeast--the direction of the Quiet Woman. 

Eustacia turned quickly to him. "Do you mean Mr. Wildeve?"

"Yes, there is trouble in a household on account of him, and I have cometo let you know of it, because I believe you might have power to driveit away. "

"I? What is the trouble?"

"It is quite a secret. It is that he may refuse to marry ThomasinYeobright after all. "

Eustacia, though set inwardly pulsing by his words, was equal to herpart in such a drama as this. She replied coldly, "I do not wish tolisten to this, and you must not expect me to interfere. "

"But, miss, you will hear one word?"

"I cannot. I am not interested in the marriage, and even if I were Icould not compel Mr. Wildeve to do my bidding. "

"As the only lady on the heath I think you might, " said Venn with subtleindirectness. "This is how the case stands. Mr. Wildeve would marryThomasin at once, and make all matters smooth, if so be there were notanother woman in the case. This other woman is some person he has pickedup with, and meets on the heath occasionally, I believe. He will nevermarry her, and yet through her he may never marry the woman who loveshim dearly. Now, if you, miss, who have so much sway over us menfolk, were to insist that he should treat your young neighbour Tamsin withhonourable kindness and give up the other woman, he would perhaps do it, and save her a good deal of misery. "

"Ah, my life!" said Eustacia, with a laugh which unclosed her lips sothat the sun shone into her mouth as into a tulip, and lent it a similarscarlet fire. "You think too much of my influence over menfolk indeed, reddleman. If I had such a power as you imagine I would go straight anduse it for the good of anybody who has been kind to me--which ThomasinYeobright has not particularly, to my knowledge. "

"Can it be that you really don't know of it--how much she had alwaysthought of you?"

"I have never heard a word of it. Although we live only two miles apartI have never been inside her aunt's house in my life. "

The superciliousness that lurked in her manner told Venn that thusfar he had utterly failed. He inwardly sighed and felt it necessary tounmask his second argument. 

"Well, leaving that out of the question, 'tis in your power, I assureyou, Miss Vye, to do a great deal of good to another woman. "

She shook her head. 

"Your comeliness is law with Mr. Wildeve. It is law with all men who see'ee. They say, 'This well-favoured lady coming--what's her name? Howhandsome!' Handsomer than Thomasin Yeobright, " the reddleman persisted, saying to himself, "God forgive a rascal for lying!" And she washandsomer, but the reddleman was far from thinking so. There was acertain obscurity in Eustacia's beauty, and Venn's eye was not trained. In her winter dress, as now, she was like the tiger-beetle, which, whenobserved in dull situations, seems to be of the quietest neutral colour, but under a full illumination blazes with dazzling splendour. 

Eustacia could not help replying, though conscious that she endangeredher dignity thereby. "Many women are lovelier than Thomasin, " she said, "so not much attaches to that. "

The reddleman suffered the wound and went on: "He is a man who noticesthe looks of women, and you could twist him to your will like withywind, if you only had the mind. "

"Surely what she cannot do who has been so much with him I cannot doliving up here away from him. "

The reddleman wheeled and looked her in the face. "Miss Vye!" he said. 

"Why do you say that--as if you doubted me?" She spoke faintly, and herbreathing was quick. "The idea of your speaking in that tone to me!"she added, with a forced smile of hauteur. "What could have been in yourmind to lead you to speak like that?"

"Miss Vye, why should you make believe that you don't know this man?--Iknow why, certainly. He is beneath you, and you are ashamed. "

"You are mistaken. What do you mean?"

The reddleman had decided to play the card of truth. "I was at themeeting by Rainbarrow last night and heard every word, " he said. "Thewoman that stands between Wildeve and Thomasin is yourself. "

It was a disconcerting lift of the curtain, and the mortification ofCandaules' wife glowed in her. The moment had arrived when her lip wouldtremble in spite of herself, and when the gasp could no longer be keptdown. 

"I am unwell, " she said hurriedly. "No--it is not that--I am not in ahumour to hear you further. Leave me, please. "

"I must speak, Miss Vye, in spite of paining you. What I would putbefore you is this. However it may come about--whether she is to blame, or you--her case is without doubt worse than yours. Your giving up Mr. Wildeve will be a real advantage to you, for how could you marry him?Now she cannot get off so easily--everybody will blame her if she loseshim. Then I ask you--not because her right is best, but because hersituation is worst--to give him up to her. "

"No--I won't, I won't!" she said impetuously, quite forgetful of herprevious manner towards the reddleman as an underling. "Nobody has everbeen served so! It was going on well--I will not be beaten down--by aninferior woman like her. It is very well for you to come and plead forher, but is she not herself the cause of all her own trouble? Am I notto show favour to any person I may choose without asking permission of aparcel of cottagers? She has come between me and my inclination, and nowthat she finds herself rightly punished she gets you to plead for her!"

"Indeed, " said Venn earnestly, "she knows nothing whatever about it. Itis only I who ask you to give him up. It will be better for her and youboth. People will say bad things if they find out that a lady secretlymeets a man who has ill-used another woman. "

"I have NOT injured her--he was mine before he was hers! He cameback--because--because he liked me best!" she said wildly. "But I loseall self-respect in talking to you. What am I giving way to!"

"I can keep secrets, " said Venn gently. "You need not fear. I am theonly man who knows of your meetings with him. There is but one thingmore to speak of, and then I will be gone. I heard you say to him thatyou hated living here--that Egdon Heath was a jail to you. "

"I did say so. There is a sort of beauty in the scenery, I know; but itis a jail to me. The man you mention does not save me from that feeling, though he lives here. I should have cared nothing for him had there beena better person near. "

The reddleman looked hopeful; after these words from her his thirdattempt seemed promising. "As we have now opened our minds a bit, miss, "he said, "I'll tell you what I have got to propose. Since I have takento the reddle trade I travel a good deal, as you know. "

She inclined her head, and swept round so that her eyes rested in themisty vale beneath them. 

"And in my travels I go near Budmouth. Now Budmouth is a wonderfulplace--wonderful--a great salt sheening sea bending into the land likea bow--thousands of gentlepeople walking up and down--bands of musicplaying--officers by sea and officers by land walking among therest--out of every ten folks you meet nine of 'em in love. "

"I know it, " she said disdainfully. "I know Budmouth better than you. I was born there. My father came to be a military musician there fromabroad. Ah, my soul, Budmouth! I wish I was there now. "

The reddleman was surprised to see how a slow fire could blaze onoccasion. "If you were, miss, " he replied, "in a week's time you wouldthink no more of Wildeve than of one of those he'th-croppers that we seeyond. Now, I could get you there. "

"How?" said Eustacia, with intense curiosity in her heavy eyes. 

"My uncle has been for five and twenty years the trusty man of a richwidow-lady who has a beautiful house facing the sea. This lady hasbecome old and lame, and she wants a young company-keeper to read andsing to her, but can't get one to her mind to save her life, thoughshe've advertised in the papers, and tried half a dozen. She would jumpto get you, and Uncle would make it all easy. "

"I should have to work, perhaps?"

"No, not real work--you'd have a little to do, such as reading and that. You would not be wanted till New Year's Day. "

"I knew it meant work, " she said, drooping to languor again. 

"I confess there would be a trifle to do in the way of amusing her;but though idle people might call it work, working people would callit play. Think of the company and the life you'd lead, miss; the gaietyyou'd see, and the gentleman you'd marry. My uncle is to inquire for atrustworthy young lady from the country, as she don't like town girls. "

"It is to wear myself out to please her! and I won't go. O, if I couldlive in a gay town as a lady should, and go my own ways, and do my owndoings, I'd give the wrinkled half of my life! Yes, reddleman, thatwould I. "

"Help me to get Thomasin happy, miss, and the chance shall be yours, "urged her companion. 

"Chance--'tis no chance, " she said proudly. "What can a poor man likeyou offer me, indeed?--I am going indoors. I have nothing more to say. Don't your horses want feeding, or your reddlebags want mending, ordon't you want to find buyers for your goods, that you stay idling herelike this?"

Venn spoke not another word. With his hands behind him he turned away, that she might not see the hopeless disappointment in his face. Themental clearness and power he had found in this lonely girl had indeedfilled his manner with misgiving even from the first few minutes ofclose quarters with her. Her youth and situation had led him to expecta simplicity quite at the beck of his method. But a system of inducementwhich might have carried weaker country lasses along with it had merelyrepelled Eustacia. As a rule, the word Budmouth meant fascination onEgdon. That Royal port and watering place, if truly mirrored inthe minds of the heathfolk, must have combined, in a charming andindescribable manner a Carthaginian bustle of building with Tarentineluxuriousness and Baian health and beauty. Eustacia felt little lessextravagantly about the place; but she would not sink her independenceto get there. 

When Diggory Venn had gone quite away, Eustacia walked to the bank andlooked down the wild and picturesque vale towards the sun, which wasalso in the direction of Wildeve's. The mist had now so far collapsedthat the tips of the trees and bushes around his house could justbe discerned, as if boring upwards through a vast white cobweb whichcloaked them from the day. There was no doubt that her mind was inclinedthitherward; indefinitely, fancifully--twining and untwining abouthim as the single object within her horizon on which dreams mightcrystallize. The man who had begun by being merely her amusement, andwould never have been more than her hobby but for his skill in desertingher at the right moments, was now again her desire. Cessation in hislove-making had revivified her love. Such feeling as Eustacia had idlygiven to Wildeve was dammed into a flood by Thomasin. She had used totease Wildeve, but that was before another had favoured him. Often adrop of irony into an indifferent situation renders the whole piquant. 

"I will never give him up--never!" she said impetuously. 

The reddleman's hint that rumour might show her to disadvantage hadno permanent terror for Eustacia. She was as unconcerned at thatcontingency as a goddess at a lack of linen. This did not originate ininherent shamelessness, but in her living too far from the world to feelthe impact of public opinion. Zenobia in the desert could hardly havecared what was said about her at Rome. As far as social ethics wereconcerned Eustacia approached the savage state, though in emotion shewas all the while an epicure. She had advanced to the secret recesses ofsensuousness, yet had hardly crossed the threshold of conventionality. 

11--The Dishonesty of an Honest Woman

The reddleman had left Eustacia's presence with desponding views onThomasin's future happiness; but he was awakened to the fact that oneother channel remained untried by seeing, as he followed the way to hisvan, the form of Mrs. Yeobright slowly walking towards the Quiet Woman. He went across to her; and could almost perceive in her anxious facethat this journey of hers to Wildeve was undertaken with the same objectas his own to Eustacia. 

She did not conceal the fact. "Then, " said the reddleman, "you may aswell leave it alone, Mrs. Yeobright. "

"I half think so myself, " she said. "But nothing else remains to be donebesides pressing the question upon him. "

"I should like to say a word first, " said Venn firmly. "Mr. Wildeve isnot the only man who has asked Thomasin to marry him; and why should notanother have a chance? Mrs. Yeobright, I should be glad to marry yourniece and would have done it any time these last two years. There, nowit is out, and I have never told anybody before but herself. "

Mrs. Yeobright was not demonstrative, but her eyes involuntarily glancedtowards his singular though shapely figure. 

"Looks are not everything, " said the reddleman, noticing the glance. "There's many a calling that don't bring in so much as mine, if it comesto money; and perhaps I am not so much worse off than Wildeve. There isnobody so poor as these professional fellows who have failed; and if youshouldn't like my redness--well, I am not red by birth, you know; I onlytook to this business for a freak; and I might turn my hand to somethingelse in good time. "

"I am much obliged to you for your interest in my niece; but I fearthere would be objections. More than that, she is devoted to this man. "

"True; or I shouldn't have done what I have this morning. "

"Otherwise there would be no pain in the case, and you would not see megoing to his house now. What was Thomasin's answer when you told her ofyour feelings?"

"She wrote that you would object to me; and other things. "

"She was in a measure right. You must not take this unkindly--I merelystate it as a truth. You have been good to her, and we do not forgetit. But as she was unwilling on her own account to be your wife, thatsettles the point without my wishes being concerned. "

"Yes. But there is a difference between then and now, ma'am. She isdistressed now, and I have thought that if you were to talk to her aboutme, and think favourably of me yourself, there might be a chance ofwinning her round, and getting her quite independent of this Wildeve'sbackward and forward play, and his not knowing whether he'll have her orno. "

Mrs. Yeobright shook her head. "Thomasin thinks, and I think with her, that she ought to be Wildeve's wife, if she means to appear before theworld without a slur upon her name. If they marry soon, everybody willbelieve that an accident did really prevent the wedding. If not, it maycast a shade upon her character--at any rate make her ridiculous. Inshort, if it is anyhow possible they must marry now. "

"I thought that till half an hour ago. But, after all, why should hergoing off with him to Anglebury for a few hours do her any harm? Anybodywho knows how pure she is will feel any such thought to be quiteunjust. I have been trying this morning to help on this marriage withWildeve--yes, I, ma'am--in the belief that I ought to do it, because shewas so wrapped up in him. But I much question if I was right, after all. However, nothing came of it. And now I offer myself. "

Mrs. Yeobright appeared disinclined to enter further into the question. "I fear I must go on, " she said. "I do not see that anything else can bedone. "

And she went on. But though this conversation did not divert Thomasin'saunt from her purposed interview with Wildeve, it made a considerabledifference in her mode of conducting that interview. She thanked God forthe weapon which the reddleman had put into her hands. 

Wildeve was at home when she reached the inn. He showed her silentlyinto the parlour, and closed the door. Mrs. Yeobright began--

"I have thought it my duty to call today. A new proposal has been madeto me, which has rather astonished me. It will affect Thomasin greatly;and I have decided that it should at least be mentioned to you. "

"Yes? What is it?" he said civilly. 

"It is, of course, in reference to her future. You may not be aware thatanother man has shown himself anxious to marry Thomasin. Now, thoughI have not encouraged him yet, I cannot conscientiously refuse him achance any longer. I don't wish to be short with you; but I must be fairto him and to her. "

"Who is the man?" said Wildeve with surprise. 

"One who has been in love with her longer than she has with you. Heproposed to her two years ago. At that time she refused him. "

"Well?"

"He has seen her lately, and has asked me for permission to pay hisaddresses to her. She may not refuse him twice. "

"What is his name?"

Mrs. Yeobright declined to say. "He is a man Thomasin likes, " she added, "and one whose constancy she respects at least. It seems to me that whatshe refused then she would be glad to get now. She is much annoyed ather awkward position. "

"She never once told me of this old lover. "

"The gentlest women are not such fools as to show EVERY card. "

"Well, if she wants him I suppose she must have him. "

"It is easy enough to say that; but you don't see the difficulty. Hewants her much more than she wants him; and before I can encourageanything of the sort I must have a clear understanding from you thatyou will not interfere to injure an arrangement which I promote in thebelief that it is for the best. Suppose, when they are engaged, andeverything is smoothly arranged for their marriage, that you should stepbetween them and renew your suit? You might not win her back, but youmight cause much unhappiness. "

"Of course I should do no such thing, " said Wildeve "But they are notengaged yet. How do you know that Thomasin would accept him?"

"That's a question I have carefully put to myself; and upon the wholethe probabilities are in favour of her accepting him in time. I flattermyself that I have some influence over her. She is pliable, and I can bestrong in my recommendations of him. "

"And in your disparagement of me at the same time. "

"Well, you may depend upon my not praising you, " she said drily. "Andif this seems like manoeuvring, you must remember that her position ispeculiar, and that she has been hardly used. I shall also be helped inmaking the match by her own desire to escape from the humiliation of herpresent state; and a woman's pride in these cases will lead her a verygreat way. A little managing may be required to bring her round; butI am equal to that, provided that you agree to the one thingindispensable; that is, to make a distinct declaration that she is tothink no more of you as a possible husband. That will pique her intoaccepting him. "

"I can hardly say that just now, Mrs. Yeobright. It is so sudden. "

"And so my whole plan is interfered with! It is very inconvenientthat you refuse to help my family even to the small extent of sayingdistinctly you will have nothing to do with us. "

Wildeve reflected uncomfortably. "I confess I was not prepared forthis, " he said. "Of course I'll give her up if you wish, if it isnecessary. But I thought I might be her husband. "

"We have heard that before. "

"Now, Mrs. Yeobright, don't let us disagree. Give me a fair time. Idon't want to stand in the way of any better chance she may have; onlyI wish you had let me know earlier. I will write to you or call in a dayor two. Will that suffice?"

"Yes, " she replied, "provided you promise not to communicate withThomasin without my knowledge. "

"I promise that, " he said. And the interview then terminated, Mrs. Yeobright returning homeward as she had come. 

By far the greatest effect of her simple strategy on that day was, asoften happens, in a quarter quite outside her view when arranging it. Inthe first place, her visit sent Wildeve the same evening after dark toEustacia's house at Mistover. 

At this hour the lonely dwelling was closely blinded and shuttered fromthe chill and darkness without. Wildeve's clandestine plan with her wasto take a little gravel in his hand and hold it to the crevice at thetop of the window shutter, which was on the outside, so that it shouldfall with a gentle rustle, resembling that of a mouse, between shutterand glass. This precaution in attracting her attention was to avoidarousing the suspicions of her grandfather. 

The soft words, "I hear; wait for me, " in Eustacia's voice from withintold him that she was alone. 

He waited in his customary manner by walking round the enclosure andidling by the pool, for Wildeve was never asked into the house by hisproud though condescending mistress. She showed no sign of coming out ina hurry. The time wore on, and he began to grow impatient. In the courseof twenty minutes she appeared from round the corner, and advanced as ifmerely taking an airing. 

"You would not have kept me so long had you known what I come about, " hesaid with bitterness. "Still, you are worth waiting for. "

"What has happened?" said Eustacia. "I did not know you were in trouble. I too am gloomy enough. "

"I am not in trouble, " said he. "It is merely that affairs have come toa head, and I must take a clear course. "

"What course is that?" she asked with attentive interest. 

"And can you forget so soon what I proposed to you the other night? Why, take you from this place, and carry you away with me abroad. "

"I have not forgotten. But why have you come so unexpectedly to repeatthe question, when you only promised to come next Saturday? I thought Iwas to have plenty of time to consider. "

"Yes, but the situation is different now. "

"Explain to me. "

"I don't want to explain, for I may pain you. "

"But I must know the reason of this hurry. "

"It is simply my ardour, dear Eustacia. Everything is smooth now. "

"Then why are you so ruffled?"

"I am not aware of it. All is as it should be. Mrs. Yeobright--but sheis nothing to us. "

"Ah, I knew she had something to do with it! Come, I don't likereserve. "

"No--she has nothing. She only says she wishes me to give up Thomasinbecause another man is anxious to marry her. The woman, now she nolonger needs me, actually shows off!" Wildeve's vexation has escaped himin spite of himself. 

Eustacia was silent a long while. "You are in the awkward position of anofficial who is no longer wanted, " she said in a changed tone. 

"It seems so. But I have not yet seen Thomasin. "

"And that irritates you. Don't deny it, Damon. You are actually nettledby this slight from an unexpected quarter. "

"Well?"

"And you come to get me because you cannot get her. This is certainly anew position altogether. I am to be a stop-gap. "

"Please remember that I proposed the same thing the other day. "

Eustacia again remained in a sort of stupefied silence. What curiousfeeling was this coming over her? Was it really possible that herinterest in Wildeve had been so entirely the result of antagonism thatthe glory and the dream departed from the man with the first sound thathe was no longer coveted by her rival? She was, then, secure of him atlast. Thomasin no longer required him. What a humiliating victory!He loved her best, she thought; and yet--dared she to murmur suchtreacherous criticism ever so softly?--what was the man worth whom awoman inferior to herself did not value? The sentiment which lurks moreor less in all animate nature--that of not desiring the undesired ofothers--was lively as a passion in the supersubtle, epicurean heart ofEustacia. Her social superiority over him, which hitherto had scarcelyever impressed her, became unpleasantly insistent, and for the firsttime she felt that she had stooped in loving him. 

"Well, darling, you agree?" said Wildeve. 

"If it could be London, or even Budmouth, instead of America, " shemurmured languidly. "Well, I will think. It is too great a thing for meto decide offhand. I wish I hated the heath less--or loved you more. "

"You can be painfully frank. You loved me a month ago warmly enough togo anywhere with me. "

"And you loved Thomasin. "

"Yes, perhaps that was where the reason lay, " he returned, with almost asneer. "I don't hate her now. "

"Exactly. The only thing is that you can no longer get her. "

"Come--no taunts, Eustacia, or we shall quarrel. If you don't agree togo with me, and agree shortly, I shall go by myself. "

"Or try Thomasin again. Damon, how strange it seems that you could havemarried her or me indifferently, and only have come to me because Iam--cheapest! Yes, yes--it is true. There was a time when I should haveexclaimed against a man of that sort, and been quite wild; but it is allpast now. "

"Will you go, dearest? Come secretly with me to Bristol, marry me, andturn our backs upon this dog-hole of England for ever? Say Yes. "

"I want to get away from here at almost any cost, " she said withweariness, "but I don't like to go with you. Give me more time todecide. "

"I have already, " said Wildeve. "Well, I give you one more week. "

"A little longer, so that I may tell you decisively. I have to considerso many things. Fancy Thomasin being anxious to get rid of you! I cannotforget it. "

"Never mind that. Say Monday week. I will be here precisely at thistime. "

"Let it be at Rainbarrow, " said she. "This is too near home; mygrandfather may be walking out. "

"Thank you, dear. On Monday week at this time I will be at the Barrow. Till then good-bye. "

"Good-bye. No, no, you must not touch me now. Shaking hands is enoughtill I have made up my mind. "

Eustacia watched his shadowy form till it had disappeared. She placedher hand to her forehead and breathed heavily; and then her rich, romantic lips parted under that homely impulse--a yawn. She wasimmediately angry at having betrayed even to herself the possibleevanescence of her passion for him. She could not admit at once that shemight have overestimated Wildeve, for to perceive his mediocrity now wasto admit her own great folly heretofore. And the discovery that she wasthe owner of a disposition so purely that of the dog in the manger hadsomething in it which at first made her ashamed. 

The fruit of Mrs. Yeobright's diplomacy was indeed remarkable, though not as yet of the kind she had anticipated. It had appreciablyinfluenced Wildeve, but it was influencing Eustacia far more. Her loverwas no longer to her an exciting man whom many women strove for, andherself could only retain by striving with them. He was a superfluity. 

She went indoors in that peculiar state of misery which is not exactlygrief, and which especially attends the dawnings of reason in the latterdays of an ill-judged, transient love. To be conscious that the end ofthe dream is approaching, and yet has not absolutely come, is one ofthe most wearisome as well as the most curious stages along the coursebetween the beginning of a passion and its end. 

Her grandfather had returned, and was busily engaged in pouring somegallons of newly arrived rum into the square bottles of his squarecellaret. Whenever these home supplies were exhausted he would go to theQuiet Woman, and, standing with his back to the fire, grog in hand, tellremarkable stories of how he had lived seven years under the waterlineof his ship, and other naval wonders, to the natives, who hoped tooearnestly for a treat of ale from the teller to exhibit any doubts ofhis truth. 

He had been there this evening. "I suppose you have heard the Egdonnews, Eustacia?" he said, without looking up from the bottles. "Themen have been talking about it at the Woman as if it were of nationalimportance. "

"I have heard none, " she said. 

"Young Clym Yeobright, as they call him, is coming home next week tospend Christmas with his mother. He is a fine fellow by this time, itseems. I suppose you remember him?"

"I never saw him in my life. "

"Ah, true; he left before you came here. I well remember him as apromising boy. "

"Where has he been living all these years?"

"In that rookery of pomp and vanity, Paris, I believe. "

BOOK TWO -- THE ARRIVAL

1--Tidings of the Comer

On the fine days at this time of the year, and earlier, certainephemeral operations were apt to disturb, in their trifling way, themajestic calm of Egdon Heath. They were activities which, beside thoseof a town, a village, or even a farm, would have appeared as the fermentof stagnation merely, a creeping of the flesh of somnolence. But here, away from comparisons, shut in by the stable hills, among which merewalking had the novelty of pageantry, and where any man could imaginehimself to be Adam without the least difficulty, they attracted theattention of every bird within eyeshot, every reptile not yet asleep, and set the surrounding rabbits curiously watching from hillocks at asafe distance. 

The performance was that of bringing together and building into a stackthe furze faggots which Humphrey had been cutting for the captain'suse during the foregoing fine days. The stack was at the end of thedwelling, and the men engaged in building it were Humphrey and Sam, theold man looking on. 

It was a fine and quiet afternoon, about three o'clock; but the wintersolstice having stealthily come on, the lowness of the sun caused thehour to seem later than it actually was, there being little here toremind an inhabitant that he must unlearn his summer experience of thesky as a dial. In the course of many days and weeks sunrise had advancedits quarters from northeast to southeast, sunset had receded fromnorthwest to southwest; but Egdon had hardly heeded the change. 

Eustacia was indoors in the dining-room, which was really more like akitchen, having a stone floor and a gaping chimney-corner. The air wasstill, and while she lingered a moment here alone sounds of voices inconversation came to her ears directly down the chimney. She enteredthe recess, and, listening, looked up the old irregular shaft, with itscavernous hollows, where the smoke blundered about on its way to thesquare bit of sky at the top, from which the daylight struck down with apallid glare upon the tatters of soot draping the flue as seaweed drapesa rocky fissure. 

She remembered: the furze-stack was not far from the chimney, and thevoices were those of the workers. 

Her grandfather joined in the conversation. "That lad ought never tohave left home. His father's occupation would have suited him best, andthe boy should have followed on. I don't believe in these new moves infamilies. My father was a sailor, so was I, and so should my son havebeen if I had had one. "

"The place he's been living at is Paris, " said Humphrey, "and they tellme 'tis where the king's head was cut off years ago. My poor mother usedto tell me about that business. 'Hummy, ' she used to say, 'I was a youngmaid then, and as I was at home ironing Mother's caps one afternoon theparson came in and said, "They've cut the king's head off, Jane; andwhat 'twill be next God knows. "'"

"A good many of us knew as well as He before long, " said the captain, chuckling. "I lived seven years under water on account of it in myboyhood--in that damned surgery of the Triumph, seeing men brought downto the cockpit with their legs and arms blown to Jericho. .. . And so theyoung man has settled in Paris. Manager to a diamond merchant, or somesuch thing, is he not?"

"Yes, sir, that's it. 'Tis a blazing great business that he belongs to, so I've heard his mother say--like a king's palace, as far as dimentsgo. "

"I can well mind when he left home, " said Sam. 

"'Tis a good thing for the feller, " said Humphrey. "A sight of timesbetter to be selling diments than nobbling about here. "

"It must cost a good few shillings to deal at such a place. "

"A good few indeed, my man, " replied the captain. "Yes, you may makeaway with a deal of money and be neither drunkard nor glutton. "

"They say, too, that Clym Yeobright is become a real perusing man, withthe strangest notions about things. There, that's because he went toschool early, such as the school was. "

"Strange notions, has he?" said the old man. "Ah, there's too much ofthat sending to school in these days! It only does harm. Every gatepostand barn's door you come to is sure to have some bad word or otherchalked upon it by the young rascals--a woman can hardly pass for shamesometimes. If they'd never been taught how to write they wouldn't havebeen able to scribble such villainy. Their fathers couldn't do it, andthe country was all the better for it. "

"Now, I should think, Cap'n, that Miss Eustacia had about as much in herhead that comes from books as anybody about here?"

"Perhaps if Miss Eustacia, too, had less romantic nonsense in her headit would be better for her, " said the captain shortly; after which hewalked away. 

"I say, Sam, " observed Humphrey when the old man was gone, "she and ClymYeobright would make a very pretty pigeon-pair--hey? If they wouldn'tI'll be dazed! Both of one mind about niceties for certain, and learnedin print, and always thinking about high doctrine--there couldn't be abetter couple if they were made o' purpose. Clym's family is as good ashers. His father was a farmer, that's true; but his mother was a sortof lady, as we know. Nothing would please me better than to see them twoman and wife. "

"They'd look very natty, arm-in-crook together, and their best clotheson, whether or no, if he's at all the well-favoured fellow he used tobe. "

"They would, Humphrey. Well, I should like to see the chap terrible muchafter so many years. If I knew for certain when he was coming I'd strollout three or four miles to meet him and help carry anything for'n;though I suppose he's altered from the boy he was. They say he can talkFrench as fast as a maid can eat blackberries; and if so, depend upon itwe who have stayed at home shall seem no more than scroff in his eyes. "

"Coming across the water to Budmouth by steamer, isn't he?"

"Yes; but how he's coming from Budmouth I don't know. "

"That's a bad trouble about his cousin Thomasin. I wonder such anice-notioned fellow as Clym likes to come home into it. What anunnywatch we were in, to be sure, when we heard they weren't marriedat all, after singing to 'em as man and wife that night! Be dazed ifI should like a relation of mine to have been made such a fool of by aman. It makes the family look small. "

"Yes. Poor maid, her heart has ached enough about it. Her health issuffering from it, I hear, for she will bide entirely indoors. We neversee her out now, scampering over the furze with a face as red as a rose, as she used to do. "

"I've heard she wouldn't have Wildeve now if he asked her. "

"You have? 'Tis news to me. "

While the furze-gatherers had desultorily conversed thus Eustacia'sface gradually bent to the hearth in a profound reverie, her toeunconsciously tapping the dry turf which lay burning at her feet. 

The subject of their discourse had been keenly interesting to her. Ayoung and clever man was coming into that lonely heath from, of allcontrasting places in the world, Paris. It was like a man coming fromheaven. More singular still, the heathmen had instinctively coupled herand this man together in their minds as a pair born for each other. 

That five minutes of overhearing furnished Eustacia with visions enoughto fill the whole blank afternoon. Such sudden alternations from mentalvacuity do sometimes occur thus quietly. She could never have believedin the morning that her colourless inner world would before night becomeas animated as water under a microscope, and that without the arrival ofa single visitor. The words of Sam and Humphrey on the harmony betweenthe unknown and herself had on her mind the effect of the invadingBard's prelude in the Castle of Indolence, at which myriads ofimprisoned shapes arose where had previously appeared the stillness of avoid. 

Involved in these imaginings she knew nothing of time. When she becameconscious of externals it was dusk. The furze-rick was finished; the menhad gone home. Eustacia went upstairs, thinking that she would take awalk at this her usual time; and she determined that her walk should bein the direction of Blooms-End, the birthplace of young Yeobright andthe present home of his mother. She had no reason for walking elsewhere, and why should she not go that way? The scene of the daydream issufficient for a pilgrimage at nineteen. To look at the palings beforethe Yeobrights' house had the dignity of a necessary performance. Strange that such a piece of idling should have seemed an importanterrand. 

She put on her bonnet, and, leaving the house, descended the hill on theside towards Blooms-End, where she walked slowly along the valley for adistance of a mile and a half. This brought her to a spot in which thegreen bottom of the dale began to widen, the furze bushes to recedeyet further from the path on each side, till they were diminished toan isolated one here and there by the increasing fertility of the soil. Beyond the irregular carpet of grass was a row of white palings, whichmarked the verge of the heath in this latitude. They showed upon thedusky scene that they bordered as distinctly as white lace on velvet. Behind the white palings was a little garden; behind the garden an old, irregular, thatched house, facing the heath, and commanding a full viewof the valley. This was the obscure, removed spot to which was aboutto return a man whose latter life had been passed in the Frenchcapital--the centre and vortex of the fashionable world. 

2--The People at Blooms-End Make Ready

All that afternoon the expected arrival of the subject of Eustacia'sruminations created a bustle of preparation at Blooms-End. Thomasin hadbeen persuaded by her aunt, and by an instinctive impulse of loyaltytowards her cousin Clym, to bestir herself on his account with analacrity unusual in her during these most sorrowful days of her life. Atthe time that Eustacia was listening to the rick-makers' conversationon Clym's return, Thomasin was climbing into a loft over her aunt'sfuelhouse, where the store-apples were kept, to search out the best andlargest of them for the coming holiday-time. 

The loft was lighted by a semicircular hole, through which the pigeonscrept to their lodgings in the same high quarters of the premises; andfrom this hole the sun shone in a bright yellow patch upon the figure ofthe maiden as she knelt and plunged her naked arms into the soft brownfern, which, from its abundance, was used on Egdon in packing awaystores of all kinds. The pigeons were flying about her head with thegreatest unconcern, and the face of her aunt was just visible abovethe floor of the loft, lit by a few stray motes of light, as she stoodhalfway up the ladder, looking at a spot into which she was not climberenough to venture. 

"Now a few russets, Tamsin. He used to like them almost as well asribstones. "

Thomasin turned and rolled aside the fern from another nook, where moremellow fruit greeted her with its ripe smell. Before picking them outshe stopped a moment. 

"Dear Clym, I wonder how your face looks now?" she said, gazingabstractedly at the pigeon-hole, which admitted the sunlight so directlyupon her brown hair and transparent tissues that it almost seemed toshine through her. 

"If he could have been dear to you in another way, " said Mrs. Yeobrightfrom the ladder, "this might have been a happy meeting. "

"Is there any use in saying what can do no good, Aunt?"

"Yes, " said her aunt, with some warmth. "To thoroughly fill the air withthe past misfortune, so that other girls may take warning and keep clearof it. "

Thomasin lowered her face to the apples again. "I am a warning toothers, just as thieves and drunkards and gamblers are, " she said in alow voice. "What a class to belong to! Do I really belong to them? 'Tisabsurd! Yet why, Aunt, does everybody keep on making me think that I do, by the way they behave towards me? Why don't people judge me by my acts?Now, look at me as I kneel here, picking up these apples--do I looklike a lost woman?. .. I wish all good women were as good as I!" she addedvehemently. 

"Strangers don't see you as I do, " said Mrs. Yeobright; "they judge fromfalse report. Well, it is a silly job, and I am partly to blame. "

"How quickly a rash thing can be done!" replied the girl. Her lips werequivering, and tears so crowded themselves into her eyes that she couldhardly distinguish apples from fern as she continued industriouslysearching to hide her weakness. 

"As soon as you have finished getting the apples, " her aunt said, descending the ladder, "come down, and we'll go for the holly. There isnobody on the heath this afternoon, and you need not fear beingstared at. We must get some berries, or Clym will never believe in ourpreparations. "

Thomasin came down when the apples were collected, and together theywent through the white palings to the heath beyond. The open hills wereairy and clear, and the remote atmosphere appeared, as it often appearson a fine winter day, in distinct planes of illumination independentlytoned, the rays which lit the nearer tracts of landscape streamingvisibly across those further off; a stratum of ensaffroned light wasimposed on a stratum of deep blue, and behind these lay still remoterscenes wrapped in frigid grey. 

They reached the place where the hollies grew, which was in a conicalpit, so that the tops of the trees were not much above the general levelof the ground. Thomasin stepped up into a fork of one of the bushes, asshe had done under happier circumstances on many similar occasions, and with a small chopper that they had brought she began to lop off theheavily berried boughs. 

"Don't scratch your face, " said her aunt, who stood at the edge of thepit, regarding the girl as she held on amid the glistening green andscarlet masses of the tree. "Will you walk with me to meet him thisevening?"

"I should like to. Else it would seem as if I had forgotten him, " saidThomasin, tossing out a bough. "Not that that would matter much; Ibelong to one man; nothing can alter that. And that man I must marry, for my pride's sake. "

"I am afraid--" began Mrs. Yeobright. 

"Ah, you think, 'That weak girl--how is she going to get a man to marryher when she chooses?' But let me tell you one thing, Aunt: Mr. Wildeveis not a profligate man, any more than I am an improper woman. He hasan unfortunate manner, and doesn't try to make people like him if theydon't wish to do it of their own accord. "

"Thomasin, " said Mrs. Yeobright quietly, fixing her eye upon her niece, "do you think you deceive me in your defence of Mr. Wildeve?"

"How do you mean?"

"I have long had a suspicion that your love for him has changed itscolour since you have found him not to be the saint you thought him, andthat you act a part to me. "

"He wished to marry me, and I wish to marry him. "

"Now, I put it to you: would you at this present moment agree to be hiswife if that had not happened to entangle you with him?"

Thomasin looked into the tree and appeared much disturbed. "Aunt, "she said presently, "I have, I think, a right to refuse to answer thatquestion. "

"Yes, you have. "

"You may think what you choose. I have never implied to you by word ordeed that I have grown to think otherwise of him, and I never will. AndI shall marry him. "

"Well, wait till he repeats his offer. I think he may do it, now that heknows--something I told him. I don't for a moment dispute that it is themost proper thing for you to marry him. Much as I have objected to himin bygone days, I agree with you now, you may be sure. It is the onlyway out of a false position, and a very galling one. "

"What did you tell him?"

"That he was standing in the way of another lover of yours. "

"Aunt, " said Thomasin, with round eyes, "what DO you mean?"

"Don't be alarmed; it was my duty. I can say no more about it now, butwhen it is over I will tell you exactly what I said, and why I said it. "

Thomasin was perforce content. 

"And you will keep the secret of my would-be marriage from Clym for thepresent?" she next asked. 

"I have given my word to. But what is the use of it? He must soon knowwhat has happened. A mere look at your face will show him that somethingis wrong. "

Thomasin turned and regarded her aunt from the tree. "Now, hearken tome, " she said, her delicate voice expanding into firmness by a forcewhich was other than physical. "Tell him nothing. If he finds out that Iam not worthy to be his cousin, let him. But, since he loved me once, wewill not pain him by telling him my trouble too soon. The air is full ofthe story, I know; but gossips will not dare to speak of it to him forthe first few days. His closeness to me is the very thing that willhinder the tale from reaching him early. If I am not made safe fromsneers in a week or two I will tell him myself. "

The earnestness with which Thomasin spoke prevented further objections. Her aunt simply said, "Very well. He should by rights have been told atthe time that the wedding was going to be. He will never forgive you foryour secrecy. "

"Yes, he will, when he knows it was because I wished to spare him, andthat I did not expect him home so soon. And you must not let me stand inthe way of your Christmas party. Putting it off would only make mattersworse. "

"Of course I shall not. I do not wish to show myself beaten before allEgdon, and the sport of a man like Wildeve. We have enough berries now, I think, and we had better take them home. By the time we have deckedthe house with this and hung up the mistletoe, we must think of startingto meet him. "

Thomasin came out of the tree, shook from her hair and dress the looseberries which had fallen thereon, and went down the hill with her aunt, each woman bearing half the gathered boughs. It was now nearly fouro'clock, and the sunlight was leaving the vales. When the west grew redthe two relatives came again from the house and plunged into the heathin a different direction from the first, towards a point in the distanthighway along which the expected man was to return. 

3--How a Little Sound Produced a Great Dream

Eustacia stood just within the heath, straining her eyes in thedirection of Mrs. Yeobright's house and premises. No light, sound, ormovement was perceptible there. The evening was chilly; the spot wasdark and lonely. She inferred that the guest had not yet come; and afterlingering ten or fifteen minutes she turned again towards home. 

She had not far retraced her steps when sounds in front of her betokenedthe approach of persons in conversation along the same path. Soon theirheads became visible against the sky. They were walking slowly; andthough it was too dark for much discovery of character from aspect, thegait of them showed that they were not workers on the heath. Eustaciastepped a little out of the foot-track to let them pass. They weretwo women and a man; and the voices of the women were those of Mrs. Yeobright and Thomasin. 

They went by her, and at the moment of passing appeared to discern herdusky form. There came to her ears in a masculine voice, "Good night!"

She murmured a reply, glided by them, and turned round. She could not, for a moment, believe that chance, unrequested, had brought into herpresence the soul of the house she had gone to inspect, the man withoutwhom her inspection would not have been thought of. 

She strained her eyes to see them, but was unable. Such was herintentness, however, that it seemed as if her ears were performing thefunctions of seeing as well as hearing. This extension of power canalmost be believed in at such moments. The deaf Dr. Kitto was probablyunder the influence of a parallel fancy when he described his body ashaving become, by long endeavour, so sensitive to vibrations that he hadgained the power of perceiving by it as by ears. 

She could follow every word that the ramblers uttered. They were talkingno secrets. They were merely indulging in the ordinary vivacious chat ofrelatives who have long been parted in person though not in soul. Butit was not to the words that Eustacia listened; she could not evenhave recalled, a few minutes later, what the words were. It was to thealternating voice that gave out about one-tenth of them--the voice thathad wished her good night. Sometimes this throat uttered Yes, sometimesit uttered No; sometimes it made inquiries about a time worn denizenof the place. Once it surprised her notions by remarking upon thefriendliness and geniality written in the faces of the hills around. 

The three voices passed on, and decayed and died out upon her ear. Thusmuch had been granted her; and all besides withheld. No event could havebeen more exciting. During the greater part of the afternoon she hadbeen entrancing herself by imagining the fascination which must attenda man come direct from beautiful Paris--laden with its atmosphere, familiar with its charms. And this man had greeted her. 

With the departure of the figures the profuse articulations of the womenwasted away from her memory; but the accents of the other stayed on. Was there anything in the voice of Mrs. Yeobright's son--for Clymit was--startling as a sound? No; it was simply comprehensive. Allemotional things were possible to the speaker of that "good night. "Eustacia's imagination supplied the rest--except the solution to oneriddle. What COULD the tastes of that man be who saw friendliness andgeniality in these shaggy hills?

On such occasions as this a thousand ideas pass through a highly chargedwoman's head; and they indicate themselves on her face; but the changes, though actual, are minute. Eustacia's features went through a rhythmicalsuccession of them. She glowed; remembering the mendacity of theimagination, she flagged; then she freshened; then she fired; then shecooled again. It was a cycle of aspects, produced by a cycle of visions. 

Eustacia entered her own house; she was excited. Her grandfather wasenjoying himself over the fire, raking about the ashes and exposing thered-hot surface of the turves, so that their lurid glare irradiated thechimney-corner with the hues of a furnace. 

"Why is it that we are never friendly with the Yeobrights?" she said, coming forward and stretching her soft hands over the warmth. "I wish wewere. They seem to be very nice people. "

"Be hanged if I know why, " said the captain. "I liked the old man wellenough, though he was as rough as a hedge. But you would never havecared to go there, even if you might have, I am well sure. "

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Your town tastes would find them far too countrified. They sit in thekitchen, drink mead and elder-wine, and sand the floor to keep it clean. A sensible way of life; but how would you like it?"

"I thought Mrs. Yeobright was a ladylike woman? A curate's daughter, wasshe not?"

"Yes; but she was obliged to live as her husband did; and I supposeshe has taken kindly to it by this time. Ah, I recollect that I onceaccidentally offended her, and I have never seen her since. "

That night was an eventful one to Eustacia's brain, and one which shehardly ever forgot. She dreamt a dream; and few human beings, fromNebuchadnezzar to the Swaffham tinker, ever dreamt a more remarkableone. Such an elaborately developed, perplexing, exciting dream wascertainly never dreamed by a girl in Eustacia's situation before. It hadas many ramifications as the Cretan labyrinth, as many fluctuations asthe northern lights, as much colour as a parterre in June, and was ascrowded with figures as a coronation. To Queen Scheherazade the dreammight have seemed not far removed from commonplace; and to a girl justreturned from all the courts of Europe it might have seemed not morethan interesting. But amid the circumstances of Eustacia's life it wasas wonderful as a dream could be. 

There was, however, gradually evolved from its transformation scenes aless extravagant episode, in which the heath dimly appeared behind thegeneral brilliancy of the action. She was dancing to wondrous music, andher partner was the man in silver armour who had accompanied her throughthe previous fantastic changes, the visor of his helmet being closed. The mazes of the dance were ecstatic. Soft whispering came into her earfrom under the radiant helmet, and she felt like a woman in Paradise. Suddenly these two wheeled out from the mass of dancers, dived into oneof the pools of the heath, and came out somewhere into an iridescenthollow, arched with rainbows. "It must be here, " said the voice by herside, and blushingly looking up she saw him removing his casque to kissher. At that moment there was a cracking noise, and his figure fell intofragments like a pack of cards. 

She cried aloud. "O that I had seen his face!"

Eustacia awoke. The cracking had been that of the window shutterdownstairs, which the maid-servant was opening to let in the day, nowslowly increasing to Nature's meagre allowance at this sickly time ofthe year. "O that I had seen his face!" she said again. "'Twas meant forMr. Yeobright!"

When she became cooler she perceived that many of the phases of thedream had naturally arisen out of the images and fancies of the daybefore. But this detracted little from its interest, which lay in theexcellent fuel it provided for newly kindled fervour. She was at themodulating point between indifference and love, at the stage called"having a fancy for. " It occurs once in the history of the most giganticpassions, and it is a period when they are in the hands of the weakestwill. 

The perfervid woman was by this time half in love with a vision. Thefantastic nature of her passion, which lowered her as an intellect, raised her as a soul. If she had had a little more self-control shewould have attenuated the emotion to nothing by sheer reasoning, and sohave killed it off. If she had had a little less pride she might havegone and circumambulated the Yeobrights' premises at Blooms-End at anymaidenly sacrifice until she had seen him. But Eustacia did neither ofthese things. She acted as the most exemplary might have acted, beingso influenced; she took an airing twice or thrice a day upon the Egdonhills, and kept her eyes employed. 

The first occasion passed, and he did not come that way. 

She promenaded a second time, and was again the sole wanderer there. 

The third time there was a dense fog; she looked around, but withoutmuch hope. Even if he had been walking within twenty yards of her shecould not have seen him. 

At the fourth attempt to encounter him it began to rain in torrents, andshe turned back. 

The fifth sally was in the afternoon; it was fine, and she remained outlong, walking to the very top of the valley in which Blooms-End lay. Shesaw the white paling about half a mile off; but he did not appear. Itwas almost with heart-sickness that she came home and with a sense ofshame at her weakness. She resolved to look for the man from Paris nomore. 

But Providence is nothing if not coquettish; and no sooner had Eustaciaformed this resolve than the opportunity came which, while sought, hadbeen entirely withholden. 

4--Eustacia Is Led on to an Adventure

In the evening of this last day of expectation, which was thetwenty-third of December, Eustacia was at home alone. She had passedthe recent hour in lamenting over a rumour newly come to her ears--thatYeobright's visit to his mother was to be of short duration, and wouldend some time the next week. "Naturally, " she said to herself. A manin the full swing of his activities in a gay city could not afford tolinger long on Egdon Heath. That she would behold face to face the ownerof the awakening voice within the limits of such a holiday was mostunlikely, unless she were to haunt the environs of his mother's houselike a robin, to do which was difficult and unseemly. 

The customary expedient of provincial girls and men in suchcircumstances is churchgoing. In an ordinary village or country townone can safely calculate that, either on Christmas day or the Sundaycontiguous, any native home for the holidays, who has not through age orennui lost the appetite for seeing and being seen, will turn up in somepew or other, shining with hope, self-consciousness, and new clothes. Thus the congregation on Christmas morning is mostly a Tussaudcollection of celebrities who have been born in the neighbourhood. Hither the mistress, left neglected at home all the year, can steal andobserve the development of the returned lover who has forgotten her, andthink as she watches him over her prayer book that he may throb witha renewed fidelity when novelties have lost their charm. And hithera comparatively recent settler like Eustacia may betake herself toscrutinize the person of a native son who left home before her adventupon the scene, and consider if the friendship of his parents be worthcultivating during his next absence in order to secure a knowledge ofhim on his next return. 

But these tender schemes were not feasible among the scatteredinhabitants of Egdon Heath. In name they were parishioners, butvirtually they belonged to no parish at all. People who came to thesefew isolated houses to keep Christmas with their friends remainedin their friends' chimney-corners drinking mead and other comfortingliquors till they left again for good and all. Rain, snow, ice, mudeverywhere around, they did not care to trudge two or three miles tosit wet-footed and splashed to the nape of their necks among thosewho, though in some measure neighbours, lived close to the church, andentered it clean and dry. Eustacia knew it was ten to one that ClymYeobright would go to no church at all during his few days of leave, andthat it would be a waste of labour for her to go driving the pony andgig over a bad road in hope to see him there. 

It was dusk, and she was sitting by the fire in the dining-room orhall, which they occupied at this time of the year in preference to theparlour, because of its large hearth, constructed for turf-fires, afuel the captain was partial to in the winter season. The only visiblearticles in the room were those on the window-sill, which showed theirshapes against the low sky, the middle article being the old hourglass, and the other two a pair of ancient British urns which had been dugfrom a barrow near, and were used as flowerpots for two razor-leavedcactuses. Somebody knocked at the door. The servant was out; so was hergrandfather. The person, after waiting a minute, came in and tapped atthe door of the room. 

"Who's there?" said Eustacia. 

"Please, Cap'n Vye, will you let us----"

Eustacia arose and went to the door. "I cannot allow you to come in soboldly. You should have waited. "

"The cap'n said I might come in without any fuss, " was answered in alad's pleasant voice. 

"Oh, did he?" said Eustacia more gently. "What do you want, Charley?"

"Please will your grandfather lend us his fuelhouse to try over ourparts in, tonight at seven o'clock?"

"What, are you one of the Egdon mummers for this year?"

"Yes, miss. The cap'n used to let the old mummers practise here. "

"I know it. Yes, you may use the fuelhouse if you like, " said Eustacialanguidly. 

The choice of Captain Vye's fuelhouse as the scene of rehearsal wasdictated by the fact that his dwelling was nearly in the centre of theheath. The fuelhouse was as roomy as a barn, and was a most desirableplace for such a purpose. The lads who formed the company of playerslived at different scattered points around, and by meeting in this spotthe distances to be traversed by all the comers would be about equallyproportioned. 

For mummers and mumming Eustacia had the greatest contempt. The mummersthemselves were not afflicted with any such feeling for their art, though at the same time they were not enthusiastic. A traditionalpastime is to be distinguished from a mere revival in no more strikingfeature than in this, that while in the revival all is excitement andfervour, the survival is carried on with a stolidity and absence ofstir which sets one wondering why a thing that is done so perfunctorilyshould be kept up at all. Like Balaam and other unwilling prophets, theagents seem moved by an inner compulsion to say and do their allottedparts whether they will or no. This unweeting manner of performance isthe true ring by which, in this refurbishing age, a fossilized survivalmay be known from a spurious reproduction. 

The piece was the well-known play of Saint George, and all who werebehind the scenes assisted in the preparations, including the women ofeach household. Without the co-operation of sisters and sweethearts thedresses were likely to be a failure; but on the other hand, this classof assistance was not without its drawbacks. The girls could never bebrought to respect tradition in designing and decorating the armour;they insisted on attaching loops and bows of silk and velvet in anysituation pleasing to their taste. Gorget, gusset, basinet, cuirass, gauntlet, sleeve, all alike in the view of these feminine eyes werepracticable spaces whereon to sew scraps of fluttering colour. 

It might be that Joe, who fought on the side of Christendom, had asweetheart, and that Jim, who fought on the side of the Moslem, hadone likewise. During the making of the costumes it would come to theknowledge of Joe's sweetheart that Jim's was putting brilliant silkscallops at the bottom of her lover's surcoat, in addition to theribbons of the visor, the bars of which, being invariably formed ofcoloured strips about half an inch wide hanging before the face, weremostly of that material. Joe's sweetheart straight-way placed brilliantsilk on the scallops of the hem in question, and, going a littlefurther, added ribbon tufts to the shoulder pieces. Jim's, not to beoutdone, would affix bows and rosettes everywhere. 

The result was that in the end the Valiant Soldier, of the Christianarmy, was distinguished by no peculiarity of accoutrement from theTurkish Knight; and what was worse, on a casual view Saint Georgehimself might be mistaken for his deadly enemy, the Saracen. The guisersthemselves, though inwardly regretting this confusion of persons, couldnot afford to offend those by whose assistance they so largely profited, and the innovations were allowed to stand. 

There was, it is true, a limit to this tendency to uniformity. TheLeech or Doctor preserved his character intact--his darker habiliments, peculiar hat, and the bottle of physic slung under his arm, could neverbe mistaken. And the same might be said of the conventional figure ofFather Christmas, with his gigantic club, an older man, who accompaniedthe band as general protector in long night journeys from parish toparish, and was bearer of the purse. 

Seven o'clock, the hour of the rehearsal, came round, and in a shorttime Eustacia could hear voices in the fuelhouse. To dissipate in sometrifling measure her abiding sense of the murkiness of human life shewent to the "linhay" or lean-to shed, which formed the root-store oftheir dwelling and abutted on the fuelhouse. Here was a small rough holein the mud wall, originally made for pigeons, through which the interiorof the next shed could be viewed. A light came from it now; and Eustaciastepped upon a stool to look in upon the scene. 

On a ledge in the fuelhouse stood three tall rushlights and by thelight of them seven or eight lads were marching about, haranguing, andconfusing each other, in endeavours to perfect themselves in the play. Humphrey and Sam, the furze-and turf-cutters, were there looking on, soalso was Timothy Fairway, who leant against the wall and promptedthe boys from memory, interspersing among the set words remarks andanecdotes of the superior days when he and others were the Egdonmummers-elect that these lads were now. 

"Well, ye be as well up to it as ever ye will be, " he said. "Not thatsuch mumming would have passed in our time. Harry as the Saracen shouldstrut a bit more, and John needn't holler his inside out. Beyond thatperhaps you'll do. Have you got all your clothes ready?"

"We shall by Monday. "

"Your first outing will be Monday night, I suppose?"

"Yes. At Mrs. Yeobright's. "

"Oh, Mrs. Yeobright's. What makes her want to see ye? I should think amiddle-aged woman was tired of mumming. "

"She's got up a bit of a party, because 'tis the first Christmas thather son Clym has been home for a long time. "

"To be sure, to be sure--her party! I am going myself. I almost forgotit, upon my life. "

Eustacia's face flagged. There was to be a party at the Yeobrights';she, naturally, had nothing to do with it. She was a stranger to allsuch local gatherings, and had always held them as scarcely appertainingto her sphere. But had she been going, what an opportunity would havebeen afforded her of seeing the man whose influence was penetrating herlike summer sun! To increase that influence was coveted excitement; tocast it off might be to regain serenity; to leave it as it stood wastantalizing. 

The lads and men prepared to leave the premises, and Eustacia returnedto her fireside. She was immersed in thought, but not for long. In afew minutes the lad Charley, who had come to ask permission to use theplace, returned with the key to the kitchen. Eustacia heard him, andopening the door into the passage said, "Charley, come here. "

The lad was surprised. He entered the front room not without blushing;for he, like many, had felt the power of this girl's face and form. 

She pointed to a seat by the fire, and entered the other side of thechimney-corner herself. It could be seen in her face that whatevermotive she might have had in asking the youth indoors would soon appear. 

"Which part do you play, Charley--the Turkish Knight, do you not?"inquired the beauty, looking across the smoke of the fire to him on theother side. 

"Yes, miss, the Turkish Knight, " he replied diffidently. 

"Is yours a long part?"

"Nine speeches, about. "

"Can you repeat them to me? If so I should like to hear them. "

The lad smiled into the glowing turf and began--

 "Here come I, a Turkish Knight, Who learnt in Turkish land to fight, "

continuing the discourse throughout the scenes to the concludingcatastrophe of his fall by the hand of Saint George. 

Eustacia had occasionally heard the part recited before. When the ladended she began, precisely in the same words, and ranted on withouthitch or divergence till she too reached the end. It was the same thing, yet how different. Like in form, it had the added softness and finishof a Raffaelle after Perugino, which, while faithfully reproducing theoriginal subject, entirely distances the original art. 

Charley's eyes rounded with surprise. "Well, you be a clever lady!" hesaid, in admiration. "I've been three weeks learning mine. "

"I have heard it before, " she quietly observed. "Now, would you doanything to please me, Charley?"

"I'd do a good deal, miss. "

"Would you let me play your part for one night?"

"Oh, miss! But your woman's gown--you couldn't. "

"I can get boy's clothes--at least all that would be wanted besides themumming dress. What should I have to give you to lend me your things, to let me take your place for an hour or two on Monday night, and on noaccount to say a word about who or what I am? You would, of course, haveto excuse yourself from playing that night, and to say that somebody--acousin of Miss Vye's--would act for you. The other mummers have neverspoken to me in their lives so that it would be safe enough; and if itwere not, I should not mind. Now, what must I give you to agree to this?Half a crown?"

The youth shook his head

"Five shillings?"

He shook his head again. "Money won't do it, " he said, brushing the ironhead of the firedog with the hollow of his hand. 

"What will, then, Charley?" said Eustacia in a disappointed tone. 

"You know what you forbade me at the Maypoling, miss, " murmured the lad, without looking at her, and still stroking the firedog's head. 

"Yes, " said Eustacia, with a little more hauteur. "You wanted to joinhands with me in the ring, if I recollect?"

"Half an hour of that, and I'll agree, miss. "

Eustacia regarded the youth steadfastly. He was three years youngerthan herself, but apparently not backward for his age. "Half an hour ofwhat?" she said, though she guessed what. 

"Holding your hand in mine. "

She was silent. "Make it a quarter of an hour, " she said

"Yes, Miss Eustacia--I will, if I may kiss it too. A quarter of an hour. And I'll swear to do the best I can to let you take my place withoutanybody knowing. Don't you think somebody might know your tongue, miss?"

"It is possible. But I will put a pebble in my mouth to make is lesslikely. Very well; you shall be allowed to have my hand as soon as youbring the dress and your sword and staff. I don't want you any longernow. "

Charley departed, and Eustacia felt more and more interest in life. Here was something to do: here was some one to see, and a charminglyadventurous way to see him. "Ah, " she said to herself, "want of anobject to live for--that's all is the matter with me!"

Eustacia's manner was as a rule of a slumberous sort, her passions beingof the massive rather than the vivacious kind. But when aroused shewould make a dash which, just for the time, was not unlike the move of anaturally lively person. 

On the question of recognition she was somewhat indifferent. By theacting lads themselves she was not likely to be known. With the guestswho might be assembled she was hardly so secure. Yet detection, afterall, would be no such dreadful thing. The fact only could be detected, her true motive never. It would be instantly set down as the passingfreak of a girl whose ways were already considered singular. That shewas doing for an earnest reason what would most naturally be done injest was at any rate a safe secret. 

The next evening Eustacia stood punctually at the fuelhouse door, waiting for the dusk which was to bring Charley with the trappings. Her grandfather was at home tonight, and she would be unable to ask herconfederate indoors. 

He appeared on the dark ridge of heathland, like a fly on a Negro, bearing the articles with him, and came up breathless with his walk. 

"Here are the things, " he whispered, placing them upon the threshold. "And now, Miss Eustacia--"

"The payment. It is quite ready. I am as good as my word. "

She leant against the door-post, and gave him her hand. Charley took itin both his own with a tenderness beyond description, unless it was likethat of a child holding a captured sparrow. 

"Why, there's a glove on it!" he said in a deprecating way. 

"I have been walking, " she observed. 

"But, miss!"

"Well--it is hardly fair. " She pulled off the glove, and gave him herbare hand. 

They stood together minute after minute, without further speech, eachlooking at the blackening scene, and each thinking his and her ownthoughts. 

"I think I won't use it all up tonight, " said Charley devotedly, whensix or eight minutes had been passed by him caressing her hand. "May Ihave the other few minutes another time?"

"As you like, " said she without the least emotion. "But it must be overin a week. Now, there is only one thing I want you to do--to wait whileI put on the dress, and then to see if I do my part properly. But let melook first indoors. "

She vanished for a minute or two, and went in. Her grandfather wassafely asleep in his chair. "Now, then, " she said, on returning, "walkdown the garden a little way, and when I am ready I'll call you. "

Charley walked and waited, and presently heard a soft whistle. Hereturned to the fuelhouse door. 

"Did you whistle, Miss Vye?"

"Yes; come in, " reached him in Eustacia's voice from a back quarter. "I must not strike a light till the door is shut, or it may be seenshining. Push your hat into the hole through to the wash-house, if youcan feel your way across. "

Charley did as commanded, and she struck the light revealing herselfto be changed in sex, brilliant in colours, and armed from top to toe. Perhaps she quailed a little under Charley's vigorous gaze, but whetherany shyness at her male attire appeared upon her countenance could notbe seen by reason of the strips of ribbon which used to cover the facein mumming costumes, representing the barred visor of the mediaevalhelmet. 

"It fits pretty well, " she said, looking down at the white overalls, "except that the tunic, or whatever you call it, is long in the sleeve. The bottom of the overalls I can turn up inside. Now pay attention. "

Eustacia then proceeded in her delivery, striking the sword against thestaff or lance at the minatory phrases, in the orthodox mummingmanner, and strutting up and down. Charley seasoned his admiration withcriticism of the gentlest kind, for the touch of Eustacia's hand yetremained with him. 

"And now for your excuse to the others, " she said. "Where do you meetbefore you go to Mrs. Yeobright's?"

"We thought of meeting here, miss, if you have nothing to say againstit. At eight o'clock, so as to get there by nine. "

"Yes. Well, you of course must not appear. I will march in about fiveminutes late, ready-dressed, and tell them that you can't come. I havedecided that the best plan will be for you to be sent somewhere by me, to make a real thing of the excuse. Our two heath-croppers are in thehabit of straying into the meads, and tomorrow evening you can go andsee if they are gone there. I'll manage the rest. Now you may leave me. "

"Yes, miss. But I think I'll have one minute more of what I am owed, ifyou don't mind. "

Eustacia gave him her hand as before. 

"One minute, " she said, and counted on till she reached seven or eightminutes. Hand and person she then withdrew to a distance of severalfeet, and recovered some of her old dignity. The contract completed, sheraised between them a barrier impenetrable as a wall. 

"There, 'tis all gone; and I didn't mean quite all, " he said, with asigh. 

"You had good measure, " said she, turning away. 

"Yes, miss. Well, 'tis over, and now I'll get home-along. "

5--Through the Moonlight

The next evening the mummers were assembled in the same spot, awaitingthe entrance of the Turkish Knight. 

"Twenty minutes after eight by the Quiet Woman, and Charley not come. "

"Ten minutes past by Blooms-End. "

"It wants ten minutes to, by Grandfer Cantle's watch. "

"And 'tis five minutes past by the captain's clock. "

On Egdon there was no absolute hour of the day. The time at any momentwas a number of varying doctrines professed by the different hamlets, some of them having originally grown up from a common root, and thenbecome divided by secession, some having been alien from the beginning. West Egdon believed in Blooms-End time, East Egdon in the time of theQuiet Woman Inn. Grandfer Cantle's watch had numbered many followers inyears gone by, but since he had grown older faiths were shaken. Thus, the mummers having gathered hither from scattered points each came withhis own tenets on early and late; and they waited a little longer as acompromise. 

Eustacia had watched the assemblage through the hole; and seeing thatnow was the proper moment to enter, she went from the "linhay" andboldly pulled the bobbin of the fuelhouse door. Her grandfather was safeat the Quiet Woman. 

"Here's Charley at last! How late you be, Charley. "

"'Tis not Charley, " said the Turkish Knight from within his visor. "'Tisa cousin of Miss Vye's, come to take Charley's place from curiosity. Hewas obliged to go and look for the heath-croppers that have got into themeads, and I agreed to take his place, as he knew he couldn't come backhere again tonight. I know the part as well as he. "

Her graceful gait, elegant figure, and dignified manner in general wonthe mummers to the opinion that they had gained by the exchange, if thenewcomer were perfect in his part. 

"It don't matter--if you be not too young, " said Saint George. Eustacia's voice had sounded somewhat more juvenile and fluty thanCharley's. 

"I know every word of it, I tell you, " said Eustacia decisively. Dashbeing all that was required to carry her triumphantly through, sheadopted as much as was necessary. "Go ahead, lads, with the try-over. I'll challenge any of you to find a mistake in me. "

The play was hastily rehearsed, whereupon the other mummers weredelighted with the new knight. They extinguished the candles athalf-past eight, and set out upon the heath in the direction of Mrs. Yeobright's house at Bloom's-End. 

There was a slight hoarfrost that night, and the moon, though notmore than half full, threw a spirited and enticing brightness upon thefantastic figures of the mumming band, whose plumes and ribbons rustledin their walk like autumn leaves. Their path was not over Rainbarrownow, but down a valley which left that ancient elevation a little tothe east. The bottom of the vale was green to a width of ten yards orthereabouts, and the shining facets of frost upon the blades of grassseemed to move on with the shadows of those they surrounded. The massesof furze and heath to the right and left were dark as ever; a merehalf-moon was powerless to silver such sable features as theirs. 

Half-an-hour of walking and talking brought them to the spot in thevalley where the grass riband widened and led down to the front of thehouse. At sight of the place Eustacia who had felt a few passing doubtsduring her walk with the youths, again was glad that the adventure hadbeen undertaken. She had come out to see a man who might possibly havethe power to deliver her soul from a most deadly oppression. What wasWildeve? Interesting, but inadequate. Perhaps she would see a sufficienthero tonight. 

As they drew nearer to the front of the house the mummers became awarethat music and dancing were briskly flourishing within. Every nowand then a long low note from the serpent, which was the chief windinstrument played at these times, advanced further into the heath thanthe thin treble part, and reached their ears alone; and next a morethan usual loud tread from a dancer would come the same way. With nearerapproach these fragmentary sounds became pieced together, and were foundto be the salient points of the tune called "Nancy's Fancy. "

He was there, of course. Who was she that he danced with? Perhaps someunknown woman, far beneath herself in culture, was by the most subtleof lures sealing his fate this very instant. To dance with a man is toconcentrate a twelvemonth's regulation fire upon him in the fragment ofan hour. To pass to courtship without acquaintance, to pass to marriagewithout courtship, is a skipping of terms reserved for those alonewho tread this royal road. She would see how his heart lay by keenobservation of them all. 

The enterprising lady followed the mumming company through the gatein the white paling, and stood before the open porch. The house wasencrusted with heavy thatchings, which dropped between the upperwindows; the front, upon which the moonbeams directly played, hadoriginally been white; but a huge pyracanth now darkened the greaterportion. 

It became at once evident that the dance was proceeding immediatelywithin the surface of the door, no apartment intervening. The brushingof skirts and elbows, sometimes the bumping of shoulders, could be heardagainst the very panels. Eustacia, though living within two miles ofthe place, had never seen the interior of this quaint old habitation. Between Captain Vye and the Yeobrights there had never existed muchacquaintance, the former having come as a stranger and purchased thelong-empty house at Mistover Knap not long before the death of Mrs. Yeobright's husband; and with that event and the departure of her sonsuch friendship as had grown up became quite broken off. 

"Is there no passage inside the door, then?" asked Eustacia as theystood within the porch. 

"No, " said the lad who played the Saracen. "The door opens right uponthe front sitting-room, where the spree's going on. "

"So that we cannot open the door without stopping the dance. "

"That's it. Here we must bide till they have done, for they always boltthe back door after dark. "

"They won't be much longer, " said Father Christmas. 

This assertion, however, was hardly borne out by the event. Again theinstruments ended the tune; again they recommenced with as much fire andpathos as if it were the first strain. The air was now that one withoutany particular beginning, middle, or end, which perhaps, among all thedances which throng an inspired fiddler's fancy, best conveys theidea of the interminable--the celebrated "Devil's Dream. " The fury ofpersonal movement that was kindled by the fury of the notes could beapproximately imagined by these outsiders under the moon, from theoccasional kicks of toes and heels against the door, whenever the whirlround had been of more than customary velocity. 

The first five minutes of listening was interesting enough to themummers. The five minutes extended to ten minutes, and these to aquarter of an hour; but no signs of ceasing were audible in the lively"Dream. " The bumping against the door, the laughter, the stamping, wereall as vigorous as ever, and the pleasure in being outside lessenedconsiderably. 

"Why does Mrs. Yeobright give parties of this sort?" Eustacia asked, alittle surprised to hear merriment so pronounced. 

"It is not one of her bettermost parlour-parties. She's asked the plainneighbours and workpeople without drawing any lines, just to give 'em agood supper and such like. Her son and she wait upon the folks. "

"I see, " said Eustacia. 

"'Tis the last strain, I think, " said Saint George, with his ear to thepanel. "A young man and woman have just swung into this corner, and he'ssaying to her, 'Ah, the pity; 'tis over for us this time, my own. '"

"Thank God, " said the Turkish Knight, stamping, and taking from the wallthe conventional lance that each of the mummers carried. Her boots beingthinner than those of the young men, the hoar had damped her feet andmade them cold. 

"Upon my song 'tis another ten minutes for us, " said the ValiantSoldier, looking through the keyhole as the tune modulated into anotherwithout stopping. "Grandfer Cantle is standing in this corner, waitinghis turn. "

"'Twon't be long; 'tis a six-handed reel, " said the Doctor. 

"Why not go in, dancing or no? They sent for us, " said the Saracen. 

"Certainly not, " said Eustacia authoritatively, as she paced smartly upand down from door to gate to warm herself. "We should burst into themiddle of them and stop the dance, and that would be unmannerly. "

"He thinks himself somebody because he has had a bit more schooling thanwe, " said the Doctor. 

"You may go to the deuce!" said Eustacia. 

There was a whispered conversation between three or four of them, andone turned to her. 

"Will you tell us one thing?" he said, not without gentleness. "Be youMiss Vye? We think you must be. "

"You may think what you like, " said Eustacia slowly. "But honourablelads will not tell tales upon a lady. "

"We'll say nothing, miss. That's upon our honour. "

"Thank you, " she replied. 

At this moment the fiddles finished off with a screech, and theserpent emitted a last note that nearly lifted the roof. When, from thecomparative quiet within, the mummers judged that the dancers had takentheir seats, Father Christmas advanced, lifted the latch, and put hishead inside the door. 

"Ah, the mummers, the mummers!" cried several guests at once. "Clear aspace for the mummers. "

Humpbacked Father Christmas then made a complete entry, swinging hishuge club, and in a general way clearing the stage for the actorsproper, while he informed the company in smart verse that he was come, welcome or welcome not; concluding his speech with

 "Make room, make room, my gallant boys, And give us space to rhyme; We've come to show Saint George's play, Upon this Christmas time. "

The guests were now arranging themselves at one end of the room, thefiddler was mending a string, the serpent-player was emptying hismouthpiece, and the play began. First of those outside the ValiantSoldier entered, in the interest of Saint George--

 "Here come I, the Valiant Soldier; Slasher is my name";

and so on. This speech concluded with a challenge to the infidel, at theend of which it was Eustacia's duty to enter as the Turkish Knight. She, with the rest who were not yet on, had hitherto remained in themoonlight which streamed under the porch. With no apparent effort orbackwardness she came in, beginning--

 "Here come I, a Turkish Knight, Who learnt in Turkish land to fight; I'll fight this man with courage bold: If his blood's hot I'll make it cold!"

During her declamation Eustacia held her head erect, and spoke asroughly as she could, feeling pretty secure from observation. But theconcentration upon her part necessary to prevent discovery, the newnessof the scene, the shine of the candles, and the confusing effect uponher vision of the ribboned visor which hid her features, left herabsolutely unable to perceive who were present as spectators. On thefurther side of a table bearing candles she could faintly discern faces, and that was all. 

Meanwhile Jim Starks as the Valiant Soldier had come forward, and, witha glare upon the Turk, replied--

 "If, then, thou art that Turkish Knight, Draw out thy sword, and let us fight!"

And fight they did; the issue of the combat being that the ValiantSoldier was slain by a preternaturally inadequate thrust from Eustacia, Jim, in his ardour for genuine histrionic art, coming down like a logupon the stone floor with force enough to dislocate his shoulder. Then, after more words from the Turkish Knight, rather too faintly delivered, and statements that he'd fight Saint George and all his crew, SaintGeorge himself magnificently entered with the well-known flourish--

 "Here come I, Saint George, the valiant man, With naked sword and spear in hand, Who fought the dragon and brought him to the slaughter, And by this won fair Sabra, the King of Egypt's daughter; What mortal man would dare to stand Before me with my sword in hand?"

This was the lad who had first recognized Eustacia; and when she now, asthe Turk, replied with suitable defiance, and at once began the combat, the young fellow took especial care to use his sword as gently aspossible. Being wounded, the Knight fell upon one knee, according to thedirection. The Doctor now entered, restored the Knight by giving hima draught from the bottle which he carried, and the fight was againresumed, the Turk sinking by degrees until quite overcome--dying as hardin this venerable drama as he is said to do at the present day. 

This gradual sinking to the earth was, in fact, one reason why Eustaciahad thought that the part of the Turkish Knight, though not theshortest, would suit her best. A direct fall from upright to horizontal, which was the end of the other fighting characters, was not an elegantor decorous part for a girl. But it was easy to die like a Turk, by adogged decline. 

Eustacia was now among the number of the slain, though not on thefloor, for she had managed to sink into a sloping position againstthe clock-case, so that her head was well elevated. The play proceededbetween Saint George, the Saracen, the Doctor, and Father Christmas;and Eustacia, having no more to do, for the first time found leisure toobserve the scene round, and to search for the form that had drawn herhither. 

6--The Two Stand Face to Face

The room had been arranged with a view to the dancing, the large oaktable having been moved back till it stood as a breastwork to thefireplace. At each end, behind, and in the chimney-corner were groupedthe guests, many of them being warm-faced and panting, among whomEustacia cursorily recognized some well-to-do persons from beyond theheath. Thomasin, as she had expected, was not visible, and Eustaciarecollected that a light had shone from an upper window when they wereoutside--the window, probably, of Thomasin's room. A nose, chin, hands, knees, and toes projected from the seat within the chimney opening, which members she found to unite in the person of Grandfer Cantle, Mrs. Yeobright's occasional assistant in the garden, and therefore one of theinvited. The smoke went up from an Etna of peat in front of him, playedround the notches of the chimney-crook, struck against the salt-box, andgot lost among the flitches. 

Another part of the room soon riveted her gaze. At the other side of thechimney stood the settle, which is the necessary supplement to a fire soopen that nothing less than a strong breeze will carry up the smoke. Itis, to the hearths of old-fashioned cavernous fireplaces, what the eastbelt of trees is to the exposed country estate, or the north wall tothe garden. Outside the settle candles gutter, locks of hair wave, youngwomen shiver, and old men sneeze. Inside is Paradise. Not a symptom of adraught disturbs the air; the sitters' backs are as warm as their faces, and songs and old tales are drawn from the occupants by the comfortableheat, like fruit from melon plants in a frame. 

It was, however, not with those who sat in the settle that Eustacia wasconcerned. A face showed itself with marked distinctness against thedark-tanned wood of the upper part. The owner, who was leaning againstthe settle's outer end, was Clement Yeobright, or Clym, as he was calledhere; she knew it could be nobody else. The spectacle constituted anarea of two feet in Rembrandt's intensest manner. A strange power in thelounger's appearance lay in the fact that, though his whole figure wasvisible, the observer's eye was only aware of his face. 

To one of middle age the countenance was that of a young man, though ayouth might hardly have seen any necessity for the term of immaturity. But it was really one of those faces which convey less the idea ofso many years as its age than of so much experience as its store. Thenumber of their years may have adequately summed up Jared, Mahalaleel, and the rest of the antediluvians, but the age of a modern man is to bemeasured by the intensity of his history. 

The face was well shaped, even excellently. But the mind withinwas beginning to use it as a mere waste tablet whereon to trace itsidiosyncrasies as they developed themselves. The beauty here visiblewould in no long time be ruthlessly over-run by its parasite, thought, which might just as well have fed upon a plainer exterior where therewas nothing it could harm. Had Heaven preserved Yeobright from a wearinghabit of meditation, people would have said, "A handsome man. " Hadhis brain unfolded under sharper contours they would have said, "Athoughtful man. " But an inner strenuousness was preying upon an outersymmetry, and they rated his look as singular. 

Hence people who began by beholding him ended by perusing him. His countenance was overlaid with legible meanings. Without beingthought-worn he yet had certain marks derived from a perception of hissurroundings, such as are not unfrequently found on men at the end ofthe four or five years of endeavour which follow the close of placidpupilage. He already showed that thought is a disease of flesh, andindirectly bore evidence that ideal physical beauty is incompatiblewith emotional development and a full recognition of the coil of things. Mental luminousness must be fed with the oil of life, even though thereis already a physical need for it; and the pitiful sight of two demandson one supply was just showing itself here. 

When standing before certain men the philosopher regrets that thinkersare but perishable tissue, the artist that perishable tissue has tothink. Thus to deplore, each from his point of view, the mutuallydestructive interdependence of spirit and flesh would have beeninstinctive with these in critically observing Yeobright. 

As for his look, it was a natural cheerfulness striving againstdepression from without, and not quite succeeding. The look suggestedisolation, but it revealed something more. As is usual with brightnatures, the deity that lies ignominiously chained within an ephemeralhuman carcase shone out of him like a ray. 

The effect upon Eustacia was palpable. The extraordinary pitch ofexcitement that she had reached beforehand would, indeed, have causedher to be influenced by the most commonplace man. She was troubled atYeobright's presence. 

The remainder of the play ended--the Saracen's head was cut off, andSaint George stood as victor. Nobody commented, any more than they wouldhave commented on the fact of mushrooms coming in autumn or snowdropsin spring. They took the piece as phlegmatically as did the actorsthemselves. It was a phase of cheerfulness which was, as a matter ofcourse, to be passed through every Christmas; and there was no more tobe said. 

They sang the plaintive chant which follows the play, during which allthe dead men rise to their feet in a silent and awful manner, like theghosts of Napoleon's soldiers in the Midnight Review. Afterwards thedoor opened, and Fairway appeared on the threshold, accompanied byChristian and another. They had been waiting outside for the conclusionof the play, as the players had waited for the conclusion of the dance. 

"Come in, come in, " said Mrs. Yeobright; and Clym went forward towelcome them. "How is it you are so late? Grandfer Cantle has been hereever so long, and we thought you'd have come with him, as you live sonear one another. "

"Well, I should have come earlier, " Mr. Fairway said and paused tolook along the beam of the ceiling for a nail to hang his hat on; but, finding his accustomed one to be occupied by the mistletoe, and allthe nails in the walls to be burdened with bunches of holly, he atlast relieved himself of the hat by ticklishly balancing it between thecandle-box and the head of the clock-case. "I should have come earlier, ma'am, " he resumed, with a more composed air, "but I know what partiesbe, and how there's none too much room in folks' houses at such times, so I thought I wouldn't come till you'd got settled a bit. "

"And I thought so too, Mrs. Yeobright, " said Christian earnestly, "butFather there was so eager that he had no manners at all, and left homealmost afore 'twas dark. I told him 'twas barely decent in a' old man tocome so oversoon; but words be wind. "

"Klk! I wasn't going to bide waiting about, till half the game was over!I'm as light as a kite when anything's going on!" crowed Grandfer Cantlefrom the chimneyseat. 

Fairway had meanwhile concluded a critical gaze at Yeobright. "Now, you may not believe it, " he said to the rest of the room, "but I shouldnever have knowed this gentleman if I had met him anywhere off his ownhe'th--he's altered so much. "

"You too have altered, and for the better, I think Timothy, " saidYeobright, surveying the firm figure of Fairway. 

"Master Yeobright, look me over too. I have altered for the better, haven't I, hey?" said Grandfer Cantle, rising and placing himselfsomething above half a foot from Clym's eye, to induce the mostsearching criticism. 

"To be sure we will, " said Fairway, taking the candle and moving it overthe surface of the Grandfer's countenance, the subject of his scrutinyirradiating himself with light and pleasant smiles, and giving himselfjerks of juvenility. 

"You haven't changed much, " said Yeobright. 

"If there's any difference, Grandfer is younger, " appended Fairwaydecisively. 

"And yet not my own doing, and I feel no pride in it, " said the pleasedancient. "But I can't be cured of my vagaries; them I plead guilty to. Yes, Master Cantle always was that, as we know. But I am nothing by theside of you, Mister Clym. "

"Nor any o' us, " said Humphrey, in a low rich tone of admiration, notintended to reach anybody's ears. 

"Really, there would have been nobody here who could have stood asdecent second to him, or even third, if I hadn't been a soldier in theBang-up Locals (as we was called for our smartness), " said GrandferCantle. "And even as 'tis we all look a little scammish beside him. Butin the year four 'twas said there wasn't a finer figure in the wholeSouth Wessex than I, as I looked when dashing past the shop-winders withthe rest of our company on the day we ran out o' Budmouth because it wasthoughted that Boney had landed round the point. There was I, straightas a young poplar, wi' my firelock, and my bagnet, and my spatterdashes, and my stock sawing my jaws off, and my accoutrements sheening likethe seven stars! Yes, neighbours, I was a pretty sight in my soldieringdays. You ought to have seen me in four!"

"'Tis his mother's side where Master Clym's figure comes from, blessye, " said Timothy. "I know'd her brothers well. Longer coffins werenever made in the whole country of South Wessex, and 'tis said that poorGeorge's knees were crumpled up a little e'en as 'twas. "

"Coffins, where?" inquired Christian, drawing nearer. "Have the ghost ofone appeared to anybody, Master Fairway?"

"No, no. Don't let your mind so mislead your ears, Christian; and be aman, " said Timothy reproachfully. 

"I will. " said Christian. "But now I think o't my shadder last nightseemed just the shape of a coffin. What is it a sign of when yourshade's like a coffin, neighbours? It can't be nothing to be afeared of, I suppose?"

"Afeared, no!" said the Grandfer. "Faith, I was never afeard of nothingexcept Boney, or I shouldn't ha' been the soldier I was. Yes, 'tis athousand pities you didn't see me in four!"

By this time the mummers were preparing to leave; but Mrs. Yeobrightstopped them by asking them to sit down and have a little supper. Tothis invitation Father Christmas, in the name of them all, readilyagreed. 

Eustacia was happy in the opportunity of staying a little longer. The cold and frosty night without was doubly frigid to her. But thelingering was not without its difficulties. Mrs. Yeobright, for wantof room in the larger apartment, placed a bench for the mummers halfwaythrough the pantry door, which opened from the sitting-room. Here theyseated themselves in a row, the door being left open--thus they werestill virtually in the same apartment. Mrs. Yeobright now murmured a fewwords to her son, who crossed the room to the pantry door, striking hishead against the mistletoe as he passed, and brought the mummers beefand bread, cake pastry, mead, and elder-wine, the waiting being done byhim and his mother, that the little maid-servant might sit as guest. Themummers doffed their helmets, and began to eat and drink. 

"But you will surely have some?" said Clym to the Turkish Knight, as hestood before that warrior, tray in hand. She had refused, and still satcovered, only the sparkle of her eyes being visible between the ribbonswhich covered her face. 

"None, thank you, " replied Eustacia. 

"He's quite a youngster, " said the Saracen apologetically, "and youmust excuse him. He's not one of the old set, but have jined us becauset'other couldn't come. "

"But he will take something?" persisted Yeobright. "Try a glass of meador elder-wine. "

"Yes, you had better try that, " said the Saracen. "It will keep the coldout going home-along. "

Though Eustacia could not eat without uncovering her face she coulddrink easily enough beneath her disguise. The elder-wine was accordinglyaccepted, and the glass vanished inside the ribbons. 

At moments during this performance Eustacia was half in doubt aboutthe security of her position; yet it had a fearful joy. A series ofattentions paid to her, and yet not to her but to some imaginary person, by the first man she had ever been inclined to adore, complicatedher emotions indescribably. She had loved him partly because he wasexceptional in this scene, partly because she had determined to lovehim, chiefly because she was in desperate need of loving somebodyafter wearying of Wildeve. Believing that she must love him in spite ofherself, she had been influenced after the fashion of the second LordLyttleton and other persons, who have dreamed that they were to die on acertain day, and by stress of a morbid imagination have actually broughtabout that event. Once let a maiden admit the possibility of her beingstricken with love for someone at a certain hour and place, and thething is as good as done. 

Did anything at this moment suggest to Yeobright the sex of the creaturewhom that fantastic guise inclosed, how extended was her scope both infeeling and in making others feel, and how far her compass transcendedthat of her companions in the band? When the disguised Queen of Loveappeared before Aeneas a preternatural perfume accompanied her presenceand betrayed her quality. If such a mysterious emanation ever wasprojected by the emotions of an earthly woman upon their object, it musthave signified Eustacia's presence to Yeobright now. He looked at herwistfully, then seemed to fall into a reverie, as if he were forgettingwhat he observed. The momentary situation ended, he passed on, andEustacia sipped her wine without knowing what she drank. The man forwhom she had pre-determined to nourish a passion went into the smallroom, and across it to the further extremity. 

The mummers, as has been stated, were seated on a bench, one end ofwhich extended into the small apartment, or pantry, for want of spacein the outer room. Eustacia, partly from shyness, had chosen the midmostseat, which thus commanded a view of the interior of the pantry as wellas the room containing the guests. When Clym passed down the pantry hereyes followed him in the gloom which prevailed there. At the remoteend was a door which, just as he was about to open it for himself, wasopened by somebody within; and light streamed forth. 

The person was Thomasin, with a candle, looking anxious, pale, andinteresting. Yeobright appeared glad to see her, and pressed her hand. "That's right, Tamsie, " he said heartily, as though recalled to himselfby the sight of her, "you have decided to come down. I am glad of it. "

"Hush--no, no, " she said quickly. "I only came to speak to you. "

"But why not join us?"

"I cannot. At least I would rather not. I am not well enough, and weshall have plenty of time together now you are going to be home a goodlong holiday. "

"It isn't nearly so pleasant without you. Are you really ill?"

"Just a little, my old cousin--here, " she said, playfully sweeping herhand across her heart. 

"Ah, Mother should have asked somebody else to be present tonight, perhaps?"

"O no, indeed. I merely stepped down, Clym, to ask you--" Here hefollowed her through the doorway into the private room beyond, and, the door closing, Eustacia and the mummer who sat next to her, the onlyother witness of the performance, saw and heard no more. 

The heat flew to Eustacia's head and cheeks. She instantly guessed thatClym, having been home only these two or three days, had not as yetbeen made acquainted with Thomasin's painful situation with regard toWildeve; and seeing her living there just as she had been living beforehe left home, he naturally suspected nothing. Eustacia felt a wildjealousy of Thomasin on the instant. Though Thomasin might possibly havetender sentiments towards another man as yet, how long could they beexpected to last when she was shut up here with this interesting andtravelled cousin of hers? There was no knowing what affection might notsoon break out between the two, so constantly in each other's society, and not a distracting object near. Clym's boyish love for her might havelanguished, but it might easily be revived again. 

Eustacia was nettled by her own contrivances. What a sheer waste ofherself to be dressed thus while another was shining to advantage! Hadshe known the full effect of the encounter she would have moved heavenand earth to get here in a natural manner. The power of her face alllost, the charm of her emotions all disguised, the fascinations of hercoquetry denied existence, nothing but a voice left to her; she had asense of the doom of Echo. "Nobody here respects me, " she said. She hadoverlooked the fact that, in coming as a boy among other boys, shewould be treated as a boy. The slight, though of her own causing, andself-explanatory, she was unable to dismiss as unwittingly shown, sosensitive had the situation made her. 

Women have done much for themselves in histrionic dress. To look farbelow those who, like a certain fair personator of Polly Peachum earlyin the last century, and another of Lydia Languish early in this, (1)have won not only love but ducal coronets into the bargain, whole shoalsof them have reached to the initial satisfaction of getting love almostwhence they would. But the Turkish Knight was denied even the chanceof achieving this by the fluttering ribbons which she dared not brushaside. 

 (1) Written in 1877. 

Yeobright returned to the room without his cousin. When within two orthree feet of Eustacia he stopped, as if again arrested by a thought. He was gazing at her. She looked another way, disconcerted, and wonderedhow long this purgatory was to last. After lingering a few seconds hepassed on again. 

To court their own discomfiture by love is a common instinct withcertain perfervid women. Conflicting sensations of love, fear, and shamereduced Eustacia to a state of the utmost uneasiness. To escape was hergreat and immediate desire. The other mummers appeared to be in nohurry to leave; and murmuring to the lad who sat next to her that shepreferred waiting for them outside the house, she moved to the door asimperceptibly as possible, opened it, and slipped out. 

The calm, lone scene reassured her. She went forward to the palings andleant over them, looking at the moon. She had stood thus but a littletime when the door again opened. Expecting to see the remainder of theband Eustacia turned; but no--Clym Yeobright came out as softly as shehad done, and closed the door behind him. 

He advanced and stood beside her. "I have an odd opinion, " he said, "andshould like to ask you a question. Are you a woman--or am I wrong?"

"I am a woman. "

His eyes lingered on her with great interest. "Do girls often play asmummers now? They never used to. "

"They don't now. "

"Why did you?"

"To get excitement and shake off depression, " she said in low tones. 

"What depressed you?"

"Life. "

"That's a cause of depression a good many have to put up with. "

"Yes. "

A long silence. "And do you find excitement?" asked Clym at last. 

"At this moment, perhaps. "

"Then you are vexed at being discovered?"

"Yes; though I thought I might be. "

"I would gladly have asked you to our party had I known you wished tocome. Have I ever been acquainted with you in my youth?"

"Never. "

"Won't you come in again, and stay as long as you like?"

"No. I wish not to be further recognized. "

"Well, you are safe with me. " After remaining in thought a minute headded gently, "I will not intrude upon you longer. It is a strange wayof meeting, and I will not ask why I find a cultivated woman playingsuch a part as this. " She did not volunteer the reason which he seemedto hope for, and he wished her good night, going thence round to theback of the house, where he walked up and down by himself for some timebefore re-entering. 

Eustacia, warmed with an inner fire, could not wait for her companionsafter this. She flung back the ribbons from her face, opened thegate, and at once struck into the heath. She did not hasten along. Hergrandfather was in bed at this hour, for she so frequently walked uponthe hills on moonlight nights that he took no notice of her comings andgoings, and, enjoying himself in his own way, left her to do likewise. A more important subject than that of getting indoors now engrossed her. Yeobright, if he had the least curiosity, would infallibly discover hername. What then? She first felt a sort of exultation at the way inwhich the adventure had terminated, even though at moments betweenher exultations she was abashed and blushful. Then this considerationrecurred to chill her: What was the use of her exploit? She was atpresent a total stranger to the Yeobright family. The unreasonablenimbus of romance with which she had encircled that man might be hermisery. How could she allow herself to become so infatuated with astranger? And to fill the cup of her sorrow there would be Thomasin, living day after day in inflammable proximity to him; for she had justlearnt that, contrary to her first belief, he was going to stay at homesome considerable time. 

She reached the wicket at Mistover Knap, but before opening it sheturned and faced the heath once more. The form of Rainbarrow stood abovethe hills, and the moon stood above Rainbarrow. The air was charged withsilence and frost. The scene reminded Eustacia of a circumstance whichtill that moment she had totally forgotten. She had promised to meetWildeve by the Barrow this very night at eight, to give a final answerto his pleading for an elopement. 

She herself had fixed the evening and the hour. He had probably come tothe spot, waited there in the cold, and been greatly disappointed. 

"Well, so much the better--it did not hurt him, " she said serenely. Wildeve had at present the rayless outline of the sun through smokedglass, and she could say such things as that with the greatest facility. 

She remained deeply pondering; and Thomasin's winning manner towards hercousin arose again upon Eustacia's mind. 

"O that she had been married to Damon before this!" she said. "Andshe would if it hadn't been for me! If I had only known--if I had onlyknown!"

Eustacia once more lifted her deep stormy eyes to the moonlight, and, sighing that tragic sigh of hers which was so much like a shudder, entered the shadow of the roof. She threw off her trappings in theouthouse, rolled them up, and went indoors to her chamber. 

7--A Coalition between Beauty and Oddness

The old captain's prevailing indifference to his granddaughter'smovements left her free as a bird to follow her own courses; but it sohappened that he did take upon himself the next morning to ask her whyshe had walked out so late. 

"Only in search of events, Grandfather, " she said, looking out of thewindow with that drowsy latency of manner which discovered so much forcebehind it whenever the trigger was pressed. 

"Search of events--one would think you were one of the bucks I knew atone-and-twenty. "

"It is lonely here. "

"So much the better. If I were living in a town my whole time would betaken up in looking after you. I fully expected you would have been homewhen I returned from the Woman. "

"I won't conceal what I did. I wanted an adventure, and I went with themummers. I played the part of the Turkish Knight. "

"No, never? Ha, ha! Good gad! I didn't expect it of you, Eustacia. "

"It was my first performance, and it certainly will be my last. Now Ihave told you--and remember it is a secret. "

"Of course. But, Eustacia, you never did--ha! ha! Dammy, how 'twouldhave pleased me forty years ago! But remember, no more of it, my girl. You may walk on the heath night or day, as you choose, so that you don'tbother me; but no figuring in breeches again. "

"You need have no fear for me, Grandpapa. "

Here the conversation ceased, Eustacia's moral training never exceedingin severity a dialogue of this sort, which, if it ever became profitableto good works, would be a result not dear at the price. But her thoughtssoon strayed far from her own personality; and, full of a passionate andindescribable solicitude for one to whom she was not even a name, shewent forth into the amplitude of tanned wild around her, restless asAhasuerus the Jew. She was about half a mile from her residence whenshe beheld a sinister redness arising from a ravine a little way inadvance--dull and lurid like a flame in sunlight and she guessed it tosignify Diggory Venn. 

When the farmers who had wished to buy in a new stock of reddle duringthe last month had inquired where Venn was to be found, people replied, "On Egdon Heath. " Day after day the answer was the same. Now, sinceEgdon was populated with heath-croppers and furze-cutters rather thanwith sheep and shepherds, and the downs where most of the latter wereto be found lay some to the north, some to the west of Egdon, hisreason for camping about there like Israel in Zin was not apparent. Theposition was central and occasionally desirable. But the sale of reddlewas not Diggory's primary object in remaining on the heath, particularlyat so late a period of the year, when most travellers of his class hadgone into winter quarters. 

Eustacia looked at the lonely man. Wildeve had told her at their lastmeeting that Venn had been thrust forward by Mrs. Yeobright as one readyand anxious to take his place as Thomasin's betrothed. His figurewas perfect, his face young and well outlined, his eye bright, hisintelligence keen, and his position one which he could readily better ifhe chose. But in spite of possibilities it was not likely that Thomasinwould accept this Ishmaelitish creature while she had a cousin likeYeobright at her elbow, and Wildeve at the same time not absolutelyindifferent. Eustacia was not long in guessing that poor Mrs. Yeobright, in her anxiety for her niece's future, had mentioned this lover tostimulate the zeal of the other. Eustacia was on the side of theYeobrights now, and entered into the spirit of the aunt's desire. 

"Good morning, miss, " said the reddleman, taking off his cap ofhareskin, and apparently bearing her no ill-will from recollection oftheir last meeting. 

"Good morning, reddleman, " she said, hardly troubling to lift herheavily shaded eyes to his. "I did not know you were so near. Is yourvan here too?"

Venn moved his elbow towards a hollow in which a dense brake ofpurple-stemmed brambles had grown to such vast dimensions as almost toform a dell. Brambles, though churlish when handled, are kindly shelterin early winter, being the latest of the deciduous bushes to lose theirleaves. 

The roof and chimney of Venn's caravan showed behind the tracery andtangles of the brake. 

"You remain near this part?" she asked with more interest. 

"Yes, I have business here. "

"Not altogether the selling of reddle?"

"It has nothing to do with that. "

"It has to do with Miss Yeobright?"

Her face seemed to ask for an armed peace, and he therefore saidfrankly, "Yes, miss; it is on account of her. "

"On account of your approaching marriage with her?"

Venn flushed through his stain. "Don't make sport of me, Miss Vye, " hesaid. 

"It isn't true?"

"Certainly not. "

She was thus convinced that the reddleman was a mere pis aller in Mrs. Yeobright's mind; one, moreover, who had not even been informed of hispromotion to that lowly standing. "It was a mere notion of mine, " shesaid quietly; and was about to pass by without further speech, when, looking round to the right, she saw a painfully well-known figureserpentining upwards by one of the little paths which led to the topwhere she stood. Owing to the necessary windings of his course his backwas at present towards them. She glanced quickly round; to escape thatman there was only one way. Turning to Venn, she said, "Would you allowme to rest a few minutes in your van? The banks are damp for sittingon. "

"Certainly, miss; I'll make a place for you. "

She followed him behind the dell of brambles to his wheeled dwellinginto which Venn mounted, placing the three-legged stool just within thedoor. 

"That is the best I can do for you, " he said, stepping down and retiringto the path, where he resumed the smoking of his pipe as he walked upand down. 

Eustacia bounded into the vehicle and sat on the stool, ensconced fromview on the side towards the trackway. Soon she heard the brushing ofother feet than the reddleman's, a not very friendly "Good day"uttered by two men in passing each other, and then the dwindling of thefoot-fall of one of them in a direction onwards. Eustacia stretched herneck forward till she caught a glimpse of a receding back and shoulders;and she felt a wretched twinge of misery, she knew not why. It was thesickening feeling which, if the changed heart has any generosity at allin its composition, accompanies the sudden sight of a once-loved one whois beloved no more. 

When Eustacia descended to proceed on her way the reddleman came near. "That was Mr. Wildeve who passed, miss, " he said slowly, and expressedby his face that he expected her to feel vexed at having been sittingunseen. 

"Yes, I saw him coming up the hill, " replied Eustacia. "Why shouldyou tell me that?" It was a bold question, considering the reddleman'sknowledge of her past love; but her undemonstrative manner had power torepress the opinions of those she treated as remote from her. 

"I am glad to hear that you can ask it, " said the reddleman bluntly. "And, now I think of it, it agrees with what I saw last night. "

"Ah--what was that?" Eustacia wished to leave him, but wished to know. 

"Mr. Wildeve stayed at Rainbarrow a long time waiting for a lady whodidn't come. "

"You waited too, it seems?"

"Yes, I always do. I was glad to see him disappointed. He will be thereagain tonight. "

"To be again disappointed. The truth is, reddleman, that that lady, sofar from wishing to stand in the way of Thomasin's marriage with Mr. Wildeve, would be very glad to promote it. "

Venn felt much astonishment at this avowal, though he did not show itclearly; that exhibition may greet remarks which are one remove fromexpectation, but it is usually withheld in complicated cases of tworemoves and upwards. "Indeed, miss, " he replied. 

"How do you know that Mr. Wildeve will come to Rainbarrow againtonight?" she asked. 

"I heard him say to himself that he would. He's in a regular temper. "

Eustacia looked for a moment what she felt, and she murmured, liftingher deep dark eyes anxiously to his, "I wish I knew what to do. I don'twant to be uncivil to him; but I don't wish to see him again; and I havesome few little things to return to him. "

"If you choose to send 'em by me, miss, and a note to tell him that youwish to say no more to him, I'll take it for you quite privately. Thatwould be the most straightforward way of letting him know your mind. "

"Very well, " said Eustacia. "Come towards my house, and I will bring itout to you. "

She went on, and as the path was an infinitely small parting in theshaggy locks of the heath, the reddleman followed exactly in her trail. She saw from a distance that the captain was on the bank sweeping thehorizon with his telescope; and bidding Venn to wait where he stood sheentered the house alone. 

In ten minutes she returned with a parcel and a note, and said, inplacing them in his hand, "Why are you so ready to take these for me?"

"Can you ask that?"

"I suppose you think to serve Thomasin in some way by it. Are you asanxious as ever to help on her marriage?"

Venn was a little moved. "I would sooner have married her myself, " hesaid in a low voice. "But what I feel is that if she cannot be happywithout him I will do my duty in helping her to get him, as a manought. "

Eustacia looked curiously at the singular man who spoke thus. Whata strange sort of love, to be entirely free from that quality ofselfishness which is frequently the chief constituent of the passion, and sometimes its only one! The reddleman's disinterestedness was sowell deserving of respect that it overshot respect by being barelycomprehended; and she almost thought it absurd. 

"Then we are both of one mind at last, " she said. 

"Yes, " replied Venn gloomily. "But if you would tell me, miss, why youtake such an interest in her, I should be easier. It is so sudden andstrange. "

Eustacia appeared at a loss. "I cannot tell you that, reddleman, " shesaid coldly. 

Venn said no more. He pocketed the letter, and, bowing to Eustacia, wentaway. 

Rainbarrow had again become blended with night when Wildeve ascended thelong acclivity at its base. On his reaching the top a shape grew up fromthe earth immediately behind him. It was that of Eustacia's emissary. He slapped Wildeve on the shoulder. The feverish young inn-keeper andex-engineer started like Satan at the touch of Ithuriel's spear. 

"The meeting is always at eight o'clock, at this place, " said Venn, "andhere we are--we three. "

"We three?" said Wildeve, looking quickly round. 

"Yes; you, and I, and she. This is she. " He held up the letter andparcel. 

Wildeve took them wonderingly. "I don't quite see what this means, " hesaid. "How do you come here? There must be some mistake. "

"It will be cleared from your mind when you have read the letter. Lanterns for one. " The reddleman struck a light, kindled an inch oftallow-candle which he had brought, and sheltered it with his cap. 

"Who are you?" said Wildeve, discerning by the candle-light an obscurerubicundity of person in his companion. "You are the reddleman I saw onthe hill this morning--why, you are the man who----"

"Please read the letter. "

"If you had come from the other one I shouldn't have been surprised, "murmured Wildeve as he opened the letter and read. His face grewserious. 

TO MR. WILDEVE. 

After some thought I have decided once and for all that we must holdno further communication. The more I consider the matter the more I amconvinced that there must be an end to our acquaintance. Had you beenuniformly faithful to me throughout these two years you might now havesome ground for accusing me of heartlessness; but if you calmly considerwhat I bore during the period of your desertion, and how I passively putup with your courtship of another without once interfering, you will, Ithink, own that I have a right to consult my own feelings when you comeback to me again. That these are not what they were towards you may, perhaps, be a fault in me, but it is one which you can scarcely reproachme for when you remember how you left me for Thomasin. 

The little articles you gave me in the early part of our friendship arereturned by the bearer of this letter. They should rightly have beensent back when I first heard of your engagement to her. 

EUSTACIA. 

By the time that Wildeve reached her name the blankness with which hehad read the first half of the letter intensified to mortification. "Iam made a great fool of, one way and another, " he said pettishly. "Doyou know what is in this letter?"

The reddleman hummed a tune. 

"Can't you answer me?" asked Wildeve warmly. 

"Ru-um-tum-tum, " sang the reddleman. 

Wildeve stood looking on the ground beside Venn's feet, till he allowedhis eyes to travel upwards over Diggory's form, as illuminated by thecandle, to his head and face. "Ha-ha! Well, I suppose I deserve it, considering how I have played with them both, " he said at last, as muchto himself as to Venn. "But of all the odd things that ever I knew, theoddest is that you should so run counter to your own interests as tobring this to me. "

"My interests?"

"Certainly. 'Twas your interest not to do anything which would send mecourting Thomasin again, now she has accepted you--or something like it. Mrs. Yeobright says you are to marry her. 'Tisn't true, then?"

"Good Lord! I heard of this before, but didn't believe it. When did shesay so?"

Wildeve began humming as the reddleman had done. 

"I don't believe it now, " cried Venn. 

"Ru-um-tum-tum, " sang Wildeve. 

"O Lord--how we can imitate!" said Venn contemptuously. "I'll have thisout. I'll go straight to her. "

Diggory withdrew with an emphatic step, Wildeve's eye passing over hisform in withering derision, as if he were no more than a heath-cropper. When the reddleman's figure could no longer be seen, Wildeve himselfdescended and plunged into the rayless hollow of the vale. 

To lose the two women--he who had been the well-beloved of both--was tooironical an issue to be endured. He could only decently save himselfby Thomasin; and once he became her husband, Eustacia's repentance, hethought, would set in for a long and bitter term. It was no wonder thatWildeve, ignorant of the new man at the back of the scene, should havesupposed Eustacia to be playing a part. To believe that the letter wasnot the result of some momentary pique, to infer that she really gavehim up to Thomasin, would have required previous knowledge of hertransfiguration by that man's influence. Who was to know that she hadgrown generous in the greediness of a new passion, that in coveting onecousin she was dealing liberally with another, that in her eagerness toappropriate she gave way?

Full of this resolve to marry in haste, and wring the heart of the proudgirl, Wildeve went his way. 

Meanwhile Diggory Venn had returned to his van, where he stood lookingthoughtfully into the stove. A new vista was opened up to him. But, however promising Mrs. Yeobright's views of him might be as a candidatefor her niece's hand, one condition was indispensable to the favour ofThomasin herself, and that was a renunciation of his present wild modeof life. In this he saw little difficulty. 

He could not afford to wait till the next day before seeing Thomasin anddetailing his plan. He speedily plunged himself into toilet operations, pulled a suit of cloth clothes from a box, and in about twenty minutesstood before the van-lantern as a reddleman in nothing but his face, thevermilion shades of which were not to be removed in a day. Closing thedoor and fastening it with a padlock, Venn set off towards Blooms-End. 

He had reached the white palings and laid his hand upon the gate whenthe door of the house opened, and quickly closed again. A female formhad glided in. At the same time a man, who had seemingly been standingwith the woman in the porch, came forward from the house till he wasface to face with Venn. It was Wildeve again. 

"Man alive, you've been quick at it, " said Diggory sarcastically. 

"And you slow, as you will find, " said Wildeve. "And, " lowering hisvoice, "you may as well go back again now. I've claimed her, and gother. Good night, reddleman!" Thereupon Wildeve walked away. 

Venn's heart sank within him, though it had not risen unduly high. He stood leaning over the palings in an indecisive mood for nearly aquarter of an hour. Then he went up the garden path, knocked, and askedfor Mrs. Yeobright. 

Instead of requesting him to enter she came to the porch. A discoursewas carried on between them in low measured tones for the space of tenminutes or more. At the end of the time Mrs. Yeobright went in, and Vennsadly retraced his steps into the heath. When he had again regained hisvan he lit the lantern, and with an apathetic face at once began to pulloff his best clothes, till in the course of a few minutes he reappearedas the confirmed and irretrievable reddleman that he had seemed before. 

8--Firmness Is Discovered in a Gentle Heart

On that evening the interior of Blooms-End, though cosy and comfortable, had been rather silent. Clym Yeobright was not at home. Since theChristmas party he had gone on a few days' visit to a friend about tenmiles off. 

The shadowy form seen by Venn to part from Wildeve in the porch, andquickly withdraw into the house, was Thomasin's. On entering she threwdown a cloak which had been carelessly wrapped round her, and cameforward to the light, where Mrs. Yeobright sat at her work-table, drawn up within the settle, so that part of it projected into thechimney-corner. 

"I don't like your going out after dark alone, Tamsin, " said her auntquietly, without looking up from her work. "I have only been justoutside the door. "

"Well?" inquired Mrs. Yeobright, struck by a change in the tone ofThomasin's voice, and observing her. Thomasin's cheek was flushed to apitch far beyond that which it had reached before her troubles, and hereyes glittered. 

"It was HE who knocked, " she said. 

"I thought as much. "

"He wishes the marriage to be at once. "

"Indeed! What--is he anxious?" Mrs. Yeobright directed a searching lookupon her niece. "Why did not Mr. Wildeve come in?"

"He did not wish to. You are not friends with him, he says. He wouldlike the wedding to be the day after tomorrow, quite privately; at thechurch of his parish--not at ours. "

"Oh! And what did you say?"

"I agreed to it, " Thomasin answered firmly. "I am a practical womannow. I don't believe in hearts at all. I would marry him under anycircumstances since--since Clym's letter. "

A letter was lying on Mrs. Yeobright's work-basket, and at Thomasin'swords her aunt reopened it, and silently read for the tenth time thatday:--

What is the meaning of this silly story that people are circulatingabout Thomasin and Mr. Wildeve? I should call such a scandal humiliatingif there was the least chance of its being true. How could such a grossfalsehood have arisen? It is said that one should go abroad to hear newsof home, and I appear to have done it. Of course I contradict thetale everywhere; but it is very vexing, and I wonder how it could haveoriginated. It is too ridiculous that such a girl as Thomasin could somortify us as to get jilted on the wedding day. What has she done?

"Yes, " Mrs. Yeobright said sadly, putting down the letter. "If youthink you can marry him, do so. And since Mr. Wildeve wishes it to beunceremonious, let it be that too. I can do nothing. It is all in yourown hands now. My power over your welfare came to an end when youleft this house to go with him to Anglebury. " She continued, half inbitterness, "I may almost ask, why do you consult me in the matter atall? If you had gone and married him without saying a word to me, Icould hardly have been angry--simply because, poor girl, you can't do abetter thing. "

"Don't say that and dishearten me. "

"You are right--I will not. "

"I do not plead for him, Aunt. Human nature is weak, and I am not ablind woman to insist that he is perfect. I did think so, but I don'tnow. But I know my course, and you know that I know it. I hope for thebest. "

"And so do I, and we will both continue to, " said Mrs. Yeobright, risingand kissing her. "Then the wedding, if it comes off, will be on themorning of the very day Clym comes home?"

"Yes. I decided that it ought to be over before he came. After that youcan look him in the face, and so can I. Our concealments will matternothing. "

Mrs. Yeobright moved her head in thoughtful assent, and presently said, "Do you wish me to give you away? I am willing to undertake that, youknow, if you wish, as I was last time. After once forbidding the banns Ithink I can do no less. "

"I don't think I will ask you to come, " said Thomasin reluctantly, butwith decision. "It would be unpleasant, I am almost sure. Better letthere be only strangers present, and none of my relations at all. Iwould rather have it so. I do not wish to do anything which may touchyour credit, and I feel that I should be uncomfortable if you werethere, after what has passed. I am only your niece, and there is nonecessity why you should concern yourself more about me. "

"Well, he has beaten us, " her aunt said. "It really seems as if he hadbeen playing with you in this way in revenge for my humbling him as Idid by standing up against him at first. "

"O no, Aunt, " murmured Thomasin. 

They said no more on the subject then. Diggory Venn's knock came soonafter; and Mrs. Yeobright, on returning from her interview with him inthe porch, carelessly observed, "Another lover has come to ask for you. "

"No?"

"Yes, that queer young man Venn. "

"Asks to pay his addresses to me?"

"Yes; and I told him he was too late. "

Thomasin looked silently into the candle-flame. "Poor Diggory!" shesaid, and then aroused herself to other things. 

The next day was passed in mere mechanical deeds of preparation, boththe women being anxious to immerse themselves in these to escape theemotional aspect of the situation. Some wearing apparel and otherarticles were collected anew for Thomasin, and remarks on domesticdetails were frequently made, so as to obscure any inner misgivingsabout her future as Wildeve's wife. 

The appointed morning came. The arrangement with Wildeve was that heshould meet her at the church to guard against any unpleasant curiositywhich might have affected them had they been seen walking off togetherin the usual country way. 

Aunt and niece stood together in the bedroom where the bride wasdressing. The sun, where it could catch it, made a mirror of Thomasin'shair, which she always wore braided. It was braided according to acalendar system--the more important the day the more numerous thestrands in the braid. On ordinary working-days she braided it in threes;on ordinary Sundays in fours; at Maypolings, gipsyings, and the like, she braided it in fives. Years ago she had said that when she marriedshe would braid it in sevens. She had braided it in sevens today. 

"I have been thinking that I will wear my blue silk after all, " shesaid. "It is my wedding day, even though there may be something sadabout the time. I mean, " she added, anxious to correct any wrongimpression, "not sad in itself, but in its having had greatdisappointment and trouble before it. "

Mrs. Yeobright breathed in a way which might have been called a sigh. "Ialmost wish Clym had been at home, " she said. "Of course you chose thetime because of his absence. "

"Partly. I have felt that I acted unfairly to him in not telling himall; but, as it was done not to grieve him, I thought I would carry outthe plan to its end, and tell the whole story when the sky was clear. "

"You are a practical little woman, " said Mrs. Yeobright, smiling. "Iwish you and he--no, I don't wish anything. There, it is nine o'clock, "she interrupted, hearing a whizz and a dinging downstairs. 

"I told Damon I would leave at nine, " said Thomasin, hastening out ofthe room. 

Her aunt followed. When Thomasin was going up the little walk from thedoor to the wicket-gate, Mrs. Yeobright looked reluctantly at her, andsaid, "It is a shame to let you go alone. "

"It is necessary, " said Thomasin. 

"At any rate, " added her aunt with forced cheerfulness, "I shallcall upon you this afternoon, and bring the cake with me. If Clym hasreturned by that time he will perhaps come too. I wish to show Mr. Wildeve that I bear him no ill-will. Let the past be forgotten. Well, God bless you! There, I don't believe in old superstitions, but I'lldo it. " She threw a slipper at the retreating figure of the girl, whoturned, smiled, and went on again. 

A few steps further, and she looked back. "Did you call me, Aunt?" shetremulously inquired. "Good-bye!"

Moved by an uncontrollable feeling as she looked upon Mrs. Yeobright'sworn, wet face, she ran back, when her aunt came forward, and they metagain. "O--Tamsie, " said the elder, weeping, "I don't like to let yougo. "

"I--I am--" Thomasin began, giving way likewise. But, quelling hergrief, she said "Good-bye!" again and went on. 

Then Mrs. Yeobright saw a little figure wending its way between thescratching furze-bushes, and diminishing far up the valley--a pale-bluespot in a vast field of neutral brown, solitary and undefended except bythe power of her own hope. 

But the worst feature in the case was one which did not appear in thelandscape; it was the man. 

The hour chosen for the ceremony by Thomasin and Wildeve had been sotimed as to enable her to escape the awkwardness of meeting her cousinClym, who was returning the same morning. To own to the partial truthof what he had heard would be distressing as long as the humiliatingposition resulting from the event was unimproved. It was only after asecond and successful journey to the altar that she could lift up herhead and prove the failure of the first attempt a pure accident. 

She had not been gone from Blooms-End more than half an hour whenYeobright came by the meads from the other direction and entered thehouse. 

"I had an early breakfast, " he said to his mother after greeting her. "Now I could eat a little more. "

They sat down to the repeated meal, and he went on in a low, anxiousvoice, apparently imagining that Thomasin had not yet come downstairs, "What's this I have heard about Thomasin and Mr. Wildeve?"

"It is true in many points, " said Mrs. Yeobright quietly; "but it is allright now, I hope. " She looked at the clock. 

"True?"

"Thomasin is gone to him today. "

Clym pushed away his breakfast. "Then there is a scandal of some sort, and that's what's the matter with Thomasin. Was it this that made herill?"

"Yes. Not a scandal--a misfortune. I will tell you all about it, Clym. You must not be angry, but you must listen, and you'll find that what wehave done has been done for the best. "

She then told him the circumstances. All that he had known of the affairbefore he returned from Paris was that there had existed anattachment between Thomasin and Wildeve, which his mother had at firstdiscountenanced, but had since, owing to the arguments of Thomasin, looked upon in a little more favourable light. When she, therefore, proceeded to explain all he was greatly surprised and troubled. 

"And she determined that the wedding should be over before you cameback, " said Mrs. Yeobright, "that there might be no chance of hermeeting you, and having a very painful time of it. That's why she hasgone to him; they have arranged to be married this morning. "

"But I can't understand it, " said Yeobright, rising. "'Tis so unlikeher. I can see why you did not write to me after her unfortunate returnhome. But why didn't you let me know when the wedding was going tobe--the first time?"

"Well, I felt vexed with her just then. She seemed to me to beobstinate; and when I found that you were nothing in her mind I vowedthat she should be nothing in yours. I felt that she was only myniece after all; I told her she might marry, but that I should take nointerest in it, and should not bother you about it either. "

"It wouldn't have been bothering me. Mother, you did wrong. "

"I thought it might disturb you in your business, and that you mightthrow up your situation, or injure your prospects in some way because ofit, so I said nothing. Of course, if they had married at that time in aproper manner, I should have told you at once. "

"Tamsin actually being married while we are sitting here!"

"Yes. Unless some accident happens again, as it did the first time. Itmay, considering he's the same man. "

"Yes, and I believe it will. Was it right to let her go? Suppose Wildeveis really a bad fellow?"

"Then he won't come, and she'll come home again. "

"You should have looked more into it. "

"It is useless to say that, " his mother answered with an impatient lookof sorrow. "You don't know how bad it has been here with us all theseweeks, Clym. You don't know what a mortification anything of that sortis to a woman. You don't know the sleepless nights we've had in thishouse, and the almost bitter words that have passed between us sincethat Fifth of November. I hope never to pass seven such weeks again. Tamsin has not gone outside the door, and I have been ashamed to lookanybody in the face; and now you blame me for letting her do the onlything that can be done to set that trouble straight. "

"No, " he said slowly. "Upon the whole I don't blame you. But justconsider how sudden it seems to me. Here was I, knowing nothing; andthen I am told all at once that Tamsie is gone to be married. Well, I suppose there was nothing better to do. Do you know, Mother, " hecontinued after a moment or two, looking suddenly interested in his ownpast history, "I once thought of Tamsin as a sweetheart? Yes, I did. Howodd boys are! And when I came home and saw her this time she seemed somuch more affectionate than usual, that I was quite reminded of thosedays, particularly on the night of the party, when she was unwell. Wehad the party just the same--was not that rather cruel to her?"

"It made no difference. I had arranged to give one, and it was not worthwhile to make more gloom than necessary. To begin by shutting ourselvesup and telling you of Tamsin's misfortunes would have been a poor sortof welcome. "

Clym remained thinking. "I almost wish you had not had that party, " hesaid; "and for other reasons. But I will tell you in a day or two. Wemust think of Tamsin now. "

They lapsed into silence. "I'll tell you what, " said Yeobright again, in a tone which showed some slumbering feeling still. "I don't think itkind to Tamsin to let her be married like this, and neither of us thereto keep up her spirits or care a bit about her. She hasn't disgracedherself, or done anything to deserve that. It is bad enough that thewedding should be so hurried and unceremonious, without our keeping awayfrom it in addition. Upon my soul, 'tis almost a shame. I'll go. "

"It is over by this time, " said his mother with a sigh; "unless theywere late, or he--"

"Then I shall be soon enough to see them come out. I don't quite likeyour keeping me in ignorance, Mother, after all. Really, I half hope hehas failed to meet her!"

"And ruined her character?"

"Nonsense--that wouldn't ruin Thomasin. "

He took up his hat and hastily left the house. Mrs. Yeobright lookedrather unhappy, and sat still, deep in thought. But she was not longleft alone. A few minutes later Clym came back again, and in his companycame Diggory Venn. 

"I find there isn't time for me to get there, " said Clym. 

"Is she married?" Mrs. Yeobright inquired, turning to the reddleman aface in which a strange strife of wishes, for and against, was apparent. 

Venn bowed. "She is, ma'am. "

"How strange it sounds, " murmured Clym. 

"And he didn't disappoint her this time?" said Mrs. Yeobright. 

"He did not. And there is now no slight on her name. I was hasteningath'art to tell you at once, as I saw you were not there. "

"How came you to be there? How did you know it?" she asked. 

"I have been in that neighbourhood for some time, and I saw them go in, "said the reddleman. "Wildeve came up to the door, punctual as the clock. I didn't expect it of him. " He did not add, as he might have added, thathow he came to be in that neighbourhood was not by accident; that, since Wildeve's resumption of his right to Thomasin, Venn, with thethoroughness which was part of his character, had determined to see theend of the episode. 

"Who was there?" said Mrs. Yeobright. 

"Nobody hardly. I stood right out of the way, and she did not see me. "The reddleman spoke huskily, and looked into the garden. 

"Who gave her away?"

"Miss Vye. "

"How very remarkable! Miss Vye! It is to be considered an honour, Isuppose?"

"Who's Miss Vye?" said Clym. 

"Captain Vye's granddaughter, of Mistover Knap. "

"A proud girl from Budmouth, " said Mrs. Yeobright. "One not much to myliking. People say she's a witch, but of course that's absurd. "

The reddleman kept to himself his acquaintance with that fair personage, and also that Eustacia was there because he went to fetch her, inaccordance with a promise he had given as soon as he learnt that themarriage was to take place. He merely said, in continuation of thestory----

"I was sitting on the churchyard wall when they came up, one from oneway, the other from the other; and Miss Vye was walking thereabouts, looking at the headstones. As soon as they had gone in I went to thedoor, feeling I should like to see it, as I knew her so well. I pulledoff my boots because they were so noisy, and went up into the gallery. Isaw then that the parson and clerk were already there. "

"How came Miss Vye to have anything to do with it, if she was only on awalk that way?"

"Because there was nobody else. She had gone into the church just beforeme, not into the gallery. The parson looked round before beginning, andas she was the only one near he beckoned to her, and she went up to therails. After that, when it came to signing the book, she pushed up herveil and signed; and Tamsin seemed to thank her for her kindness. " Thereddleman told the tale thoughtfully for there lingered upon his visionthe changing colour of Wildeve, when Eustacia lifted the thick veilwhich had concealed her from recognition and looked calmly into hisface. "And then, " said Diggory sadly, "I came away, for her history asTamsin Yeobright was over. "

"I offered to go, " said Mrs. Yeobright regretfully. "But she said it wasnot necessary. "

"Well, it is no matter, " said the reddleman. "The thing is done at lastas it was meant to be at first, and God send her happiness. Now I'llwish you good morning. "

He placed his cap on his head and went out. 

From that instant of leaving Mrs. Yeobright's door, the reddleman wasseen no more in or about Egdon Heath for a space of many months. Hevanished entirely. The nook among the brambles where his van had beenstanding was as vacant as ever the next morning, and scarcely a signremained to show that he had been there, excepting a few straws, and alittle redness on the turf, which was washed away by the next storm ofrain. 

The report that Diggory had brought of the wedding, correct as far as itwent, was deficient in one significant particular, which had escaped himthrough his being at some distance back in the church. When Thomasinwas tremblingly engaged in signing her name Wildeve had flung towardsEustacia a glance that said plainly, "I have punished you now. " She hadreplied in a low tone--and he little thought how truly--"You mistake; itgives me sincerest pleasure to see her your wife today. "

BOOK THREE -- THE FASCINATION

1--"My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is"

In Clym Yeobright's face could be dimly seen the typical countenanceof the future. Should there be a classic period to art hereafter, itsPheidias may produce such faces. The view of life as a thing to be putup with, replacing that zest for existence which was so intense in earlycivilizations, must ultimately enter so thoroughly into the constitutionof the advanced races that its facial expression will become acceptedas a new artistic departure. People already feel that a man who liveswithout disturbing a curve of feature, or setting a mark of mentalconcern anywhere upon himself, is too far removed from modernperceptiveness to be a modern type. Physically beautiful men--the gloryof the race when it was young--are almost an anachronism now; and we maywonder whether, at some time or other, physically beautiful women maynot be an anachronism likewise. 

The truth seems to be that a long line of disillusive centuries haspermanently displaced the Hellenic idea of life, or whatever it maybe called. What the Greeks only suspected we know well; what theirAeschylus imagined our nursery children feel. That old-fashionedrevelling in the general situation grows less and less possible as weuncover the defects of natural laws, and see the quandary that man is inby their operation. 

The lineaments which will get embodied in ideals based upon this newrecognition will probably be akin to those of Yeobright. The observer'seye was arrested, not by his face as a picture, but by his face as apage; not by what it was, but by what it recorded. His features wereattractive in the light of symbols, as sounds intrinsically commonbecome attractive in language, and as shapes intrinsically simple becomeinteresting in writing. 

He had been a lad of whom something was expected. Beyond this all hadbeen chaos. That he would be successful in an original way, or that hewould go to the dogs in an original way, seemed equally probable. Theonly absolute certainty about him was that he would not stand still inthe circumstances amid which he was born. 

Hence, when his name was casually mentioned by neighbouring yeomen, the listener said, "Ah, Clym Yeobright--what is he doing now?" When theinstinctive question about a person is, What is he doing? it isfelt that he will be found to be, like most of us, doing nothing inparticular. There is an indefinite sense that he must be invading someregion of singularity, good or bad. The devout hope is that he is doingwell. The secret faith is that he is making a mess of it. Half a dozencomfortable market-men, who were habitual callers at the Quiet Womanas they passed by in their carts, were partial to the topic. In fact, though they were not Egdon men, they could hardly avoid it while theysucked their long clay tubes and regarded the heath through the window. Clym had been so inwoven with the heath in his boyhood that hardlyanybody could look upon it without thinking of him. So the subjectrecurred: if he were making a fortune and a name, so much the betterfor him; if he were making a tragical figure in the world, so much thebetter for a narrative. 

The fact was that Yeobright's fame had spread to an awkward extentbefore he left home. "It is bad when your fame outruns your means, " saidthe Spanish Jesuit Gracian. At the age of six he had asked a Scriptureriddle: "Who was the first man known to wear breeches?" and applausehad resounded from the very verge of the heath. At seven he painted theBattle of Waterloo with tiger-lily pollen and black-currant juice, inthe absence of water-colours. By the time he reached twelve he had inthis manner been heard of as artist and scholar for at least two milesround. An individual whose fame spreads three or four thousand yards inthe time taken by the fame of others similarly situated to travel six oreight hundred, must of necessity have something in him. Possibly Clym'sfame, like Homer's, owed something to the accidents of his situation;nevertheless famous he was. 

He grew up and was helped out in life. That waggery of fate whichstarted Clive as a writing clerk, Gay as a linen-draper, Keats as asurgeon, and a thousand others in a thousand other odd ways, banishedthe wild and ascetic heath lad to a trade whose sole concern was withthe especial symbols of self-indulgence and vainglory. 

The details of this choice of a business for him it is not necessaryto give. At the death of his father a neighbouring gentleman had kindlyundertaken to give the boy a start, and this assumed the form of sendinghim to Budmouth. Yeobright did not wish to go there, but it was the onlyfeasible opening. Thence he went to London; and thence, shortly after, to Paris, where he had remained till now. 

Something being expected of him, he had not been at home many daysbefore a great curiosity as to why he stayed on so long began to arisein the heath. The natural term of a holiday had passed, yet he stillremained. On the Sunday morning following the week of Thomasin'smarriage a discussion on this subject was in progress at a hair-cuttingbefore Fairway's house. Here the local barbering was always done atthis hour on this day, to be followed by the great Sunday wash of theinhabitants at noon, which in its turn was followed by the great Sundaydressing an hour later. On Egdon Heath Sunday proper did not begin tilldinner-time, and even then it was a somewhat battered specimen of theday. 

These Sunday-morning hair-cuttings were performed by Fairway; the victimsitting on a chopping-block in front of the house, without a coat, andthe neighbours gossiping around, idly observing the locks of hair asthey rose upon the wind after the snip, and flew away out of sight tothe four quarters of the heavens. Summer and winter the scene was thesame, unless the wind were more than usually blusterous, when the stoolwas shifted a few feet round the corner. To complain of cold in sittingout of doors, hatless and coatless, while Fairway told true storiesbetween the cuts of the scissors, would have been to pronounce yourselfno man at once. To flinch, exclaim, or move a muscle of the face atthe small stabs under the ear received from those instruments, or atscarifications of the neck by the comb, would have been thought a grossbreach of good manners, considering that Fairway did it all for nothing. A bleeding about the poll on Sunday afternoons was amply accounted forby the explanation. "I have had my hair cut, you know. "

The conversation on Yeobright had been started by a distant view of theyoung man rambling leisurely across the heath before them. 

"A man who is doing well elsewhere wouldn't bide here two or three weeksfor nothing, " said Fairway. "He's got some project in 's head--dependupon that. "

"Well, 'a can't keep a diment shop here, " said Sam. 

"I don't see why he should have had them two heavy boxes home if he hadnot been going to bide; and what there is for him to do here the Lord inheaven knows. "

Before many more surmises could be indulged in Yeobright had come near;and seeing the hair-cutting group he turned aside to join them. Marchingup, and looking critically at their faces for a moment, he said, withoutintroduction, "Now, folks, let me guess what you have been talkingabout. "

"Ay, sure, if you will, " said Sam. 

"About me. "

"Now, it is a thing I shouldn't have dreamed of doing, otherwise, " saidFairway in a tone of integrity; "but since you have named it, MasterYeobright, I'll own that we was talking about 'ee. We were wonderingwhat could keep you home here mollyhorning about when you have made sucha world-wide name for yourself in the nick-nack trade--now, that's thetruth o't. "

"I'll tell you, " said Yeobright with unexpected earnestness. "I amnot sorry to have the opportunity. I've come home because, all thingsconsidered, I can be a trifle less useless here than anywhere else. ButI have only lately found this out. When I first got away from home Ithought this place was not worth troubling about. I thought our lifehere was contemptible. To oil your boots instead of blacking them, todust your coat with a switch instead of a brush--was there ever anythingmore ridiculous? I said. "

"So 'tis; so 'tis!"

"No, no--you are wrong; it isn't. "

"Beg your pardon, we thought that was your maning?"

"Well, as my views changed my course became very depressing. I foundthat I was trying to be like people who had hardly anything in commonwith myself. I was endeavouring to put off one sort of life for anothersort of life, which was not better than the life I had known before. Itwas simply different. "

"True; a sight different, " said Fairway. 

"Yes, Paris must be a taking place, " said Humphrey. "Grand shop-winders, trumpets, and drums; and here be we out of doors in all winds andweathers--"

"But you mistake me, " pleaded Clym. "All this was very depressing. Butnot so depressing as something I next perceived--that my business wasthe idlest, vainest, most effeminate business that ever a man couldbe put to. That decided me--I would give it up and try to follow somerational occupation among the people I knew best, and to whom I couldbe of most use. I have come home; and this is how I mean to carry outmy plan. I shall keep a school as near to Egdon as possible, so as to beable to walk over here and have a night-school in my mother's house. But I must study a little at first, to get properly qualified. Now, neighbours, I must go. "

And Clym resumed his walk across the heath. 

"He'll never carry it out in the world, " said Fairway. "In a few weekshe'll learn to see things otherwise. "

"'Tis good-hearted of the young man, " said another. "But, for my part, Ithink he had better mind his business. "

2--The New Course Causes Disappointment

Yeobright loved his kind. He had a conviction that the want of most menwas knowledge of a sort which brings wisdom rather than affluence. Hewished to raise the class at the expense of individuals rather thanindividuals at the expense of the class. What was more, he was ready atonce to be the first unit sacrificed. 

In passing from the bucolic to the intellectual life the intermediatestages are usually two at least, frequently many more; and one of thosestages is almost sure to be worldly advanced. We can hardly imaginebucolic placidity quickening to intellectual aims without imaginingsocial aims as the transitional phase. Yeobright's local peculiarity wasthat in striving at high thinking he still cleaved to plain living--nay, wild and meagre living in many respects, and brotherliness with clowns. 

He was a John the Baptist who took ennoblement rather than repentancefor his text. Mentally he was in a provincial future, that is, he was inmany points abreast with the central town thinkers of his date. Much ofthis development he may have owed to his studious life in Paris, wherehe had become acquainted with ethical systems popular at the time. 

In consequence of this relatively advanced position, Yeobright mighthave been called unfortunate. The rural world was not ripe for him. Aman should be only partially before his time--to be completely to thevanward in aspirations is fatal to fame. Had Philip's warlike son beenintellectually so far ahead as to have attempted civilization withoutbloodshed, he would have been twice the godlike hero that he seemed, butnobody would have heard of an Alexander. 

In the interests of renown the forwardness should lie chiefly in thecapacity to handle things. Successful propagandists have succeededbecause the doctrine they bring into form is that which their listenershave for some time felt without being able to shape. A man who advocatesaesthetic effort and deprecates social effort is only likely to beunderstood by a class to which social effort has become a stale matter. To argue upon the possibility of culture before luxury to the bucolicworld may be to argue truly, but it is an attempt to disturb a sequenceto which humanity has been long accustomed. Yeobright preaching tothe Egdon eremites that they might rise to a serene comprehensivenesswithout going through the process of enriching themselves was not unlikearguing to ancient Chaldeans that in ascending from earth to the pureempyrean it was not necessary to pass first into the intervening heavenof ether. 

Was Yeobright's mind well-proportioned? No. A well proportioned mind isone which shows no particular bias; one of which we may safely say thatit will never cause its owner to be confined as a madman, tortured as aheretic, or crucified as a blasphemer. Also, on the other hand, that itwill never cause him to be applauded as a prophet, revered as a priest, or exalted as a king. Its usual blessings are happiness and mediocrity. It produces the poetry of Rogers, the paintings of West, the statecraftof North, the spiritual guidance of Tomline; enabling its possessors tofind their way to wealth, to wind up well, to step with dignity off thestage, to die comfortably in their beds, and to get the decent monumentwhich, in many cases, they deserve. It never would have allowedYeobright to do such a ridiculous thing as throw up his business tobenefit his fellow-creatures. 

He walked along towards home without attending to paths. If anyone knewthe heath well it was Clym. He was permeated with its scenes, with itssubstance, and with its odours. He might be said to be its product. Hiseyes had first opened thereon; with its appearance all the first imagesof his memory were mingled, his estimate of life had been coloured byit: his toys had been the flint knives and arrow-heads which he foundthere, wondering why stones should "grow" to such odd shapes; hisflowers, the purple bells and yellow furze: his animal kingdom, thesnakes and croppers; his society, its human haunters. Take all thevarying hates felt by Eustacia Vye towards the heath, and translatethem into loves, and you have the heart of Clym. He gazed upon the wideprospect as he walked, and was glad. 

To many persons this Egdon was a place which had slipped out of itscentury generations ago, to intrude as an uncouth object into this. It was an obsolete thing, and few cared to study it. How could thisbe otherwise in the days of square fields, plashed hedges, and meadowswatered on a plan so rectangular that on a fine day they looked likesilver gridirons? The farmer, in his ride, who could smile at artificialgrasses, look with solicitude at the coming corn, and sigh with sadnessat the fly-eaten turnips, bestowed upon the distant upland of heathnothing better than a frown. But as for Yeobright, when he lookedfrom the heights on his way he could not help indulging in a barbaroussatisfaction at observing that, in some of the attempts at reclamationfrom the waste, tillage, after holding on for a year or two, had recededagain in despair, the ferns and furze-tufts stubbornly reassertingthemselves. 

He descended into the valley, and soon reached his home at Blooms-End. His mother was snipping dead leaves from the window-plants. She lookedup at him as if she did not understand the meaning of his long stay withher; her face had worn that look for several days. He could perceivethat the curiosity which had been shown by the hair-cutting groupamounted in his mother to concern. But she had asked no question withher lips, even when the arrival of his trunk suggested that he was notgoing to leave her soon. Her silence besought an explanation of him moreloudly than words. 

"I am not going back to Paris again, Mother, " he said. "At least, in myold capacity. I have given up the business. "

Mrs. Yeobright turned in pained surprise. "I thought something wasamiss, because of the boxes. I wonder you did not tell me sooner. "

"I ought to have done it. But I have been in doubt whether you would bepleased with my plan. I was not quite clear on a few points myself. I amgoing to take an entirely new course. "

"I am astonished, Clym. How can you want to do better than you've beendoing?"

"Very easily. But I shall not do better in the way you mean; I supposeit will be called doing worse. But I hate that business of mine, and Iwant to do some worthy thing before I die. As a schoolmaster I thinkto do it--a school-master to the poor and ignorant, to teach them whatnobody else will. "

"After all the trouble that has been taken to give you a start, and whenthere is nothing to do but to keep straight on towards affluence, yousay you will be a poor man's schoolmaster. Your fancies will be yourruin, Clym. "

Mrs. Yeobright spoke calmly, but the force of feeling behind the wordswas but too apparent to one who knew her as well as her son did. He didnot answer. There was in his face that hopelessness of being understoodwhich comes when the objector is constitutionally beyond the reach ofa logic that, even under favouring conditions, is almost too coarse avehicle for the subtlety of the argument. 

No more was said on the subject till the end of dinner. His mother thenbegan, as if there had been no interval since the morning. "It disturbsme, Clym, to find that you have come home with such thoughts as those. Ihadn't the least idea that you meant to go backward in the world by yourown free choice. Of course, I have always supposed you were going topush straight on, as other men do--all who deserve the name--when theyhave been put in a good way of doing well. "

"I cannot help it, " said Clym, in a troubled tone. "Mother, I hatethe flashy business. Talk about men who deserve the name, can any mandeserving the name waste his time in that effeminate way, when he seeshalf the world going to ruin for want of somebody to buckle to and teachthem how to breast the misery they are born to? I get up every morningand see the whole creation groaning and travailing in pain, as St. Paulsays, and yet there am I, trafficking in glittering splendours withwealthy women and titled libertines, and pandering to the meanestvanities--I, who have health and strength enough for anything. I havebeen troubled in my mind about it all the year, and the end is that Icannot do it any more. "

"Why can't you do it as well as others?"

"I don't know, except that there are many things other people care forwhich I don't; and that's partly why I think I ought to do this. For onething, my body does not require much of me. I cannot enjoy delicacies;good things are wasted upon me. Well, I ought to turn that defect toadvantage, and by being able to do without what other people require Ican spend what such things cost upon anybody else. "

Now, Yeobright, having inherited some of these very instincts from thewoman before him, could not fail to awaken a reciprocity in her throughher feelings, if not by arguments, disguise it as she might for hisgood. She spoke with less assurance. "And yet you might have been awealthy man if you had only persevered. Manager to that large diamondestablishment--what better can a man wish for? What a post of trustand respect! I suppose you will be like your father; like him, you aregetting weary of doing well. "

"No, " said her son, "I am not weary of that, though I am weary of whatyou mean by it. Mother, what is doing well?"

Mrs. Yeobright was far too thoughtful a woman to be content with readydefinitions, and, like the "What is wisdom?" of Plato's Socrates, andthe "What is truth?" of Pontius Pilate, Yeobright's burning questionreceived no answer. 

The silence was broken by the clash of the garden gate, a tap at thedoor, and its opening. Christian Cantle appeared in the room in hisSunday clothes. 

It was the custom on Egdon to begin the preface to a story beforeabsolutely entering the house, so as to be well in for the body of thenarrative by the time visitor and visited stood face to face. Christianhad been saying to them while the door was leaving its latch, "To thinkthat I, who go from home but once in a while, and hardly then, shouldhave been there this morning!"

"'Tis news you have brought us, then, Christian?" said Mrs. Yeobright. 

"Ay, sure, about a witch, and ye must overlook my time o' day; for, saysI, 'I must go and tell 'em, though they won't have half done dinner. ' Iassure ye it made me shake like a driven leaf. Do ye think any harm willcome o't?"

"Well--what?"

"This morning at church we was all standing up, and the pa'son said, 'Let us pray. ' 'Well, ' thinks I, 'one may as well kneel as stand'; sodown I went; and, more than that, all the rest were as willing to obligethe man as I. We hadn't been hard at it for more than a minute when amost terrible screech sounded through church, as if somebody had justgied up their heart's blood. All the folk jumped up and then we foundthat Susan Nunsuch had pricked Miss Vye with a long stocking-needle, asshe had threatened to do as soon as ever she could get the young lady tochurch, where she don't come very often. She've waited for this chancefor weeks, so as to draw her blood and put an end to the bewitching ofSusan's children that has been carried on so long. Sue followed her intochurch, sat next to her, and as soon as she could find a chance in wentthe stocking-needle into my lady's arm. "

"Good heaven, how horrid!" said Mrs. Yeobright. 

"Sue pricked her that deep that the maid fainted away; and as I wasafeard there might be some tumult among us, I got behind the bass violand didn't see no more. But they carried her out into the air, 'tissaid; but when they looked round for Sue she was gone. What a screamthat girl gied, poor thing! There were the pa'son in his surpliceholding up his hand and saying, 'Sit down, my good people, sit down!'But the deuce a bit would they sit down. O, and what d'ye think Ifound out, Mrs. Yeobright? The pa'son wears a suit of clothes under hissurplice!--I could see his black sleeves when he held up his arm. "

"'Tis a cruel thing, " said Yeobright. 

"Yes, " said his mother. 

"The nation ought to look into it, " said Christian. "Here's Humphreycoming, I think. "

In came Humphrey. "Well, have ye heard the news? But I see you have. 'Tis a very strange thing that whenever one of Egdon folk goes to churchsome rum job or other is sure to be doing. The last time one of us wasthere was when neighbour Fairway went in the fall; and that was the dayyou forbad the banns, Mrs. Yeobright. "

"Has this cruelly treated girl been able to walk home?" said Clym. 

"They say she got better, and went home very well. And now I've told itI must be moving homeward myself. "

"And I, " said Humphrey. "Truly now we shall see if there's anything inwhat folks say about her. "

When they were gone into the heath again Yeobright said quietly to hismother, "Do you think I have turned teacher too soon?"

"It is right that there should be schoolmasters, and missionaries, andall such men, " she replied. "But it is right, too, that I should try tolift you out of this life into something richer, and that you should notcome back again, and be as if I had not tried at all. "

Later in the day Sam, the turf-cutter, entered. "I've come a-borrowing, Mrs. Yeobright. I suppose you have heard what's been happening to thebeauty on the hill?"

"Yes, Sam: half a dozen have been telling us. "

"Beauty?" said Clym. 

"Yes, tolerably well-favoured, " Sam replied. "Lord! all the country ownsthat 'tis one of the strangest things in the world that such a womanshould have come to live up there. "

"Dark or fair?"

"Now, though I've seen her twenty times, that's a thing I cannot call tomind. "

"Darker than Tamsin, " murmured Mrs. Yeobright. 

"A woman who seems to care for nothing at all, as you may say. "

"She is melancholy, then?" inquired Clym. 

"She mopes about by herself, and don't mix in with the people. "

"Is she a young lady inclined for adventures?"

"Not to my knowledge. "

"Doesn't join in with the lads in their games, to get some sort ofexcitement in this lonely place?"

"No. "

"Mumming, for instance?"

"No. Her notions be different. I should rather say her thoughts were faraway from here, with lords and ladies she'll never know, and mansionsshe'll never see again. "

Observing that Clym appeared singularly interested Mrs. Yeobright saidrather uneasily to Sam, "You see more in her than most of us do. MissVye is to my mind too idle to be charming. I have never heard thatshe is of any use to herself or to other people. Good girls don't gettreated as witches even on Egdon. "

"Nonsense--that proves nothing either way, " said Yeobright. 

"Well, of course I don't understand such niceties, " said Sam, withdrawing from a possibly unpleasant argument; "and what she is wemust wait for time to tell us. The business that I have really calledabout is this, to borrow the longest and strongest rope you have. Thecaptain's bucket has dropped into the well, and they are in want ofwater; and as all the chaps are at home today we think we can get it outfor him. We have three cart-ropes already, but they won't reach to thebottom. "

Mrs. Yeobright told him that he might have whatever ropes he could findin the outhouse, and Sam went out to search. When he passed by the doorClym joined him, and accompanied him to the gate. 

"Is this young witch-lady going to stay long at Mistover?" he asked. 

"I should say so. "

"What a cruel shame to ill-use her, She must have suffered greatly--morein mind than in body. "

"'Twas a graceless trick--such a handsome girl, too. You ought to seeher, Mr. Yeobright, being a young man come from far, and with a littlemore to show for your years than most of us. "

"Do you think she would like to teach children?" said Clym. 

Sam shook his head. "Quite a different sort of body from that, Ireckon. "

"O, it was merely something which occurred to me. It would of course benecessary to see her and talk it over--not an easy thing, by the way, for my family and hers are not very friendly. "

"I'll tell you how you mid see her, Mr. Yeobright, " said Sam. "We aregoing to grapple for the bucket at six o'clock tonight at her house, andyou could lend a hand. There's five or six coming, but the well is deep, and another might be useful, if you don't mind appearing in that shape. She's sure to be walking round. "

"I'll think of it, " said Yeobright; and they parted. 

He thought of it a good deal; but nothing more was said about Eustaciainside the house at that time. Whether this romantic martyr tosuperstition and the melancholy mummer he had conversed with under thefull moon were one and the same person remained as yet a problem. 

3--The First Act in a Timeworn Drama

The afternoon was fine, and Yeobright walked on the heath for an hourwith his mother. When they reached the lofty ridge which divided thevalley of Blooms-End from the adjoining valley they stood still andlooked round. The Quiet Woman Inn was visible on the low margin of theheath in one direction, and afar on the other hand rose Mistover Knap. 

"You mean to call on Thomasin?" he inquired. 

"Yes. But you need not come this time, " said his mother. 

"In that case I'll branch off here, Mother. I am going to Mistover. "

Mrs. Yeobright turned to him inquiringly. 

"I am going to help them get the bucket out of the captain's well, " hecontinued. "As it is so very deep I may be useful. And I should liketo see this Miss Vye--not so much for her good looks as for anotherreason. "

"Must you go?" his mother asked. 

"I thought to. "

And they parted. "There is no help for it, " murmured Clym's mothergloomily as he withdrew. "They are sure to see each other. I wish Samwould carry his news to other houses than mine. "

Clym's retreating figure got smaller and smaller as it rose andfell over the hillocks on his way. "He is tender-hearted, " said Mrs. Yeobright to herself while she watched him; "otherwise it would matterlittle. How he's going on!"

He was, indeed, walking with a will over the furze, as straight as aline, as if his life depended upon it. His mother drew a long breath, and, abandoning the visit to Thomasin, turned back. The evening filmsbegan to make nebulous pictures of the valleys, but the high lands stillwere raked by the declining rays of the winter sun, which glanced onClym as he walked forward, eyed by every rabbit and field-fare around, along shadow advancing in front of him. 

On drawing near to the furze-covered bank and ditch which fortifiedthe captain's dwelling he could hear voices within, signifying thatoperations had been already begun. At the side-entrance gate he stoppedand looked over. 

Half a dozen able-bodied men were standing in a line from thewell-mouth, holding a rope which passed over the well-roller into thedepths below. Fairway, with a piece of smaller rope round his body, madefast to one of the standards, to guard against accidents, was leaningover the opening, his right hand clasping the vertical rope thatdescended into the well. 

"Now, silence, folks, " said Fairway. 

The talking ceased, and Fairway gave a circular motion to the rope, as if he were stirring batter. At the end of a minute a dull splashingreverberated from the bottom of the well; the helical twist he hadimparted to the rope had reached the grapnel below. 

"Haul!" said Fairway; and the men who held the rope began to gather itover the wheel. 

"I think we've got sommat, " said one of the haulers-in. 

"Then pull steady, " said Fairway. 

They gathered up more and more, till a regular dripping into the wellcould be heard below. It grew smarter with the increasing height of thebucket, and presently a hundred and fifty feet of rope had been pulledin. 

Fairway then lit a lantern, tied it to another cord, and began loweringit into the well beside the first: Clym came forward and looked down. Strange humid leaves, which knew nothing of the seasons of the year, and quaint-natured mosses were revealed on the wellside as the lanterndescended; till its rays fell upon a confused mass of rope and bucketdangling in the dank, dark air. 

"We've only got en by the edge of the hoop--steady, for God's sake!"said Fairway. 

They pulled with the greatest gentleness, till the wet bucket appearedabout two yards below them, like a dead friend come to earth again. Three or four hands were stretched out, then jerk went the rope, whizzwent the wheel, the two foremost haulers fell backward, the beating ofa falling body was heard, receding down the sides of the well, and athunderous uproar arose at the bottom. The bucket was gone again. 

"Damn the bucket!" said Fairway. 

"Lower again, " said Sam. 

"I'm as stiff as a ram's horn stooping so long, " said Fairway, standingup and stretching himself till his joints creaked. 

"Rest a few minutes, Timothy, " said Yeobright. "I'll take your place. "

The grapnel was again lowered. Its smart impact upon the distant waterreached their ears like a kiss, whereupon Yeobright knelt down, andleaning over the well began dragging the grapnel round and round asFairway had done. 

"Tie a rope round him--it is dangerous!" cried a soft and anxious voicesomewhere above them. 

Everybody turned. The speaker was a woman, gazing down upon the groupfrom an upper window, whose panes blazed in the ruddy glare from thewest. Her lips were parted and she appeared for the moment to forgetwhere she was. 

The rope was accordingly tied round his waist, and the work proceeded. At the next haul the weight was not heavy, and it was discovered thatthey had only secured a coil of the rope detached from the bucket. Thetangled mass was thrown into the background. Humphrey took Yeobright'splace, and the grapnel was lowered again. 

Yeobright retired to the heap of recovered rope in a meditative mood. Ofthe identity between the lady's voice and that of the melancholymummer he had not a moment's doubt. "How thoughtful of her!" he said tohimself. 

Eustacia, who had reddened when she perceived the effect of herexclamation upon the group below, was no longer to be seen at thewindow, though Yeobright scanned it wistfully. While he stood there themen at the well succeeded in getting up the bucket without a mishap. Oneof them went to inquire for the captain, to learn what orders he wishedto give for mending the well-tackle. The captain proved to be away fromhome, and Eustacia appeared at the door and came out. She had lapsedinto an easy and dignified calm, far removed from the intensity of lifein her words of solicitude for Clym's safety. 

"Will it be possible to draw water here tonight?" she inquired. 

"No, miss; the bottom of the bucket is clean knocked out. And as we cando no more now we'll leave off, and come again tomorrow morning. "

"No water, " she murmured, turning away. 

"I can send you up some from Blooms-End, " said Clym, coming forward andraising his hat as the men retired. 

Yeobright and Eustacia looked at each other for one instant, as if eachhad in mind those few moments during which a certain moonlight scene wascommon to both. With the glance the calm fixity of her features sublimeditself to an expression of refinement and warmth; it was like garishnoon rising to the dignity of sunset in a couple of seconds. 

"Thank you; it will hardly be necessary, " she replied. 

"But if you have no water?"

"Well, it is what I call no water, " she said, blushing, and liftingher long-lashed eyelids as if to lift them were a work requiringconsideration. "But my grandfather calls it water enough. I'll show youwhat I mean. "

She moved away a few yards, and Clym followed. When she reached thecorner of the enclosure, where the steps were formed for mounting theboundary bank, she sprang up with a lightness which seemed strange afterher listless movement towards the well. It incidentally showed that herapparent languor did not arise from lack of force. 

Clym ascended behind her, and noticed a circular burnt patch at the topof the bank. "Ashes?" he said. 

"Yes, " said Eustacia. "We had a little bonfire here last Fifth ofNovember, and those are the marks of it. "

On that spot had stood the fire she had kindled to attract Wildeve. 

"That's the only kind of water we have, " she continued, tossing a stoneinto the pool, which lay on the outside of the bank like the white ofan eye without its pupil. The stone fell with a flounce, but no Wildeveappeared on the other side, as on a previous occasion there. "Mygrandfather says he lived for more than twenty years at sea on watertwice as bad as that, " she went on, "and considers it quite good enoughfor us here on an emergency. "

"Well, as a matter of fact there are no impurities in the water of thesepools at this time of the year. It has only just rained into them. "

She shook her head. "I am managing to exist in a wilderness, but Icannot drink from a pond, " she said. 

Clym looked towards the well, which was now deserted, the men havinggone home. "It is a long way to send for spring-water, " he said, after asilence. "But since you don't like this in the pond, I'll try to get yousome myself. " He went back to the well. "Yes, I think I could do it bytying on this pail. "

"But, since I would not trouble the men to get it, I cannot inconscience let you. "

"I don't mind the trouble at all. "

He made fast the pail to the long coil of rope, put it over the wheel, and allowed it to descend by letting the rope slip through his hands. Before it had gone far, however, he checked it. 

"I must make fast the end first, or we may lose the whole, " he said toEustacia, who had drawn near. "Could you hold this a moment, while I doit--or shall I call your servant?"

"I can hold it, " said Eustacia; and he placed the rope in her hands, going then to search for the end. 

"I suppose I may let it slip down?" she inquired. 

"I would advise you not to let it go far, " said Clym. "It will get muchheavier, you will find. "

However, Eustacia had begun to pay out. While he was tying she cried, "Icannot stop it!"

Clym ran to her side, and found he could only check the rope by twistingthe loose part round the upright post, when it stopped with a jerk. "Hasit hurt you?"

"Yes, " she replied. 

"Very much?"

"No; I think not. " She opened her hands. One of them was bleeding; therope had dragged off the skin. Eustacia wrapped it in her handkerchief. 

"You should have let go, " said Yeobright. "Why didn't you?"

"You said I was to hold on. .. . This is the second time I have beenwounded today. "

"Ah, yes; I have heard of it. I blush for my native Egdon. Was it aserious injury you received in church, Miss Vye?"

There was such an abundance of sympathy in Clym's tone that Eustaciaslowly drew up her sleeve and disclosed her round white arm. A brightred spot appeared on its smooth surface, like a ruby on Parian marble. 

"There it is, " she said, putting her finger against the spot. 

"It was dastardly of the woman, " said Clym. "Will not Captain Vye gether punished?"

"He is gone from home on that very business. I did not know that I hadsuch a magic reputation. "

"And you fainted?" said Clym, looking at the scarlet little puncture asif he would like to kiss it and make it well. 

"Yes, it frightened me. I had not been to church for a long time. Andnow I shall not go again for ever so long--perhaps never. I cannot facetheir eyes after this. Don't you think it dreadfully humiliating? Iwished I was dead for hours after, but I don't mind now. "

"I have come to clean away these cobwebs, " said Yeobright. "Would youlike to help me--by high-class teaching? We might benefit them much. "

"I don't quite feel anxious to. I have not much love for myfellow-creatures. Sometimes I quite hate them. "

"Still I think that if you were to hear my scheme you might take aninterest in it. There is no use in hating people--if you hate anything, you should hate what produced them. "

"Do you mean Nature? I hate her already. But I shall be glad to hearyour scheme at any time. "

The situation had now worked itself out, and the next natural thing wasfor them to part. Clym knew this well enough, and Eustacia made a moveof conclusion; yet he looked at her as if he had one word more to say. Perhaps if he had not lived in Paris it would never have been uttered. 

"We have met before, " he said, regarding her with rather more interestthan was necessary. 

"I do not own it, " said Eustacia, with a repressed, still look. 

"But I may think what I like. "

"Yes. "

"You are lonely here. "

"I cannot endure the heath, except in its purple season. The heath is acruel taskmaster to me. "

"Can you say so?" he asked. "To my mind it is most exhilarating, andstrengthening, and soothing. I would rather live on these hills thananywhere else in the world. "

"It is well enough for artists; but I never would learn to draw. "

"And there is a very curious druidical stone just out there. " He threw apebble in the direction signified. "Do you often go to see it?"

"I was not even aware there existed any such curious druidical stone. Iam aware that there are boulevards in Paris. "

Yeobright looked thoughtfully on the ground. "That means much, " he said. 

"It does indeed, " said Eustacia. 

"I remember when I had the same longing for town bustle. Five years of agreat city would be a perfect cure for that. "

"Heaven send me such a cure! Now, Mr. Yeobright, I will go indoors andplaster my wounded hand. "

They separated, and Eustacia vanished in the increasing shade. Sheseemed full of many things. Her past was a blank, her life had begun. The effect upon Clym of this meeting he did not fully discover till sometime after. During his walk home his most intelligible sensation wasthat his scheme had somehow become glorified. A beautiful woman had beenintertwined with it. 

On reaching the house he went up to the room which was to be made hisstudy, and occupied himself during the evening in unpacking his booksfrom the boxes and arranging them on shelves. From another box he drewa lamp and a can of oil. He trimmed the lamp, arranged his table, andsaid, "Now, I am ready to begin. "

He rose early the next morning, read two hours before breakfast by thelight of his lamp--read all the morning, all the afternoon. Just whenthe sun was going down his eyes felt weary, and he leant back in hischair. 

His room overlooked the front of the premises and the valley of theheath beyond. The lowest beams of the winter sun threw the shadow of thehouse over the palings, across the grass margin of the heath, and farup the vale, where the chimney outlines and those of the surroundingtree-tops stretched forth in long dark prongs. Having been seated atwork all day, he decided to take a turn upon the hills before it gotdark; and, going out forthwith, he struck across the heath towardsMistover. 

It was an hour and a half later when he again appeared at the gardengate. The shutters of the house were closed, and Christian Cantle, whohad been wheeling manure about the garden all day, had gone home. Onentering he found that his mother, after waiting a long time for him, had finished her meal. 

"Where have you been, Clym?" she immediately said. "Why didn't you tellme that you were going away at this time?"

"I have been on the heath. "

"You'll meet Eustacia Vye if you go up there. "

Clym paused a minute. "Yes, I met her this evening, " he said, as thoughit were spoken under the sheer necessity of preserving honesty. 

"I wondered if you had. "

"It was no appointment. "

"No; such meetings never are. "

"But you are not angry, Mother?"

"I can hardly say that I am not. Angry? No. But when I consider theusual nature of the drag which causes men of promise to disappoint theworld I feel uneasy. "

"You deserve credit for the feeling, Mother. But I can assure you thatyou need not be disturbed by it on my account. "

"When I think of you and your new crotchets, " said Mrs. Yeobright, with some emphasis, "I naturally don't feel so comfortable as I did atwelvemonth ago. It is incredible to me that a man accustomed to theattractive women of Paris and elsewhere should be so easily worked uponby a girl in a heath. You could just as well have walked another way. "

"I had been studying all day. "

"Well, yes, " she added more hopefully, "I have been thinking that youmight get on as a schoolmaster, and rise that way, since you really aredetermined to hate the course you were pursuing. "

Yeobright was unwilling to disturb this idea, though his scheme was farenough removed from one wherein the education of youth should be madea mere channel of social ascent. He had no desires of that sort. He hadreached the stage in a young man's life when the grimness of the generalhuman situation first becomes clear; and the realization of this causesambition to halt awhile. In France it is not uncustomary to commitsuicide at this stage; in England we do much better, or much worse, asthe case may be. 

The love between the young man and his mother was strangely invisiblenow. Of love it may be said, the less earthly the less demonstrative. Inits absolutely indestructible form it reaches a profundity in which allexhibition of itself is painful. It was so with these. Had conversationsbetween them been overheard, people would have said, "How cold they areto each other!"

His theory and his wishes about devoting his future to teaching had madean impression on Mrs. Yeobright. Indeed, how could it be otherwisewhen he was a part of her--when their discourses were as if carried onbetween the right and the left hands of the same body? He had despairedof reaching her by argument; and it was almost as a discovery to himthat he could reach her by a magnetism which was as superior to words aswords are to yells. 

Strangely enough he began to feel now that it would not be so hardto persuade her who was his best friend that comparative poverty wasessentially the higher course for him, as to reconcile to his feelingsthe act of persuading her. From every provident point of view his motherwas so undoubtedly right, that he was not without a sickness of heart infinding he could shake her. 

She had a singular insight into life, considering that she had nevermixed with it. There are instances of persons who, without clear ideasof the things they criticize have yet had clear ideas of the relationsof those things. Blacklock, a poet blind from his birth, could describevisual objects with accuracy; Professor Sanderson, who was also blind, gave excellent lectures on colour, and taught others the theory of ideaswhich they had and he had not. In the social sphere these gifted onesare mostly women; they can watch a world which they never saw, andestimate forces of which they have only heard. We call it intuition. 

What was the great world to Mrs. Yeobright? A multitude whose tendenciescould be perceived, though not its essences. Communities were seen byher as from a distance; she saw them as we see the throngs which coverthe canvases of Sallaert, Van Alsloot, and others of that school--vastmasses of beings, jostling, zigzagging, and processioning in definitedirections, but whose features are indistinguishable by the verycomprehensiveness of the view. 

One could see that, as far as it had gone, her life was very complete onits reflective side. The philosophy of her nature, and its limitation bycircumstances, was almost written in her movements. They had a majesticfoundation, though they were far from being majestic; and they had aground-work of assurance, but they were not assured. As her once elasticwalk had become deadened by time, so had her natural pride of life beenhindered in its blooming by her necessities. 

The next slight touch in the shaping of Clym's destiny occurred a fewdays after. A barrow was opened on the heath, and Yeobright attended theoperation, remaining away from his study during several hours. In theafternoon Christian returned from a journey in the same direction, andMrs. Yeobright questioned him. 

"They have dug a hole, and they have found things like flowerpots upsidedown, Mis'ess Yeobright; and inside these be real charnel bones. Theyhave carried 'em off to men's houses; but I shouldn't like to sleepwhere they will bide. Dead folks have been known to come and claim theirown. Mr. Yeobright had got one pot of the bones, and was going to bring'em home--real skellington bones--but 'twas ordered otherwise. You'll berelieved to hear that he gave away his pot and all, on second thoughts;and a blessed thing for ye, Mis'ess Yeobright, considering the wind o'nights. "

"Gave it away?"

"Yes. To Miss Vye. She has a cannibal taste for such churchyardfurniture seemingly. "

"Miss Vye was there too?"

"Ay, 'a b'lieve she was. "

When Clym came home, which was shortly after, his mother said, in acurious tone, "The urn you had meant for me you gave away. "

Yeobright made no reply; the current of her feeling was too pronouncedto admit it. 

The early weeks of the year passed on. Yeobright certainly studied athome, but he also walked much abroad, and the direction of his walk wasalways towards some point of a line between Mistover and Rainbarrow. 

The month of March arrived, and the heath showed its first signs ofawakening from winter trance. The awakening was almost feline in itsstealthiness. The pool outside the bank by Eustacia's dwelling, whichseemed as dead and desolate as ever to an observer who moved and madenoises in his observation, would gradually disclose a state of greatanimation when silently watched awhile. A timid animal world had come tolife for the season. Little tadpoles and efts began to bubble up throughthe water, and to race along beneath it; toads made noises like veryyoung ducks, and advanced to the margin in twos and threes; overhead, bumblebees flew hither and thither in the thickening light, their dronecoming and going like the sound of a gong. 

On an evening such as this Yeobright descended into the Blooms-Endvalley from beside that very pool, where he had been standing withanother person quite silently and quite long enough to hear all thispuny stir of resurrection in nature; yet he had not heard it. His walkwas rapid as he came down, and he went with a springy trend. Beforeentering upon his mother's premises he stopped and breathed. The lightwhich shone forth on him from the window revealed that his face wasflushed and his eye bright. What it did not show was something whichlingered upon his lips like a seal set there. The abiding presence ofthis impress was so real that he hardly dared to enter the house, for itseemed as if his mother might say, "What red spot is that glowing uponyour mouth so vividly?"

But he entered soon after. The tea was ready, and he sat down oppositehis mother. She did not speak many words; and as for him, somethinghad been just done and some words had been just said on the hill whichprevented him from beginning a desultory chat. His mother's taciturnitywas not without ominousness, but he appeared not to care. He knew whyshe said so little, but he could not remove the cause of her bearingtowards him. These half-silent sittings were far from uncommon with themnow. At last Yeobright made a beginning of what was intended to strikeat the whole root of the matter. 

"Five days have we sat like this at meals with scarcely a word. What'sthe use of it, Mother?"

"None, " said she, in a heart-swollen tone. "But there is only too good areason. "

"Not when you know all. I have been wanting to speak about this, and Iam glad the subject is begun. The reason, of course, is Eustacia Vye. Well, I confess I have seen her lately, and have seen her a good manytimes. "

"Yes, yes; and I know what that amounts to. It troubles me, Clym. Youare wasting your life here; and it is solely on account of her. Ifit had not been for that woman you would never have entertained thisteaching scheme at all. "

Clym looked hard at his mother. "You know that is not it, " he said. 

"Well, I know you had decided to attempt it before you saw her; butthat would have ended in intentions. It was very well to talk of, butridiculous to put in practice. I fully expected that in the course of amonth or two you would have seen the folly of such self-sacrifice, andwould have been by this time back again to Paris in some business orother. I can understand objections to the diamond trade--I really wasthinking that it might be inadequate to the life of a man like you eventhough it might have made you a millionaire. But now I see how mistakenyou are about this girl I doubt if you could be correct about otherthings. "

"How am I mistaken in her?"

"She is lazy and dissatisfied. But that is not all of it. Supposing herto be as good a woman as any you can find, which she certainly is not, why do you wish to connect yourself with anybody at present?"

"Well, there are practical reasons, " Clym began, and then almost brokeoff under an overpowering sense of the weight of argument which could bebrought against his statement. 

"If I take a school an educated woman would be invaluable as a help tome. "

"What! you really mean to marry her?"

"It would be premature to state that plainly. But consider what obviousadvantages there would be in doing it. She----"

"Don't suppose she has any money. She hasn't a farthing. "

"She is excellently educated, and would make a good matron in aboarding-school. I candidly own that I have modified my views a little, in deference to you; and it should satisfy you. I no longer adhere tomy intention of giving with my own mouth rudimentary education to thelowest class. I can do better. I can establish a good private schoolfor farmers' sons, and without stopping the school I can manage topass examinations. By this means, and by the assistance of a wife likeher----"

"Oh, Clym!"

"I shall ultimately, I hope, be at the head of one of the best schoolsin the county. "

Yeobright had enunciated the word "her" with a fervour which, inconversation with a mother, was absurdly indiscreet. Hardly a maternalheart within the four seas could in such circumstances, have helpedbeing irritated at that ill-timed betrayal of feeling for a new woman. 

"You are blinded, Clym, " she said warmly. "It was a bad day for you whenyou first set eyes on her. And your scheme is merely a castle in theair built on purpose to justify this folly which has seized you, and tosalve your conscience on the irrational situation you are in. "

"Mother, that's not true, " he firmly answered. 

"Can you maintain that I sit and tell untruths, when all I wish to dois to save you from sorrow? For shame, Clym! But it is all through thatwoman--a hussy!"

Clym reddened like fire and rose. He placed his hand upon his mother'sshoulder and said, in a tone which hung strangely between entreaty andcommand, "I won't hear it. I may be led to answer you in a way which weshall both regret. "

His mother parted her lips to begin some other vehement truth, but onlooking at him she saw that in his face which led her to leave thewords unsaid. Yeobright walked once or twice across the room, and thensuddenly went out of the house. It was eleven o'clock when he came in, though he had not been further than the precincts of the garden. Hismother was gone to bed. A light was left burning on the table, andsupper was spread. Without stopping for any food he secured the doorsand went upstairs. 

4--An Hour of Bliss and Many Hours of Sadness

The next day was gloomy enough at Blooms-End. Yeobright remained inhis study, sitting over the open books; but the work of those hours wasmiserably scant. Determined that there should be nothing in his conducttowards his mother resembling sullenness, he had occasionally spoken toher on passing matters, and would take no notice of the brevity of herreplies. With the same resolve to keep up a show of conversation hesaid, about seven o'clock in the evening, "There's an eclipse of themoon tonight. I am going out to see it. " And, putting on his overcoat, he left her. 

The low moon was not as yet visible from the front of the house, andYeobright climbed out of the valley until he stood in the full floodof her light. But even now he walked on, and his steps were in thedirection of Rainbarrow. 

In half an hour he stood at the top. The sky was clear from verge toverge, and the moon flung her rays over the whole heath, but withoutsensibly lighting it, except where paths and water-courses had laid barethe white flints and glistening quartz sand, which made streaks upon thegeneral shade. After standing awhile he stooped and felt the heather. Itwas dry, and he flung himself down upon the barrow, his face towards themoon, which depicted a small image of herself in each of his eyes. 

He had often come up here without stating his purpose to his mother;but this was the first time that he had been ostensibly frank as tohis purpose while really concealing it. It was a moral situation which, three months earlier, he could hardly have credited of himself. Inreturning to labour in this sequestered spot he had anticipated anescape from the chafing of social necessities; yet behold they werehere also. More than ever he longed to be in some world where personalambition was not the only recognized form of progress--such, perhaps, asmight have been the case at some time or other in the silvery globe thenshining upon him. His eye travelled over the length and breadth of thatdistant country--over the Bay of Rainbows, the sombre Sea of Crises, the Ocean of Storms, the Lake of Dreams, the vast Walled Plains, andthe wondrous Ring Mountains--till he almost felt himself to be voyagingbodily through its wild scenes, standing on its hollow hills, traversingits deserts, descending its vales and old sea bottoms, or mounting tothe edges of its craters. 

While he watched the far-removed landscape a tawny stain grew into beingon the lower verge--the eclipse had begun. This marked a preconcertedmoment--for the remote celestial phenomenon had been pressed intosublunary service as a lover's signal. Yeobright's mind flew back toearth at the sight; he arose, shook himself and listened. Minute afterminute passed by, perhaps ten minutes passed, and the shadow on the moonperceptibly widened. He heard a rustling on his left hand, a cloakedfigure with an upturned face appeared at the base of the Barrow, andClym descended. In a moment the figure was in his arms, and his lipsupon hers. 

"My Eustacia!"

"Clym, dearest!"

Such a situation had less than three months brought forth. 

They remained long without a single utterance, for no language couldreach the level of their condition--words were as the rusty implementsof a by-gone barbarous epoch, and only to be occasionally tolerated. 

"I began to wonder why you did not come, " said Yeobright, when she hadwithdrawn a little from his embrace. 

"You said ten minutes after the first mark of shade on the edge of themoon, and that's what it is now. "

"Well, let us only think that here we are. "

Then, holding each other's hand, they were again silent, and the shadowon the moon's disc grew a little larger. 

"Has it seemed long since you last saw me?" she asked. 

"It has seemed sad. "

"And not long? That's because you occupy yourself, and so blind yourselfto my absence. To me, who can do nothing, it has been like living understagnant water. "

"I would rather bear tediousness, dear, than have time made short bysuch means as have shortened mine. "

"In what way is that? You have been thinking you wished you did not loveme. "

"How can a man wish that, and yet love on? No, Eustacia. "

"Men can, women cannot. "

"Well, whatever I may have thought, one thing is certain--I do loveyou--past all compass and description. I love you to oppressiveness--I, who have never before felt more than a pleasant passing fancy for anywoman I have ever seen. Let me look right into your moonlit face anddwell on every line and curve in it! Only a few hairbreadths make thedifference between this face and faces I have seen many times before Iknew you; yet what a difference--the difference between everything andnothing at all. One touch on that mouth again! there, and there, andthere. Your eyes seem heavy, Eustacia. "

"No, it is my general way of looking. I think it arises from my feelingsometimes an agonizing pity for myself that I ever was born. "

"You don't feel it now?"

"No. Yet I know that we shall not love like this always. Nothing canensure the continuance of love. It will evaporate like a spirit, and soI feel full of fears. "

"You need not. "

"Ah, you don't know. You have seen more than I, and have been intocities and among people that I have only heard of, and have lived moreyears than I; but yet I am older at this than you. I loved another manonce, and now I love you. "

"In God's mercy don't talk so, Eustacia!"

"But I do not think I shall be the one who wearies first. It will, Ifear, end in this way: your mother will find out that you meet me, andshe will influence you against me!"

"That can never be. She knows of these meetings already. "

"And she speaks against me?"

"I will not say. "

"There, go away! Obey her. I shall ruin you. It is foolish of youto meet me like this. Kiss me, and go away forever. Forever--do youhear?--forever!"

"Not I. "

"It is your only chance. Many a man's love has been a curse to him. "

"You are desperate, full of fancies, and wilful; and you misunderstand. I have an additional reason for seeing you tonight besides love of you. For though, unlike you, I feel our affection may be eternal. I feel withyou in this, that our present mode of existence cannot last. "

"Oh! 'tis your mother. Yes, that's it! I knew it. "

"Never mind what it is. Believe this, I cannot let myself lose you. Imust have you always with me. This very evening I do not like to letyou go. There is only one cure for this anxiety, dearest--you must be mywife. "

She started--then endeavoured to say calmly, "Cynics say that cures theanxiety by curing the love. "

"But you must answer me. Shall I claim you some day--I don't mean atonce?"

"I must think, " Eustacia murmured. "At present speak of Paris to me. Isthere any place like it on earth?"

"It is very beautiful. But will you be mine?"

"I will be nobody else's in the world--does that satisfy you?"

"Yes, for the present. "

"Now tell me of the Tuileries, and the Louvre, " she continued evasively. 

"I hate talking of Paris! Well, I remember one sunny room in theLouvre which would make a fitting place for you to live in--the Galeried'Apollon. Its windows are mainly east; and in the early morning, when the sun is bright, the whole apartment is in a perfect blaze ofsplendour. The rays bristle and dart from the encrustations of gildingto the magnificent inlaid coffers, from the coffers to the gold andsilver plate, from the plate to the jewels and precious stones, fromthese to the enamels, till there is a perfect network of light whichquite dazzles the eye. But now, about our marriage----"

"And Versailles--the King's Gallery is some such gorgeous room, is itnot?"

"Yes. But what's the use of talking of gorgeous rooms? By the way, theLittle Trianon would suit us beautifully to live in, and you mightwalk in the gardens in the moonlight and think you were in some Englishshrubbery; It is laid out in English fashion. "

"I should hate to think that!"

"Then you could keep to the lawn in front of the Grand Palace. All aboutthere you would doubtless feel in a world of historical romance. "

He went on, since it was all new to her, and described Fontainebleau, St. Cloud, the Bois, and many other familiar haunts of the Parisians;till she said--

"When used you to go to these places?"

"On Sundays. "

"Ah, yes. I dislike English Sundays. How I should chime in with theirmanners over there! Dear Clym, you'll go back again?"

Clym shook his head, and looked at the eclipse. 

"If you'll go back again I'll--be something, " she said tenderly, puttingher head near his breast. "If you'll agree I'll give my promise, withoutmaking you wait a minute longer. "

"How extraordinary that you and my mother should be of one mind aboutthis!" said Yeobright. "I have vowed not to go back, Eustacia. It is notthe place I dislike; it is the occupation. "

"But you can go in some other capacity. "

"No. Besides, it would interfere with my scheme. Don't press that, Eustacia. Will you marry me?"

"I cannot tell. "

"Now--never mind Paris; it is no better than other spots. Promise, sweet!"

"You will never adhere to your education plan, I am quite sure; and thenit will be all right for me; and so I promise to be yours for ever andever. "

Clym brought her face towards his by a gentle pressure of the hand, andkissed her. 

"Ah! but you don't know what you have got in me, " she said. "Sometimes Ithink there is not that in Eustacia Vye which will make a goodhomespun wife. Well, let it go--see how our time is slipping, slipping, slipping!" She pointed towards the half-eclipsed moon. 

"You are too mournful. "

"No. Only I dread to think of anything beyond the present. What is, weknow. We are together now, and it is unknown how long we shall be so;the unknown always fills my mind with terrible possibilities, evenwhen I may reasonably expect it to be cheerful. .. . Clym, the eclipsedmoonlight shines upon your face with a strange foreign colour, and showsits shape as if it were cut out in gold. That means that you should bedoing better things than this. "

"You are ambitious, Eustacia--no, not exactly ambitious, luxurious. Iought to be of the same vein, to make you happy, I suppose. And yet, farfrom that, I could live and die in a hermitage here, with proper work todo. "

There was that in his tone which implied distrust of his position asa solicitous lover, a doubt if he were acting fairly towards one whosetastes touched his own only at rare and infrequent points. She saw hismeaning, and whispered, in a low, full accent of eager assurance "Don'tmistake me, Clym--though I should like Paris, I love you for yourselfalone. To be your wife and live in Paris would be heaven to me; but Iwould rather live with you in a hermitage here than not be yours at all. It is gain to me either way, and very great gain. There's my too candidconfession. "

"Spoken like a woman. And now I must soon leave you. I'll walk with youtowards your house. "

"But must you go home yet?" she asked. "Yes, the sand has nearly slippedaway, I see, and the eclipse is creeping on more and more. Don't go yet!Stop till the hour has run itself out; then I will not press you anymore. You will go home and sleep well; I keep sighing in my sleep! Doyou ever dream of me?"

"I cannot recollect a clear dream of you. "

"I see your face in every scene of my dreams, and hear your voice inevery sound. I wish I did not. It is too much what I feel. They saysuch love never lasts. But it must! And yet once, I remember, I saw anofficer of the Hussars ride down the street at Budmouth, and though hewas a total stranger and never spoke to me, I loved him till I thoughtI should really die of love--but I didn't die, and at last I left offcaring for him. How terrible it would be if a time should come when Icould not love you, my Clym!"

"Please don't say such reckless things. When we see such a time at handwe will say, 'I have outlived my faith and purpose, ' and die. There, thehour has expired--now let us walk on. "

Hand in hand they went along the path towards Mistover. When they werenear the house he said, "It is too late for me to see your grandfathertonight. Do you think he will object to it?"

"I will speak to him. I am so accustomed to be my own mistress that itdid not occur to me that we should have to ask him. "

Then they lingeringly separated, and Clym descended towards Blooms-End. 

And as he walked further and further from the charmed atmosphere of hisOlympian girl his face grew sad with a new sort of sadness. A perceptionof the dilemma in which his love had placed him came back in full force. In spite of Eustacia's apparent willingness to wait through the periodof an unpromising engagement, till he should be established in his newpursuit, he could not but perceive at moments that she loved him ratheras a visitant from a gay world to which she rightly belonged than asa man with a purpose opposed to that recent past of his which sointerested her. It meant that, though she made no conditions as to hisreturn to the French capital, this was what she secretly longed for inthe event of marriage; and it robbed him of many an otherwise pleasanthour. Along with that came the widening breach between himself and hismother. Whenever any little occurrence had brought into more prominencethan usual the disappointment that he was causing her it had sent him onlone and moody walks; or he was kept awake a great part of the nightby the turmoil of spirit which such a recognition created. If Mrs. Yeobright could only have been led to see what a sound and worthypurpose this purpose of his was and how little it was being affected byhis devotions to Eustacia, how differently would she regard him!

Thus as his sight grew accustomed to the first blinding halo kindledabout him by love and beauty, Yeobright began to perceive what astrait he was in. Sometimes he wished that he had never known Eustacia, immediately to retract the wish as brutal. Three antagonistic growthshad to be kept alive: his mother's trust in him, his plan for becoming ateacher, and Eustacia's happiness. His fervid nature could not affordto relinquish one of these, though two of the three were as many ashe could hope to preserve. Though his love was as chaste as that ofPetrarch for his Laura, it had made fetters of what previously wasonly a difficulty. A position which was not too simple when he stoodwhole-hearted had become indescribably complicated by the addition ofEustacia. Just when his mother was beginning to tolerate one schemehe had introduced another still bitterer than the first, and thecombination was more than she could bear. 

5--Sharp Words Are Spoken, and a Crisis Ensues

When Yeobright was not with Eustacia he was sitting slavishly over hisbooks; when he was not reading he was meeting her. These meetings werecarried on with the greatest secrecy. 

One afternoon his mother came home from a morning visit to Thomasin. Hecould see from a disturbance in the lines of her face that something hadhappened. 

"I have been told an incomprehensible thing, " she said mournfully. "Thecaptain has let out at the Woman that you and Eustacia Vye are engagedto be married. "

"We are, " said Yeobright. "But it may not be yet for a very long time. "

"I should hardly think it WOULD be yet for a very long time! You willtake her to Paris, I suppose?" She spoke with weary hopelessness. 

"I am not going back to Paris. "

"What will you do with a wife, then?"

"Keep a school in Budmouth, as I have told you. "

"That's incredible! The place is overrun with schoolmasters. You have nospecial qualifications. What possible chance is there for such as you?"

"There is no chance of getting rich. But with my system of education, which is as new as it is true, I shall do a great deal of good to myfellow-creatures. "

"Dreams, dreams! If there had been any system left to be invented theywould have found it out at the universities long before this time. "

"Never, Mother. They cannot find it out, because their teachers don'tcome in contact with the class which demands such a system--thatis, those who have had no preliminary training. My plan is one forinstilling high knowledge into empty minds without first cramming themwith what has to be uncrammed again before true study begins. "

"I might have believed you if you had kept yourself free fromentanglements; but this woman--if she had been a good girl it would havebeen bad enough; but being----"

"She is a good girl. "

"So you think. A Corfu bandmaster's daughter! What has her life been?Her surname even is not her true one. "

"She is Captain Vye's granddaughter, and her father merely took hermother's name. And she is a lady by instinct. "

"They call him 'captain, ' but anybody is captain. "

"He was in the Royal Navy!"

"No doubt he has been to sea in some tub or other. Why doesn't he lookafter her? No lady would rove about the heath at all hours of the dayand night as she does. But that's not all of it. There was somethingqueer between her and Thomasin's husband at one time--I am as sure of itas that I stand here. "

"Eustacia has told me. He did pay her a little attention a year ago; butthere's no harm in that. I like her all the better. "

"Clym, " said his mother with firmness, "I have no proofs against her, unfortunately. But if she makes you a good wife, there has never been abad one. "

"Believe me, you are almost exasperating, " said Yeobright vehemently. "And this very day I had intended to arrange a meeting between you. Butyou give me no peace; you try to thwart my wishes in everything. "

"I hate the thought of any son of mine marrying badly! I wish I hadnever lived to see this; it is too much for me--it is more than Idreamt!" She turned to the window. Her breath was coming quickly, andher lips were pale, parted, and trembling. 

"Mother, " said Clym, "whatever you do, you will always be dear tome--that you know. But one thing I have a right to say, which is, thatat my age I am old enough to know what is best for me. "

Mrs. Yeobright remained for some time silent and shaken, as if she couldsay no more. Then she replied, "Best? Is it best for you to injure yourprospects for such a voluptuous, idle woman as that? Don't you see thatby the very fact of your choosing her you prove that you do not knowwhat is best for you? You give up your whole thought--you set your wholesoul--to please a woman. "

"I do. And that woman is you. "

"How can you treat me so flippantly!" said his mother, turning again tohim with a tearful look. "You are unnatural, Clym, and I did not expectit. "

"Very likely, " said he cheerlessly. "You did not know the measure youwere going to mete me, and therefore did not know the measure that wouldbe returned to you again. "

"You answer me; you think only of her. You stick to her in all things. "

"That proves her to be worthy. I have never yet supported what is bad. And I do not care only for her. I care for you and for myself, andfor anything that is good. When a woman once dislikes another she ismerciless!"

"O Clym! please don't go setting down as my fault what is your obstinatewrongheadedness. If you wished to connect yourself with an unworthyperson why did you come home here to do it? Why didn't you do it inParis?--it is more the fashion there. You have come only to distress me, a lonely woman, and shorten my days! I wish that you would bestow yourpresence where you bestow your love!"

Clym said huskily, "You are my mother. I will say no more--beyond this, that I beg your pardon for having thought this my home. I will no longerinflict myself upon you; I'll go. " And he went out with tears in hiseyes. 

It was a sunny afternoon at the beginning of summer, and the moisthollows of the heath had passed from their brown to their green stage. Yeobright walked to the edge of the basin which extended down fromMistover and Rainbarrow. 

By this time he was calm, and he looked over the landscape. In the minorvalleys, between the hillocks which diversified the contour of the vale, the fresh young ferns were luxuriantly growing up, ultimately to reacha height of five or six feet. He descended a little way, flung himselfdown in a spot where a path emerged from one of the small hollows, andwaited. Hither it was that he had promised Eustacia to bring his motherthis afternoon, that they might meet and be friends. His attempt hadutterly failed. 

He was in a nest of vivid green. The ferny vegetation round him, thoughso abundant, was quite uniform--it was a grove of machine-made foliage, a world of green triangles with saw-edges, and not a single flower. Theair was warm with a vaporous warmth, and the stillness was unbroken. Lizards, grasshoppers, and ants were the only living things tobe beheld. The scene seemed to belong to the ancient world of thecarboniferous period, when the forms of plants were few, and of the fernkind; when there was neither bud nor blossom, nothing but a monotonousextent of leafage, amid which no bird sang. 

When he had reclined for some considerable time, gloomily pondering, hediscerned above the ferns a drawn bonnet of white silk approaching fromthe left, and Yeobright knew directly that it covered the head of herhe loved. His heart awoke from its apathy to a warm excitement, and, jumping to his feet, he said aloud, "I knew she was sure to come. "

She vanished in a hollow for a few moments, and then her whole formunfolded itself from the brake. 

"Only you here?" she exclaimed, with a disappointed air, whosehollowness was proved by her rising redness and her half-guilty lowlaugh. "Where is Mrs. Yeobright?"

"She has not come, " he replied in a subdued tone. 

"I wish I had known that you would be here alone, " she said seriously, "and that we were going to have such an idle, pleasant time as this. Pleasure not known beforehand is half wasted; to anticipate it is todouble it. I have not thought once today of having you all to myselfthis afternoon, and the actual moment of a thing is so soon gone. "

"It is indeed. "

"Poor Clym!" she continued, looking tenderly into his face. "You aresad. Something has happened at your home. Never mind what is--let usonly look at what seems. "

"But, darling, what shall we do?" said he. 

"Still go on as we do now--just live on from meeting to meeting, neverminding about another day. You, I know, are always thinking of that--Ican see you are. But you must not--will you, dear Clym?"

"You are just like all women. They are ever content to build their liveson any incidental position that offers itself; whilst men would fainmake a globe to suit them. Listen to this, Eustacia. There is a subjectI have determined to put off no longer. Your sentiment on the wisdomof Carpe diem does not impress me today. Our present mode of life mustshortly be brought to an end. "

"It is your mother!"

"It is. I love you none the less in telling you; it is only right youshould know. "

"I have feared my bliss, " she said, with the merest motion of her lips. "It has been too intense and consuming. "

"There is hope yet. There are forty years of work in me yet, and whyshould you despair? I am only at an awkward turning. I wish peoplewouldn't be so ready to think that there is no progress withoutuniformity. "

"Ah--your mind runs off to the philosophical side of it. Well, these sadand hopeless obstacles are welcome in one sense, for they enable us tolook with indifference upon the cruel satires that Fate loves to indulgein. I have heard of people, who, upon coming suddenly into happiness, have died from anxiety lest they should not live to enjoy it. I feltmyself in that whimsical state of uneasiness lately; but I shall bespared it now. Let us walk on. "

Clym took the hand which was already bared for him--it was a favouriteway with them to walk bare hand in bare hand--and led her through theferns. They formed a very comely picture of love at full flush, as theywalked along the valley that late afternoon, the sun sloping down ontheir right, and throwing their thin spectral shadows, tall as poplartrees, far out across the furze and fern. Eustacia went with her headthrown back fancifully, a certain glad and voluptuous air of triumphpervading her eyes at having won by her own unaided self a man who washer perfect complement in attainment, appearance, and age. On the youngman's part, the paleness of face which he had brought with himfrom Paris, and the incipient marks of time and thought, were lessperceptible than when he returned, the healthful and energeticsturdiness which was his by nature having partially recovered itsoriginal proportions. They wandered onward till they reached the nethermargin of the heath, where it became marshy and merged in moorland. 

"I must part from you here, Clym, " said Eustacia. 

They stood still and prepared to bid each other farewell. Everythingbefore them was on a perfect level. The sun, resting on the horizonline, streamed across the ground from between copper-coloured and lilacclouds, stretched out in flats beneath a sky of pale soft green. Alldark objects on the earth that lay towards the sun were overspread bya purple haze, against which groups of wailing gnats shone out, risingupwards and dancing about like sparks of fire. 

"O! this leaving you is too hard to bear!" exclaimed Eustacia in asudden whisper of anguish. "Your mother will influence you too much;I shall not be judged fairly, it will get afloat that I am not a goodgirl, and the witch story will be added to make me blacker!"

"They cannot. Nobody dares to speak disrespectfully of you or of me. "

"Oh how I wish I was sure of never losing you--that you could not beable to desert me anyhow!"

Clym stood silent a moment. His feelings were high, the moment waspassionate, and he cut the knot. 

"You shall be sure of me, darling, " he said, folding her in his arms. "We will be married at once. "

"O Clym!"

"Do you agree to it?"

"If--if we can. "

"We certainly can, both being of full age. And I have not followed myoccupation all these years without having accumulated money; and if youwill agree to live in a tiny cottage somewhere on the heath, until Itake a house in Budmouth for the school, we can do it at a very littleexpense. "

"How long shall we have to live in the tiny cottage, Clym?"

"About six months. At the end of that time I shall have finished myreading--yes, we will do it, and this heart-aching will be over. Weshall, of course, live in absolute seclusion, and our married life willonly begin to outward view when we take the house in Budmouth, where Ihave already addressed a letter on the matter. Would your grandfatherallow you?"

"I think he would--on the understanding that it should not last longerthan six months. "

"I will guarantee that, if no misfortune happens. "

"If no misfortune happens, " she repeated slowly. 

"Which is not likely. Dearest, fix the exact day. "

And then they consulted on the question, and the day was chosen. It wasto be a fortnight from that time. 

This was the end of their talk, and Eustacia left him. Clym watched heras she retired towards the sun. The luminous rays wrapped her up withher increasing distance, and the rustle of her dress over the sproutingsedge and grass died away. As he watched, the dead flat of the sceneryoverpowered him, though he was fully alive to the beauty of thatuntarnished early summer green which was worn for the nonce by thepoorest blade. There was something in its oppressive horizontality whichtoo much reminded him of the arena of life; it gave him a sense of bareequality with, and no superiority to, a single living thing under thesun. 

Eustacia was now no longer the goddess but the woman to him, a beingto fight for, support, help, be maligned for. Now that he had reacheda cooler moment he would have preferred a less hasty marriage; but thecard was laid, and he determined to abide by the game. Whether Eustaciawas to add one other to the list of those who love too hotly to lovelong and well, the forthcoming event was certainly a ready way ofproving. 

6--Yeobright Goes, and the Breach Is Complete

All that evening smart sounds denoting an active packing up came fromYeobright's room to the ears of his mother downstairs. 

Next morning he departed from the house and again proceeded across theheath. A long day's march was before him, his object being to secure adwelling to which he might take Eustacia when she became his wife. Such a house, small, secluded, and with its windows boarded up, he hadcasually observed a month earlier, about two miles beyond the villageof East Egdon, and six miles distant altogether; and thither he directedhis steps today. 

The weather was far different from that of the evening before. Theyellow and vapoury sunset which had wrapped up Eustacia from his partinggaze had presaged change. It was one of those not infrequent days ofan English June which are as wet and boisterous as November. The coldclouds hastened on in a body, as if painted on a moving slide. Vapoursfrom other continents arrived upon the wind, which curled and partedround him as he walked on. 

At length Clym reached the margin of a fir and beech plantation that hadbeen enclosed from heath land in the year of his birth. Here the trees, laden heavily with their new and humid leaves, were now suffering moredamage than during the highest winds of winter, when the boughs areespecially disencumbered to do battle with the storm. The wet youngbeeches were undergoing amputations, bruises, cripplings, and harshlacerations, from which the wasting sap would bleed for many a day tocome, and which would leave scars visible till the day of their burning. Each stem was wrenched at the root, where it moved like a bone in itssocket, and at every onset of the gale convulsive sounds came from thebranches, as if pain were felt. In a neighbouring brake a finch wastrying to sing; but the wind blew under his feathers till they stood onend, twisted round his little tail, and made him give up his song. 

Yet a few yards to Yeobright's left, on the open heath, howineffectively gnashed the storm! Those gusts which tore the trees merelywaved the furze and heather in a light caress. Egdon was made for suchtimes as these. 

Yeobright reached the empty house about midday. It was almost as lonelyas that of Eustacia's grandfather, but the fact that it stood neara heath was disguised by a belt of firs which almost enclosed thepremises. He journeyed on about a mile further to the village in whichthe owner lived, and, returning with him to the house, arrangements werecompleted, and the man undertook that one room at least should be readyfor occupation the next day. Clym's intention was to live there aloneuntil Eustacia should join him on their wedding-day. 

Then he turned to pursue his way homeward through the drizzle that hadso greatly transformed the scene. The ferns, among which he had lain incomfort yesterday, were dripping moisture from every frond, wettinghis legs through as he brushed past; and the fur of the rabbits leapingbefore him was clotted into dark locks by the same watery surrounding. 

He reached home damp and weary enough after his ten-mile walk. It hadhardly been a propitious beginning, but he had chosen his course, andwould show no swerving. The evening and the following morning were spentin concluding arrangements for his departure. To stay at home a minutelonger than necessary after having once come to his determination wouldbe, he felt, only to give new pain to his mother by some word, look, ordeed. 

He had hired a conveyance and sent off his goods by two o'clock thatday. The next step was to get some furniture, which, after servingfor temporary use in the cottage, would be available for the houseat Budmouth when increased by goods of a better description. A martextensive enough for the purpose existed at Anglebury, some miles beyondthe spot chosen for his residence, and there he resolved to pass thecoming night. 

It now only remained to wish his mother good-bye. She was sitting by thewindow as usual when he came downstairs. 

"Mother, I am going to leave you, " he said, holding out his hand. 

"I thought you were, by your packing, " replied Mrs. Yeobright in a voicefrom which every particle of emotion was painfully excluded. 

"And you will part friends with me?"

"Certainly, Clym. "

"I am going to be married on the twenty-fifth. "

"I thought you were going to be married. "

"And then--and then you must come and see us. You will understand mebetter after that, and our situation will not be so wretched as it isnow. "

"I do not think it likely I shall come to see you. "

"Then it will not be my fault or Eustacia's, Mother. Good-bye!"

He kissed her cheek, and departed in great misery, which was severalhours in lessening itself to a controllable level. The position hadbeen such that nothing more could be said without, in the first place, breaking down a barrier; and that was not to be done. 

No sooner had Yeobright gone from his mother's house than her facechanged its rigid aspect for one of blank despair. After a while shewept, and her tears brought some relief. During the rest of the day shedid nothing but walk up and down the garden path in a state borderingon stupefaction. Night came, and with it but little rest. The next day, with an instinct to do something which should reduce prostrationto mournfulness, she went to her son's room, and with her own handsarranged it in order, for an imaginary time when he should returnagain. She gave some attention to her flowers, but it was perfunctorilybestowed, for they no longer charmed her. 

It was a great relief when, early in the afternoon, Thomasin paid her anunexpected visit. This was not the first meeting between the relativessince Thomasin's marriage; and past blunders having been in a rough wayrectified, they could always greet each other with pleasure and ease. 

The oblique band of sunlight which followed her through the door becamethe young wife well. It illuminated her as her presence illuminated theheath. In her movements, in her gaze, she reminded the beholder ofthe feathered creatures who lived around her home. All similes andallegories concerning her began and ended with birds. There was as muchvariety in her motions as in their flight. When she was musing she wasa kestrel, which hangs in the air by an invisible motion of its wings. When she was in a high wind her light body was blown against trees andbanks like a heron's. When she was frightened she darted noiselesslylike a kingfisher. When she was serene she skimmed like a swallow, andthat is how she was moving now. 

"You are looking very blithe, upon my word, Tamsie, " said Mrs. Yeobright, with a sad smile. "How is Damon?"

"He is very well. "

"Is he kind to you, Thomasin?" And Mrs. Yeobright observed her narrowly. 

"Pretty fairly. "

"Is that honestly said?"

"Yes, Aunt. I would tell you if he were unkind. " She added, blushing, and with hesitation, "He--I don't know if I ought to complain to youabout this, but I am not quite sure what to do. I want some money, youknow, Aunt--some to buy little things for myself--and he doesn't giveme any. I don't like to ask him; and yet, perhaps, he doesn't give it mebecause he doesn't know. Ought I to mention it to him, Aunt?"

"Of course you ought. Have you never said a word on the matter?"

"You see, I had some of my own, " said Thomasin evasively, "and I havenot wanted any of his until lately. I did just say something about itlast week; but he seems--not to remember. "

"He must be made to remember. You are aware that I have a little boxfull of spade-guineas, which your uncle put into my hands to dividebetween yourself and Clym whenever I chose. Perhaps the time has comewhen it should be done. They can be turned into sovereigns at anymoment. "

"I think I should like to have my share--that is, if you don't mind. "

"You shall, if necessary. But it is only proper that you should firsttell your husband distinctly that you are without any, and see what hewill do. "

"Very well, I will. .. . Aunt, I have heard about Clym. I know you are introuble about him, and that's why I have come. "

Mrs. Yeobright turned away, and her features worked in her attempt toconceal her feelings. Then she ceased to make any attempt, and said, weeping, "O Thomasin, do you think he hates me? How can he bear togrieve me so, when I have lived only for him through all these years?"

"Hate you--no, " said Thomasin soothingly. "It is only that he loves hertoo well. Look at it quietly--do. It is not so very bad of him. Do youknow, I thought it not the worst match he could have made. Miss Vye'sfamily is a good one on her mother's side; and her father was a romanticwanderer--a sort of Greek Ulysses. "

"It is no use, Thomasin; it is no use. Your intention is good; but Iwill not trouble you to argue. I have gone through the whole that can besaid on either side times, and many times. Clym and I have not partedin anger; we have parted in a worse way. It is not a passionate quarrelthat would have broken my heart; it is the steady opposition andpersistence in going wrong that he has shown. O Thomasin, he was so goodas a little boy--so tender and kind!"

"He was, I know. "

"I did not think one whom I called mine would grow up to treat me likethis. He spoke to me as if I opposed him to injure him. As though Icould wish him ill!"

"There are worse women in the world than Eustacia Vye. "

"There are too many better that's the agony of it. It was she, Thomasin, and she only, who led your husband to act as he did--I would swear it!"

"No, " said Thomasin eagerly. "It was before he knew me that he thoughtof her, and it was nothing but a mere flirtation. "

"Very well; we will let it be so. There is little use in unravellingthat now. Sons must be blind if they will. Why is it that a woman cansee from a distance what a man cannot see close? Clym must do as hewill--he is nothing more to me. And this is maternity--to give one'sbest years and best love to ensure the fate of being despised!"

"You are too unyielding. Think how many mothers there are whose sonshave brought them to public shame by real crimes before you feel sodeeply a case like this. "

"Thomasin, don't lecture me--I can't have it. It is the excess abovewhat we expect that makes the force of the blow, and that may notbe greater in their case than in mine--they may have foreseen theworst. .. . I am wrongly made, Thomasin, " she added, with a mournful smile. "Some widows can guard against the wounds their children give them byturning their hearts to another husband and beginning life again. But Ialways was a poor, weak, one-idea'd creature--I had not the compass ofheart nor the enterprise for that. Just as forlorn and stupefied asI was when my husband's spirit flew away I have sat ever since--neverattempting to mend matters at all. I was comparatively a young womanthen, and I might have had another family by this time, and have beencomforted by them for the failure of this one son. "

"It is more noble in you that you did not. "

"The more noble, the less wise. "

"Forget it, and be soothed, dear Aunt. And I shall not leave you alonefor long. I shall come and see you every day. "

And for one week Thomasin literally fulfilled her word. She endeavouredto make light of the wedding; and brought news of the preparations, andthat she was invited to be present. The next week she was rather unwell, and did not appear. Nothing had as yet been done about the guineas, forThomasin feared to address her husband again on the subject, and Mrs. Yeobright had insisted upon this. 

One day just before this time Wildeve was standing at the door ofthe Quiet Woman. In addition to the upward path through the heathto Rainbarrow and Mistover, there was a road which branched from thehighway a short distance below the inn, and ascended to Mistover by acircuitous and easy incline. This was the only route on that side forvehicles to the captain's retreat. A light cart from the nearest towndescended the road, and the lad who was driving pulled up in front ofthe inn for something to drink. 

"You come from Mistover?" said Wildeve. 

"Yes. They are taking in good things up there. Going to be a wedding. "And the driver buried his face in his mug. 

Wildeve had not received an inkling of the fact before, and a suddenexpression of pain overspread his face. He turned for a moment into thepassage to hide it. Then he came back again. 

"Do you mean Miss Vye?" he said. "How is it--that she can be married sosoon?"

"By the will of God and a ready young man, I suppose. "

"You don't mean Mr. Yeobright?"

"Yes. He has been creeping about with her all the spring. "

"I suppose--she was immensely taken with him?"

"She is crazy about him, so their general servant of all work tells me. And that lad Charley that looks after the horse is all in a daze aboutit. The stun-poll has got fond-like of her. "

"Is she lively--is she glad? Going to be married so soon--well!"

"It isn't so very soon. "

"No; not so very soon. "

Wildeve went indoors to the empty room, a curious heartache within him. He rested his elbow upon the mantelpiece and his face upon his hand. When Thomasin entered the room he did not tell her of what he had heard. The old longing for Eustacia had reappeared in his soul--and it wasmainly because he had discovered that it was another man's intention topossess her. 

To be yearning for the difficult, to be weary of that offered; to carefor the remote, to dislike the near; it was Wildeve's nature always. This is the true mark of the man of sentiment. Though Wildeve's feveredfeeling had not been elaborated to real poetical compass, it was of thestandard sort. His might have been called the Rousseau of Egdon. 

7--The Morning and the Evening of a Day

The wedding morning came. Nobody would have imagined from appearancesthat Blooms-End had any interest in Mistover that day. A solemnstillness prevailed around the house of Clym's mother, and there was nomore animation indoors. Mrs. Yeobright, who had declined to attend theceremony, sat by the breakfast table in the old room which communicatedimmediately with the porch, her eyes listlessly directed towards theopen door. It was the room in which, six months earlier, the merryChristmas party had met, to which Eustacia came secretly and as astranger. The only living thing that entered now was a sparrow; andseeing no movements to cause alarm, he hopped boldly round theroom, endeavoured to go out by the window, and fluttered among thepot-flowers. This roused the lonely sitter, who got up, released thebird, and went to the door. She was expecting Thomasin, who had writtenthe night before to state that the time had come when she would wish tohave the money and that she would if possible call this day. 

Yet Thomasin occupied Mrs. Yeobright's thoughts but slightly as shelooked up the valley of the heath, alive with butterflies, and withgrasshoppers whose husky noises on every side formed a whispered chorus. A domestic drama, for which the preparations were now being made a mileor two off, was but little less vividly present to her eyes than ifenacted before her. She tried to dismiss the vision, and walked aboutthe garden plot; but her eyes ever and anon sought out the directionof the parish church to which Mistover belonged, and her excited fancyclove the hills which divided the building from her eyes. The morningwore away. Eleven o'clock struck--could it be that the wedding wasthen in progress? It must be so. She went on imagining the scene atthe church, which he had by this time approached with his bride. Shepictured the little group of children by the gate as the pony carriagedrove up in which, as Thomasin had learnt, they were going to performthe short journey. Then she saw them enter and proceed to the chanceland kneel; and the service seemed to go on. 

She covered her face with her hands. "O, it is a mistake!" she groaned. "And he will rue it some day, and think of me!"

While she remained thus, overcome by her forebodings, the old clockindoors whizzed forth twelve strokes. Soon after, faint sounds floatedto her ear from afar over the hills. The breeze came from that quarter, and it had brought with it the notes of distant bells, gaily startingoff in a peal: one, two, three, four, five. The ringers at East Egdonwere announcing the nuptials of Eustacia and her son. 

"Then it is over, " she murmured. "Well, well! and life too will be oversoon. And why should I go on scalding my face like this? Cry about onething in life, cry about all; one thread runs through the whole piece. And yet we say, 'a time to laugh!'"

Towards evening Wildeve came. Since Thomasin's marriage Mrs. Yeobrighthad shown him that grim friendliness which at last arises in all suchcases of undesired affinity. The vision of what ought to have beenis thrown aside in sheer weariness, and browbeaten human endeavourlistlessly makes the best of the fact that is. Wildeve, to do himjustice, had behaved very courteously to his wife's aunt; and it waswith no surprise that she saw him enter now. 

"Thomasin has not been able to come, as she promised to do, " he repliedto her inquiry, which had been anxious, for she knew that her niece wasbadly in want of money. 

"The captain came down last night and personally pressed her to jointhem today. So, not to be unpleasant, she determined to go. They fetchedher in the pony-chaise, and are going to bring her back. "

"Then it is done, " said Mrs. Yeobright. "Have they gone to their newhome?"

"I don't know. I have had no news from Mistover since Thomasin left togo. "

"You did not go with her?" said she, as if there might be good reasonswhy. 

"I could not, " said Wildeve, reddening slightly. "We could not bothleave the house; it was rather a busy morning, on account of AngleburyGreat Market. I believe you have something to give to Thomasin? If youlike, I will take it. "

Mrs. Yeobright hesitated, and wondered if Wildeve knew what thesomething was. "Did she tell you of this?" she inquired. 

"Not particularly. She casually dropped a remark about having arrangedto fetch some article or other. "

"It is hardly necessary to send it. She can have it whenever she choosesto come. "

"That won't be yet. In the present state of her health she must not goon walking so much as she has done. " He added, with a faint twang ofsarcasm, "What wonderful thing is it that I cannot be trusted to take?"

"Nothing worth troubling you with. "

"One would think you doubted my honesty, " he said, with a laugh, thoughhis colour rose in a quick resentfulness frequent with him. 

"You need think no such thing, " said she drily. "It is simply that I, in common with the rest of the world, feel that there are certain thingswhich had better be done by certain people than by others. "

"As you like, as you like, " said Wildeve laconically. "It is not wortharguing about. Well, I think I must turn homeward again, as the inn mustnot be left long in charge of the lad and the maid only. "

He went his way, his farewell being scarcely so courteous as hisgreeting. But Mrs. Yeobright knew him thoroughly by this time, and tooklittle notice of his manner, good or bad. 

When Wildeve was gone Mrs. Yeobright stood and considered what would bethe best course to adopt with regard to the guineas, which she had notliked to entrust to Wildeve. It was hardly credible that Thomasin hadtold him to ask for them, when the necessity for them had arisenfrom the difficulty of obtaining money at his hands. At the same timeThomasin really wanted them, and might be unable to come to Blooms-Endfor another week at least. To take or send the money to her at the innwould be impolite, since Wildeve would pretty surely be present, orwould discover the transaction; and if, as her aunt suspected, hetreated her less kindly than she deserved to be treated, he mightthen get the whole sum out of her gentle hands. But on this particularevening Thomasin was at Mistover, and anything might be conveyed toher there without the knowledge of her husband. Upon the whole theopportunity was worth taking advantage of. 

Her son, too, was there, and was now married. There could be no moreproper moment to render him his share of the money than the present. And the chance that would be afforded her, by sending him this gift, of showing how far she was from bearing him ill-will, cheered the sadmother's heart. 

She went upstairs and took from a locked drawer a little box, out ofwhich she poured a hoard of broad unworn guineas that had lain theremany a year. There were a hundred in all, and she divided them into twoheaps, fifty in each. Tying up these in small canvas bags, she went downto the garden and called to Christian Cantle, who was loitering about inhope of a supper which was not really owed him. Mrs. Yeobright gavehim the moneybags, charged him to go to Mistover, and on no accountto deliver them into any one's hands save her son's and Thomasin's. Onfurther thought she deemed it advisable to tell Christian preciselywhat the two bags contained, that he might be fully impressed with theirimportance. Christian pocketed the moneybags, promised the greatestcarefulness, and set out on his way. 

"You need not hurry, " said Mrs. Yeobright. "It will be better not to getthere till after dusk, and then nobody will notice you. Come back hereto supper, if it is not too late. "

It was nearly nine o'clock when he began to ascend the vale towardsMistover; but the long days of summer being at their climax, the firstobscurity of evening had only just begun to tan the landscape. Atthis point of his journey Christian heard voices, and found that theyproceeded from a company of men and women who were traversing a hollowahead of him, the tops only of their heads being visible. 

He paused and thought of the money he carried. It was almost too earlyeven for Christian seriously to fear robbery; nevertheless he tooka precaution which ever since his boyhood he had adopted whenever hecarried more than two or three shillings upon his person--a precautionsomewhat like that of the owner of the Pitt Diamond when filled withsimilar misgivings. He took off his boots, untied the guineas, andemptied the contents of one little bag into the right boot, and ofthe other into the left, spreading them as flatly as possible over thebottom of each, which was really a spacious coffer by no means limitedto the size of the foot. Pulling them on again and lacing them to thevery top, he proceeded on his way, more easy in his head than under hissoles. 

His path converged towards that of the noisy company, and on comingnearer he found to his relief that they were several Egdon people whomhe knew very well, while with them walked Fairway, of Blooms-End. 

"What! Christian going too?" said Fairway as soon as he recognized thenewcomer. "You've got no young woman nor wife to your name to gie agown-piece to, I'm sure. "

"What d'ye mean?" said Christian. 

"Why, the raffle. The one we go to every year. Going to the raffle aswell as ourselves?"

"Never knew a word o't. Is it like cudgel playing or other sportfulforms of bloodshed? I don't want to go, thank you, Mister Fairway, andno offence. "

"Christian don't know the fun o't, and 'twould be a fine sight for him, "said a buxom woman. "There's no danger at all, Christian. Every manputs in a shilling apiece, and one wins a gown-piece for his wife orsweetheart if he's got one. "

"Well, as that's not my fortune there's no meaning in it to me. But Ishould like to see the fun, if there's nothing of the black art in it, and if a man may look on without cost or getting into any dangerouswrangle?"

"There will be no uproar at all, " said Timothy. "Sure, Christian, ifyou'd like to come we'll see there's no harm done. "

"And no ba'dy gaieties, I suppose? You see, neighbours, if so, itwould be setting father a bad example, as he is so light moral'd. Buta gown-piece for a shilling, and no black art--'tis worth looking in tosee, and it wouldn't hinder me half an hour. Yes, I'll come, if you'llstep a little way towards Mistover with me afterwards, supposing nightshould have closed in, and nobody else is going that way?"

One or two promised; and Christian, diverging from his direct path, turned round to the right with his companions towards the Quiet Woman. 

When they entered the large common room of the inn they found assembledthere about ten men from among the neighbouring population, and thegroup was increased by the new contingent to double that number. Most ofthem were sitting round the room in seats divided by wooden elbows likethose of crude cathedral stalls, which were carved with the initials ofmany an illustrious drunkard of former times who had passed his daysand his nights between them, and now lay as an alcoholic cinder in thenearest churchyard. Among the cups on the long table before thesitters lay an open parcel of light drapery--the gown-piece, as it wascalled--which was to be raffled for. Wildeve was standing with his backto the fireplace smoking a cigar; and the promoter of the raffle, apackman from a distant town, was expatiating upon the value of thefabric as material for a summer dress. 

"Now, gentlemen, " he continued, as the newcomers drew up to the table, "there's five have entered, and we want four more to make up the number. I think, by the faces of those gentlemen who have just come in, thatthey are shrewd enough to take advantage of this rare opportunity ofbeautifying their ladies at a very trifling expense. "

Fairway, Sam, and another placed their shillings on the table, and theman turned to Christian. 

"No, sir, " said Christian, drawing back, with a quick gaze of misgiving. "I am only a poor chap come to look on, an it please ye, sir. I don'tso much as know how you do it. If so be I was sure of getting it I wouldput down the shilling; but I couldn't otherwise. "

"I think you might almost be sure, " said the pedlar. "In fact, now Ilook into your face, even if I can't say you are sure to win, I can saythat I never saw anything look more like winning in my life. "

"You'll anyhow have the same chance as the rest of us, " said Sam. 

"And the extra luck of being the last comer, " said another. 

"And I was born wi' a caul, and perhaps can be no more ruined thandrowned?" Christian added, beginning to give way. 

Ultimately Christian laid down his shilling, the raffle began, and thedice went round. When it came to Christian's turn he took the box with atrembling hand, shook it fearfully, and threw a pair-royal. Three of theothers had thrown common low pairs, and all the rest mere points. 

"The gentleman looked like winning, as I said, " observed the chapmanblandly. "Take it, sir; the article is yours. "

"Haw-haw-haw!" said Fairway. "I'm damned if this isn't the quarest startthat ever I knowed!"

"Mine?" asked Christian, with a vacant stare from his target eyes. "I--Ihaven't got neither maid, wife, nor widder belonging to me at all, andI'm afeard it will make me laughed at to ha'e it, Master Traveller. Whatwith being curious to join in I never thought of that! What shall I dowi' a woman's clothes in MY bedroom, and not lose my decency!"

"Keep 'em, to be sure, " said Fairway, "if it is only for luck. Perhaps'twill tempt some woman that thy poor carcase had no power over whenstanding empty-handed. "

"Keep it, certainly, " said Wildeve, who had idly watched the scene froma distance. 

The table was then cleared of the articles, and the men began to drink. 

"Well, to be sure!" said Christian, half to himself. "To think I shouldhave been born so lucky as this, and not have found it out until now!What curious creatures these dice be--powerful rulers of us all, andyet at my command! I am sure I never need be afeared of anything afterthis. " He handled the dice fondly one by one. "Why, sir, " he said in aconfidential whisper to Wildeve, who was near his left hand, "if I couldonly use this power that's in me of multiplying money I might do somegood to a near relation of yours, seeing what I've got about me ofhers--eh?" He tapped one of his money-laden boots upon the floor. 

"What do you mean?" said Wildeve. 

"That's a secret. Well, I must be going now. " He looked anxiouslytowards Fairway. 

"Where are you going?" Wildeve asked. 

"To Mistover Knap. I have to see Mrs. Thomasin there--that's all. "

"I am going there, too, to fetch Mrs. Wildeve. We can walk together. "

Wildeve became lost in thought, and a look of inward illumination cameinto his eyes. It was money for his wife that Mrs. Yeobright could nottrust him with. "Yet she could trust this fellow, " he said to himself. "Why doesn't that which belongs to the wife belong to the husband too?"

He called to the pot-boy to bring him his hat, and said, "Now, Christian, I am ready. "

"Mr. Wildeve, " said Christian timidly, as he turned to leave the room, "would you mind lending me them wonderful little things that carry myluck inside 'em, that I might practise a bit by myself, you know?" Helooked wistfully at the dice and box lying on the mantlepiece. 

"Certainly, " said Wildeve carelessly. "They were only cut out by somelad with his knife, and are worth nothing. " And Christian went back andprivately pocketed them. 

Wildeve opened the door and looked out. The night was warm and cloudy. "By Gad! 'tis dark, " he continued. "But I suppose we shall find ourway. "

"If we should lose the path it might be awkward, " said Christian. "Alantern is the only shield that will make it safe for us. "

"Let's have a lantern by all means. " The stable lantern was fetched andlighted. Christian took up his gownpiece, and the two set out to ascendthe hill. 

Within the room the men fell into chat till their attention was for amoment drawn to the chimney-corner. This was large, and, in additionto its proper recess, contained within its jambs, like many on Egdon, areceding seat, so that a person might sit there absolutely unobserved, provided there was no fire to light him up, as was the case now andthroughout the summer. From the niche a single object protruded into thelight from the candles on the table. It was a clay pipe, and its colourwas reddish. The men had been attracted to this object by a voice behindthe pipe asking for a light. 

"Upon my life, it fairly startled me when the man spoke!" said Fairway, handing a candle. "Oh--'tis the reddleman! You've kept a quiet tongue, young man. "

"Yes, I had nothing to say, " observed Venn. In a few minutes he aroseand wished the company good night. 

Meanwhile Wildeve and Christian had plunged into the heath. 

It was a stagnant, warm, and misty night, full of all the heavy perfumesof new vegetation not yet dried by hot sun, and among these particularlythe scent of the fern. The lantern, dangling from Christian's hand, brushed the feathery fronds in passing by, disturbing moths and otherwinged insects, which flew out and alighted upon its horny panes. 

"So you have money to carry to Mrs. Wildeve?" said Christian'scompanion, after a silence. "Don't you think it very odd that itshouldn't be given to me?"

"As man and wife be one flesh, 'twould have been all the same, I shouldthink, " said Christian. "But my strict documents was, to give the moneyinto Mrs. Wildeve's hand--and 'tis well to do things right. "

"No doubt, " said Wildeve. Any person who had known the circumstancesmight have perceived that Wildeve was mortified by the discovery thatthe matter in transit was money, and not, as he had supposed when atBlooms-End, some fancy nick-nack which only interested the two womenthemselves. Mrs. Yeobright's refusal implied that his honour was notconsidered to be of sufficiently good quality to make him a safer bearerof his wife's property. 

"How very warm it is tonight, Christian!" he said, panting, when theywere nearly under Rainbarrow. "Let us sit down for a few minutes, forHeaven's sake. "

Wildeve flung himself down on the soft ferns; and Christian, placing thelantern and parcel on the ground, perched himself in a cramped positionhard by, his knees almost touching his chin. He presently thrust onehand into his coat-pocket and began shaking it about. 

"What are you rattling in there?" said Wildeve. 

"Only the dice, sir, " said Christian, quickly withdrawing his hand. "What magical machines these little things be, Mr. Wildeve! 'Tis agame I should never get tired of. Would you mind my taking 'em out andlooking at 'em for a minute, to see how they are made? I didn't liketo look close before the other men, for fear they should think it badmanners in me. " Christian took them out and examined them in the hollowof his hand by the lantern light. "That these little things should carrysuch luck, and such charm, and such a spell, and such power in 'em, passes all I ever heard or zeed, " he went on, with a fascinated gaze atthe dice, which, as is frequently the case in country places, were madeof wood, the points being burnt upon each face with the end of a wire. 

"They are a great deal in a small compass, You think?"

"Yes. Do ye suppose they really be the devil's playthings, Mr. Wildeve?If so, 'tis no good sign that I be such a lucky man. "

"You ought to win some money, now that you've got them. Any woman wouldmarry you then. Now is your time, Christian, and I would recommend younot to let it slip. Some men are born to luck, some are not. I belong tothe latter class. "

"Did you ever know anybody who was born to it besides myself?"

"O yes. I once heard of an Italian, who sat down at a gaming table withonly a louis, (that's a foreign sovereign), in his pocket. He played onfor twenty-four hours, and won ten thousand pounds, stripping thebank he had played against. Then there was another man who had lost athousand pounds, and went to the broker's next day to sell stock, thathe might pay the debt. The man to whom he owed the money went with himin a hackney-coach; and to pass the time they tossed who should paythe fare. The ruined man won, and the other was tempted to continue thegame, and they played all the way. When the coachman stopped he was toldto drive home again: the whole thousand pounds had been won back by theman who was going to sell. "

"Ha--ha--splendid!" exclaimed Christian. "Go on--go on!"

"Then there was a man of London, who was only a waiter at White'sclubhouse. He began playing first half-crown stakes, and then higher andhigher, till he became very rich, got an appointment in India, and roseto be Governor of Madras. His daughter married a member of Parliament, and the Bishop of Carlisle stood godfather to one of the children. "

"Wonderfull wonderfull"

"And once there was a young man in America who gambled till he had losthis last dollar. He staked his watch and chain, and lost as before;staked his umbrella, lost again; staked his hat, lost again; staked hiscoat and stood in his shirt-sleeves, lost again. Began taking off hisbreeches, and then a looker-on gave him a trifle for his pluck. Withthis he won. Won back his coat, won back his hat, won back his umbrella, his watch, his money, and went out of the door a rich man. "

"Oh, 'tis too good--it takes away my breath! Mr. Wildeve, I think I willtry another shilling with you, as I am one of that sort; no danger cancome o't, and you can afford to lose. "

"Very well, " said Wildeve, rising. Searching about with the lantern, hefound a large flat stone, which he placed between himself and Christian, and sat down again. The lantern was opened to give more light, and it'srays directed upon the stone. Christian put down a shilling, Wildeveanother, and each threw. Christian won. They played for two, Christianwon again. 

"Let us try four, " said Wildeve. They played for four. This time thestakes were won by Wildeve. 

"Ah, those little accidents will, of course, sometimes happen, to theluckiest man, " he observed. 

"And now I have no more money!" explained Christian excitedly. "And yet, if I could go on, I should get it back again, and more. I wish this wasmine. " He struck his boot upon the ground, so that the guineas chinkedwithin. 

"What! you have not put Mrs. Wildeve's money there?"

"Yes. 'Tis for safety. Is it any harm to raffle with a married lady'smoney when, if I win, I shall only keep my winnings, and give her herown all the same; and if t'other man wins, her money will go to thelawful owner?"

"None at all. "

Wildeve had been brooding ever since they started on the mean estimationin which he was held by his wife's friends; and it cut his heartseverely. As the minutes passed he had gradually drifted into arevengeful intention without knowing the precise moment of forming it. This was to teach Mrs. Yeobright a lesson, as he considered it to be;in other words, to show her if he could that her niece's husband was theproper guardian of her niece's money. 

"Well, here goes!" said Christian, beginning to unlace one boot. "Ishall dream of it nights and nights, I suppose; but I shall always swearmy flesh don't crawl when I think o't!"

He thrust his hand into the boot and withdrew one of poor Thomasin'sprecious guineas, piping hot. Wildeve had already placed a sovereign onthe stone. The game was then resumed. Wildeve won first, and Christianventured another, winning himself this time. The game fluctuated, butthe average was in Wildeve's favour. Both men became so absorbed inthe game that they took no heed of anything but the pigmy objectsimmediately beneath their eyes, the flat stone, the open lantern, thedice, and the few illuminated fern-leaves which lay under the light, were the whole world to them. 

At length Christian lost rapidly; and presently, to his horror, thewhole fifty guineas belonging to Thomasin had been handed over to hisadversary. 

"I don't care--I don't care!" he moaned, and desperately set aboutuntying his left boot to get at the other fifty. "The devil will toss meinto the flames on his three-pronged fork for this night's work, I know!But perhaps I shall win yet, and then I'll get a wife to sit up withme o' nights and I won't be afeard, I won't! Here's another for'ee, myman!" He slapped another guinea down upon the stone, and the dice-boxwas rattled again. 

Time passed on. Wildeve began to be as excited as Christian himself. When commencing the game his intention had been nothing further thana bitter practical joke on Mrs. Yeobright. To win the money, fairlyor otherwise, and to hand it contemptuously to Thomasin in her aunt'spresence, had been the dim outline of his purpose. But men are drawnfrom their intentions even in the course of carrying them out, andit was extremely doubtful, by the time the twentieth guinea had beenreached, whether Wildeve was conscious of any other intention than thatof winning for his own personal benefit. Moreover, he was now no longergambling for his wife's money, but for Yeobright's; though of this factChristian, in his apprehensiveness, did not inform him till afterwards. 

It was nearly eleven o'clock, when, with almost a shriek, Christianplaced Yeobright's last gleaming guinea upon the stone. In thirtyseconds it had gone the way of its companions. 

Christian turned and flung himself on the ferns in a convulsion ofremorse, "O, what shall I do with my wretched self?" he groaned. "Whatshall I do? Will any good Heaven hae mercy upon my wicked soul?"

"Do? Live on just the same. "

"I won't live on just the same! I'll die! I say you are a--a----"

"A man sharper than my neighbour. "

"Yes, a man sharper than my neighbour; a regular sharper!"

"Poor chips-in-porridge, you are very unmannerly. "

"I don't know about that! And I say you be unmannerly! You've got moneythat isn't your own. Half the guineas are poor Mr. Clym's. "

"How's that?"

"Because I had to gie fifty of 'em to him. Mrs. Yeobright said so. "

"Oh?. .. Well, 'twould have been more graceful of her to have given themto his wife Eustacia. But they are in my hands now. "

Christian pulled on his boots, and with heavy breathings, which could beheard to some distance, dragged his limbs together, arose, and totteredaway out of sight. Wildeve set about shutting the lantern to return tothe house, for he deemed it too late to go to Mistover to meet his wife, who was to be driven home in the captain's four-wheel. While he wasclosing the little horn door a figure rose from behind a neighbouringbush and came forward into the lantern light. It was the reddlemanapproaching. 

8--A New Force Disturbs the Current

Wildeve stared. Venn looked coolly towards Wildeve, and, without a wordbeing spoken, he deliberately sat himself down where Christian had beenseated, thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out a sovereign, and laidit on the stone. 

"You have been watching us from behind that bush?" said Wildeve. 

The reddleman nodded. "Down with your stake, " he said. "Or haven't youpluck enough to go on?"

Now, gambling is a species of amusement which is much more easily begunwith full pockets than left off with the same; and though Wildeve ina cooler temper might have prudently declined this invitation, theexcitement of his recent success carried him completely away. He placedone of the guineas on a slab beside the reddleman's sovereign. "Mine isa guinea, " he said. 

"A guinea that's not your own, " said Venn sarcastically. 

"It is my own, " answered Wildeve haughtily. "It is my wife's, and whatis hers is mine. "

"Very well; let's make a beginning. " He shook the box, and threw eight, ten, and nine; the three casts amounted to twenty-seven. 

This encouraged Wildeve. He took the box; and his three casts amountedto forty-five. 

Down went another of the reddleman's sovereigns against his first onewhich Wildeve laid. This time Wildeve threw fifty-one points, but nopair. The reddleman looked grim, threw a raffle of aces, and pocketedthe stakes. 

"Here you are again, " said Wildeve contemptuously. "Double the stakes. "He laid two of Thomasin's guineas, and the reddleman his two pounds. Venn won again. New stakes were laid on the stone, and the gamblersproceeded as before. 

Wildeve was a nervous and excitable man, and the game was beginningto tell upon his temper. He writhed, fumed, shifted his seat, and thebeating of his heart was almost audible. Venn sat with lips impassivelyclosed and eyes reduced to a pair of unimportant twinkles; he scarcelyappeared to breathe. He might have been an Arab, or an automaton; hewould have been like a red sandstone statue but for the motion of hisarm with the dice-box. 

The game fluctuated, now in favour of one, now in favour of the other, without any great advantage on the side of either. Nearly twenty minuteswere passed thus. The light of the candle had by this time attractedheath-flies, moths, and other winged creatures of night, which floatedround the lantern, flew into the flame, or beat about the faces of thetwo players. 

But neither of the men paid much attention to these things, their eyesbeing concentrated upon the little flat stone, which to them was anarena vast and important as a battlefield. By this time a change hadcome over the game; the reddleman won continually. At length sixtyguineas--Thomasin's fifty, and ten of Clym's--had passed into his hands. Wildeve was reckless, frantic, exasperated. 

"'Won back his coat, '" said Venn slily. 

Another throw, and the money went the same way. 

"'Won back his hat, '" continued Venn. 

"Oh, oh!" said Wildeve. 

"'Won back his watch, won back his money, and went out of the door arich man, '" added Venn sentence by sentence, as stake after stake passedover to him. 

"Five more!" shouted Wildeve, dashing down the money. "And three castsbe hanged--one shall decide. "

The red automaton opposite lapsed into silence, nodded, and followedhis example. Wildeve rattled the box, and threw a pair of sixes and fivepoints. He clapped his hands; "I have done it this time--hurrah!"

"There are two playing, and only one has thrown, " said the reddleman, quietly bringing down the box. The eyes of each were then so intentlyconverged upon the stone that one could fancy their beams were visible, like rays in a fog. 

Venn lifted the box, and behold a triplet of sixes was disclosed. 

Wildeve was full of fury. While the reddleman was grasping the stakesWildeve seized the dice and hurled them, box and all, into the darkness, uttering a fearful imprecation. Then he arose and began stamping up anddown like a madman. 

"It is all over, then?" said Venn. 

"No, no!" cried Wildeve. "I mean to have another chance yet. I must!"

"But, my good man, what have you done with the dice?"

"I threw them away--it was a momentary irritation. What a fool I am!Here--come and help me to look for them--we must find them again. "

Wildeve snatched up the lantern and began anxiously prowling among thefurze and fern. 

"You are not likely to find them there, " said Venn, following. "What didyou do such a crazy thing as that for? Here's the box. The dice can't befar off. "

Wildeve turned the light eagerly upon the spot where Venn had foundthe box, and mauled the herbage right and left. In the course of a fewminutes one of the dice was found. They searched on for some time, butno other was to be seen. 

"Never mind, " said Wildeve; "let's play with one. "

"Agreed, " said Venn. 

Down they sat again, and recommenced with single guinea stakes; and theplay went on smartly. But Fortune had unmistakably fallen in lovewith the reddleman tonight. He won steadily, till he was the owner offourteen more of the gold pieces. Seventy-nine of the hundred guineaswere his, Wildeve possessing only twenty-one. The aspect of the twoopponents was now singular. Apart from motions, a complete dioramaof the fluctuations of the game went on in their eyes. A diminutivecandle-flame was mirrored in each pupil, and it would have been possibleto distinguish therein between the moods of hope and the moods ofabandonment, even as regards the reddleman, though his facial musclesbetrayed nothing at all. Wildeve played on with the recklessness ofdespair. 

"What's that?" he suddenly exclaimed, hearing a rustle; and they bothlooked up. 

They were surrounded by dusky forms between four and five feet high, standing a few paces beyond the rays of the lantern. A moment'sinspection revealed that the encircling figures were heath-croppers, their heads being all towards the players, at whom they gazed intently. 

"Hoosh!" said Wildeve, and the whole forty or fifty animals at onceturned and galloped away. Play was again resumed. 

Ten minutes passed away. Then a large death's head moth advanced fromthe obscure outer air, wheeled twice round the lantern, flew straightat the candle, and extinguished it by the force of the blow. Wildeve hadjust thrown, but had not lifted the box to see what he had cast; and nowit was impossible. 

"What the infernal!" he shrieked. "Now, what shall we do? Perhaps I havethrown six--have you any matches?"

"None, " said Venn. 

"Christian had some--I wonder where he is. Christian!"

But there was no reply to Wildeve's shout, save a mournful whiningfrom the herons which were nesting lower down the vale. Both men lookedblankly round without rising. As their eyes grew accustomed to thedarkness they perceived faint greenish points of light among thegrass and fern. These lights dotted the hillside like stars of a lowmagnitude. 

"Ah--glowworms, " said Wildeve. "Wait a minute. We can continue thegame. "

Venn sat still, and his companion went hither and thither till he hadgathered thirteen glowworms--as many as he could find in a space of fouror five minutes--upon a fox-glove leaf which he pulled for the purpose. The reddleman vented a low humorous laugh when he saw his adversaryreturn with these. "Determined to go on, then?" he said drily. 

"I always am!" said Wildeve angrily. And shaking the glowworms fromthe leaf he ranged them with a trembling hand in a circle on the stone, leaving a space in the middle for the descent of the dice-box, overwhich the thirteen tiny lamps threw a pale phosphoric shine. The gamewas again renewed. It happened to be that season of the year at whichglowworms put forth their greatest brilliancy, and the light theyyielded was more than ample for the purpose, since it is possible onsuch nights to read the handwriting of a letter by the light of two orthree. 

The incongruity between the men's deeds and their environment was great. Amid the soft juicy vegetation of the hollow in which they sat, themotionless and the uninhabited solitude, intruded the chink of guineas, the rattle of dice, the exclamations of the reckless players. 

Wildeve had lifted the box as soon as the lights were obtained, and thesolitary die proclaimed that the game was still against him. 

"I won't play any more--you've been tampering with the dice, " heshouted. 

"How--when they were your own?" said the reddleman. 

"We'll change the game: the lowest point shall win the stake--it may cutoff my ill luck. Do you refuse?"

"No--go on, " said Venn. 

"O, there they are again--damn them!" cried Wildeve, looking up. Theheath-croppers had returned noiselessly, and were looking on with erectheads just as before, their timid eyes fixed upon the scene, as if theywere wondering what mankind and candlelight could have to do in thesehaunts at this untoward hour. 

"What a plague those creatures are--staring at me so!" he said, andflung a stone, which scattered them; when the game was continued asbefore. 

Wildeve had now ten guineas left; and each laid five. Wildeve threwthree points; Venn two, and raked in the coins. The other seized thedie, and clenched his teeth upon it in sheer rage, as if he would biteit in pieces. "Never give in--here are my last five!" he cried, throwingthem down. 

"Hang the glowworms--they are going out. Why don't you burn, you littlefools? Stir them up with a thorn. "

He probed the glowworms with a bit of stick, and rolled them over, tillthe bright side of their tails was upwards. 

"There's light enough. Throw on, " said Venn. 

Wildeve brought down the box within the shining circle and lookedeagerly. He had thrown ace. "Well done!--I said it would turn, and ithas turned. " Venn said nothing; but his hand shook slightly. 

He threw ace also. 

"O!" said Wildeve. "Curse me!"

The die smacked the stone a second time. It was ace again. Venn lookedgloomy, threw--the die was seen to be lying in two pieces, the cleftsides uppermost. 

"I've thrown nothing at all, " he said. 

"Serves me right--I split the die with my teeth. Here--take your money. Blank is less than one. "

"I don't wish it. "

"Take it, I say--you've won it!" And Wildeve threw the stakes againstthe reddleman's chest. Venn gathered them up, arose, and withdrew fromthe hollow, Wildeve sitting stupefied. 

When he had come to himself he also arose, and, with the extinguishedlantern in his hand, went towards the highroad. On reaching it he stoodstill. The silence of night pervaded the whole heath except in onedirection; and that was towards Mistover. There he could hear the noiseof light wheels, and presently saw two carriagelamps descending thehill. Wildeve screened himself under a bush and waited. 

The vehicle came on and passed before him. It was a hired carriage, and behind the coachman were two persons whom he knew well. There satEustacia and Yeobright, the arm of the latter being round her waist. They turned the sharp corner at the bottom towards the temporary homewhich Clym had hired and furnished, about five miles to the eastward. 

Wildeve forgot the loss of the money at the sight of his lost love, whose preciousness in his eyes was increasing in geometrical progressionwith each new incident that reminded him of their hopeless division. Brimming with the subtilized misery that he was capable of feeling, hefollowed the opposite way towards the inn. 

About the same moment that Wildeve stepped into the highway Venn alsohad reached it at a point a hundred yards further on; and he, hearingthe same wheels, likewise waited till the carriage should come up. Whenhe saw who sat therein he seemed to be disappointed. Reflecting a minuteor two, during which interval the carriage rolled on, he crossed theroad, and took a short cut through the furze and heath to a point wherethe turnpike road bent round in ascending a hill. He was now again infront of the carriage, which presently came up at a walking pace. Vennstepped forward and showed himself. 

Eustacia started when the lamp shone upon him, and Clym's arm wasinvoluntarily withdrawn from her waist. He said, "What, Diggory? You arehaving a lonely walk. "

"Yes--I beg your pardon for stopping you, " said Venn. "But I amwaiting about for Mrs. Wildeve: I have something to give her from Mrs. Yeobright. Can you tell me if she's gone home from the party yet?"

"No. But she will be leaving soon. You may possibly meet her at thecorner. "

Venn made a farewell obeisance, and walked back to his former position, where the byroad from Mistover joined the highway. Here he remainedfixed for nearly half an hour, and then another pair of lights came downthe hill. It was the old-fashioned wheeled nondescript belonging to thecaptain, and Thomasin sat in it alone, driven by Charley. 

The reddleman came up as they slowly turned the corner. "I beg pardonfor stopping you, Mrs. Wildeve, " he said. "But I have something togive you privately from Mrs. Yeobright. " He handed a small parcel; itconsisted of the hundred guineas he had just won, roughly twisted up ina piece of paper. 

Thomasin recovered from her surprise, and took the packet. "That's all, ma'am--I wish you good night, " he said, and vanished from her view. 

Thus Venn, in his anxiety to rectify matters, had placed in Thomasin'shands not only the fifty guineas which rightly belonged to her, but alsothe fifty intended for her cousin Clym. His mistake had been based uponWildeve's words at the opening of the game, when he indignantly deniedthat the guinea was not his own. It had not been comprehended by thereddleman that at halfway through the performance the game was continuedwith the money of another person; and it was an error which afterwardshelped to cause more misfortune than treble the loss in money valuecould have done. 

The night was now somewhat advanced; and Venn plunged deeper into theheath, till he came to a ravine where his van was standing--a spotnot more than two hundred yards from the site of the gambling bout. Heentered this movable home of his, lit his lantern, and, before closinghis door for the night, stood reflecting on the circumstances of thepreceding hours. While he stood the dawn grew visible in the northeastquarter of the heavens, which, the clouds having cleared off, was brightwith a soft sheen at this midsummer time, though it was only between oneand two o'clock. Venn, thoroughly weary, then shut his door and flunghimself down to sleep. 

BOOK FOUR -- THE CLOSED DOOR

1--The Rencounter by the Pool

The July sun shone over Egdon and fired its crimson heather to scarlet. It was the one season of the year, and the one weather of the season, in which the heath was gorgeous. This flowering period represented thesecond or noontide division in the cycle of those superficial changeswhich alone were possible here; it followed the green or young-fernperiod, representing the morn, and preceded the brown period, when theheathbells and ferns would wear the russet tinges of evening; to be inturn displaced by the dark hue of the winter period, representing night. 

Clym and Eustacia, in their little house at Alderworth, beyond EastEgdon, were living on with a monotony which was delightful to them. Theheath and changes of weather were quite blotted out from their eyes forthe present. They were enclosed in a sort of luminous mist, which hidfrom them surroundings of any inharmonious colour, and gave to allthings the character of light. When it rained they were charmed, becausethey could remain indoors together all day with such a show of reason;when it was fine they were charmed, because they could sit together onthe hills. They were like those double stars which revolve round andround each other, and from a distance appear to be one. The absolutesolitude in which they lived intensified their reciprocal thoughts; yetsome might have said that it had the disadvantage of consuming theirmutual affections at a fearfully prodigal rate. Yeobright did not fearfor his own part; but recollection of Eustacia's old speech about theevanescence of love, now apparently forgotten by her, sometimes causedhim to ask himself a question; and he recoiled at the thought that thequality of finiteness was not foreign to Eden. 

When three or four weeks had been passed thus, Yeobright resumed hisreading in earnest. To make up for lost time he studied indefatigably, for he wished to enter his new profession with the least possible delay. 

Now, Eustacia's dream had always been that, once married to Clym, she would have the power of inducing him to return to Paris. He hadcarefully withheld all promise to do so; but would he be proof againsther coaxing and argument? She had calculated to such a degree on theprobability of success that she had represented Paris, and not Budmouth, to her grandfather as in all likelihood their future home. Her hopeswere bound up in this dream. In the quiet days since their marriage, when Yeobright had been poring over her lips, her eyes, and the lines ofher face, she had mused and mused on the subject, even while in theact of returning his gaze; and now the sight of the books, indicating afuture which was antagonistic to her dream, struck her with a positivelypainful jar. She was hoping for the time when, as the mistress of somepretty establishment, however small, near a Parisian Boulevard, shewould be passing her days on the skirts at least of the gay world, andcatching stray wafts from those town pleasures she was so well fittedto enjoy. Yet Yeobright was as firm in the contrary intention as ifthe tendency of marriage were rather to develop the fantasies of youngphilanthropy than to sweep them away. 

Her anxiety reached a high pitch; but there was something in Clym'sundeviating manner which made her hesitate before sounding him on thesubject. At this point in their experience, however, an incident helpedher. It occurred one evening about six weeks after their union, andarose entirely out of the unconscious misapplication of Venn of thefifty guineas intended for Yeobright. 

A day or two after the receipt of the money Thomasin had sent a note toher aunt to thank her. She had been surprised at the largeness of theamount; but as no sum had ever been mentioned she set that down to herlate uncle's generosity. She had been strictly charged by her aunt tosay nothing to her husband of this gift; and Wildeve, as was naturalenough, had not brought himself to mention to his wife a singleparticular of the midnight scene in the heath. Christian's terror, in like manner, had tied his tongue on the share he took in thatproceeding; and hoping that by some means or other the money had goneto its proper destination, he simply asserted as much, without givingdetails. 

Therefore, when a week or two had passed away, Mrs. Yeobright began towonder why she never heard from her son of the receipt of the present;and to add gloom to her perplexity came the possibility that resentmentmight be the cause of his silence. She could hardly believe as much, butwhy did he not write? She questioned Christian, and the confusion in hisanswers would at once have led her to believe that something was wrong, had not one-half of his story been corroborated by Thomasin's note. 

Mrs. Yeobright was in this state of uncertainty when she was informedone morning that her son's wife was visiting her grandfather atMistover. She determined to walk up the hill, see Eustacia, andascertain from her daughter-in-law's lips whether the family guineas, which were to Mrs. Yeobright what family jewels are to wealthierdowagers, had miscarried or not. 

When Christian learnt where she was going his concern reached itsheight. At the moment of her departure he could prevaricate no longer, and, confessing to the gambling, told her the truth as far as he knewit--that the guineas had been won by Wildeve. 

"What, is he going to keep them?" Mrs. Yeobright cried. 

"I hope and trust not!" moaned Christian. "He's a good man, and perhapswill do right things. He said you ought to have gied Mr. Clym's share toEustacia, and that's perhaps what he'll do himself. "

To Mrs. Yeobright, as soon as she could calmly reflect, there was muchlikelihood in this, for she could hardly believe that Wildeve wouldreally appropriate money belonging to her son. The intermediate courseof giving it to Eustacia was the sort of thing to please Wildeve'sfancy. But it filled the mother with anger none the less. That Wildeveshould have got command of the guineas after all, and should rearrangethe disposal of them, placing Clym's share in Clym's wife's hands, because she had been his own sweetheart, and might be so still, was asirritating a pain as any that Mrs. Yeobright had ever borne. 

She instantly dismissed the wretched Christian from her employ for hisconduct in the affair; but, feeling quite helpless and unable to dowithout him, told him afterwards that he might stay a little longerif he chose. Then she hastened off to Eustacia, moved by a much lesspromising emotion towards her daughter-in-law than she had felt half anhour earlier, when planning her journey. At that time it was to inquirein a friendly spirit if there had been any accidental loss; now it wasto ask plainly if Wildeve had privately given her money which had beenintended as a sacred gift to Clym. 

She started at two o'clock, and her meeting with Eustacia was hastenedby the appearance of the young lady beside the pool and bank whichbordered her grandfather's premises, where she stood surveying thescene, and perhaps thinking of the romantic enactments it had witnessedin past days. When Mrs. Yeobright approached, Eustacia surveyed her withthe calm stare of a stranger. 

The mother-in-law was the first to speak. "I was coming to see you, " shesaid. 

"Indeed!" said Eustacia with surprise, for Mrs. Yeobright, much to thegirl's mortification, had refused to be present at the wedding. "I didnot at all expect you. "

"I was coming on business only, " said the visitor, more coldly than atfirst. "Will you excuse my asking this--Have you received a gift fromThomasin's husband?"

"A gift?"

"I mean money!"

"What--I myself?"

"Well, I meant yourself, privately--though I was not going to put it inthat way. "

"Money from Mr. Wildeve? No--never! Madam, what do you mean by that?"Eustacia fired up all too quickly, for her own consciousness of the oldattachment between herself and Wildeve led her to jump to the conclusionthat Mrs. Yeobright also knew of it, and might have come to accuse herof receiving dishonourable presents from him now. 

"I simply ask the question, " said Mrs. Yeobright. "I have been----"

"You ought to have better opinions of me--I feared you were against mefrom the first!" exclaimed Eustacia. 

"No. I was simply for Clym, " replied Mrs. Yeobright, with too muchemphasis in her earnestness. "It is the instinct of everyone to lookafter their own. "

"How can you imply that he required guarding against me?" criedEustacia, passionate tears in her eyes. "I have not injured him bymarrying him! What sin have I done that you should think so ill of me?You had no right to speak against me to him when I have never wrongedyou. "

"I only did what was fair under the circumstances, " said Mrs. Yeobrightmore softly. "I would rather not have gone into this question atpresent, but you compel me. I am not ashamed to tell you the honesttruth. I was firmly convinced that he ought not to marry you--thereforeI tried to dissuade him by all the means in my power. But it is donenow, and I have no idea of complaining any more. I am ready to welcomeyou. "

"Ah, yes, it is very well to see things in that business point of view, "murmured Eustacia with a smothered fire of feeling. "But why should youthink there is anything between me and Mr. Wildeve? I have a spiritas well as you. I am indignant; and so would any woman be. It was acondescension in me to be Clym's wife, and not a manoeuvre, let meremind you; and therefore I will not be treated as a schemer whom itbecomes necessary to bear with because she has crept into the family. "

"Oh!" said Mrs. Yeobright, vainly endeavouring to control her anger. "Ihave never heard anything to show that my son's lineage is not asgood as the Vyes'--perhaps better. It is amusing to hear you talk ofcondescension. "

"It was condescension, nevertheless, " said Eustacia vehemently. "And ifI had known then what I know now, that I should be living in this wildheath a month after my marriage, I--I should have thought twice beforeagreeing. "

"It would be better not to say that; it might not sound truthful. Iam not aware that any deception was used on his part--I know there wasnot--whatever might have been the case on the other side. "

"This is too exasperating!" answered the younger woman huskily, her facecrimsoning, and her eyes darting light. "How can you dare to speak to melike that? I insist upon repeating to you that had I known that my lifewould from my marriage up to this time have been as it is, I should havesaid NO. I don't complain. I have never uttered a sound of such a thingto him; but it is true. I hope therefore that in the future you will besilent on my eagerness. If you injure me now you injure yourself. "

"Injure you? Do you think I am an evil-disposed person?"

"You injured me before my marriage, and you have now suspected me ofsecretly favouring another man for money!"

"I could not help what I thought. But I have never spoken of you outsidemy house. "

"You spoke of me within it, to Clym, and you could not do worse. "

"I did my duty. "

"And I'll do mine. "

"A part of which will possibly be to set him against his mother. It isalways so. But why should I not bear it as others have borne it beforeme!"

"I understand you, " said Eustacia, breathless with emotion. "Youthink me capable of every bad thing. Who can be worse than a wife whoencourages a lover, and poisons her husband's mind against his relative?Yet that is now the character given to me. Will you not come and draghim out of my hands?"

Mrs. Yeobright gave back heat for heat. 

"Don't rage at me, madam! It ill becomes your beauty, and I am not worththe injury you may do it on my account, I assure you. I am only a poorold woman who has lost a son. "

"If you had treated me honourably you would have had him still. "Eustacia said, while scalding tears trickled from her eyes. "You havebrought yourself to folly; you have caused a division which can never behealed!"

"I have done nothing. This audacity from a young woman is more than Ican bear. "

"It was asked for; you have suspected me, and you have made me speak ofmy husband in a way I would not have done. You will let him know that Ihave spoken thus, and it will cause misery between us. Will you go awayfrom me? You are no friend!"

"I will go when I have spoken a word. If anyone says I have come here toquestion you without good grounds for it, that person speaks untruly. If anyone says that I attempted to stop your marriage by any but honestmeans, that person, too, does not speak the truth. I have fallen on anevil time; God has been unjust to me in letting you insult me! Probablymy son's happiness does not lie on this side of the grave, for he is afoolish man who neglects the advice of his parent. You, Eustacia, standon the edge of a precipice without knowing it. Only show my son one-halfthe temper you have shown me today--and you may before long--and youwill find that though he is as gentle as a child with you now, he can beas hard as steel!"

The excited mother then withdrew, and Eustacia, panting, stood lookinginto the pool. 

2--He Is Set upon by Adversities but He Sings a Song

The result of that unpropitious interview was that Eustacia, insteadof passing the afternoon with her grandfather, hastily returned home toClym, where she arrived three hours earlier than she had been expected. 

She came indoors with her face flushed, and her eyes still showingtraces of her recent excitement. Yeobright looked up astonished; he hadnever seen her in any way approaching to that state before. Shepassed him by, and would have gone upstairs unnoticed, but Clym was soconcerned that he immediately followed her. 

"What is the matter, Eustacia?" he said. She was standing on thehearthrug in the bedroom, looking upon the floor, her hands clasped infront of her, her bonnet yet unremoved. For a moment she did not answer;and then she replied in a low voice--

"I have seen your mother; and I will never see her again!" A weight felllike a stone upon Clym. That same morning, when Eustacia had arrangedto go and see her grandfather, Clym had expressed a wish that she woulddrive down to Blooms-End and inquire for her mother-in-law, or adopt anyother means she might think fit to bring about a reconciliation. She hadset out gaily; and he had hoped for much. 

"Why is this?" he asked. 

"I cannot tell--I cannot remember. I met your mother. And I will nevermeet her again. "

"Why?"

"What do I know about Mr. Wildeve now? I won't have wicked opinionspassed on me by anybody. O! it was too humiliating to be asked if Ihad received any money from him, or encouraged him, or something of thesort--I don't exactly know what!"

"How could she have asked you that?"

"She did. "

"Then there must have been some meaning in it. What did my mother saybesides?"

"I don't know what she said, except in so far as this, that we both saidwords which can never be forgiven!"

"Oh, there must be some misapprehension. Whose fault was it that hermeaning was not made clear?"

"I would rather not say. It may have been the fault of thecircumstances, which were awkward at the very least. O Clym--I cannothelp expressing it--this is an unpleasant position that you have placedme in. But you must improve it--yes, say you will--for I hate it allnow! Yes, take me to Paris, and go on with your old occupation, Clym! Idon't mind how humbly we live there at first, if it can only be Paris, and not Egdon Heath. "

"But I have quite given up that idea, " said Yeobright, with surprise. "Surely I never led you to expect such a thing?"

"I own it. Yet there are thoughts which cannot be kept out of mind, andthat one was mine. Must I not have a voice in the matter, now I am yourwife and the sharer of your doom?"

"Well, there are things which are placed beyond the pale of discussion;and I thought this was specially so, and by mutual agreement. "

"Clym, I am unhappy at what I hear, " she said in a low voice; and hereyes drooped, and she turned away. 

This indication of an unexpected mine of hope in Eustacia's bosomdisconcerted her husband. It was the first time that he had confrontedthe fact of the indirectness of a woman's movement towards her desire. But his intention was unshaken, though he loved Eustacia well. All theeffect that her remark had upon him was a resolve to chain himself moreclosely than ever to his books, so as to be the sooner enabled to appealto substantial results from another course in arguing against her whim. 

Next day the mystery of the guineas was explained. Thomasin paid thema hurried visit, and Clym's share was delivered up to him by her ownhands. Eustacia was not present at the time. 

"Then this is what my mother meant, " exclaimed Clym. "Thomasin, do youknow that they have had a bitter quarrel?"

There was a little more reticence now than formerly in Thomasin's mannertowards her cousin. It is the effect of marriage to engender in severaldirections some of the reserve it annihilates in one. "Your mothertold me, " she said quietly. "She came back to my house after seeingEustacia. "

"The worst thing I dreaded has come to pass. Was Mother much disturbedwhen she came to you, Thomasin?"

"Yes. "

"Very much indeed?"

"Yes. "

Clym leant his elbow upon the post of the garden gate, and covered hiseyes with his hand. 

"Don't trouble about it, Clym. They may get to be friends. "

He shook his head. "Not two people with inflammable natures like theirs. Well, what must be will be. "

"One thing is cheerful in it--the guineas are not lost. "

"I would rather have lost them twice over than have had this happen. "

Amid these jarring events Yeobright felt one thing to beindispensable--that he should speedily make some show of progress in hisscholastic plans. With this view he read far into the small hours duringmany nights. 

One morning, after a severer strain than usual, he awoke with astrange sensation in his eyes. The sun was shining directly upon thewindow-blind, and at his first glance thitherward a sharp pain obligedhim to close his eyelids quickly. At every new attempt to look abouthim the same morbid sensibility to light was manifested, and excoriatingtears ran down his cheeks. He was obliged to tie a bandage over his browwhile dressing; and during the day it could not be abandoned. Eustaciawas thoroughly alarmed. On finding that the case was no better the nextmorning they decided to send to Anglebury for a surgeon. 

Towards evening he arrived, and pronounced the disease to be acuteinflammation induced by Clym's night studies, continued in spite of acold previously caught, which had weakened his eyes for the time. 

Fretting with impatience at this interruption to a task he was soanxious to hasten, Clym was transformed into an invalid. He was shutup in a room from which all light was excluded, and his condition wouldhave been one of absolute misery had not Eustacia read to him by theglimmer of a shaded lamp. He hoped that the worst would soon be over;but at the surgeon's third visit he learnt to his dismay that althoughhe might venture out of doors with shaded eyes in the course of amonth, all thought of pursuing his work, or of reading print of anydescription, would have to be given up for a long time to come. 

One week and another week wore on, and nothing seemed to lighten thegloom of the young couple. Dreadful imaginings occurred to Eustacia, butshe carefully refrained from uttering them to her husband. Supposehe should become blind, or, at all events, never recover sufficientstrength of sight to engage in an occupation which would be congenial toher feelings, and conduce to her removal from this lonely dwelling amongthe hills? That dream of beautiful Paris was not likely to cohere intosubstance in the presence of this misfortune. As day after day passedby, and he got no better, her mind ran more and more in this mournfulgroove, and she would go away from him into the garden and weepdespairing tears. 

Yeobright thought he would send for his mother; and then he thought hewould not. Knowledge of his state could only make her the more unhappy;and the seclusion of their life was such that she would hardly be likelyto learn the news except through a special messenger. Endeavouring totake the trouble as philosophically as possible, he waited on till thethird week had arrived, when he went into the open air for the firsttime since the attack. The surgeon visited him again at this stage, andClym urged him to express a distinct opinion. The young man learnt withadded surprise that the date at which he might expect to resume hislabours was as uncertain as ever, his eyes being in that peculiar statewhich, though affording him sight enough for walking about, would notadmit of their being strained upon any definite object without incurringthe risk of reproducing ophthalmia in its acute form. 

Clym was very grave at the intelligence, but not despairing. A quietfirmness, and even cheerfulness, took possession of him. He was notto be blind; that was enough. To be doomed to behold the world throughsmoked glass for an indefinite period was bad enough, and fatal to anykind of advance; but Yeobright was an absolute stoic in the faceof mishaps which only affected his social standing; and, apart fromEustacia, the humblest walk of life would satisfy him if it could bemade to work in with some form of his culture scheme. To keep a cottagenight-school was one such form; and his affliction did not master hisspirit as it might otherwise have done. 

He walked through the warm sun westward into those tracts of Egdon withwhich he was best acquainted, being those lying nearer to his old home. He saw before him in one of the valleys the gleaming of whetted iron, and advancing, dimly perceived that the shine came from the tool of aman who was cutting furze. The worker recognized Clym, and Yeobrightlearnt from the voice that the speaker was Humphrey. 

Humphrey expressed his sorrow at Clym's condition, and added, "Now, ifyours was low-class work like mine, you could go on with it just thesame. "

"Yes, I could, " said Yeobright musingly. "How much do you get forcutting these faggots?"

"Half-a-crown a hundred, and in these long days I can live very well onthe wages. "

During the whole of Yeobright's walk home to Alderworth he was lost inreflections which were not of an unpleasant kind. On his coming up tothe house Eustacia spoke to him from the open window, and he went acrossto her. 

"Darling, " he said, "I am much happier. And if my mother were reconciledto me and to you I should, I think, be happy quite. "

"I fear that will never be, " she said, looking afar with her beautifulstormy eyes. "How CAN you say 'I am happier, ' and nothing changed?"

"It arises from my having at last discovered something I can do, and geta living at, in this time of misfortune. "

"Yes?"

"I am going to be a furze- and turf-cutter. "

"No, Clym!" she said, the slight hopefulness previously apparent in herface going off again, and leaving her worse than before. 

"Surely I shall. Is it not very unwise in us to go on spending thelittle money we've got when I can keep down expenditures by an honestoccupation? The outdoor exercise will do me good, and who knows but thatin a few months I shall be able to go on with my reading again?"

"But my grandfather offers to assist us, if we require assistance. "

"We don't require it. If I go furze-cutting we shall be fairly welloff. "

"In comparison with slaves, and the Israelites in Egypt, and suchpeople!" A bitter tear rolled down Eustacia's face, which he did notsee. There had been nonchalance in his tone, showing her that he felt noabsolute grief at a consummation which to her was a positive horror. 

The very next day Yeobright went to Humphrey's cottage, and borrowed ofhim leggings, gloves, a whetstone, and a hook, to use till he should beable to purchase some for himself. Then he sallied forth with his newfellow-labourer and old acquaintance, and selecting a spot where thefurze grew thickest he struck the first blow in his adopted calling. Hissight, like the wings in Rasselas, though useless to him for his grandpurpose, sufficed for this strait, and he found that when a littlepractice should have hardened his palms against blistering he would beable to work with ease. 

Day after day he rose with the sun, buckled on his leggings, and wentoff to the rendezvous with Humphrey. His custom was to work from fouro'clock in the morning till noon; then, when the heat of the day was atits highest, to go home and sleep for an hour or two; afterwards comingout again and working till dusk at nine. 

This man from Paris was now so disguised by his leather accoutrements, and by the goggles he was obliged to wear over his eyes, that hisclosest friend might have passed by without recognizing him. He was abrown spot in the midst of an expanse of olive-green gorse, and nothingmore. Though frequently depressed in spirit when not actually at work, owing to thoughts of Eustacia's position and his mother's estrangement, when in the full swing of labour he was cheerfully disposed and calm. 

His daily life was of a curious microscopic sort, his whole world beinglimited to a circuit of a few feet from his person. His familiars werecreeping and winged things, and they seemed to enroll him in their band. Bees hummed around his ears with an intimate air, and tugged at theheath and furze-flowers at his side in such numbers as to weigh themdown to the sod. The strange amber-coloured butterflies which Egdonproduced, and which were never seen elsewhere, quivered in the breath ofhis lips, alighted upon his bowed back, and sported with theglittering point of his hook as he flourished it up and down. Tribes ofemerald-green grasshoppers leaped over his feet, falling awkwardly ontheir backs, heads, or hips, like unskilful acrobats, as chance mightrule; or engaged themselves in noisy flirtations under the fern-frondswith silent ones of homely hue. Huge flies, ignorant of larders andwire-netting, and quite in a savage state, buzzed about him withoutknowing that he was a man. In and out of the fern-dells snakes glidedin their most brilliant blue and yellow guise, it being the seasonimmediately following the shedding of their old skins, when theircolours are brightest. Litters of young rabbits came out from theirforms to sun themselves upon hillocks, the hot beams blazing through thedelicate tissue of each thin-fleshed ear, and firing it to a blood-redtransparency in which the veins could be seen. None of them fearedhim. The monotony of his occupation soothed him, and was in itselfa pleasure. A forced limitation of effort offered a justification ofhomely courses to an unambitious man, whose conscience would hardly haveallowed him to remain in such obscurity while his powers were unimpeded. Hence Yeobright sometimes sang to himself, and when obliged to accompanyHumphrey in search of brambles for faggot-bonds he would amuse hiscompanion with sketches of Parisian life and character, and so whileaway the time. 

On one of these warm afternoons Eustacia walked out alone in thedirection of Yeobright's place of work. He was busily chopping awayat the furze, a long row of faggots which stretched downward from hisposition representing the labour of the day. He did not observe herapproach, and she stood close to him, and heard his undercurrent ofsong. 

It shocked her. To see him there, a poor afflicted man, earning money bythe sweat of his brow, had at first moved her to tears; but to hearhim sing and not at all rebel against an occupation which, howeversatisfactory to himself, was degrading to her, as an educated lady-wife, wounded her through. Unconscious of her presence, he still went onsinging:--

 "Le point du jour A nos bosquets rend toute leur parure; Flore est plus belle a son retour; L'oiseau reprend doux chant d'amour; Tout celebre dans la nature Le point du jour. 

 "Le point du jour Cause parfois, cause douleur extreme; Que l'espace des nuits est court Pour le berger brulant d'amour, Force de quitter ce qu'il aime Au point du jour!"

It was bitterly plain to Eustacia that he did not care much aboutsocial failure; and the proud fair woman bowed her head and wept in sickdespair at thought of the blasting effect upon her own life of that moodand condition in him. Then she came forward. 

"I would starve rather than do it!" she exclaimed vehemently. "And youcan sing! I will go and live with my grandfather again!"

"Eustacia! I did not see you, though I noticed something moving, " hesaid gently. He came forward, pulled off his huge leather glove, andtook her hand. "Why do you speak in such a strange way? It is only alittle old song which struck my fancy when I was in Paris, and nowjust applies to my life with you. Has your love for me all died, then, because my appearance is no longer that of a fine gentleman?"

"Dearest, you must not question me unpleasantly, or it may make me notlove you. "

"Do you believe it possible that I would run the risk of doing that?"

"Well, you follow out your own ideas, and won't give in to mine whenI wish you to leave off this shameful labour. Is there anything youdislike in me that you act so contrarily to my wishes? I am your wife, and why will you not listen? Yes, I am your wife indeed!"

"I know what that tone means. "

"What tone?"

"The tone in which you said, 'Your wife indeed. ' It meant, 'Your wife, worse luck. '"

"It is hard in you to probe me with that remark. A woman may havereason, though she is not without heart, and if I felt 'worse luck, ' itwas no ignoble feeling--it was only too natural. There, you see that atany rate I do not attempt untruths. Do you remember how, before we weremarried, I warned you that I had not good wifely qualities?"

"You mock me to say that now. On that point at least the only noblecourse would be to hold your tongue, for you are still queen of me, Eustacia, though I may no longer be king of you. "

"You are my husband. Does not that content you?"

"Not unless you are my wife without regret. "

"I cannot answer you. I remember saying that I should be a seriousmatter on your hands. "

"Yes, I saw that. "

"Then you were too quick to see! No true lover would have seen any suchthing; you are too severe upon me, Clym--I won't like your speaking soat all. "

"Well, I married you in spite of it, and don't regret doing so. Howcold you seem this afternoon! and yet I used to think there never was awarmer heart than yours. "

"Yes, I fear we are cooling--I see it as well as you, " she sighedmournfully. "And how madly we loved two months ago! You were never tiredof contemplating me, nor I of contemplating you. Who could have thoughtthen that by this time my eyes would not seem so very bright to yours, nor your lips so very sweet to mine? Two months--is it possible? Yes, 'tis too true!"

"You sigh, dear, as if you were sorry for it; and that's a hopefulsign. "

"No. I don't sigh for that. There are other things for me to sigh for, or any other woman in my place. "

"That your chances in life are ruined by marrying in haste anunfortunate man?"

"Why will you force me, Clym, to say bitter things? I deserve pity asmuch as you. As much?--I think I deserve it more. For you can sing! Itwould be a strange hour which should catch me singing under such a cloudas this! Believe me, sweet, I could weep to a degree that would astonishand confound such an elastic mind as yours. Even had you felt carelessabout your own affliction, you might have refrained from singing outof sheer pity for mine. God! if I were a man in such a position I wouldcurse rather than sing. "

Yeobright placed his hand upon her arm. "Now, don't you suppose, myinexperienced girl, that I cannot rebel, in high Promethean fashion, against the gods and fate as well as you. I have felt more steam andsmoke of that sort than you have ever heard of. But the more I see oflife the more do I perceive that there is nothing particularly great inits greatest walks, and therefore nothing particularly small in mine offurze-cutting. If I feel that the greatest blessings vouchsafed to usare not very valuable, how can I feel it to be any great hardship whenthey are taken away? So I sing to pass the time. Have you indeed lostall tenderness for me, that you begrudge me a few cheerful moments?"

"I have still some tenderness left for you. "

"Your words have no longer their old flavour. And so love dies with goodfortune!"

"I cannot listen to this, Clym--it will end bitterly, " she said in abroken voice. "I will go home. "

3--She Goes Out to Battle against Depression

A few days later, before the month of August has expired, Eustacia andYeobright sat together at their early dinner. 

Eustacia's manner had become of late almost apathetic. There was aforlorn look about her beautiful eyes which, whether she deserved it ornot, would have excited pity in the breast of anyone who had known herduring the full flush of her love for Clym. The feelings of husband andwife varied, in some measure, inversely with their positions. Clym, theafflicted man, was cheerful; and he even tried to comfort her, who hadnever felt a moment of physical suffering in her whole life. 

"Come, brighten up, dearest; we shall be all right again. Some dayperhaps I shall see as well as ever. And I solemnly promise that I'llleave off cutting furze as soon as I have the power to do anythingbetter. You cannot seriously wish me to stay idling at home all day?"

"But it is so dreadful--a furze-cutter! and you a man who have livedabout the world, and speak French, and German, and who are fit for whatis so much better than this. "

"I suppose when you first saw me and heard about me I was wrapped in asort of golden halo to your eyes--a man who knew glorious things, and had mixed in brilliant scenes--in short, an adorable, delightful, distracting hero?"

"Yes, " she said, sobbing. 

"And now I am a poor fellow in brown leather. "

"Don't taunt me. But enough of this. I will not be depressed any more. I am going from home this afternoon, unless you greatly object. There isto be a village picnic--a gipsying, they call it--at East Egdon, and Ishall go. "

"To dance?"

"Why not? You can sing. "

"Well, well, as you will. Must I come to fetch you?"

"If you return soon enough from your work. But do not inconvenienceyourself about it. I know the way home, and the heath has no terror forme. "

"And can you cling to gaiety so eagerly as to walk all the way to avillage festival in search of it?"

"Now, you don't like my going alone! Clym, you are not jealous?"

"No. But I would come with you if it could give you any pleasure;though, as things stand, perhaps you have too much of me already. Still, I somehow wish that you did not want to go. Yes, perhaps I am jealous;and who could be jealous with more reason than I, a half-blind man, oversuch a woman as you?"

"Don't think like it. Let me go, and don't take all my spirits away!"

"I would rather lose all my own, my sweet wife. Go and do whatever youlike. Who can forbid your indulgence in any whim? You have all my heartyet, I believe; and because you bear with me, who am in truth a dragupon you, I owe you thanks. Yes, go alone and shine. As for me, I willstick to my doom. At that kind of meeting people would shun me. My hookand gloves are like the St. Lazarus rattle of the leper, warning theworld to get out of the way of a sight that would sadden them. " Hekissed her, put on his leggings, and went out. 

When he was gone she rested her head upon her hands and said to herself, "Two wasted lives--his and mine. And I am come to this! Will it drive meout of my mind?"

She cast about for any possible course which offered the leastimprovement on the existing state of things, and could find none. Sheimagined how all those Budmouth ones who should learn what had becomeof her would say, "Look at the girl for whom nobody was good enough!"To Eustacia the situation seemed such a mockery of her hopes that deathappeared the only door of relief if the satire of Heaven should go muchfurther. 

Suddenly she aroused herself and exclaimed, "But I'll shake it off. Yes, I WILL shake it off! No one shall know my suffering. I'll be bitterlymerry, and ironically gay, and I'll laugh in derision. And I'll begin bygoing to this dance on the green. "

She ascended to her bedroom and dressed herself with scrupulous care. To an onlooker her beauty would have made her feelings almostseem reasonable. The gloomy corner into which accident as much asindiscretion had brought this woman might have led even a moderatepartisan to feel that she had cogent reasons for asking the SupremePower by what right a being of such exquisite finish had been placedin circumstances calculated to make of her charms a curse rather than ablessing. 

It was five in the afternoon when she came out from the house readyfor her walk. There was material enough in the picture for twenty newconquests. The rebellious sadness that was rather too apparent when shesat indoors without a bonnet was cloaked and softened by her outdoorattire, which always had a sort of nebulousness about it, devoid ofharsh edges anywhere; so that her face looked from its environment asfrom a cloud, with no noticeable lines of demarcation between flesh andclothes. The heat of the day had scarcely declined as yet, and she wentalong the sunny hills at a leisurely pace, there being ample time forher idle expedition. Tall ferns buried her in their leafage whenever herpath lay through them, which now formed miniature forests, though notone stem of them would remain to bud the next year. 

The site chosen for the village festivity was one of the lawnlike oaseswhich were occasionally, yet not often, met with on the plateaux of theheath district. The brakes of furze and fern terminated abruptly roundthe margin, and the grass was unbroken. A green cattletrack skirted thespot, without, however, emerging from the screen of fern, and this pathEustacia followed, in order to reconnoitre the group before joining it. The lusty notes of the East Egdon band had directed her unerringly, andshe now beheld the musicians themselves, sitting in a blue wagon withred wheels scrubbed as bright as new, and arched with sticks, to whichboughs and flowers were tied. In front of this was the grand centraldance of fifteen or twenty couples, flanked by minor dances of inferiorindividuals whose gyrations were not always in strict keeping with thetune. 

The young men wore blue and white rosettes, and with a flush on theirfaces footed it to the girls, who, with the excitement and the exercise, blushed deeper than the pink of their numerous ribbons. Fair ones withlong curls, fair ones with short curls, fair ones with lovelocks, fairones with braids, flew round and round; and a beholder might well havewondered how such a prepossessing set of young women of like size, age, and disposition, could have been collected together where there wereonly one or two villages to choose from. In the background was one happyman dancing by himself, with closed eyes, totally oblivious of all therest. A fire was burning under a pollard thorn a few paces off, overwhich three kettles hung in a row. Hard by was a table where elderlydames prepared tea, but Eustacia looked among them in vain for thecattle-dealer's wife who had suggested that she should come, and hadpromised to obtain a courteous welcome for her. 

This unexpected absence of the only local resident whom Eustacia knewconsiderably damaged her scheme for an afternoon of reckless gaiety. Joining in became a matter of difficulty, notwithstanding that, were sheto advance, cheerful dames would come forward with cups of tea and makemuch of her as a stranger of superior grace and knowledge to themselves. Having watched the company through the figures of two dances, shedecided to walk a little further, to a cottage where she might get somerefreshment, and then return homeward in the shady time of evening. 

This she did, and by the time that she retraced her steps towards thescene of the gipsying, which it was necessary to repass on her way toAlderworth, the sun was going down. The air was now so still that shecould hear the band afar off, and it seemed to be playing with morespirit, if that were possible, than when she had come away. On reachingthe hill the sun had quite disappeared; but this made little differenceeither to Eustacia or to the revellers, for a round yellow moon wasrising before her, though its rays had not yet outmastered those fromthe west. The dance was going on just the same, but strangers hadarrived and formed a ring around the figure, so that Eustacia couldstand among these without a chance of being recognized. 

A whole village-full of sensuous emotion, scattered abroad all the yearlong, surged here in a focus for an hour. The forty hearts of thosewaving couples were beating as they had not done since, twelve monthsbefore, they had come together in similar jollity. For the time paganismwas revived in their hearts, the pride of life was all in all, and theyadored none other than themselves. 

How many of those impassioned but temporary embraces were destined tobecome perpetual was possibly the wonder of some of those who indulgedin them, as well as of Eustacia who looked on. She began to envy thosepirouetters, to hunger for the hope and happiness which the fascinationof the dance seemed to engender within them. Desperately fond ofdancing herself, one of Eustacia's expectations of Paris had been theopportunity it might afford her of indulgence in this favourite pastime. Unhappily, that expectation was now extinct within her for ever. 

Whilst she abstractedly watched them spinning and fluctuating in theincreasing moonlight she suddenly heard her name whispered by a voiceover her shoulder. Turning in surprise, she beheld at her elbow onewhose presence instantly caused her to flush to the temples. 

It was Wildeve. Till this moment he had not met her eye since themorning of his marriage, when she had been loitering in the church, and had startled him by lifting her veil and coming forward to sign theregister as witness. Yet why the sight of him should have instigatedthat sudden rush of blood she could not tell. 

Before she could speak he whispered, "Do you like dancing as much asever?"

"I think I do, " she replied in a low voice. 

"Will you dance with me?"

"It would be a great change for me; but will it not seem strange?"

"What strangeness can there be in relations dancing together?"

"Ah--yes, relations. Perhaps none. "

"Still, if you don't like to be seen, pull down your veil; though thereis not much risk of being known by this light. Lots of strangers arehere. "

She did as he suggested; and the act was a tacit acknowledgment that sheaccepted his offer. 

Wildeve gave her his arm and took her down on the outside of the ringto the bottom of the dance, which they entered. In two minutes more theywere involved in the figure and began working their way upwards to thetop. Till they had advanced halfway thither Eustacia wished more thanonce that she had not yielded to his request; from the middle to thetop she felt that, since she had come out to seek pleasure, she was onlydoing a natural thing to obtain it. Fairly launched into the ceaselessglides and whirls which their new position as top couple opened up tothem, Eustacia's pulses began to move too quickly for long rumination ofany kind. 

Through the length of five-and-twenty couples they threaded their giddyway, and a new vitality entered her form. The pale ray of evening lenta fascination to the experience. There is a certain degree and toneof light which tends to disturb the equilibrium of the senses, and topromote dangerously the tenderer moods; added to movement, it drivesthe emotions to rankness, the reason becoming sleepy and unperceiving ininverse proportion; and this light fell now upon these two from the discof the moon. All the dancing girls felt the symptoms, but Eustacia mostof all. The grass under their feet became trodden away, and the hard, beaten surface of the sod, when viewed aslant towards the moonlight, shone like a polished table. The air became quite still, the flag abovethe wagon which held the musicians clung to the pole, and the playersappeared only in outline against the sky; except when the circularmouths of the trombone, ophicleide, and French horn gleamed out likehuge eyes from the shade of their figures. The pretty dresses of themaids lost their subtler day colours and showed more or less of a mistywhite. Eustacia floated round and round on Wildeve's arm, her facerapt and statuesque; her soul had passed away from and forgotten herfeatures, which were left empty and quiescent, as they always are whenfeeling goes beyond their register. 

How near she was to Wildeve! it was terrible to think of. She could feelhis breathing, and he, of course, could feel hers. How badly she hadtreated him! yet, here they were treading one measure. The enchantmentof the dance surprised her. A clear line of difference divided likea tangible fence her experience within this maze of motion from herexperience without it. Her beginning to dance had been like a changeof atmosphere; outside, she had been steeped in arctic frigidity bycomparison with the tropical sensations here. She had entered the dancefrom the troubled hours of her late life as one might enter a brilliantchamber after a night walk in a wood. Wildeve by himself would have beenmerely an agitation; Wildeve added to the dance, and the moonlight, andthe secrecy, began to be a delight. Whether his personality supplied thegreater part of this sweetly compounded feeling, or whether the danceand the scene weighed the more therein, was a nice point upon whichEustacia herself was entirely in a cloud. 

People began to say "Who are they?" but no invidious inquiries weremade. Had Eustacia mingled with the other girls in their ordinarydaily walks the case would have been different: here she was notinconvenienced by excessive inspection, for all were wrought to theirbrightest grace by the occasion. Like the planet Mercury surroundedby the lustre of sunset, her permanent brilliancy passed without muchnotice in the temporary glory of the situation. 

As for Wildeve, his feelings are easy to guess. Obstacles were aripening sun to his love, and he was at this moment in a delirium ofexquisite misery. To clasp as his for five minutes what was anotherman's through all the rest of the year was a kind of thing he of all mencould appreciate. He had long since begun to sigh again for Eustacia;indeed, it may be asserted that signing the marriage register withThomasin was the natural signal to his heart to return to its firstquarters, and that the extra complication of Eustacia's marriage was theone addition required to make that return compulsory. 

Thus, for different reasons, what was to the rest an exhilaratingmovement was to these two a riding upon the whirlwind. The dance hadcome like an irresistible attack upon whatever sense of social orderthere was in their minds, to drive them back into old paths which werenow doubly irregular. Through three dances in succession they spun theirway; and then, fatigued with the incessant motion, Eustacia turned toquit the circle in which she had already remained too long. Wildeveled her to a grassy mound a few yards distant, where she sat down, herpartner standing beside her. From the time that he addressed her at thebeginning of the dance till now they had not exchanged a word. 

"The dance and the walking have tired you?" he said tenderly. 

"No; not greatly. "

"It is strange that we should have met here of all places, after missingeach other so long. "

"We have missed because we tried to miss, I suppose. "

"Yes. But you began that proceeding--by breaking a promise. "

"It is scarcely worth while to talk of that now. We have formed otherties since then--you no less than I. "

"I am sorry to hear that your husband is ill. "

"He is not ill--only incapacitated. "

"Yes--that is what I mean. I sincerely sympathize with you in yourtrouble. Fate has treated you cruelly. "

She was silent awhile. "Have you heard that he has chosen to work as afurze-cutter?" she said in a low, mournful voice. 

"It has been mentioned to me, " answered Wildeve hesitatingly. "But Ihardly believed it. "

"It is true. What do you think of me as a furze-cutter's wife?"

"I think the same as ever of you, Eustacia. Nothing of that sort candegrade you--you ennoble the occupation of your husband. "

"I wish I could feel it. "

"Is there any chance of Mr. Yeobright getting better?"

"He thinks so. I doubt it. "

"I was quite surprised to hear that he had taken a cottage. I thought, in common with other people, that he would have taken you off to a homein Paris immediately after you had married him. 'What a gay, brightfuture she has before her!' I thought. He will, I suppose, return therewith you, if his sight gets strong again?"

Observing that she did not reply he regarded her more closely. She wasalmost weeping. Images of a future never to be enjoyed, the revivedsense of her bitter disappointment, the picture of the neighbour'ssuspended ridicule which was raised by Wildeve's words, had been toomuch for proud Eustacia's equanimity. 

Wildeve could hardly control his own too forward feelings when he sawher silent perturbation. But he affected not to notice this, and shesoon recovered her calmness. 

"You do not intend to walk home by yourself?" he asked. 

"O yes, " said Eustacia. "What could hurt me on this heath, who havenothing?"

"By diverging a little I can make my way home the same as yours. Ishall be glad to keep you company as far as Throope Corner. " Seeing thatEustacia sat on in hesitation he added, "Perhaps you think it unwise tobe seen in the same road with me after the events of last summer?"

"Indeed I think no such thing, " she said haughtily. "I shall acceptwhose company I choose, for all that may be said by the miserableinhabitants of Egdon. "

"Then let us walk on--if you are ready. Our nearest way is towards thatholly bush with the dark shadow that you see down there. "

Eustacia arose, and walked beside him in the direction signified, brushing her way over the damping heath and fern, and followed by thestrains of the merrymakers, who still kept up the dance. The moon hadnow waxed bright and silvery, but the heath was proof against suchillumination, and there was to be observed the striking scene of a dark, rayless tract of country under an atmosphere charged from its zenith toits extremities with whitest light. To an eye above them their twofaces would have appeared amid the expanse like two pearls on a table ofebony. 

On this account the irregularities of the path were not visible, andWildeve occasionally stumbled; whilst Eustacia found it necessaryto perform some graceful feats of balancing whenever a small tuft ofheather or root of furze protruded itself through the grass of thenarrow track and entangled her feet. At these junctures in her progressa hand was invariably stretched forward to steady her, holding herfirmly until smooth ground was again reached, when the hand was againwithdrawn to a respectful distance. 

They performed the journey for the most part in silence, and drew nearto Throope Corner, a few hundred yards from which a short path branchedaway to Eustacia's house. By degrees they discerned coming towards thema pair of human figures, apparently of the male sex. 

When they came a little nearer Eustacia broke the silence by saying, "One of those men is my husband. He promised to come to meet me. "

"And the other is my greatest enemy, " said Wildeve. 

"It looks like Diggory Venn. "

"That is the man. "

"It is an awkward meeting, " said she; "but such is my fortune. He knowstoo much about me, unless he could know more, and so prove to himselfthat what he now knows counts for nothing. Well, let it be--you mustdeliver me up to them. "

"You will think twice before you direct me to do that. Here is a manwho has not forgotten an item in our meetings at Rainbarrow--he is incompany with your husband. Which of them, seeing us together here, willbelieve that our meeting and dancing at the gipsy party was by chance?"

"Very well, " she whispered gloomily. "Leave me before they come up. "

Wildeve bade her a tender farewell, and plunged across the fern andfurze, Eustacia slowly walking on. In two or three minutes she met herhusband and his companion. 

"My journey ends here for tonight, reddleman, " said Yeobright as soon ashe perceived her. "I turn back with this lady. Good night. "

"Good night, Mr. Yeobright, " said Venn. "I hope to see you better soon. "

The moonlight shone directly upon Venn's face as he spoke, and revealedall its lines to Eustacia. He was looking suspiciously at her. ThatVenn's keen eye had discerned what Yeobright's feeble vision had not--aman in the act of withdrawing from Eustacia's side--was within thelimits of the probable. 

If Eustacia had been able to follow the reddleman she would soon havefound striking confirmation of her thought. No sooner had Clym given herhis arm and led her off the scene than the reddleman turned back fromthe beaten track towards East Egdon, whither he had been strollingmerely to accompany Clym in his walk, Diggory's van being again in theneighbourhood. Stretching out his long legs, he crossed the pathlessportion of the heath somewhat in the direction which Wildeve had taken. Only a man accustomed to nocturnal rambles could at this hour havedescended those shaggy slopes with Venn's velocity without fallingheadlong into a pit, or snapping off his leg by jamming his foot intosome rabbit burrow. But Venn went on without much inconvenience tohimself, and the course of his scamper was towards the Quiet Woman Inn. This place he reached in about half an hour, and he was well aware thatno person who had been near Throope Corner when he started could havegot down here before him. 

The lonely inn was not yet closed, though scarcely an individual wasthere, the business done being chiefly with travellers who passed theinn on long journeys, and these had now gone on their way. Venn went tothe public room, called for a mug of ale, and inquired of the maid in anindifferent tone if Mr. Wildeve was at home. 

Thomasin sat in an inner room and heard Venn's voice. When customerswere present she seldom showed herself, owing to her inherent dislikefor the business; but perceiving that no one else was there tonight shecame out. 

"He is not at home yet, Diggory, " she said pleasantly. "But I expectedhim sooner. He has been to East Egdon to buy a horse. "

"Did he wear a light wideawake?"

"Yes. "

"Then I saw him at Throope Corner, leading one home, " said Venn drily. "A beauty, with a white face and a mane as black as night. He will soonbe here, no doubt. " Rising and looking for a moment at the pure, sweetface of Thomasin, over which a shadow of sadness had passed since thetime when he had last seen her, he ventured to add, "Mr. Wildeve seemsto be often away at this time. "

"O yes, " cried Thomasin in what was intended to be a tone of gaiety. "Husbands will play the truant, you know. I wish you could tell me ofsome secret plan that would help me to keep him home at my will in theevenings. "

"I will consider if I know of one, " replied Venn in that same lighttone which meant no lightness. And then he bowed in a manner of his owninvention and moved to go. Thomasin offered him her hand; and without asigh, though with food for many, the reddleman went out. 

When Wildeve returned, a quarter of an hour later Thomasin said simply, and in the abashed manner usual with her now, "Where is the horse, Damon?"

"O, I have not bought it, after all. The man asks too much. "

"But somebody saw you at Throope Corner leading it home--a beauty, witha white face and a mane as black as night. "

"Ah!" said Wildeve, fixing his eyes upon her; "who told you that?"

"Venn the reddleman. "

The expression of Wildeve's face became curiously condensed. "That isa mistake--it must have been someone else, " he said slowly and testily, for he perceived that Venn's countermoves had begun again. 

4--Rough Coercion Is Employed

Those words of Thomasin, which seemed so little, but meant so much, remained in the ears of Diggory Venn: "Help me to keep him home in theevenings. "

On this occasion Venn had arrived on Egdon Heath only to cross to theother side--he had no further connection with the interests of theYeobright family, and he had a business of his own to attend to. Yethe suddenly began to feel himself drifting into the old track ofmanoeuvring on Thomasin's account. 

He sat in his van and considered. From Thomasin's words and mannerhe had plainly gathered that Wildeve neglected her. For whom couldhe neglect her if not for Eustacia? Yet it was scarcely crediblethat things had come to such a head as to indicate that Eustaciasystematically encouraged him. Venn resolved to reconnoitre somewhatcarefully the lonely road which led along the vale from Wildeve'sdwelling to Clym's house at Alderworth. 

At this time, as has been seen, Wildeve was quite innocent of anypredetermined act of intrigue, and except at the dance on the green hehad not once met Eustacia since her marriage. But that the spirit ofintrigue was in him had been shown by a recent romantic habit of his--ahabit of going out after dark and strolling towards Alderworth, therelooking at the moon and stars, looking at Eustacia's house, and walkingback at leisure. 

Accordingly, when watching on the night after the festival, thereddleman saw him ascend by the little path, lean over the front gateof Clym's garden, sigh, and turn to go back again. It was plain thatWildeve's intrigue was rather ideal than real. Venn retreated before himdown the hill to a place where the path was merely a deep groovebetween the heather; here he mysteriously bent over the ground for a fewminutes, and retired. When Wildeve came on to that spot his ankle wascaught by something, and he fell headlong. 

As soon as he had recovered the power of respiration he sat up andlistened. There was not a sound in the gloom beyond the spiritless stirof the summer wind. Feeling about for the obstacle which had flunghim down, he discovered that two tufts of heath had been tied togetheracross the path, forming a loop, which to a traveller was certainoverthrow. Wildeve pulled off the string that bound them, and went onwith tolerable quickness. On reaching home he found the cord to be of areddish colour. It was just what he had expected. 

Although his weaknesses were not specially those akin to physical fear, this species of coup-de-Jarnac from one he knew too well troubled themind of Wildeve. But his movements were unaltered thereby. A nightor two later he again went along the vale to Alderworth, taking theprecaution of keeping out of any path. The sense that he was watched, that craft was employed to circumvent his errant tastes, added piquancyto a journey so entirely sentimental, so long as the danger was of nofearful sort. He imagined that Venn and Mrs. Yeobright were in league, and felt that there was a certain legitimacy in combating such acoalition. 

The heath tonight appeared to be totally deserted; and Wildeve, afterlooking over Eustacia's garden gate for some little time, with a cigarin his mouth, was tempted by the fascination that emotional smugglinghad for his nature to advance towards the window, which was not quiteclosed, the blind being only partly drawn down. He could see into theroom, and Eustacia was sitting there alone. Wildeve contemplated herfor a minute, and then retreating into the heath beat the ferns lightly, whereupon moths flew out alarmed. Securing one, he returned to thewindow, and holding the moth to the chink, opened his hand. The mothmade towards the candle upon Eustacia's table, hovered round it two orthree times, and flew into the flame. 

Eustacia started up. This had been a well-known signal in old times whenWildeve had used to come secretly wooing to Mistover. She at once knewthat Wildeve was outside, but before she could consider what to do herhusband came in from upstairs. Eustacia's face burnt crimson at theunexpected collision of incidents, and filled it with an animation thatit too frequently lacked. 

"You have a very high colour, dearest, " said Yeobright, when he cameclose enough to see it. "Your appearance would be no worse if it werealways so. "

"I am warm, " said Eustacia. "I think I will go into the air for a fewminutes. "

"Shall I go with you?"

"O no. I am only going to the gate. "

She arose, but before she had time to get out of the room a loud rappingbegan upon the front door. 

"I'll go--I'll go, " said Eustacia in an unusually quick tone for her;and she glanced eagerly towards the window whence the moth had flown;but nothing appeared there. 

"You had better not at this time of the evening, " he said. Clym steppedbefore her into the passage, and Eustacia waited, her somnolent mannercovering her inner heat and agitation. 

She listened, and Clym opened the door. No words were uttered outside, and presently he closed it and came back, saying, "Nobody was there. Iwonder what that could have meant?"

He was left to wonder during the rest of the evening, for no explanationoffered itself, and Eustacia said nothing, the additional fact that sheknew of only adding more mystery to the performance. 

Meanwhile a little drama had been acted outside which saved Eustaciafrom all possibility of compromising herself that evening at least. Whilst Wildeve had been preparing his moth-signal another person hadcome behind him up to the gate. This man, who carried a gun in his hand, looked on for a moment at the other's operation by the window, walkedup to the house, knocked at the door, and then vanished round the cornerand over the hedge. 

"Damn him!" said Wildeve. "He has been watching me again. "

As his signal had been rendered futile by this uproarious rappingWildeve withdrew, passed out at the gate, and walked quickly down thepath without thinking of anything except getting away unnoticed. Halfwaydown the hill the path ran near a knot of stunted hollies, which in thegeneral darkness of the scene stood as the pupil in a black eye. WhenWildeve reached this point a report startled his ear, and a few spentgunshots fell among the leaves around him. 

There was no doubt that he himself was the cause of that gun'sdischarge; and he rushed into the clump of hollies, beating the bushesfuriously with his stick; but nobody was there. This attack was amore serious matter than the last, and it was some time before Wildeverecovered his equanimity. A new and most unpleasant system of menacehad begun, and the intent appeared to be to do him grievous bodily harm. Wildeve had looked upon Venn's first attempt as a species of horseplay, which the reddleman had indulged in for want of knowing better; butnow the boundary line was passed which divides the annoying from theperilous. 

Had Wildeve known how thoroughly in earnest Venn had become he mighthave been still more alarmed. The reddleman had been almost exasperatedby the sight of Wildeve outside Clym's house, and he was prepared to goto any lengths short of absolutely shooting him, to terrify the younginnkeeper out of his recalcitrant impulses. The doubtful legitimacy ofsuch rough coercion did not disturb the mind of Venn. It troubles fewsuch minds in such cases, and sometimes this is not to be regretted. From the impeachment of Strafford to Farmer Lynch's short way with thescamps of Virginia there have been many triumphs of justice which aremockeries of law. 

About half a mile below Clym's secluded dwelling lay a hamlet wherelived one of the two constables who preserved the peace in the parish ofAlderworth, and Wildeve went straight to the constable's cottage. Almostthe first thing that he saw on opening the door was the constable'struncheon hanging to a nail, as if to assure him that here were themeans to his purpose. On inquiry, however, of the constable's wife helearnt that the constable was not at home. Wildeve said he would wait. 

The minutes ticked on, and the constable did not arrive. Wildeve cooleddown from his state of high indignation to a restless dissatisfactionwith himself, the scene, the constable's wife, and the whole set ofcircumstances. He arose and left the house. Altogether, the experienceof that evening had had a cooling, not to say a chilling, effect onmisdirected tenderness, and Wildeve was in no mood to ramble again toAlderworth after nightfall in hope of a stray glance from Eustacia. 

Thus far the reddleman had been tolerably successful in his rudecontrivances for keeping down Wildeve's inclination to rove in theevening. He had nipped in the bud the possible meeting between Eustaciaand her old lover this very night. But he had not anticipated that thetendency of his action would be to divert Wildeve's movement rather thanto stop it. The gambling with the guineas had not conduced to make him awelcome guest to Clym; but to call upon his wife's relative was natural, and he was determined to see Eustacia. It was necessary to choose someless untoward hour than ten o'clock at night. "Since it is unsafe to goin the evening, " he said, "I'll go by day. "

Meanwhile Venn had left the heath and gone to call upon Mrs. Yeobright, with whom he had been on friendly terms since she had learnt what aprovidential countermove he had made towards the restitution of thefamily guineas. She wondered at the lateness of his call, but had noobjection to see him. 

He gave her a full account of Clym's affliction, and of the state inwhich he was living; then, referring to Thomasin, touched gently uponthe apparent sadness of her days. "Now, ma'am, depend upon it, " he said, "you couldn't do a better thing for either of 'em than to make yourselfat home in their houses, even if there should be a little rebuff atfirst. "

"Both she and my son disobeyed me in marrying; therefore I have nointerest in their households. Their troubles are of their own making. "Mrs. Yeobright tried to speak severely; but the account of her son'sstate had moved her more than she cared to show. 

"Your visits would make Wildeve walk straighter than he is inclined todo, and might prevent unhappiness down the heath. "

"What do you mean?"

"I saw something tonight out there which I didn't like at all. I wishyour son's house and Mr. Wildeve's were a hundred miles apart instead offour or five. "

"Then there WAS an understanding between him and Clym's wife when hemade a fool of Thomasin!"

"We'll hope there's no understanding now. "

"And our hope will probably be very vain. O Clym! O Thomasin!"

"There's no harm done yet. In fact, I've persuaded Wildeve to mind hisown business. "

"How?"

"O, not by talking--by a plan of mine called the silent system. "

"I hope you'll succeed. "

"I shall if you help me by calling and making friends with your son. You'll have a chance then of using your eyes. "

"Well, since it has come to this, " said Mrs. Yeobright sadly, "I willown to you, reddleman, that I thought of going. I should be much happierif we were reconciled. The marriage is unalterable, my life may be cutshort, and I should wish to die in peace. He is my only son; and sincesons are made of such stuff I am not sorry I have no other. As forThomasin, I never expected much from her; and she has not disappointedme. But I forgave her long ago; and I forgive him now. I'll go. "

At this very time of the reddleman's conversation with Mrs. Yeobrightat Blooms-End another conversation on the same subject was languidlyproceeding at Alderworth. 

All the day Clym had borne himself as if his mind were too full of itsown matter to allow him to care about outward things, and his words nowshowed what had occupied his thoughts. It was just after the mysteriousknocking that he began the theme. "Since I have been away today, Eustacia, I have considered that something must be done to heal up thisghastly breach between my dear mother and myself. It troubles me. "

"What do you propose to do?" said Eustacia abstractedly, for she couldnot clear away from her the excitement caused by Wildeve's recentmanoeuvre for an interview. 

"You seem to take a very mild interest in what I propose, little ormuch, " said Clym, with tolerable warmth. 

"You mistake me, " she answered, reviving at his reproach. "I am onlythinking. "

"What of?"

"Partly of that moth whose skeleton is getting burnt up in the wick ofthe candle, " she said slowly. "But you know I always take an interest inwhat you say. "

"Very well, dear. Then I think I must go and call upon her. ". .. He wenton with tender feeling: "It is a thing I am not at all too proud to do, and only a fear that I might irritate her has kept me away so long. ButI must do something. It is wrong in me to allow this sort of thing to goon. "

"What have you to blame yourself about?"

"She is getting old, and her life is lonely, and I am her only son. "

"She has Thomasin. "

"Thomasin is not her daughter; and if she were that would not excuse me. But this is beside the point. I have made up my mind to go to her, andall I wish to ask you is whether you will do your best to help me--thatis, forget the past; and if she shows her willingness to be reconciled, meet her halfway by welcoming her to our house, or by accepting awelcome to hers?"

At first Eustacia closed her lips as if she would rather do anythingon the whole globe than what he suggested. But the lines of her mouthsoftened with thought, though not so far as they might have softened, and she said, "I will put nothing in your way; but after what has passedit, is asking too much that I go and make advances. "

"You never distinctly told me what did pass between you. "

"I could not do it then, nor can I now. Sometimes more bitterness issown in five minutes than can be got rid of in a whole life; and thatmay be the case here. " She paused a few moments, and added, "If you hadnever returned to your native place, Clym, what a blessing it would havebeen for you!. .. It has altered the destinies of----"

"Three people. "

"Five, " Eustacia thought; but she kept that in. 

5--The Journey across the Heath

Thursday, the thirty-first of August, was one of a series of days duringwhich snug houses were stifling, and when cool draughts were treats;when cracks appeared in clayey gardens, and were called "earthquakes" byapprehensive children; when loose spokes were discovered in the wheelsof carts and carriages; and when stinging insects haunted the air, theearth, and every drop of water that was to be found. 

In Mrs. Yeobright's garden large-leaved plants of a tender kind flaggedby ten o'clock in the morning; rhubarb bent downward at eleven; and evenstiff cabbages were limp by noon. 

It was about eleven o'clock on this day that Mrs. Yeobright startedacross the heath towards her son's house, to do her best in gettingreconciled with him and Eustacia, in conformity with her words to thereddleman. She had hoped to be well advanced in her walk before the heatof the day was at its highest, but after setting out she found that thiswas not to be done. The sun had branded the whole heath with its mark, even the purple heath-flowers having put on a brownness under the dryblazes of the few preceding days. Every valley was filled with air likethat of a kiln, and the clean quartz sand of the winter water-courses, which formed summer paths, had undergone a species of incineration sincethe drought had set in. 

In cool, fresh weather Mrs. Yeobright would have found no inconveniencein walking to Alderworth, but the present torrid attack made the journeya heavy undertaking for a woman past middle age; and at the end of thethird mile she wished that she had hired Fairway to drive her a portionat least of the distance. But from the point at which she had arrived itwas as easy to reach Clym's house as to get home again. So she went on, the air around her pulsating silently, and oppressing the earth withlassitude. She looked at the sky overhead, and saw that the sapphirinehue of the zenith in spring and early summer had been replaced by ametallic violet. 

Occasionally she came to a spot where independent worlds of ephemeronswere passing their time in mad carousal, some in the air, some on thehot ground and vegetation, some in the tepid and stringy water of anearly dried pool. All the shallower ponds had decreased to a vaporousmud amid which the maggoty shapes of innumerable obscure creatures couldbe indistinctly seen, heaving and wallowing with enjoyment. Being awoman not disinclined to philosophize she sometimes sat down under herumbrella to rest and to watch their happiness, for a certain hopefulnessas to the result of her visit gave ease to her mind, and betweenimportant thoughts left it free to dwell on any infinitesimal matterwhich caught her eyes. 

Mrs. Yeobright had never before been to her son's house, and its exactposition was unknown to her. She tried one ascending path and another, and found that they led her astray. Retracing her steps, she came againto an open level, where she perceived at a distance a man at work. Shewent towards him and inquired the way. 

The labourer pointed out the direction, and added, "Do you see thatfurze-cutter, ma'am, going up that footpath yond?"

Mrs. Yeobright strained her eyes, and at last said that she did perceivehim. 

"Well, if you follow him you can make no mistake. He's going to the sameplace, ma'am. "

She followed the figure indicated. He appeared of a russet hue, not moredistinguishable from the scene around him than the green caterpillarfrom the leaf it feeds on. His progress when actually walking was morerapid than Mrs. Yeobright's; but she was enabled to keep at an equabledistance from him by his habit of stopping whenever he came to a brakeof brambles, where he paused awhile. On coming in her turn to each ofthese spots she found half a dozen long limp brambles which he had cutfrom the bush during his halt and laid out straight beside the path. They were evidently intended for furze-faggot bonds which he meant tocollect on his return. 

The silent being who thus occupied himself seemed to be of no moreaccount in life than an insect. He appeared as a mere parasite ofthe heath, fretting its surface in his daily labour as a moth frets agarment, entirely engrossed with its products, having no knowledge ofanything in the world but fern, furze, heath, lichens, and moss. 

The furze-cutter was so absorbed in the business of his journey that henever turned his head; and his leather-legged and gauntleted form atlength became to her as nothing more than a moving handpost to show herthe way. Suddenly she was attracted to his individuality by observingpeculiarities in his walk. It was a gait she had seen somewhere before;and the gait revealed the man to her, as the gait of Ahimaaz in thedistant plain made him known to the watchman of the king. "His walkis exactly as my husband's used to be, " she said; and then the thoughtburst upon her that the furze-cutter was her son. 

She was scarcely able to familiarize herself with this strange reality. She had been told that Clym was in the habit of cutting furze, but shehad supposed that he occupied himself with the labour only at odd times, by way of useful pastime; yet she now beheld him as a furze-cutter andnothing more--wearing the regulation dress of the craft, and thinkingthe regulation thoughts, to judge by his motions. Planning a dozen hastyschemes for at once preserving him and Eustacia from this mode of life, she throbbingly followed the way, and saw him enter his own door. 

At one side of Clym's house was a knoll, and on the top of the knoll aclump of fir trees so highly thrust up into the sky that their foliagefrom a distance appeared as a black spot in the air above the crownof the hill. On reaching this place Mrs. Yeobright felt distressinglyagitated, weary, and unwell. She ascended, and sat down under theirshade to recover herself, and to consider how best to break the groundwith Eustacia, so as not to irritate a woman underneath whose apparentindolence lurked passions even stronger and more active than her own. 

The trees beneath which she sat were singularly battered, rude, andwild, and for a few minutes Mrs. Yeobright dismissed thoughts of her ownstorm-broken and exhausted state to contemplate theirs. Not a bough inthe nine trees which composed the group but was splintered, lopped, and distorted by the fierce weather that there held them at its mercywhenever it prevailed. Some were blasted and split as if by lightning, black stains as from fire marking their sides, while the ground at theirfeet was strewn with dead fir-needles and heaps of cones blown down inthe gales of past years. The place was called the Devil's Bellows, andit was only necessary to come there on a March or November night todiscover the forcible reasons for that name. On the present heatedafternoon, when no perceptible wind was blowing, the trees kept up aperpetual moan which one could hardly believe to be caused by the air. 

Here she sat for twenty minutes or more ere she could summon resolutionto go down to the door, her courage being lowered to zero by herphysical lassitude. To any other person than a mother it might haveseemed a little humiliating that she, the elder of the two women, shouldbe the first to make advances. But Mrs. Yeobright had well consideredall that, and she only thought how best to make her visit appear toEustacia not abject but wise. 

From her elevated position the exhausted woman could perceive the roofof the house below, and the garden and the whole enclosure of thelittle domicile. And now, at the moment of rising, she saw a second manapproaching the gate. His manner was peculiar, hesitating, and not thatof a person come on business or by invitation. He surveyed the housewith interest, and then walked round and scanned the outer boundaryof the garden, as one might have done had it been the birthplace ofShakespeare, the prison of Mary Stuart, or the Chateau of Hougomont. After passing round and again reaching the gate he went in. Mrs. Yeobright was vexed at this, having reckoned on finding her son and hiswife by themselves; but a moment's thought showed her that thepresence of an acquaintance would take off the awkwardness of her firstappearance in the house, by confining the talk to general matters untilshe had begun to feel comfortable with them. She came down the hill tothe gate, and looked into the hot garden. 

There lay the cat asleep on the bare gravel of the path, as if beds, rugs, and carpets were unendurable. The leaves of the hollyhocks hunglike half-closed umbrellas, the sap almost simmered in the stems, andfoliage with a smooth surface glared like metallic mirrors. A smallapple tree, of the sort called Ratheripe, grew just inside the gate, theonly one which throve in the garden, by reason of the lightness ofthe soil; and among the fallen apples on the ground beneath were waspsrolling drunk with the juice, or creeping about the little caves in eachfruit which they had eaten out before stupefied by its sweetness. By thedoor lay Clym's furze-hook and the last handful of faggot-bonds she hadseen him gather; they had plainly been thrown down there as he enteredthe house. 

6--A Conjuncture, and Its Result upon the Pedestrian

Wildeve, as has been stated, was determined to visit Eustacia boldly, byday, and on the easy terms of a relation, since the reddleman had spiedout and spoilt his walks to her by night. The spell that she had thrownover him in the moonlight dance made it impossible for a man having nostrong puritanic force within him to keep away altogether. He merelycalculated on meeting her and her husband in an ordinary manner, chatting a little while, and leaving again. Every outward sign was to beconventional; but the one great fact would be there to satisfy him--hewould see her. He did not even desire Clym's absence, since it was justpossible that Eustacia might resent any situation which could compromiseher dignity as a wife, whatever the state of her heart towards him. Women were often so. 

He went accordingly; and it happened that the time of his arrivalcoincided with that of Mrs. Yeobright's pause on the hill near thehouse. When he had looked round the premises in the manner she hadnoticed he went and knocked at the door. There was a few minutes'interval, and then the key turned in the lock, the door opened, andEustacia herself confronted him. 

Nobody could have imagined from her bearing now that here stood thewoman who had joined with him in the impassioned dance of the weekbefore, unless indeed he could have penetrated below the surface andgauged the real depth of that still stream. 

"I hope you reached home safely?" said Wildeve. 

"O yes, " she carelessly returned. 

"And were you not tired the next day? I feared you might be. "

"I was rather. You need not speak low--nobody will over-hear us. Mysmall servant is gone on an errand to the village. "

"Then Clym is not at home?"

"Yes, he is. "

"O! I thought that perhaps you had locked the door because you werealone and were afraid of tramps. "

"No--here is my husband. "

They had been standing in the entry. Closing the front door and turningthe key, as before, she threw open the door of the adjoining room andasked him to walk in. Wildeve entered, the room appearing to be empty;but as soon as he had advanced a few steps he started. On the hearthruglay Clym asleep. Beside him were the leggings, thick boots, leathergloves, and sleeve-waistcoat in which he worked. 

"You may go in; you will not disturb him, " she said, following behind. "My reason for fastening the door is that he may not be intruded uponby any chance comer while lying here, if I should be in the garden orupstairs. "

"Why is he sleeping there?" said Wildeve in low tones. 

"He is very weary. He went out at half-past four this morning, and hasbeen working ever since. He cuts furze because it is the only thing hecan do that does not put any strain upon his poor eyes. " The contrastbetween the sleeper's appearance and Wildeve's at this moment waspainfully apparent to Eustacia, Wildeve being elegantly dressed in a newsummer suit and light hat; and she continued: "Ah! you don't know howdifferently he appeared when I first met him, though it is such a littlewhile ago. His hands were as white and soft as mine; and look at themnow, how rough and brown they are! His complexion is by nature fair, andthat rusty look he has now, all of a colour with his leather clothes, iscaused by the burning of the sun. "

"Why does he go out at all!" Wildeve whispered. 

"Because he hates to be idle; though what he earns doesn't add much toour exchequer. However, he says that when people are living upon theircapital they must keep down current expenses by turning a penny wherethey can. "

"The fates have not been kind to you, Eustacia Yeobright. "

"I have nothing to thank them for. "

"Nor has he--except for their one great gift to him. "

"What's that?"

Wildeve looked her in the eyes. 

Eustacia blushed for the first time that day. "Well, I am a questionablegift, " she said quietly. "I thought you meant the gift of content--whichhe has, and I have not. "

"I can understand content in such a case--though how the outwardsituation can attract him puzzles me. "

"That's because you don't know him. He's an enthusiast about ideas, andcareless about outward things. He often reminds me of the Apostle Paul. "

"I am glad to hear that he's so grand in character as that. "

"Yes; but the worst of it is that though Paul was excellent as a man inthe Bible he would hardly have done in real life. "

Their voices had instinctively dropped lower, though at first they hadtaken no particular care to avoid awakening Clym. "Well, if that meansthat your marriage is a misfortune to you, you know who is to blame, "said Wildeve. 

"The marriage is no misfortune in itself, " she retorted with some littlepetulance. "It is simply the accident which has happened since that hasbeen the cause of my ruin. I have certainly got thistles for figs in aworldly sense, but how could I tell what time would bring forth?"

"Sometimes, Eustacia, I think it is a judgment upon you. You rightlybelonged to me, you know; and I had no idea of losing you. "

"No, it was not my fault! Two could not belong to you; and rememberthat, before I was aware, you turned aside to another woman. It wascruel levity in you to do that. I never dreamt of playing such a game onmy side till you began it on yours. "

"I meant nothing by it, " replied Wildeve. "It was a mere interlude. Menare given to the trick of having a passing fancy for somebody else inthe midst of a permanent love, which reasserts itself afterwards just asbefore. On account of your rebellious manner to me I was tempted to gofurther than I should have done; and when you still would keep playingthe same tantalizing part I went further still, and married her. "Turning and looking again at the unconscious form of Clym, he murmured, "I am afraid that you don't value your prize, Clym. .. . He ought to behappier than I in one thing at least. He may know what it is to comedown in the world, and to be afflicted with a great personal calamity;but he probably doesn't know what it is to lose the woman he loved. "

"He is not ungrateful for winning her, " whispered Eustacia, "and in thatrespect he is a good man. Many women would go far for such a husband. But do I desire unreasonably much in wanting what is called life--music, poetry, passion, war, and all the beating and pulsing that are going onin the great arteries of the world? That was the shape of my youthfuldream; but I did not get it. Yet I thought I saw the way to it in myClym. "

"And you only married him on that account?"

"There you mistake me. I married him because I loved him, but I won'tsay that I didn't love him partly because I thought I saw a promise ofthat life in him. "

"You have dropped into your old mournful key. "

"But I am not going to be depressed, " she cried perversely. "I began anew system by going to that dance, and I mean to stick to it. Clym cansing merrily; why should not I?"

Wildeve looked thoughtfully at her. "It is easier to say you will singthan to do it; though if I could I would encourage you in your attempt. But as life means nothing to me, without one thing which is nowimpossible, you will forgive me for not being able to encourage you. "

"Damon, what is the matter with you, that you speak like that?" sheasked, raising her deep shady eyes to his. 

"That's a thing I shall never tell plainly; and perhaps if I try to tellyou in riddles you will not care to guess them. "

Eustacia remained silent for a minute, and she said, "We are in astrange relationship today. You mince matters to an uncommon nicety. Youmean, Damon, that you still love me. Well, that gives me sorrow, for Iam not made so entirely happy by my marriage that I am willing to spurnyou for the information, as I ought to do. But we have said too muchabout this. Do you mean to wait until my husband is awake?"

"I thought to speak to him; but it is unnecessary, Eustacia, if I offendyou by not forgetting you, you are right to mention it; but do not talkof spurning. "

She did not reply, and they stood looking musingly at Clym as he slepton in that profound sleep which is the result of physical labour carriedon in circumstances that wake no nervous fear. 

"God, how I envy him that sweet sleep!" said Wildeve. "I have not sleptlike that since I was a boy--years and years ago. "

While they thus watched him a click at the gate was audible, and a knockcame to the door. Eustacia went to a window and looked out. 

Her countenance changed. First she became crimson, and then the redsubsided till it even partially left her lips. 

"Shall I go away?" said Wildeve, standing up. 

"I hardly know. "

"Who is it?"

"Mrs. Yeobright. O, what she said to me that day! I cannot understandthis visit--what does she mean? And she suspects that past time ofours. "

"I am in your hands. If you think she had better not see me here I'll gointo the next room. "

"Well, yes--go. "

Wildeve at once withdrew; but before he had been half a minute in theadjoining apartment Eustacia came after him. 

"No, " she said, "we won't have any of this. If she comes in she must seeyou--and think if she likes there's something wrong! But how can I openthe door to her, when she dislikes me--wishes to see not me, but herson? I won't open the door!"

Mrs. Yeobright knocked again more loudly. 

"Her knocking will, in all likelihood, awaken him, " continued Eustacia, "and then he will let her in himself. Ah--listen. "

They could hear Clym moving in the other room, as if disturbed by theknocking, and he uttered the word "Mother. "

"Yes--he is awake--he will go to the door, " she said, with a breath ofrelief. "Come this way. I have a bad name with her, and you must notbe seen. Thus I am obliged to act by stealth, not because I do ill, butbecause others are pleased to say so. "

By this time she had taken him to the back door, which was open, disclosing a path leading down the garden. "Now, one word, Damon, " sheremarked as he stepped forth. "This is your first visit here; let itbe your last. We have been hot lovers in our time, but it won't do now. Good-bye. "

"Good-bye, " said Wildeve. "I have had all I came for, and I amsatisfied. "

"What was it?"

"A sight of you. Upon my eternal honour I came for no more. "

Wildeve kissed his hand to the beautiful girl he addressed, and passedinto the garden, where she watched him down the path, over the stile atthe end, and into the ferns outside, which brushed his hips as he wentalong till he became lost in their thickets. When he had quite gone sheslowly turned, and directed her attention to the interior of the house. 

But it was possible that her presence might not be desired by Clym andhis mother at this moment of their first meeting, or that it would besuperfluous. At all events, she was in no hurry to meet Mrs. Yeobright. She resolved to wait till Clym came to look for her, and glided backinto the garden. Here she idly occupied herself for a few minutes, tillfinding no notice was taken of her she retraced her steps through thehouse to the front, where she listened for voices in the parlour. Buthearing none she opened the door and went in. To her astonishment Clymlay precisely as Wildeve and herself had left him, his sleep apparentlyunbroken. He had been disturbed and made to dream and murmur by theknocking, but he had not awakened. Eustacia hastened to the door, and inspite of her reluctance to open it to a woman who had spoken of herso bitterly, she unfastened it and looked out. Nobody was to be seen. There, by the scraper, lay Clym's hook and the handful of faggot-bondshe had brought home; in front of her were the empty path, the gardengate standing slightly ajar; and, beyond, the great valley of purpleheath thrilling silently in the sun. Mrs. Yeobright was gone. 

Clym's mother was at this time following a path which lay hidden fromEustacia by a shoulder of the hill. Her walk thither from the gardengate had been hasty and determined, as of a woman who was now no lessanxious to escape from the scene than she had previously been to enterit. Her eyes were fixed on the ground; within her two sights weregraven--that of Clym's hook and brambles at the door, and that of awoman's face at a window. Her lips trembled, becoming unnaturally thinas she murmured, "'Tis too much--Clym, how can he bear to do it! He isat home; and yet he lets her shut the door against me!"

In her anxiety to get out of the direct view of the house she haddiverged from the straightest path homeward, and while looking aboutto regain it she came upon a little boy gathering whortleberries in ahollow. The boy was Johnny Nunsuch, who had been Eustacia's stokerat the bonfire, and, with the tendency of a minute body to gravitatetowards a greater, he began hovering round Mrs. Yeobright as soon as sheappeared, and trotted on beside her without perceptible consciousness ofhis act. 

Mrs. Yeobright spoke to him as one in a mesmeric sleep. "'Tis a long wayhome, my child, and we shall not get there till evening. "

"I shall, " said her small companion. "I am going to play marnels aforesupper, and we go to supper at six o'clock, because Father comes home. Does your father come home at six too?"

"No, he never comes; nor my son either, nor anybody. "

"What have made you so down? Have you seen a ooser?"

"I have seen what's worse--a woman's face looking at me through awindowpane. "

"Is that a bad sight?"

"Yes. It is always a bad sight to see a woman looking out at a wearywayfarer and not letting her in. "

"Once when I went to Throope Great Pond to catch effets I seed myselflooking up at myself, and I was frightened and jumped back likeanything. "

. .. "If they had only shown signs of meeting my advances halfway how wellit might have been done! But there is no chance. Shut out! She must haveset him against me. Can there be beautiful bodies without hearts inside?I think so. I would not have done it against a neighbour's cat on such afiery day as this!"

"What is it you say?"

"Never again--never! Not even if they send for me!"

"You must be a very curious woman to talk like that. "

"O no, not at all, " she said, returning to the boy's prattle. "Mostpeople who grow up and have children talk as I do. When you grow up yourmother will talk as I do too. "

"I hope she won't; because 'tis very bad to talk nonsense. "

"Yes, child; it is nonsense, I suppose. Are you not nearly spent withthe heat?"

"Yes. But not so much as you be. "

"How do you know?"

"Your face is white and wet, and your head is hanging-down-like. "

"Ah, I am exhausted from inside. "

"Why do you, every time you take a step, go like this?" The child inspeaking gave to his motion the jerk and limp of an invalid. 

"Because I have a burden which is more than I can bear. "

The little boy remained silently pondering, and they tottered on sideby side until more than a quarter of an hour had elapsed, when Mrs. Yeobright, whose weakness plainly increased, said to him, "I must sitdown here to rest. "

When she had seated herself he looked long in her face and said, "Howfunny you draw your breath--like a lamb when you drive him till he'snearly done for. Do you always draw your breath like that?"

"Not always. " Her voice was now so low as to be scarcely above awhisper. 

"You will go to sleep there, I suppose, won't you? You have shut youreyes already. "

"No. I shall not sleep much till--another day, and then I hope to havea long, long one--very long. Now can you tell me if Rimsmoor Pond is drythis summer?"

"Rimsmoor Pond is, but Oker's Pool isn't, because he is deep, and isnever dry--'tis just over there. "

"Is the water clear?"

"Yes, middling--except where the heath-croppers walk into it. "

"Then, take this, and go as fast as you can, and dip me up the clearestyou can find. I am very faint. "

She drew from the small willow reticule that she carried in her hand anold-fashioned china teacup without a handle; it was one of half a dozenof the same sort lying in the reticule, which she had preserved eversince her childhood, and had brought with her today as a small presentfor Clym and Eustacia. 

The boy started on his errand, and soon came back with the water, suchas it was. Mrs. Yeobright attempted to drink, but it was so warm as togive her nausea, and she threw it away. Afterwards she still remainedsitting, with her eyes closed. 

The boy waited, played near her, caught several of the little brownbutterflies which abounded, and then said as he waited again, "I likegoing on better than biding still. Will you soon start again?"

"I don't know. "

"I wish I might go on by myself, " he resumed, fearing, apparently, thathe was to be pressed into some unpleasant service. "Do you want me anymore, please?"

Mrs. Yeobright made no reply. 

"What shall I tell Mother?" the boy continued. 

"Tell her you have seen a broken-hearted woman cast off by her son. "

Before quite leaving her he threw upon her face a wistful glance, as ifhe had misgivings on the generosity of forsaking her thus. He gazed intoher face in a vague, wondering manner, like that of one examining somestrange old manuscript the key to whose characters is undiscoverable. Hewas not so young as to be absolutely without a sense that sympathywas demanded, he was not old enough to be free from the terror feltin childhood at beholding misery in adult quarters hither-to deemedimpregnable; and whether she were in a position to cause trouble or tosuffer from it, whether she and her affliction were something to pity orsomething to fear, it was beyond him to decide. He lowered his eyesand went on without another word. Before he had gone half a mile he hadforgotten all about her, except that she was a woman who had sat down torest. 

Mrs. Yeobright's exertions, physical and emotional, had well-nighprostrated her; but she continued to creep along in short stages withlong breaks between. The sun had now got far to the west of south andstood directly in her face, like some merciless incendiary, brand inhand, waiting to consume her. With the departure of the boy all visibleanimation disappeared from the landscape, though the intermittent huskynotes of the male grasshoppers from every tuft of furze were enough toshow that amid the prostration of the larger animal species an unseeninsect world was busy in all the fullness of life. 

In two hours she reached a slope about three-fourths the wholedistance from Alderworth to her own home, where a little patch ofshepherd's-thyme intruded upon the path; and she sat down upon theperfumed mat it formed there. In front of her a colony of antshad established a thoroughfare across the way, where they toiled anever-ending and heavy-laden throng. To look down upon them was likeobserving a city street from the top of a tower. She rememberedthat this bustle of ants had been in progress for years at the samespot--doubtless those of the old times were the ancestors of these whichwalked there now. She leant back to obtain more thorough rest, and thesoft eastern portion of the sky was as great a relief to her eyes as thethyme was to her head. While she looked a heron arose on that side ofthe sky and flew on with his face towards the sun. He had come drippingwet from some pool in the valleys, and as he flew the edges and liningof his wings, his thighs and his breast were so caught by the brightsunbeams that he appeared as if formed of burnished silver. Up in thezenith where he was seemed a free and happy place, away from all contactwith the earthly ball to which she was pinioned; and she wished that shecould arise uncrushed from its surface and fly as he flew then. 

But, being a mother, it was inevitable that she should soon cease toruminate upon her own condition. Had the track of her next thought beenmarked by a streak in the air, like the path of a meteor, it would haveshown a direction contrary to the heron's, and have descended to theeastward upon the roof of Clym's house. 

7--The Tragic Meeting of Two Old Friends

He in the meantime had aroused himself from sleep, sat up, and lookedaround. Eustacia was sitting in a chair hard by him, and though she helda book in her hand she had not looked into it for some time. 

"Well, indeed!" said Clym, brushing his eyes with his hands. "Howsoundly I have slept! I have had such a tremendous dream, too--one Ishall never forget. "

"I thought you had been dreaming, " said she. 

"Yes. It was about my mother. I dreamt that I took you to her house tomake up differences, and when we got there we couldn't get in, thoughshe kept on crying to us for help. However, dreams are dreams. Whato'clock is it, Eustacia?"

"Half-past two. "

"So late, is it? I didn't mean to stay so long. By the time I have hadsomething to eat it will be after three. "

"Ann is not come back from the village, and I thought I would let yousleep on till she returned. "

Clym went to the window and looked out. Presently he said, musingly, "Week after week passes, and yet Mother does not come. I thought Ishould have heard something from her long before this. "

Misgiving, regret, fear, resolution, ran their swift course ofexpression in Eustacia's dark eyes. She was face to face witha monstrous difficulty, and she resolved to get free of it bypostponement. 

"I must certainly go to Blooms-End soon, " he continued, "and I think Ihad better go alone. " He picked up his leggings and gloves, threw themdown again, and added, "As dinner will be so late today I will not goback to the heath, but work in the garden till the evening, and then, when it will be cooler, I will walk to Blooms-End. I am quite sure thatif I make a little advance Mother will be willing to forget all. It willbe rather late before I can get home, as I shall not be able to do thedistance either way in less than an hour and a half. But you will notmind for one evening, dear? What are you thinking of to make you look soabstracted?"

"I cannot tell you, " she said heavily. "I wish we didn't live here, Clym. The world seems all wrong in this place. "

"Well--if we make it so. I wonder if Thomasin has been to Blooms-Endlately. I hope so. But probably not, as she is, I believe, expecting tobe confined in a month or so. I wish I had thought of that before. PoorMother must indeed be very lonely. "

"I don't like you going tonight. "

"Why not tonight?"

"Something may be said which will terribly injure me. "

"My mother is not vindictive, " said Clym, his colour faintly rising. 

"But I wish you would not go, " Eustacia repeated in a low tone. "If youagree not to go tonight I promise to go by myself to her house tomorrow, and make it up with her, and wait till you fetch me. "

"Why do you want to do that at this particular time, when at everyprevious time that I have proposed it you have refused?"

"I cannot explain further than that I should like to see her alonebefore you go, " she answered, with an impatient move of her head, andlooking at him with an anxiety more frequently seen upon those of asanguine temperament than upon such as herself. 

"Well, it is very odd that just when I had decided to go myself youshould want to do what I proposed long ago. If I wait for you to gotomorrow another day will be lost; and I know I shall be unable to restanother night without having been. I want to get this settled, and will. You must visit her afterwards--it will be all the same. "

"I could even go with you now?"

"You could scarcely walk there and back without a longer rest than Ishall take. No, not tonight, Eustacia. "

"Let it be as you say, then, " she replied in the quiet way of one who, though willing to ward off evil consequences by a mild effort, would letevents fall out as they might sooner than wrestle hard to direct them. 

Clym then went into the garden; and a thoughtful languor stoleover Eustacia for the remainder of the afternoon, which her husbandattributed to the heat of the weather. 

In the evening he set out on the journey. Although the heat of summerwas yet intense the days had considerably shortened, and before he hadadvanced a mile on his way all the heath purples, browns, and greenshad merged in a uniform dress without airiness or graduation, and brokenonly by touches of white where the little heaps of clean quartz sandshowed the entrance to a rabbit burrow, or where the white flints of afootpath lay like a thread over the slopes. In almost every one ofthe isolated and stunted thorns which grew here and there a nighthawkrevealed his presence by whirring like the clack of a mill as long as hecould hold his breath, then stopping, flapping his wings, wheeling roundthe bush, alighting, and after a silent interval of listening beginningto whirr again. At each brushing of Clym's feet white millermothsflew into the air just high enough to catch upon their dusty wings themellowed light from the west, which now shone across the depressions andlevels of the ground without falling thereon to light them up. 

Yeobright walked on amid this quiet scene with a hope that all wouldsoon be well. Three miles on he came to a spot where a soft perfume waswafted across his path, and he stood still for a moment to inhale thefamiliar scent. It was the place at which, four hours earlier, his mother had sat down exhausted on the knoll covered withshepherd's-thyme. While he stood a sound between a breathing and a moansuddenly reached his ears. 

He looked to where the sound came from; but nothing appeared there savethe verge of the hillock stretching against the sky in an unbroken line. He moved a few steps in that direction, and now he perceived a recumbentfigure almost close to his feet. 

Among the different possibilities as to the person's individuality theredid not for a moment occur to Yeobright that it might be one of his ownfamily. Sometimes furze-cutters had been known to sleep out of doors atthese times, to save a long journey homeward and back again; butClym remembered the moan and looked closer, and saw that the form wasfeminine; and a distress came over him like cold air from a cave. But hewas not absolutely certain that the woman was his mother till he stoopedand beheld her face, pallid, and with closed eyes. 

His breath went, as it were, out of his body and the cry of anguishwhich would have escaped him died upon his lips. During the momentaryinterval that elapsed before he became conscious that something must bedone all sense of time and place left him, and it seemed as if he andhis mother were as when he was a child with her many years ago on thisheath at hours similar to the present. Then he awoke to activity; andbending yet lower he found that she still breathed, and that her breaththough feeble was regular, except when disturbed by an occasional gasp. 

"O, what is it! Mother, are you very ill--you are not dying?" he cried, pressing his lips to her face. "I am your Clym. How did you come here?What does it all mean?"

At that moment the chasm in their lives which his love for Eustacia hadcaused was not remembered by Yeobright, and to him the present joinedcontinuously with that friendly past that had been their experiencebefore the division. 

She moved her lips, appeared to know him, but could not speak; and thenClym strove to consider how best to move her, as it would be necessaryto get her away from the spot before the dews were intense. He wasable-bodied, and his mother was thin. He clasped his arms round her, lifted her a little, and said, "Does that hurt you?"

She shook her head, and he lifted her up; then, at a slow pace, wentonward with his load. The air was now completely cool; but whenever hepassed over a sandy patch of ground uncarpeted with vegetation there wasreflected from its surface into his face the heat which it had imbibedduring the day. At the beginning of his undertaking he had thoughtbut little of the distance which yet would have to be traversed beforeBlooms-End could be reached; but though he had slept that afternoon hesoon began to feel the weight of his burden. Thus he proceeded, likeAeneas with his father; the bats circling round his head, nightjarsflapping their wings within a yard of his face, and not a human beingwithin call. 

While he was yet nearly a mile from the house his mother exhibited signsof restlessness under the constraint of being borne along, as if hisarms were irksome to her. He lowered her upon his knees and lookedaround. The point they had now reached, though far from any road, wasnot more than a mile from the Blooms-End cottages occupied by Fairway, Sam, Humphrey, and the Cantles. Moreover, fifty yards off stood a hut, built of clods and covered with thin turves, but now entirely disused. The simple outline of the lonely shed was visible, and thither hedetermined to direct his steps. As soon as he arrived he laid her downcarefully by the entrance, and then ran and cut with his pocketknifean armful of the dryest fern. Spreading this within the shed, which wasentirely open on one side, he placed his mother thereon; then he ranwith all his might towards the dwelling of Fairway. 

Nearly a quarter of an hour had passed, disturbed only by the brokenbreathing of the sufferer, when moving figures began to animate theline between heath and sky. In a few moments Clym arrived with Fairway, Humphrey, and Susan Nunsuch; Olly Dowden, who had chanced to be atFairway's, Christian and Grandfer Cantle following helter-skelterbehind. They had brought a lantern and matches, water, a pillow, and afew other articles which had occurred to their minds in the hurry of themoment. Sam had been despatched back again for brandy, and a boy broughtFairway's pony, upon which he rode off to the nearest medical man, withdirections to call at Wildeve's on his way, and inform Thomasin that heraunt was unwell. 

Sam and the brandy soon arrived, and it was administered by the light ofthe lantern; after which she became sufficiently conscious to signifyby signs that something was wrong with her foot. Olly Dowden at lengthunderstood her meaning, and examined the foot indicated. It was swollenand red. Even as they watched the red began to assume a more lividcolour, in the midst of which appeared a scarlet speck, smaller than apea, and it was found to consist of a drop of blood, which rose abovethe smooth flesh of her ankle in a hemisphere. 

"I know what it is, " cried Sam. "She has been stung by an adder!"

"Yes, " said Clym instantly. "I remember when I was a child seeing justsuch a bite. O, my poor mother!"

"It was my father who was bit, " said Sam. "And there's only one way tocure it. You must rub the place with the fat of other adders, and theonly way to get that is by frying them. That's what they did for him. "

"'Tis an old remedy, " said Clym distrustfully, "and I have doubts aboutit. But we can do nothing else till the doctor comes. "

"'Tis a sure cure, " said Olly Dowden, with emphasis. "I've used it whenI used to go out nursing. "

"Then we must pray for daylight, to catch them, " said Clym gloomily. 

"I will see what I can do, " said Sam. 

He took a green hazel which he had used as a walking stick, split it atthe end, inserted a small pebble, and with the lantern in his handwent out into the heath. Clym had by this time lit a small fire, anddespatched Susan Nunsuch for a frying pan. Before she had returned Samcame in with three adders, one briskly coiling and uncoiling in thecleft of the stick, and the other two hanging dead across it. 

"I have only been able to get one alive and fresh as he ought to be, "said Sam. "These limp ones are two I killed today at work; but as theydon't die till the sun goes down they can't be very stale meat. "

The live adder regarded the assembled group with a sinister look in itssmall black eye, and the beautiful brown and jet pattern on its backseemed to intensify with indignation. Mrs. Yeobright saw the creature, and the creature saw her--she quivered throughout, and averted her eyes. 

"Look at that, " murmured Christian Cantle. "Neighbours, how do we knowbut that something of the old serpent in God's garden, that gied theapple to the young woman with no clothes, lives on in adders and snakesstill? Look at his eye--for all the world like a villainous sort ofblack currant. 'Tis to be hoped he can't ill-wish us! There's folks inheath who've been overlooked already. I will never kill another adder aslong as I live. "

"Well, 'tis right to be afeard of things, if folks can't help it, " saidGrandfer Cantle. "'Twould have saved me many a brave danger in my time. "

"I fancy I heard something outside the shed, " said Christian. "I wishtroubles would come in the daytime, for then a man could show hiscourage, and hardly beg for mercy of the most broomstick old woman heshould see, if he was a brave man, and able to run out of her sight!"

"Even such an ignorant fellow as I should know better than do that, "said Sam. 

"Well, there's calamities where we least expect it, whether or no. Neighbours, if Mrs. Yeobright were to die, d'ye think we should be tookup and tried for the manslaughter of a woman?"

"No, they couldn't bring it in as that, " said Sam, "unless they couldprove we had been poachers at some time of our lives. But she'll fetchround. "

"Now, if I had been stung by ten adders I should hardly have lost aday's work for't, " said Grandfer Cantle. "Such is my spirit when I am onmy mettle. But perhaps 'tis natural in a man trained for war. Yes, I'vegone through a good deal; but nothing ever came amiss to me after Ijoined the Locals in four. " He shook his head and smiled at a mentalpicture of himself in uniform. "I was always first in the mostgalliantest scrapes in my younger days!"

"I suppose that was because they always used to put the biggest foolafore, " said Fairway from the fire, beside which he knelt, blowing itwith his breath. 

"D'ye think so, Timothy?" said Grandfer Cantle, coming forward toFairway's side with sudden depression in his face. "Then a man may feelfor years that he is good solid company, and be wrong about himselfafter all?"

"Never mind that question, Grandfer. Stir your stumps and get some moresticks. 'Tis very nonsense of an old man to prattle so when life anddeath's in mangling. "

"Yes, yes, " said Grandfer Cantle, with melancholy conviction. "Well, this is a bad night altogether for them that have done well in theirtime; and if I were ever such a dab at the hautboy or tenor viol, Ishouldn't have the heart to play tunes upon 'em now. "

Susan now arrived with the frying pan, when the live adder was killedand the heads of the three taken off. The remainders, being cut intolengths and split open, were tossed into the pan, which began hissingand crackling over the fire. Soon a rill of clear oil trickled from thecarcases, whereupon Clym dipped the corner of his handkerchief into theliquid and anointed the wound. 

8--Eustacia Hears of Good Fortune, and Beholds Evil

In the meantime Eustacia, left alone in her cottage at Alderworth, had become considerably depressed by the posture of affairs. Theconsequences which might result from Clym's discovery that his motherhad been turned from his door that day were likely to be disagreeable, and this was a quality in events which she hated as much as thedreadful. 

To be left to pass the evening by herself was irksome to her at anytime, and this evening it was more irksome than usual by reason ofthe excitements of the past hours. The two visits had stirred her intorestlessness. She was not wrought to any great pitch of uneasiness bythe probability of appearing in an ill light in the discussion betweenClym and his mother, but she was wrought to vexation, and her slumberingactivities were quickened to the extent of wishing that she had openedthe door. She had certainly believed that Clym was awake, and the excusewould be an honest one as far as it went; but nothing could save herfrom censure in refusing to answer at the first knock. Yet, instead ofblaming herself for the issue she laid the fault upon the shouldersof some indistinct, colossal Prince of the World, who had framed hersituation and ruled her lot. 

At this time of the year it was pleasanter to walk by night than by day, and when Clym had been absent about an hour she suddenly resolved to goout in the direction of Blooms-End, on the chance of meeting him on hisreturn. When she reached the garden gate she heard wheels approaching, and looking round beheld her grandfather coming up in his car. 

"I can't stay a minute, thank ye, " he answered to her greeting. "I amdriving to East Egdon; but I came round here just to tell you the news. Perhaps you have heard--about Mr. Wildeve's fortune?"

"No, " said Eustacia blankly. 

"Well, he has come into a fortune of eleven thousand pounds--uncle diedin Canada, just after hearing that all his family, whom he was sendinghome, had gone to the bottom in the Cassiopeia; so Wildeve has come intoeverything, without in the least expecting it. "

Eustacia stood motionless awhile. "How long has he known of this?" sheasked. 

"Well, it was known to him this morning early, for I knew it at teno'clock, when Charley came back. Now, he is what I call a lucky man. What a fool you were, Eustacia!"

"In what way?" she said, lifting her eyes in apparent calmness. 

"Why, in not sticking to him when you had him. "

"Had him, indeed!"

"I did not know there had ever been anything between you till lately;and, faith, I should have been hot and strong against it if I had known;but since it seems that there was some sniffing between ye, why thedeuce didn't you stick to him?"

Eustacia made no reply, but she looked as if she could say as much uponthat subject as he if she chose. 

"And how is your poor purblind husband?" continued the old man. "Not abad fellow either, as far as he goes. "

"He is quite well. "

"It is a good thing for his cousin what-d'ye-call-her? By George, youought to have been in that galley, my girl! Now I must drive on. Do youwant any assistance? What's mine is yours, you know. "

"Thank you, Grandfather, we are not in want at present, " she saidcoldly. "Clym cuts furze, but he does it mostly as a useful pastime, because he can do nothing else. "

"He is paid for his pastime, isn't he? Three shillings a hundred, Iheard. "

"Clym has money, " she said, colouring, "but he likes to earn a little. "

"Very well; good night. " And the captain drove on. 

When her grandfather was gone Eustacia went on her way mechanically;but her thoughts were no longer concerning her mother-in-law and Clym. Wildeve, notwithstanding his complaints against his fate, had beenseized upon by destiny and placed in the sunshine once more. Eleventhousand pounds! From every Egdon point of view he was a rich man. InEustacia's eyes, too, it was an ample sum--one sufficient to supplythose wants of hers which had been stigmatized by Clym in his moreaustere moods as vain and luxurious. Though she was no lover of moneyshe loved what money could bring; and the new accessories sheimagined around him clothed Wildeve with a great deal of interest. Sherecollected now how quietly well-dressed he had been that morning--hehad probably put on his newest suit, regardless of damage by briars andthorns. And then she thought of his manner towards herself. 

"O I see it, I see it, " she said. "How much he wishes he had me now, that he might give me all I desire!"

In recalling the details of his glances and words--at the time scarcelyregarded--it became plain to her how greatly they had been dictatedby his knowledge of this new event. "Had he been a man to bear a jiltill-will he would have told me of his good fortune in crowing tones;instead of doing that he mentioned not a word, in deference to mymisfortunes, and merely implied that he loved me still, as one superiorto him. "

Wildeve's silence that day on what had happened to him was just the kindof behaviour calculated to make an impression on such a woman. Thosedelicate touches of good taste were, in fact, one of the strong pointsin his demeanour towards the other sex. The peculiarity of Wildeve wasthat, while at one time passionate, upbraiding, and resentful towards awoman, at another he would treat her with such unparalleled grace asto make previous neglect appear as no discourtesy, injury as no insult, interference as a delicate attention, and the ruin of her honour asexcess of chivalry. This man, whose admiration today Eustacia haddisregarded, whose good wishes she had scarcely taken the trouble toaccept, whom she had shown out of the house by the back door, wasthe possessor of eleven thousand pounds--a man of fair professionaleducation, and one who had served his articles with a civil engineer. 

So intent was Eustacia upon Wildeve's fortunes that she forgot how muchcloser to her own course were those of Clym; and instead of walking onto meet him at once she sat down upon a stone. She was disturbed in herreverie by a voice behind, and turning her head beheld the old lover andfortunate inheritor of wealth immediately beside her. 

She remained sitting, though the fluctuation in her look might have toldany man who knew her so well as Wildeve that she was thinking of him. 

"How did you come here?" she said in her clear low tone. "I thought youwere at home. "

"I went on to the village after leaving your garden; and now I have comeback again--that's all. Which way are you walking, may I ask?"

She waved her hand in the direction of Blooms-End. "I am going to meetmy husband. I think I may possibly have got into trouble whilst you werewith me today. "

"How could that be?"

"By not letting in Mrs. Yeobright. "

"I hope that visit of mine did you no harm. "

"None. It was not your fault, " she said quietly. 

By this time she had risen; and they involuntarily sauntered ontogether, without speaking, for two or three minutes; when Eustaciabroke silence by saying, "I assume I must congratulate you. "

"On what? O yes; on my eleven thousand pounds, you mean. Well, since Ididn't get something else, I must be content with getting that. "

"You seem very indifferent about it. Why didn't you tell me today whenyou came?" she said in the tone of a neglected person. "I heard of itquite by accident. "

"I did mean to tell you, " said Wildeve. "But I--well, I will speakfrankly--I did not like to mention it when I saw, Eustacia, that yourstar was not high. The sight of a man lying wearied out with hard work, as your husband lay, made me feel that to brag of my own fortune to youwould be greatly out of place. Yet, as you stood there beside him, Icould not help feeling too that in many respects he was a richer manthan I. "

At this Eustacia said, with slumbering mischievousness, "What, would youexchange with him--your fortune for me?"

"I certainly would, " said Wildeve. 

"As we are imagining what is impossible and absurd, suppose we changethe subject?"

"Very well; and I will tell you of my plans for the future, if you careto hear them. I shall permanently invest nine thousand pounds, keep onethousand as ready money, and with the remaining thousand travel for ayear or so. "

"Travel? What a bright idea! Where will you go to?"

"From here to Paris, where I shall pass the winter and spring. Then Ishall go to Italy, Greece, Egypt, and Palestine, before the hot weathercomes on. In the summer I shall go to America; and then, by a plan notyet settled, I shall go to Australia and round to India. By that timeI shall have begun to have had enough of it. Then I shall probably comeback to Paris again, and there I shall stay as long as I can afford to. "

"Back to Paris again, " she murmured in a voice that was nearly a sigh. She had never once told Wildeve of the Parisian desires which Clym'sdescription had sown in her; yet here was he involuntarily in a positionto gratify them. "You think a good deal of Paris?" she added. 

"Yes. In my opinion it is the central beauty-spot of the world. "

"And in mine! And Thomasin will go with you?"

"Yes, if she cares to. She may prefer to stay at home. "

"So you will be going about, and I shall be staying here!"

"I suppose you will. But we know whose fault that is. "

"I am not blaming you, " she said quickly. 

"Oh, I thought you were. If ever you SHOULD be inclined to blame me, think of a certain evening by Rainbarrow, when you promised to meet meand did not. You sent me a letter; and my heart ached to read that asI hope yours never will. That was one point of divergence. I then didsomething in haste. .. . But she is a good woman, and I will say no more. "

"I know that the blame was on my side that time, " said Eustacia. "But ithad not always been so. However, it is my misfortune to be too sudden infeeling. O, Damon, don't reproach me any more--I can't bear that. "

They went on silently for a distance of two or three miles, whenEustacia said suddenly, "Haven't you come out of your way, Mr. Wildeve?"

"My way is anywhere tonight. I will go with you as far as the hill onwhich we can see Blooms-End, as it is getting late for you to be alone. "

"Don't trouble. I am not obliged to be out at all. I think I wouldrather you did not accompany me further. This sort of thing would havean odd look if known. "

"Very well, I will leave you. " He took her hand unexpectedly, and kissedit--for the first time since her marriage. "What light is that on thehill?" he added, as it were to hide the caress. 

She looked, and saw a flickering firelight proceeding from the open sideof a hovel a little way before them. The hovel, which she had hithertoalways found empty, seemed to be inhabited now. 

"Since you have come so far, " said Eustacia, "will you see me safelypast that hut? I thought I should have met Clym somewhere about here, but as he doesn't appear I will hasten on and get to Blooms-End beforehe leaves. "

They advanced to the turf-shed, and when they got near it the firelightand the lantern inside showed distinctly enough the form of a womanreclining on a bed of fern, a group of heath men and women standingaround her. Eustacia did not recognize Mrs. Yeobright in the recliningfigure, nor Clym as one of the standers-by till she came close. Thenshe quickly pressed her hand up on Wildeve's arm and signified to him tocome back from the open side of the shed into the shadow. 

"It is my husband and his mother, " she whispered in an agitated voice. "What can it mean? Will you step forward and tell me?"

Wildeve left her side and went to the back wall of the hut. PresentlyEustacia perceived that he was beckoning to her, and she advanced andjoined him. 

"It is a serious case, " said Wildeve. 

From their position they could hear what was proceeding inside. 

"I cannot think where she could have been going, " said Clym to someone. "She had evidently walked a long way, but even when she was able tospeak just now she would not tell me where. What do you really think ofher?"

"There is a great deal to fear, " was gravely answered, in a voice whichEustacia recognized as that of the only surgeon in the district. "Shehas suffered somewhat from the bite of the adder; but it is exhaustionwhich has overpowered her. My impression is that her walk must have beenexceptionally long. "

"I used to tell her not to overwalk herself this weather, " said Clym, with distress. "Do you think we did well in using the adder's fat?"

"Well, it is a very ancient remedy--the old remedy of theviper-catchers, I believe, " replied the doctor. "It is mentioned asan infallible ointment by Hoffman, Mead, and I think the Abbe Fontana. Undoubtedly it was as good a thing as you could do; though I question ifsome other oils would not have been equally efficacious. "

"Come here, come here!" was then rapidly said in anxious female tones, and Clym and the doctor could be heard rushing forward from the backpart of the shed to where Mrs. Yeobright lay. 

"Oh, what is it?" whispered Eustacia. 

"'Twas Thomasin who spoke, " said Wildeve. "Then they have fetched her. Iwonder if I had better go in--yet it might do harm. "

For a long time there was utter silence among the group within; and itwas broken at last by Clym saying, in an agonized voice, "O Doctor, whatdoes it mean?"

The doctor did not reply at once; ultimately he said, "She is sinkingfast. Her heart was previously affected, and physical exhaustion hasdealt the finishing blow. "

Then there was a weeping of women, then waiting, then hushedexclamations, then a strange gasping sound, then a painful stillness. 

"It is all over, " said the doctor. 

Further back in the hut the cotters whispered, "Mrs. Yeobright is dead. "

Almost at the same moment the two watchers observed the form of asmall old-fashioned child entering at the open side of the shed. SusanNunsuch, whose boy it was, went forward to the opening and silentlybeckoned to him to go back. 

"I've got something to tell 'ee, Mother, " he cried in a shrill tone. "That woman asleep there walked along with me today; and she said I wasto say that I had seed her, and she was a broken-hearted woman and castoff by her son, and then I came on home. "

A confused sob as from a man was heard within, upon which Eustaciagasped faintly, "That's Clym--I must go to him--yet dare I do it?No--come away!"

When they had withdrawn from the neighbourhood of the shed she saidhuskily, "I am to blame for this. There is evil in store for me. "

"Was she not admitted to your house after all?" Wildeve inquired. 

"No, and that's where it all lies! Oh, what shall I do! I shall notintrude upon them--I shall go straight home. Damon, good-bye! I cannotspeak to you any more now. "

They parted company; and when Eustacia had reached the next hill shelooked back. A melancholy procession was wending its way by the light ofthe lantern from the hut towards Blooms-End. Wildeve was nowhere to beseen. 

BOOK FIVE -- THE DISCOVERY

1--"Wherefore Is Light Given to Him That Is in Misery"

One evening, about three weeks after the funeral of Mrs. Yeobright, whenthe silver face of the moon sent a bundle of beams directly upon thefloor of Clym's house at Alderworth, a woman came forth from within. Shereclined over the garden gate as if to refresh herself awhile. The palelunar touches which make beauties of hags lent divinity to this face, already beautiful. 

She had not long been there when a man came up the road and with somehesitation said to her, "How is he tonight, ma'am, if you please?"

"He is better, though still very unwell, Humphrey, " replied Eustacia. 

"Is he light-headed, ma'am?"

"No. He is quite sensible now. "

"Do he rave about his mother just the same, poor fellow?" continuedHumphrey. 

"Just as much, though not quite so wildly, " she said in a low voice. 

"It was very unfortunate, ma'am, that the boy Johnny should ever ha'told him his mother's dying words, about her being broken-hearted andcast off by her son. 'Twas enough to upset any man alive. "

Eustacia made no reply beyond that of a slight catch in her breath, asof one who fain would speak but could not; and Humphrey, declining herinvitation to come in, went away. 

Eustacia turned, entered the house, and ascended to the front bedroom, where a shaded light was burning. In the bed lay Clym, pale, haggard, wide awake, tossing to one side and to the other, his eyes lit by a hotlight, as if the fire in their pupils were burning up their substance. 

"Is it you, Eustacia?" he said as she sat down. 

"Yes, Clym. I have been down to the gate. The moon is shiningbeautifully, and there is not a leaf stirring. "

"Shining, is it? What's the moon to a man like me? Let it shine--letanything be, so that I never see another day!. .. Eustacia, I don't knowwhere to look--my thoughts go through me like swords. O, if any manwants to make himself immortal by painting a picture of wretchedness, let him come here!"

"Why do you say so?"

"I cannot help feeling that I did my best to kill her. "

"No, Clym. "

"Yes, it was so; it is useless to excuse me! My conduct to her was toohideous--I made no advances; and she could not bring herself to forgiveme. Now she is dead! If I had only shown myself willing to make it upwith her sooner, and we had been friends, and then she had died, itwouldn't be so hard to bear. But I never went near her house, soshe never came near mine, and didn't know how welcome she would havebeen--that's what troubles me. She did not know I was going to her housethat very night, for she was too insensible to understand me. If she hadonly come to see me! I longed that she would. But it was not to be. "

There escaped from Eustacia one of those shivering sighs which used toshake her like a pestilent blast. She had not yet told. 

But Yeobright was too deeply absorbed in the ramblings incidental tohis remorseful state to notice her. During his illness he had beencontinually talking thus. Despair had been added to his original griefby the unfortunate disclosure of the boy who had received the lastwords of Mrs. Yeobright--words too bitterly uttered in an hour ofmisapprehension. Then his distress had overwhelmed him, and he longedfor death as a field labourer longs for the shade. It was the pitifulsight of a man standing in the very focus of sorrow. He continuallybewailed his tardy journey to his mother's house, because it was anerror which could never be rectified, and insisted that he must havebeen horribly perverted by some fiend not to have thought before that itwas his duty to go to her, since she did not come to him. He wouldask Eustacia to agree with him in his self-condemnation; and when she, seared inwardly by a secret she dared not tell, declared that she couldnot give an opinion, he would say, "That's because you didn't know mymother's nature. She was always ready to forgive if asked to do so;but I seemed to her to be as an obstinate child, and that madeher unyielding. Yet not unyielding--she was proud and reserved, nomore. .. . Yes, I can understand why she held out against me so long. Shewas waiting for me. I dare say she said a hundred times in her sorrow, 'What a return he makes for all the sacrifices I have made for him!' Inever went to her! When I set out to visit her it was too late. To thinkof that is nearly intolerable!"

Sometimes his condition had been one of utter remorse, unsoftened by asingle tear of pure sorrow: and then he writhed as he lay, feveredfar more by thought than by physical ills. "If I could only get oneassurance that she did not die in a belief that I was resentful, " hesaid one day when in this mood, "it would be better to think of than ahope of heaven. But that I cannot do. "

"You give yourself up too much to this wearying despair, " said Eustacia. "Other men's mothers have died. "

"That doesn't make the loss of mine less. Yet it is less the loss thanthe circumstances of the loss. I sinned against her, and on that accountthere is no light for me. "

"She sinned against you, I think. "

"No, she did not. I committed the guilt; and may the whole burden beupon my head!"

"I think you might consider twice before you say that, " Eustaciareplied. "Single men have, no doubt, a right to curse themselves as muchas they please; but men with wives involve two in the doom they praydown. "

"I am in too sorry a state to understand what you are refining on, " saidthe wretched man. "Day and night shout at me, 'You have helped to killher. ' But in loathing myself I may, I own, be unjust to you, my poorwife. Forgive me for it, Eustacia, for I scarcely know what I do. "

Eustacia was always anxious to avoid the sight of her husband in sucha state as this, which had become as dreadful to her as the trial scenewas to Judas Iscariot. It brought before her eyes the spectre of aworn-out woman knocking at a door which she would not open; and sheshrank from contemplating it. Yet it was better for Yeobright himselfwhen he spoke openly of his sharp regret, for in silence he enduredinfinitely more, and would sometimes remain so long in a tense, broodingmood, consuming himself by the gnawing of his thought, that it wasimperatively necessary to make him talk aloud, that his grief might insome degree expend itself in the effort. 

Eustacia had not been long indoors after her look at the moonlight whena soft footstep came up to the house, and Thomasin was announced by thewoman downstairs. 

"Ah, Thomasin! Thank you for coming tonight, " said Clym when she enteredthe room. "Here am I, you see. Such a wretched spectacle am I, that Ishrink from being seen by a single friend, and almost from you. "

"You must not shrink from me, dear Clym, " said Thomasin earnestly, inthat sweet voice of hers which came to a sufferer like fresh air into aBlack Hole. "Nothing in you can ever shock me or drive me away. I havebeen here before, but you don't remember it. "

"Yes, I do; I am not delirious, Thomasin, nor have I been so at all. Don't you believe that if they say so. I am only in great misery at whatI have done, and that, with the weakness, makes me seem mad. But ithas not upset my reason. Do you think I should remember all about mymother's death if I were out of my mind? No such good luck. Two monthsand a half, Thomasin, the last of her life, did my poor mother livealone, distracted and mourning because of me; yet she was unvisitedby me, though I was living only six miles off. Two months and ahalf--seventy-five days did the sun rise and set upon her in thatdeserted state which a dog didn't deserve! Poor people who had nothingin common with her would have cared for her, and visited her had theyknown her sickness and loneliness; but I, who should have been all toher, stayed away like a cur. If there is any justice in God let Him killme now. He has nearly blinded me, but that is not enough. If He wouldonly strike me with more pain I would believe in Him forever!"

"Hush, hush! O, pray, Clym, don't, don't say it!" implored Thomasin, affrighted into sobs and tears; while Eustacia, at the other side ofthe room, though her pale face remained calm, writhed in her chair. Clymwent on without heeding his cousin. 

"But I am not worth receiving further proof even of Heaven'sreprobation. Do you think, Thomasin, that she knew me--that she did notdie in that horrid mistaken notion about my not forgiving her, which Ican't tell you how she acquired? If you could only assure me of that! Doyou think so, Eustacia? Do speak to me. "

"I think I can assure you that she knew better at last, " said Thomasin. The pallid Eustacia said nothing. 

"Why didn't she come to my house? I would have taken her in and showedher how I loved her in spite of all. But she never came; and I didn't goto her, and she died on the heath like an animal kicked out, nobody tohelp her till it was too late. If you could have seen her, Thomasin, asI saw her--a poor dying woman, lying in the dark upon the bare ground, moaning, nobody near, believing she was utterly deserted by all theworld, it would have moved you to anguish, it would have moved a brute. And this poor woman my mother! No wonder she said to the child, 'Youhave seen a broken-hearted woman. ' What a state she must have beenbrought to, to say that! and who can have done it but I? It is toodreadful to think of, and I wish I could be punished more heavily than Iam. How long was I what they called out of my senses?"

"A week, I think. "

"And then I became calm. "

"Yes, for four days. "

"And now I have left off being calm. "

"But try to be quiet--please do, and you will soon be strong. If youcould remove that impression from your mind--"

"Yes, yes, " he said impatiently. "But I don't want to get strong. What'sthe use of my getting well? It would be better for me if I die, and itwould certainly be better for Eustacia. Is Eustacia there?"

"Yes. "

"It would be better for you, Eustacia, if I were to die?"

"Don't press such a question, dear Clym. "

"Well, it really is but a shadowy supposition; for unfortunately I amgoing to live. I feel myself getting better. Thomasin, how long areyou going to stay at the inn, now that all this money has come to yourhusband?"

"Another month or two, probably; until my illness is over. We cannot getoff till then. I think it will be a month or more. "

"Yes, yes. Of course. Ah, Cousin Tamsie, you will get over yourtrouble--one little month will take you through it, and bring somethingto console you; but I shall never get over mine, and no consolation willcome!"

"Clym, you are unjust to yourself. Depend upon it, Aunt thought kindlyof you. I know that, if she had lived, you would have been reconciledwith her. "

"But she didn't come to see me, though I asked her, before I married, ifshe would come. Had she come, or had I gone there, she would never havedied saying, 'I am a broken-hearted woman, cast off by my son. ' My doorhas always been open to her--a welcome here has always awaited her. Butthat she never came to see. "

"You had better not talk any more now, Clym, " said Eustacia faintly fromthe other part of the room, for the scene was growing intolerable toher. 

"Let me talk to you instead for the little time I shall be here, "Thomasin said soothingly. "Consider what a one-sided way you have oflooking at the matter, Clym. When she said that to the little boy youhad not found her and taken her into your arms; and it might have beenuttered in a moment of bitterness. It was rather like Aunt to say thingsin haste. She sometimes used to speak so to me. Though she did not comeI am convinced that she thought of coming to see you. Do you supposea man's mother could live two or three months without one forgivingthought? She forgave me; and why should she not have forgiven you?"

"You laboured to win her round; I did nothing. I, who was going to teachpeople the higher secrets of happiness, did not know how to keep out ofthat gross misery which the most untaught are wise enough to avoid. "

"How did you get here tonight, Thomasin?" said Eustacia. 

"Damon set me down at the end of the lane. He has driven into East Egdonon business, and he will come and pick me up by-and-by. "

Accordingly they soon after heard the noise of wheels. Wildeve had come, and was waiting outside with his horse and gig. 

"Send out and tell him I will be down in two minutes, " said Thomasin. 

"I will run down myself, " said Eustacia. 

She went down. Wildeve had alighted, and was standing before the horse'shead when Eustacia opened the door. He did not turn for a moment, thinking the comer Thomasin. Then he looked, startled ever so little, and said one word: "Well?"

"I have not yet told him, " she replied in a whisper. 

"Then don't do so till he is well--it will be fatal. You are illyourself. "

"I am wretched. .. . O Damon, " she said, bursting into tears, "I--I can'ttell you how unhappy I am! I can hardly bear this. I can tell nobody ofmy trouble--nobody knows of it but you. "

"Poor girl!" said Wildeve, visibly affected at her distress, and atlast led on so far as to take her hand. "It is hard, when you have donenothing to deserve it, that you should have got involved in such a webas this. You were not made for these sad scenes. I am to blame most. IfI could only have saved you from it all!"

"But, Damon, please pray tell me what I must do? To sit by him hourafter hour, and hear him reproach himself as being the cause of herdeath, and to know that I am the sinner, if any human being is at all, drives me into cold despair. I don't know what to do. Should I tell himor should I not tell him? I always am asking myself that. O, I want totell him; and yet I am afraid. If he find it out he must surely kill me, for nothing else will be in proportion to his feelings now. 'Beware thefury of a patient man' sounds day by day in my ears as I watch him. "

"Well, wait till he is better, and trust to chance. And when you tell, you must only tell part--for his own sake. "

"Which part should I keep back?"

Wildeve paused. "That I was in the house at the time, " he said in a lowtone. 

"Yes; it must be concealed, seeing what has been whispered. How mucheasier are hasty actions than speeches that will excuse them!"

"If he were only to die--" Wildeve murmured. 

"Do not think of it! I would not buy hope of immunity by so cowardlya desire even if I hated him. Now I am going up to him again. Thomasinbade me tell you she would be down in a few minutes. Good-bye. "

She returned, and Thomasin soon appeared. When she was seated in the gigwith her husband, and the horse was turning to go off, Wildeve liftedhis eyes to the bedroom windows. Looking from one of them he coulddiscern a pale, tragic face watching him drive away. It was Eustacia's. 

2--A Lurid Light Breaks in upon a Darkened Understanding

Clym's grief became mitigated by wearing itself out. His strengthreturned, and a month after the visit of Thomasin he might have beenseen walking about the garden. Endurance and despair, equanimity andgloom, the tints of health and the pallor of death, mingled weirdlyin his face. He was now unnaturally silent upon all of the past thatrelated to his mother; and though Eustacia knew that he was thinkingof it none the less, she was only too glad to escape the topic ever tobring it up anew. When his mind had been weaker his heart had led him tospeak out; but reason having now somewhat recovered itself he sank intotaciturnity. 

One evening when he was thus standing in the garden, abstractedlyspudding up a weed with his stick, a bony figure turned the corner ofthe house and came up to him. 

"Christian, isn't it?" said Clym. "I am glad you have found me out. Ishall soon want you to go to Blooms-End and assist me in putting thehouse in order. I suppose it is all locked up as I left it?"

"Yes, Mister Clym. "

"Have you dug up the potatoes and other roots?"

"Yes, without a drop o' rain, thank God. But I was coming to tell 'ee ofsomething else which is quite different from what we have lately had inthe family. I am sent by the rich gentleman at the Woman, that we usedto call the landlord, to tell 'ee that Mrs. Wildeve is doing well of agirl, which was born punctually at one o'clock at noon, or a few minutesmore or less; and 'tis said that expecting of this increase is what havekept 'em there since they came into their money. "

"And she is getting on well, you say?"

"Yes, sir. Only Mr. Wildeve is twanky because 'tisn't a boy--that's whatthey say in the kitchen, but I was not supposed to notice that. "

"Christian, now listen to me. "

"Yes, sure, Mr. Yeobright. "

"Did you see my mother the day before she died?"

"No, I did not. "

Yeobright's face expressed disappointment. 

"But I zeed her the morning of the same day she died. "

Clym's look lighted up. "That's nearer still to my meaning, " he said. 

"Yes, I know 'twas the same day; for she said, 'I be going to see him, Christian; so I shall not want any vegetables brought in for dinner. '"

"See whom?"

"See you. She was going to your house, you understand. "

Yeobright regarded Christian with intense surprise. "Why did you nevermention this?" he said. "Are you sure it was my house she was comingto?"

"O yes. I didn't mention it because I've never zeed you lately. And asshe didn't get there it was all nought, and nothing to tell. "

"And I have been wondering why she should have walked in the heath onthat hot day! Well, did she say what she was coming for? It is a thing, Christian, I am very anxious to know. "

"Yes, Mister Clym. She didn't say it to me, though I think she did toone here and there. "

"Do you know one person to whom she spoke of it?"

"There is one man, please, sir, but I hope you won't mention my nameto him, as I have seen him in strange places, particular in dreams. Onenight last summer he glared at me like Famine and Sword, and it mademe feel so low that I didn't comb out my few hairs for two days. He wasstanding, as it might be, Mister Yeobright, in the middle of the path toMistover, and your mother came up, looking as pale--"

"Yes, when was that?"

"Last summer, in my dream. "

"Pooh! Who's the man?"

"Diggory, the reddleman. He called upon her and sat with her the eveningbefore she set out to see you. I hadn't gone home from work when he cameup to the gate. "

"I must see Venn--I wish I had known it before, " said Clym anxiously. "Iwonder why he has not come to tell me?"

"He went out of Egdon Heath the next day, so would not be likely to knowyou wanted him. "

"Christian, " said Clym, "you must go and find Venn. I am otherwiseengaged, or I would go myself. Find him at once, and tell him I want tospeak to him. "

"I am a good hand at hunting up folk by day, " said Christian, lookingdubiously round at the declining light; "but as to night-time, never issuch a bad hand as I, Mister Yeobright. "

"Search the heath when you will, so that you bring him soon. Bring himtomorrow, if you can. "

Christian then departed. The morrow came, but no Venn. In the eveningChristian arrived, looking very weary. He had been searching all day, and had heard nothing of the reddleman. 

"Inquire as much as you can tomorrow without neglecting your work, " saidYeobright. "Don't come again till you have found him. "

The next day Yeobright set out for the old house at Blooms-End, which, with the garden, was now his own. His severe illness had hindered allpreparations for his removal thither; but it had become necessary thathe should go and overlook its contents, as administrator to his mother'slittle property; for which purpose he decided to pass the next night onthe premises. 

He journeyed onward, not quickly or decisively, but in the slow walkof one who has been awakened from a stupefying sleep. It was earlyafternoon when he reached the valley. The expression of the place, thetone of the hour, were precisely those of many such occasions in daysgone by; and these antecedent similarities fostered the illusion thatshe, who was there no longer, would come out to welcome him. The gardengate was locked and the shutters were closed, just as he himself hadleft them on the evening after the funeral. He unlocked the gate, andfound that a spider had already constructed a large web, tying the doorto the lintel, on the supposition that it was never to be opened again. When he had entered the house and flung back the shutters he set abouthis task of overhauling the cupboards and closets, burning papers, andconsidering how best to arrange the place for Eustacia's reception, until such time as he might be in a position to carry out hislong-delayed scheme, should that time ever arrive. 

As he surveyed the rooms he felt strongly disinclined for thealterations which would have to be made in the time-honoured furnishingof his parents and grandparents, to suit Eustacia's modern ideas. Thegaunt oak-cased clock, with the picture of the Ascension on thedoor panel and the Miraculous Draught of Fishes on the base; hisgrandmother's corner cupboard with the glass door, through which thespotted china was visible; the dumb-waiter; the wooden tea trays; thehanging fountain with the brass tap--whither would these venerablearticles have to be banished?

He noticed that the flowers in the window had died for want of water, and he placed them out upon the ledge, that they might be taken away. While thus engaged he heard footsteps on the gravel without, andsomebody knocked at the door. 

Yeobright opened it, and Venn was standing before him. 

"Good morning, " said the reddleman. "Is Mrs. Yeobright at home?"

Yeobright looked upon the ground. "Then you have not seen Christian orany of the Egdon folks?" he said. 

"No. I have only just returned after a long stay away. I called here theday before I left. "

"And you have heard nothing?"

"Nothing. "

"My mother is--dead. "

"Dead!" said Venn mechanically. 

"Her home now is where I shouldn't mind having mine. "

Venn regarded him, and then said, "If I didn't see your face I couldnever believe your words. Have you been ill?"

"I had an illness. "

"Well, the change! When I parted from her a month ago everything seemedto say that she was going to begin a new life. "

"And what seemed came true. "

"You say right, no doubt. Trouble has taught you a deeper vein of talkthan mine. All I meant was regarding her life here. She has died toosoon. "

"Perhaps through my living too long. I have had a bitter experience onthat score this last month, Diggory. But come in; I have been wanting tosee you. "

He conducted the reddleman into the large room where the dancing hadtaken place the previous Christmas, and they sat down in the settletogether. "There's the cold fireplace, you see, " said Clym. "When thathalf-burnt log and those cinders were alight she was alive! Little hasbeen changed here yet. I can do nothing. My life creeps like a snail. "

"How came she to die?" said Venn. 

Yeobright gave him some particulars of her illness and death, andcontinued: "After this no kind of pain will ever seem more than anindisposition to me. I began saying that I wanted to ask you something, but I stray from subjects like a drunken man. I am anxious to know whatmy mother said to you when she last saw you. You talked with her a longtime, I think?"

"I talked with her more than half an hour. "

"About me?"

"Yes. And it must have been on account of what we said that she was onthe heath. Without question she was coming to see you. "

"But why should she come to see me if she felt so bitterly against me?There's the mystery. "

"Yet I know she quite forgave 'ee. "

"But, Diggory--would a woman, who had quite forgiven her son, say, when she felt herself ill on the way to his house, that she wasbroken-hearted because of his ill-usage? Never!"

"What I know is that she didn't blame you at all. She blamed herself forwhat had happened, and only herself. I had it from her own lips. "

"You had it from her lips that I had NOT ill-treated her; and at thesame time another had it from her lips that I HAD ill-treated her? Mymother was no impulsive woman who changed her opinion every hour withoutreason. How can it be, Venn, that she should have told such differentstories in close succession?"

"I cannot say. It is certainly odd, when she had forgiven you, and hadforgiven your wife, and was going to see ye on purpose to make friends. "

"If there was one thing wanting to bewilder me it was thisincomprehensible thing!. .. Diggory, if we, who remain alive, were onlyallowed to hold conversation with the dead--just once, a bare minute, even through a screen of iron bars, as with persons in prison--what wemight learn! How many who now ride smiling would hide their heads! Andthis mystery--I should then be at the bottom of it at once. But thegrave has forever shut her in; and how shall it be found out now?"

No reply was returned by his companion, since none could be given; andwhen Venn left, a few minutes later, Clym had passed from the dullnessof sorrow to the fluctuation of carking incertitude. 

He continued in the same state all the afternoon. A bed was made up forhim in the same house by a neighbour, that he might not have to returnagain the next day; and when he retired to rest in the deserted place itwas only to remain awake hour after hour thinking the same thoughts. Howto discover a solution to this riddle of death seemed a query of moreimportance than highest problems of the living. There was housed in hismemory a vivid picture of the face of a little boy as he entered thehovel where Clym's mother lay. The round eyes, eager gaze, the pipingvoice which enunciated the words, had operated like stilettos on hisbrain. 

A visit to the boy suggested itself as a means of gleaning newparticulars; though it might be quite unproductive. To probe a child'smind after the lapse of six weeks, not for facts which the child hadseen and understood, but to get at those which were in their naturebeyond him, did not promise much; yet when every obvious channel isblocked we grope towards the small and obscure. There was nothing elseleft to do; after that he would allow the enigma to drop into the abyssof undiscoverable things. 

It was about daybreak when he had reached this decision, and he at oncearose. He locked up the house and went out into the green patch whichmerged in heather further on. In front of the white garden-palings thepath branched into three like a broad arrow. The road to the rightled to the Quiet Woman and its neighbourhood; the middle track led toMistover Knap; the left-hand track led over the hill to another partof Mistover, where the child lived. On inclining into the latter pathYeobright felt a creeping chilliness, familiar enough to most people, and probably caused by the unsunned morning air. In after days hethought of it as a thing of singular significance. 

When Yeobright reached the cottage of Susan Nunsuch, the mother of theboy he sought, he found that the inmates were not yet astir. But inupland hamlets the transition from a-bed to abroad is surprisingly swiftand easy. There no dense partition of yawns and toilets divides humanityby night from humanity by day. Yeobright tapped at the upper windowsill, which he could reach with his walking stick; and in three or fourminutes the woman came down. 

It was not till this moment that Clym recollected her to be the personwho had behaved so barbarously to Eustacia. It partly explained theinsuavity with which the woman greeted him. Moreover, the boy had beenailing again; and Susan now, as ever since the night when he hadbeen pressed into Eustacia's service at the bonfire, attributed hisindispositions to Eustacia's influence as a witch. It was one of thosesentiments which lurk like moles underneath the visible surface ofmanners, and may have been kept alive by Eustacia's entreaty to thecaptain, at the time that he had intended to prosecute Susan for thepricking in church, to let the matter drop; which he accordingly haddone. 

Yeobright overcame his repugnance, for Susan had at least borne hismother no ill-will. He asked kindly for the boy; but her manner did notimprove. 

"I wish to see him, " continued Yeobright, with some hesitation, "to askhim if he remembers anything more of his walk with my mother than whathe has previously told. "

She regarded him in a peculiar and criticizing manner. To anybody but ahalf-blind man it would have said, "You want another of the knocks whichhave already laid you so low. "

She called the boy downstairs, asked Clym to sit down on a stool, andcontinued, "Now, Johnny, tell Mr. Yeobright anything you can call tomind. "

"You have not forgotten how you walked with the poor lady on that hotday?" said Clym. 

"No, " said the boy. 

"And what she said to you?"

The boy repeated the exact words he had used on entering the hut. Yeobright rested his elbow on the table and shaded his face with hishand; and the mother looked as if she wondered how a man could want moreof what had stung him so deeply. 

"She was going to Alderworth when you first met her?"

"No; she was coming away. "

"That can't be. "

"Yes; she walked along with me. I was coming away, too. "

"Then where did you first see her?"

"At your house. "

"Attend, and speak the truth!" said Clym sternly. 

"Yes, sir; at your house was where I seed her first. "

Clym started up, and Susan smiled in an expectant way which did notembellish her face; it seemed to mean, "Something sinister is coming!"

"What did she do at my house?"

"She went and sat under the trees at the Devil's Bellows. "

"Good God! this is all news to me!"

"You never told me this before?" said Susan. 

"No, Mother; because I didn't like to tell 'ee I had been so far. I waspicking blackhearts, and went further than I meant. "

"What did she do then?" said Yeobright. 

"Looked at a man who came up and went into your house. "

"That was myself--a furze-cutter, with brambles in his hand. "

"No; 'twas not you. 'Twas a gentleman. You had gone in afore. "

"Who was he?"

"I don't know. "

"Now tell me what happened next. "

"The poor lady went and knocked at your door, and the lady with blackhair looked out of the side window at her. "

The boy's mother turned to Clym and said, "This is something you didn'texpect?"

Yeobright took no more notice of her than if he had been of stone. "Goon, go on, " he said hoarsely to the boy. 

"And when she saw the young lady look out of the window the old ladyknocked again; and when nobody came she took up the furze-hook andlooked at it, and put it down again, and then she looked at thefaggot-bonds; and then she went away, and walked across to me, andblowed her breath very hard, like this. We walked on together, she andI, and I talked to her and she talked to me a bit, but not much, becauseshe couldn't blow her breath. "

"O!" murmured Clym, in a low tone, and bowed his head. "Let's havemore, " he said. 

"She couldn't talk much, and she couldn't walk; and her face was, O soqueer!"

"How was her face?"

"Like yours is now. "

The woman looked at Yeobright, and beheld him colourless, in a coldsweat. "Isn't there meaning in it?" she said stealthily. "What do youthink of her now?"

"Silence!" said Clym fiercely. And, turning to the boy, "And then youleft her to die?"

"No, " said the woman, quickly and angrily. "He did not leave her to die!She sent him away. Whoever says he forsook her says what's not true. "

"Trouble no more about that, " answered Clym, with a quivering mouth. "What he did is a trifle in comparison with what he saw. Door keptshut, did you say? Kept shut, she looking out of window? Good heart ofGod!--what does it mean?"

The child shrank away from the gaze of his questioner. 

"He said so, " answered the mother, "and Johnny's a God-fearing boy andtells no lies. "

"'Cast off by my son!' No, by my best life, dear mother, it is not so!But by your son's, your son's--May all murderesses get the torment theydeserve!"

With these words Yeobright went forth from the little dwelling. Thepupils of his eyes, fixed steadfastly on blankness, were vaguely litwith an icy shine; his mouth had passed into the phase more or lessimaginatively rendered in studies of Oedipus. The strangest deeds werepossible to his mood. But they were not possible to his situation. Instead of there being before him the pale face of Eustacia, and amasculine shape unknown, there was only the imperturbable countenanceof the heath, which, having defied the cataclysmal onsets of centuries, reduced to insignificance by its seamed and antique features the wildestturmoil of a single man. 

3--Eustacia Dresses Herself on a Black Morning

A consciousness of a vast impassivity in all which lay around him tookpossession even of Yeobright in his wild walk towards Alderworth. He hadonce before felt in his own person this overpowering of the fervid bythe inanimate; but then it had tended to enervate a passion far sweeterthan that which at present pervaded him. It was once when he stoodparting from Eustacia in the moist still levels beyond the hills. 

But dismissing all this he went onward home, and came to the front ofhis house. The blinds of Eustacia's bedroom were still closely drawn, for she was no early riser. All the life visible was in the shape ofa solitary thrush cracking a small snail upon the door-stone for hisbreakfast, and his tapping seemed a loud noise in the general silencewhich prevailed; but on going to the door Clym found it unfastened, theyoung girl who attended upon Eustacia being astir in the back part ofthe premises. Yeobright entered and went straight to his wife's room. 

The noise of his arrival must have aroused her, for when he opened thedoor she was standing before the looking glass in her nightdress, theends of her hair gathered into one hand, with which she was coiling thewhole mass round her head, previous to beginning toilette operations. She was not a woman given to speaking first at a meeting, and sheallowed Clym to walk across in silence, without turning her head. He came behind her, and she saw his face in the glass. It was ashy, haggard, and terrible. Instead of starting towards him in sorrowfulsurprise, as even Eustacia, undemonstrative wife as she was, would havedone in days before she burdened herself with a secret, she remainedmotionless, looking at him in the glass. And while she looked thecarmine flush with which warmth and sound sleep had suffused her cheeksand neck dissolved from view, and the deathlike pallor in his faceflew across into hers. He was close enough to see this, and the sightinstigated his tongue. 

"You know what is the matter, " he said huskily. "I see it in your face. "

Her hand relinquished the rope of hair and dropped to her side, and thepile of tresses, no longer supported, fell from the crown of her headabout her shoulders and over the white nightgown. She made no reply. 

"Speak to me, " said Yeobright peremptorily. 

The blanching process did not cease in her, and her lips now became aswhite as her face. She turned to him and said, "Yes, Clym, I'll speak toyou. Why do you return so early? Can I do anything for you?"

"Yes, you can listen to me. It seems that my wife is not very well?"

"Why?"

"Your face, my dear; your face. Or perhaps it is the pale morning lightwhich takes your colour away? Now I am going to reveal a secret to you. Ha-ha!"

"O, that is ghastly!"

"What?"

"Your laugh. "

"There's reason for ghastliness. Eustacia, you have held my happiness inthe hollow of your hand, and like a devil you have dashed it down!"

She started back from the dressing-table, retreated a few steps fromhim, and looked him in the face. "Ah! you think to frighten me, " shesaid, with a slight laugh. "Is it worth while? I am undefended, andalone. "

"How extraordinary!"

"What do you mean?"

"As there is ample time I will tell you, though you know well enough. I mean that it is extraordinary that you should be alone in my absence. Tell me, now, where is he who was with you on the afternoon of thethirty-first of August? Under the bed? Up the chimney?"

A shudder overcame her and shook the light fabric of her nightdressthroughout. "I do not remember dates so exactly, " she said. "I cannotrecollect that anybody was with me besides yourself. "

"The day I mean, " said Yeobright, his voice growing louder and harsher, "was the day you shut the door against my mother and killed her. O, itis too much--too bad!" He leant over the footpiece of the bedstead fora few moments, with his back towards her; then rising again--"Tell me, tell me! tell me--do you hear?" he cried, rushing up to her and seizingher by the loose folds of her sleeve. 

The superstratum of timidity which often overlies those who are daringand defiant at heart had been passed through, and the mettlesomesubstance of the woman was reached. The red blood inundated her face, previously so pale. 

"What are you going to do?" she said in a low voice, regarding him witha proud smile. "You will not alarm me by holding on so; but it would bea pity to tear my sleeve. "

Instead of letting go he drew her closer to him. "Tell me theparticulars of--my mother's death, " he said in a hard, panting whisper;"or--I'll--I'll--"

"Clym, " she answered slowly, "do you think you dare do anything to methat I dare not bear? But before you strike me listen. You will getnothing from me by a blow, even though it should kill me, as it probablywill. But perhaps you do not wish me to speak--killing may be all youmean?"

"Kill you! Do you expect it?"

"I do. "

"Why?"

"No less degree of rage against me will match your previous grief forher. "

"Phew--I shall not kill you, " he said contemptuously, as if under asudden change of purpose. "I did think of it; but--I shall not. Thatwould be making a martyr of you, and sending you to where she is; andI would keep you away from her till the universe come to an end, if Icould. "

"I almost wish you would kill me, " said she with gloomy bitterness. "It is with no strong desire, I assure you, that I play the part I havelately played on earth. You are no blessing, my husband. "

"You shut the door--you looked out of the window upon her--you had aman in the house with you--you sent her away to die. The inhumanity--thetreachery--I will not touch you--stand away from me--and confess everyword!"

"Never! I'll hold my tongue like the very death that I don't mindmeeting, even though I can clear myself of half you believe by speaking. Yes. I will! Who of any dignity would take the trouble to clear cobwebsfrom a wild man's mind after such language as this? No; let him go on, and think his narrow thoughts, and run his head into the mire. I haveother cares. "

"'Tis too much--but I must spare you. "

"Poor charity. "

"By my wretched soul you sting me, Eustacia! I can keep it up, and hotlytoo. Now, then, madam, tell me his name!"

"Never, I am resolved. "

"How often does he write to you? Where does he put his letters--whendoes he meet you? Ah, his letters! Do you tell me his name?"

"I do not. "

"Then I'll find it myself. " His eyes had fallen upon a small desk thatstood near, on which she was accustomed to write her letters. He went toit. It was locked. 

"Unlock this!"

"You have no right to say it. That's mine. "

Without another word he seized the desk and dashed it to the floor. Thehinge burst open, and a number of letters tumbled out. 

"Stay!" said Eustacia, stepping before him with more excitement than shehad hitherto shown. 

"Come, come! stand away! I must see them. "

She looked at the letters as they lay, checked her feeling and movedindifferently aside; when he gathered them up, and examined them. 

By no stretch of meaning could any but a harmless construction be placedupon a single one of the letters themselves. The solitary exception wasan empty envelope directed to her, and the handwriting was Wildeve's. Yeobright held it up. Eustacia was doggedly silent. 

"Can you read, madam? Look at this envelope. Doubtless we shall findmore soon, and what was inside them. I shall no doubt be gratified bylearning in good time what a well-finished and full-blown adept in acertain trade my lady is. "

"Do you say it to me--do you?" she gasped. 

He searched further, but found nothing more. "What was in this letter?"he said. 

"Ask the writer. Am I your hound that you should talk to me in thisway?"

"Do you brave me? do you stand me out, mistress? Answer. Don't look atme with those eyes if you would bewitch me again! Sooner than that Idie. You refuse to answer?"

"I wouldn't tell you after this, if I were as innocent as the sweetestbabe in heaven!"

"Which you are not. "

"Certainly I am not absolutely, " she replied. "I have not done whatyou suppose; but if to have done no harm at all is the only innocencerecognized, I am beyond forgiveness. But I require no help from yourconscience. "

"You can resist, and resist again! Instead of hating you I could, Ithink, mourn for and pity you, if you were contrite, and would confessall. Forgive you I never can. I don't speak of your lover--I will giveyou the benefit of the doubt in that matter, for it only affects mepersonally. But the other--had you half-killed me, had it been that youwilfully took the sight away from these feeble eyes of mine, I couldhave forgiven you. But THAT'S too much for nature!"

"Say no more. I will do without your pity. But I would have saved youfrom uttering what you will regret. "

"I am going away now. I shall leave you. "

"You need not go, as I am going myself. You will keep just as far awayfrom me by staying here. "

"Call her to mind--think of her--what goodness there was in her--itshowed in every line of her face! Most women, even when but slightlyannoyed, show a flicker of evil in some curl of the mouth or some cornerof the cheek; but as for her, never in her angriest moments was thereanything malicious in her look. She was angered quickly, but she forgavejust as readily, and underneath her pride there was the meekness of achild. What came of it?--what cared you? You hated her just as she waslearning to love you. O! couldn't you see what was best for you, butmust bring a curse upon me, and agony and death upon her, by doing thatcruel deed! What was the fellow's name who was keeping you company andcausing you to add cruelty to her to your wrong to me? Was it Wildeve?Was it poor Thomasin's husband? Heaven, what wickedness! Lost yourvoice, have you? It is natural after detection of that most nobletrick. .. . Eustacia, didn't any tender thought of your own mother lead youto think of being gentle to mine at such a time of weariness? Did notone grain of pity enter your heart as she turned away? Think what a vastopportunity was then lost of beginning a forgiving and honest course. Why did not you kick him out, and let her in, and say I'll be an honestwife and a noble woman from this hour? Had I told you to go and quencheternally our last flickering chance of happiness here you could havedone no worse. Well, she's asleep now; and have you a hundred gallants, neither they nor you can insult her any more. "

"You exaggerate fearfully, " she said in a faint, weary voice; "but Icannot enter into my defence--it is not worth doing. You are nothing tome in future, and the past side of the story may as well remain untold. I have lost all through you, but I have not complained. Your blundersand misfortunes may have been a sorrow to you, but they have been awrong to me. All persons of refinement have been scared away from mesince I sank into the mire of marriage. Is this your cherishing--toput me into a hut like this, and keep me like the wife of a hind? Youdeceived me--not by words, but by appearances, which are less seenthrough than words. But the place will serve as well as any other--assomewhere to pass from--into my grave. " Her words were smothered in herthroat, and her head drooped down. 

"I don't know what you mean by that. Am I the cause of your sin?"(Eustacia made a trembling motion towards him. ) "What, you can begin toshed tears and offer me your hand? Good God! can you? No, not I. I'llnot commit the fault of taking that. " (The hand she had offered droppednervelessly, but the tears continued flowing. ) "Well, yes, I'll takeit, if only for the sake of my own foolish kisses that were wasted therebefore I knew what I cherished. How bewitched I was! How could there beany good in a woman that everybody spoke ill of?"

"O, O, O!" she cried, breaking down at last; and, shaking with sobswhich choked her, she sank upon her knees. "O, will you have done! O, you are too relentless--there's a limit to the cruelty of savages! Ihave held out long--but you crush me down. I beg for mercy--I cannotbear this any longer--it is inhuman to go further with this! If Ihad--killed your--mother with my own hand--I should not deserve sucha scourging to the bone as this. O, O! God have mercy upon a miserablewoman!. .. You have beaten me in this game--I beg you to stay your hand inpity!. .. I confess that I--wilfully did not undo the door the first timeshe knocked--but--I should have unfastened it the second--if I hadnot thought you had gone to do it yourself. When I found you had not Iopened it, but she was gone. That's the extent of my crime--towards HER. Best natures commit bad faults sometimes, don't they?--I think they do. Now I will leave you--for ever and ever!"

"Tell all, and I WILL pity you. Was the man in the house with youWildeve?"

"I cannot tell, " she said desperately through her sobbing. "Don't insistfurther--I cannot tell. I am going from this house. We cannot both stayhere. "

"You need not go--I will go. You can stay here. "

"No, I will dress, and then I will go. "

"Where?"

"Where I came from, or ELSEWHERE. "

She hastily dressed herself, Yeobright moodily walking up and down theroom the whole of the time. At last all her things were on. Her littlehands quivered so violently as she held them to her chin to fasten herbonnet that she could not tie the strings, and after a few moments sherelinquished the attempt. Seeing this he moved forward and said, "Let metie them. "

She assented in silence, and lifted her chin. For once at least in herlife she was totally oblivious of the charm of her attitude. But hewas not, and he turned his eyes aside, that he might not be tempted tosoftness. 

The strings were tied; she turned from him. "Do you still prefer goingaway yourself to my leaving you?" he inquired again. 

"I do. "

"Very well--let it be. And when you will confess to the man I may pityyou. "

She flung her shawl about her and went downstairs, leaving him standingin the room. 

Eustacia had not long been gone when there came a knock at the door ofthe bedroom; and Yeobright said, "Well?"

It was the servant; and she replied, "Somebody from Mrs. Wildeve'shave called to tell 'ee that the mis'ess and the baby are getting onwonderful well, and the baby's name is to be Eustacia Clementine. " Andthe girl retired. 

"What a mockery!" said Clym. "This unhappy marriage of mine to beperpetuated in that child's name!"

4--The Ministrations of a Half-forgotten One

Eustacia's journey was at first as vague in direction as that ofthistledown on the wind. She did not know what to do. She wished it hadbeen night instead of morning, that she might at least have borne hermisery without the possibility of being seen. Tracing mile after milealong between the dying ferns and the wet white spiders' webs, she atlength turned her steps towards her grandfather's house. She found thefront door closed and locked. Mechanically she went round to the endwhere the stable was, and on looking in at the stable door she sawCharley standing within. 

"Captain Vye is not at home?" she said. 

"No, ma'am, " said the lad in a flutter of feeling; "he's gone toWeatherbury, and won't be home till night. And the servant is gone homefor a holiday. So the house is locked up. "

Eustacia's face was not visible to Charley as she stood at the doorway, her back being to the sky, and the stable but indifferently lighted; butthe wildness of her manner arrested his attention. She turned and walkedaway across the enclosure to the gate, and was hidden by the bank. 

When she had disappeared Charley, with misgiving in his eyes, slowlycame from the stable door, and going to another point in the bank helooked over. Eustacia was leaning against it on the outside, her facecovered with her hands, and her head pressing the dewy heather whichbearded the bank's outer side. She appeared to be utterly indifferent tothe circumstance that her bonnet, hair, and garments were becomingwet and disarranged by the moisture of her cold, harsh pillow. Clearlysomething was wrong. 

Charley had always regarded Eustacia as Eustacia had regarded Clymwhen she first beheld him--as a romantic and sweet vision, scarcelyincarnate. He had been so shut off from her by the dignity of her lookand the pride of her speech, except at that one blissful interval whenhe was allowed to hold her hand, that he had hardly deemed her a woman, wingless and earthly, subject to household conditions and domestic jars. The inner details of her life he had only conjectured. She had been alovely wonder, predestined to an orbit in which the whole of his own wasbut a point; and this sight of her leaning like a helpless, despairingcreature against a wild wet bank filled him with an amazed horror. Hecould no longer remain where he was. Leaping over, he came up, touchedher with his finger, and said tenderly, "You are poorly, ma'am. What canI do?"

Eustacia started up, and said, "Ah, Charley--you have followed me. Youdid not think when I left home in the summer that I should come backlike this!"

"I did not, dear ma'am. Can I help you now?"

"I am afraid not. I wish I could get into the house. I feelgiddy--that's all. "

"Lean on my arm, ma'am, till we get to the porch, and I will try to openthe door. "

He supported her to the porch, and there depositing her on a seathastened to the back, climbed to a window by the help of a ladder, anddescending inside opened the door. Next he assisted her into the room, where there was an old-fashioned horsehair settee as large as a donkeywagon. She lay down here, and Charley covered her with a cloak he foundin the hall. 

"Shall I get you something to eat and drink?" he said. 

"If you please, Charley. But I suppose there is no fire?"

"I can light it, ma'am. "

He vanished, and she heard a splitting of wood and a blowing of bellows;and presently he returned, saying, "I have lighted a fire in thekitchen, and now I'll light one here. "

He lit the fire, Eustacia dreamily observing him from her couch. When itwas blazing up he said, "Shall I wheel you round in front of it, ma'am, as the morning is chilly?"

"Yes, if you like. "

"Shall I go and bring the victuals now?"

"Yes, do, " she murmured languidly. 

When he had gone, and the dull sounds occasionally reached her ears ofhis movements in the kitchen, she forgot where she was, and had for amoment to consider by an effort what the sounds meant. After an intervalwhich seemed short to her whose thoughts were elsewhere, he came in witha tray on which steamed tea and toast, though it was nearly lunch-time. 

"Place it on the table, " she said. "I shall be ready soon. "

He did so, and retired to the door; when, however, he perceived that shedid not move he came back a few steps. 

"Let me hold it to you, if you don't wish to get up, " said Charley. Hebrought the tray to the front of the couch, where he knelt down, adding, "I will hold it for you. "

Eustacia sat up and poured out a cup of tea. "You are very kind to me, Charley, " she murmured as she sipped. 

"Well, I ought to be, " said he diffidently, taking great trouble notto rest his eyes upon her, though this was their only natural position, Eustacia being immediately before him. "You have been kind to me. "

"How have I?" said Eustacia. 

"You let me hold your hand when you were a maiden at home. "

"Ah, so I did. Why did I do that? My mind is lost--it had to do with themumming, had it not?"

"Yes, you wanted to go in my place. "

"I remember. I do indeed remember--too well!"

She again became utterly downcast; and Charley, seeing that she was notgoing to eat or drink any more, took away the tray. 

Afterwards he occasionally came in to see if the fire was burning, toask her if she wanted anything, to tell her that the wind had shiftedfrom south to west, to ask her if she would like him to gather her someblackberries; to all which inquiries she replied in the negative or withindifference. 

She remained on the settee some time longer, when she aroused herselfand went upstairs. The room in which she had formerly slept stillremained much as she had left it, and the recollection that this forcedupon her of her own greatly changed and infinitely worsened situationagain set on her face the undetermined and formless misery which ithad worn on her first arrival. She peeped into her grandfather's room, through which the fresh autumn air was blowing from the open window. Hereye was arrested by what was a familiar sight enough, though it brokeupon her now with a new significance. 

It was a brace of pistols, hanging near the head of her grandfather'sbed, which he always kept there loaded, as a precaution against possibleburglars, the house being very lonely. Eustacia regarded them long, asif they were the page of a book in which she read a new and a strangematter. Quickly, like one afraid of herself, she returned downstairs andstood in deep thought. 

"If I could only do it!" she said. "It would be doing much good tomyself and all connected with me, and no harm to a single one. "

The idea seemed to gather force within her, and she remained in a fixedattitude nearly ten minutes, when a certain finality was expressed inher gaze, and no longer the blankness of indecision. 

She turned and went up the second time--softly and stealthily now--andentered her grandfather's room, her eyes at once seeking the head of thebed. The pistols were gone. 

The instant quashing of her purpose by their absence affected her brainas a sudden vacuum affects the body--she nearly fainted. Who haddone this? There was only one person on the premises besides herself. Eustacia involuntarily turned to the open window which overlooked thegarden as far as the bank that bounded it. On the summit of the latterstood Charley, sufficiently elevated by its height to see into the room. His gaze was directed eagerly and solicitously upon her. 

She went downstairs to the door and beckoned to him. 

"You have taken them away?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

"Why did you do it?"

"I saw you looking at them too long. "

"What has that to do with it?"

"You have been heart-broken all the morning, as if you did not want tolive. "

"Well?"

"And I could not bear to leave them in your way. There was meaning inyour look at them. "

"Where are they now?"

"Locked up. "

"Where?"

"In the stable. "

"Give them to me. "

"No, ma'am. "

"You refuse?"

"I do. I care too much for you to give 'em up. "

She turned aside, her face for the first time softening from the stonyimmobility of the earlier day, and the corners of her mouth resumingsomething of that delicacy of cut which was always lost in her momentsof despair. At last she confronted him again. 

"Why should I not die if I wish?" she said tremulously. "I have madea bad bargain with life, and I am weary of it--weary. And now you havehindered my escape. O, why did you, Charley! What makes death painfulexcept the thought of others' grief?--and that is absent in my case, fornot a sigh would follow me!"

"Ah, it is trouble that has done this! I wish in my very soul that hewho brought it about might die and rot, even if 'tis transportation tosay it!"

"Charley, no more of that. What do you mean to do about this you haveseen?"

"Keep it close as night, if you promise not to think of it again. "

"You need not fear. The moment has passed. I promise. " She then wentaway, entered the house, and lay down. 

Later in the afternoon her grandfather returned. He was about toquestion her categorically, but on looking at her he withheld his words. 

"Yes, it is too bad to talk of, " she slowly returned in answer to hisglance. "Can my old room be got ready for me tonight, Grandfather? Ishall want to occupy it again. "

He did not ask what it all meant, or why she had left her husband, butordered the room to be prepared. 

5--An Old Move Inadvertently Repeated

Charley's attentions to his former mistress were unbounded. The onlysolace to his own trouble lay in his attempts to relieve hers. Hourafter hour he considered her wants; he thought of her presence therewith a sort of gratitude, and, while uttering imprecations on the causeof her unhappiness, in some measure blessed the result. Perhaps shewould always remain there, he thought, and then he would be as happy ashe had been before. His dread was lest she should think fit to return toAlderworth, and in that dread his eyes, with all the inquisitiveness ofaffection, frequently sought her face when she was not observing him, as he would have watched the head of a stockdove to learn if itcontemplated flight. Having once really succoured her, and possiblypreserved her from the rashest of acts, he mentally assumed in additiona guardian's responsibility for her welfare. 

For this reason he busily endeavoured to provide her with pleasantdistractions, bringing home curious objects which he found in the heath, such as white trumpet-shaped mosses, redheaded lichens, stone arrowheadsused by the old tribes on Egdon, and faceted crystals from the hollowsof flints. These he deposited on the premises in such positions that sheshould see them as if by accident. 

A week passed, Eustacia never going out of the house. Then she walkedinto the enclosed plot and looked through her grandfather's spyglass, asshe had been in the habit of doing before her marriage. One day shesaw, at a place where the highroad crossed the distant valley, a heavilyladen wagon passing along. It was piled with household furniture. Shelooked again and again, and recognized it to be her own. In the eveningher grandfather came indoors with a rumour that Yeobright had removedthat day from Alderworth to the old house at Blooms-End. 

On another occasion when reconnoitring thus she beheld two femalefigures walking in the vale. The day was fine and clear; and the personsnot being more than half a mile off she could see their every detailwith the telescope. The woman walking in front carried a white bundlein her arms, from one end of which hung a long appendage of drapery; andwhen the walkers turned, so that the sun fell more directly upon them, Eustacia could see that the object was a baby. She called Charley, andasked him if he knew who they were, though she well guessed. 

"Mrs. Wildeve and the nurse-girl, " said Charley. 

"The nurse is carrying the baby?" said Eustacia. 

"No, 'tis Mrs. Wildeve carrying that, " he answered, "and the nurse walksbehind carrying nothing. "

The lad was in good spirits that day, for the Fifth of November hadagain come round, and he was planning yet another scheme to divert herfrom her too absorbing thoughts. For two successive years hismistress had seemed to take pleasure in lighting a bonfire on the bankoverlooking the valley; but this year she had apparently quite forgottenthe day and the customary deed. He was careful not to remind her, andwent on with his secret preparations for a cheerful surprise, the morezealously that he had been absent last time and unable to assist. Atevery vacant minute he hastened to gather furze-stumps, thorn-treeroots, and other solid materials from the adjacent slopes, hiding themfrom cursory view. 

The evening came, and Eustacia was still seemingly unconscious of theanniversary. She had gone indoors after her survey through the glass, and had not been visible since. As soon as it was quite dark Charleybegan to build the bonfire, choosing precisely that spot on the bankwhich Eustacia had chosen at previous times. 

When all the surrounding bonfires had burst into existence Charleykindled his, and arranged its fuel so that it should not require tendingfor some time. He then went back to the house, and lingered round thedoor and windows till she should by some means or other learn of hisachievement and come out to witness it. But the shutters were closed, the door remained shut, and no heed whatever seemed to be taken of hisperformance. Not liking to call her he went back and replenished thefire, continuing to do this for more than half an hour. It was not tillhis stock of fuel had greatly diminished that he went to the back doorand sent in to beg that Mrs. Yeobright would open the window-shuttersand see the sight outside. 

Eustacia, who had been sitting listlessly in the parlour, started upat the intelligence and flung open the shutters. Facing her on the bankblazed the fire, which at once sent a ruddy glare into the room whereshe was, and overpowered the candles. 

"Well done, Charley!" said Captain Vye from the chimney-corner. "But Ihope it is not my wood that he's burning. .. . Ah, it was this time lastyear that I met with that man Venn, bringing home Thomasin Yeobright--tobe sure it was! Well, who would have thought that girl's troubles wouldhave ended so well? What a snipe you were in that matter, Eustacia! Hasyour husband written to you yet?"

"No, " said Eustacia, looking vaguely through the window at the fire, which just then so much engaged her mind that she did not resent hergrandfather's blunt opinion. She could see Charley's form on the bank, shovelling and stirring the fire; and there flashed upon her imaginationsome other form which that fire might call up. 

She left the room, put on her garden bonnet and cloak, and went out. Reaching the bank, she looked over with a wild curiosity and misgiving, when Charley said to her, with a pleased sense of himself, "I made it o'purpose for you, ma'am. "

"Thank you, " she said hastily. "But I wish you to put it out now. "

"It will soon burn down, " said Charley, rather disappointed. "Is it nota pity to knock it out?"

"I don't know, " she musingly answered. 

They stood in silence, broken only by the crackling of the flames, till Charley, perceiving that she did not want to talk to him, movedreluctantly away. 

Eustacia remained within the bank looking at the fire, intending to goindoors, yet lingering still. Had she not by her situation been inclinedto hold in indifference all things honoured of the gods and of men shewould probably have come away. But her state was so hopeless that shecould play with it. To have lost is less disturbing than to wonder if wemay possibly have won; and Eustacia could now, like other people at sucha stage, take a standing-point outside herself, observe herself as adisinterested spectator, and think what a sport for Heaven this womanEustacia was. 

While she stood she heard a sound. It was the splash of a stone in thepond. 

Had Eustacia received the stone full in the bosom her heart could nothave given a more decided thump. She had thought of the possibilityof such a signal in answer to that which had been unwittingly given byCharley; but she had not expected it yet. How prompt Wildeve was! Yethow could he think her capable of deliberately wishing to renew theirassignations now? An impulse to leave the spot, a desire to stay, struggled within her; and the desire held its own. More than that it didnot do, for she refrained even from ascending the bank and looking over. She remained motionless, not disturbing a muscle of her face or raisingher eyes; for were she to turn up her face the fire on the bank wouldshine upon it, and Wildeve might be looking down. 

There was a second splash into the pond. 

Why did he stay so long without advancing and looking over? Curiosityhad its way--she ascended one or two of the earth-steps in the bank andglanced out. 

Wildeve was before her. He had come forward after throwing the lastpebble, and the fire now shone into each of their faces from the bankstretching breast-high between them. 

"I did not light it!" cried Eustacia quickly. "It was lit without myknowledge. Don't, don't come over to me!"

"Why have you been living here all these days without telling me? Youhave left your home. I fear I am something to blame in this?"

"I did not let in his mother; that's how it is!"

"You do not deserve what you have got, Eustacia; you are in greatmisery; I see it in your eyes, your mouth, and all over you. My poor, poor girl!" He stepped over the bank. "You are beyond everythingunhappy!"

"No, no; not exactly--"

"It has been pushed too far--it is killing you--I do think it!"

Her usually quiet breathing had grown quicker with his words. "I--I--"she began, and then burst into quivering sobs, shaken to the very heartby the unexpected voice of pity--a sentiment whose existence in relationto herself she had almost forgotten. 

This outbreak of weeping took Eustacia herself so much by surprise thatshe could not leave off, and she turned aside from him in some shame, though turning hid nothing from him. She sobbed on desperately; thenthe outpour lessened, and she became quieter. Wildeve had resisted theimpulse to clasp her, and stood without speaking. 

"Are you not ashamed of me, who used never to be a crying animal?" sheasked in a weak whisper as she wiped her eyes. "Why didn't you go away?I wish you had not seen quite all that; it reveals too much by half. "

"You might have wished it, because it makes me as sad as you, " he saidwith emotion and deference. "As for revealing--the word is impossiblebetween us two. "

"I did not send for you--don't forget it, Damon; I am in pain, but I didnot send for you! As a wife, at least, I've been straight. "

"Never mind--I came. O, Eustacia, forgive me for the harm I have doneyou in these two past years! I see more and more that I have been yourruin. "

"Not you. This place I live in. "

"Ah, your generosity may naturally make you say that. But I am theculprit. I should either have done more or nothing at all. "

"In what way?"

"I ought never to have hunted you out, or, having done it, I ought tohave persisted in retaining you. But of course I have no right to talkof that now. I will only ask this--can I do anything for you? Is thereanything on the face of the earth that a man can do to make you happierthan you are at present? If there is, I will do it. You may commandme, Eustacia, to the limit of my influence; and don't forget that I amricher now. Surely something can be done to save you from this! Sucha rare plant in such a wild place it grieves me to see. Do you wantanything bought? Do you want to go anywhere? Do you want to escape theplace altogether? Only say it, and I'll do anything to put an end tothose tears, which but for me would never have been at all. "

"We are each married to another person, " she said faintly; "andassistance from you would have an evil sound--after--after--"

"Well, there's no preventing slanderers from having their fill at anytime; but you need not be afraid. Whatever I may feel I promise you onmy word of honour never to speak to you about--or act upon--until yousay I may. I know my duty to Thomasin quite as well as I know my duty toyou as a woman unfairly treated. What shall I assist you in?"

"In getting away from here. "

"Where do you wish to go to?"

"I have a place in my mind. If you could help me as far as Budmouth Ican do all the rest. Steamers sail from there across the Channel, andso I can get to Paris, where I want to be. Yes, " she pleaded earnestly, "help me to get to Budmouth harbour without my grandfather's or myhusband's knowledge, and I can do all the rest. "

"Will it be safe to leave you there alone?"

"Yes, yes. I know Budmouth well. "

"Shall I go with you? I am rich now. "

She was silent. 

"Say yes, sweet!"

She was silent still. 

"Well, let me know when you wish to go. We shall be at our presenthouse till December; after that we remove to Casterbridge. Command me inanything till that time. "

"I will think of this, " she said hurriedly. "Whether I can honestly makeuse of you as a friend, or must close with you as a lover--that is whatI must ask myself. If I wish to go and decide to accept your company Iwill signal to you some evening at eight o'clock punctually, and thiswill mean that you are to be ready with a horse and trap at twelveo'clock the same night to drive me to Budmouth harbour in time for themorning boat. "

"I will look out every night at eight, and no signal shall escape me. "

"Now please go away. If I decide on this escape I can only meet youonce more unless--I cannot go without you. Go--I cannot bear it longer. Go--go!"

Wildeve slowly went up the steps and descended into the darkness on theother side; and as he walked he glanced back, till the bank blotted outher form from his further view. 

6--Thomasin Argues with Her Cousin, and He Writes a Letter

Yeobright was at this time at Blooms-End, hoping that Eustacia wouldreturn to him. The removal of furniture had been accomplished only thatday, though Clym had lived in the old house for more than a week. He hadspent the time in working about the premises, sweeping leaves from thegarden paths, cutting dead stalks from the flower beds, and nailingup creepers which had been displaced by the autumn winds. He took noparticular pleasure in these deeds, but they formed a screen betweenhimself and despair. Moreover, it had become a religion with him topreserve in good condition all that had lapsed from his mother's handsto his own. 

During these operations he was constantly on the watch for Eustacia. That there should be no mistake about her knowing where to find himhe had ordered a notice board to be affixed to the garden gate atAlderworth, signifying in white letters whither he had removed. When aleaf floated to the earth he turned his head, thinking it might be herfoot-fall. A bird searching for worms in the mould of the flower-bedssounded like her hand on the latch of the gate; and at dusk, when soft, strange ventriloquisms came from holes in the ground, hollow stalks, curled dead leaves, and other crannies wherein breezes, worms, andinsects can work their will, he fancied that they were Eustacia, standing without and breathing wishes of reconciliation. 

Up to this hour he had persevered in his resolve not to invite her back. At the same time the severity with which he had treated her lulledthe sharpness of his regret for his mother, and awoke some of his oldsolicitude for his mother's supplanter. Harsh feelings produce harshusage, and this by reaction quenches the sentiments that gave it birth. The more he reflected the more he softened. But to look upon his wifeas innocence in distress was impossible, though he could ask himselfwhether he had given her quite time enough--if he had not come a littletoo suddenly upon her on that sombre morning. 

Now that the first flush of his anger had paled he was disinclined toascribe to her more than an indiscreet friendship with Wildeve, forthere had not appeared in her manner the signs of dishonour. And thisonce admitted, an absolutely dark interpretation of her act towards hismother was no longer forced upon him. 

On the evening of the fifth November his thoughts of Eustacia wereintense. Echoes from those past times when they had exchanged tenderwords all the day long came like the diffused murmur of a seashore leftmiles behind. "Surely, " he said, "she might have brought herself tocommunicate with me before now, and confess honestly what Wildeve was toher. "

Instead of remaining at home that night he determined to go and seeThomasin and her husband. If he found opportunity he would allude to thecause of the separation between Eustacia and himself, keeping silence, however, on the fact that there was a third person in his house when hismother was turned away. If it proved that Wildeve was innocently therehe would doubtless openly mention it. If he were there with unjustintentions Wildeve, being a man of quick feeling, might possibly saysomething to reveal the extent to which Eustacia was compromised. 

But on reaching his cousin's house he found that only Thomasin wasat home, Wildeve being at that time on his way towards the bonfireinnocently lit by Charley at Mistover. Thomasin then, as always, wasglad to see Clym, and took him to inspect the sleeping baby, carefullyscreening the candlelight from the infant's eyes with her hand. 

"Tamsin, have you heard that Eustacia is not with me now?" he said whenthey had sat down again. 

"No, " said Thomasin, alarmed. 

"And not that I have left Alderworth?"

"No. I never hear tidings from Alderworth unless you bring them. What isthe matter?"

Clym in a disturbed voice related to her his visit to Susan Nunsuch'sboy, the revelation he had made, and what had resulted from hischarging Eustacia with having wilfully and heartlessly done the deed. Hesuppressed all mention of Wildeve's presence with her. 

"All this, and I not knowing it!" murmured Thomasin in an awestrucktone, "Terrible! What could have made her--O, Eustacia! And when youfound it out you went in hot haste to her? Were you too cruel?--or isshe really so wicked as she seems?"

"Can a man be too cruel to his mother's enemy?"

"I can fancy so. "

"Very well, then--I'll admit that he can. But now what is to be done?"

"Make it up again--if a quarrel so deadly can ever be made up. I almostwish you had not told me. But do try to be reconciled. There are ways, after all, if you both wish to. "

"I don't know that we do both wish to make it up, " said Clym. "If shehad wished it, would she not have sent to me by this time?"

"You seem to wish to, and yet you have not sent to her. "

"True; but I have been tossed to and fro in doubt if I ought, after suchstrong provocation. To see me now, Thomasin, gives you no idea of what Ihave been; of what depths I have descended to in these few last days. O, it was a bitter shame to shut out my mother like that! Can I ever forgetit, or even agree to see her again?"

"She might not have known that anything serious would come of it, andperhaps she did not mean to keep Aunt out altogether. "

"She says herself that she did not. But the fact remains that keep herout she did. "

"Believe her sorry, and send for her. "

"How if she will not come?"

"It will prove her guilty, by showing that it is her habit to nourishenmity. But I do not think that for a moment. "

"I will do this. I will wait for a day or two longer--not longer thantwo days certainly; and if she does not send to me in that time I willindeed send to her. I thought to have seen Wildeve here tonight. Is hefrom home?"

Thomasin blushed a little. "No, " she said. "He is merely gone out for awalk. "

"Why didn't he take you with him? The evening is fine. You want freshair as well as he. "

"Oh, I don't care for going anywhere; besides, there is baby. "

"Yes, yes. Well, I have been thinking whether I should not consult yourhusband about this as well as you, " said Clym steadily. 

"I fancy I would not, " she quickly answered. "It can do no good. "

Her cousin looked her in the face. No doubt Thomasin was ignorant thather husband had any share in the events of that tragic afternoon; buther countenance seemed to signify that she concealed some suspicion orthought of the reputed tender relations between Wildeve and Eustacia indays gone by. 

Clym, however, could make nothing of it, and he rose to depart, more indoubt than when he came. 

"You will write to her in a day or two?" said the young woman earnestly. "I do so hope the wretched separation may come to an end. "

"I will, " said Clym; "I don't rejoice in my present state at all. "

And he left her and climbed over the hill to Blooms-End. Before going tobed he sat down and wrote the following letter:--

MY DEAR EUSTACIA, --I must obey my heart without consulting my reason tooclosely. Will you come back to me? Do so, and the past shall never bementioned. I was too severe; but O, Eustacia, the provocation! You don'tknow, you never will know, what those words of anger cost me whichyou drew down upon yourself. All that an honest man can promise you Ipromise now, which is that from me you shall never suffer anything onthis score again. After all the vows we have made, Eustacia, I think wehad better pass the remainder of our lives in trying to keep them. Cometo me, then, even if you reproach me. I have thought of your sufferingsthat morning on which I parted from you; I know they were genuine, andthey are as much as you ought to bear. Our love must still continue. Such hearts as ours would never have been given us but to be concernedwith each other. I could not ask you back at first, Eustacia, for I wasunable to persuade myself that he who was with you was not there as alover. But if you will come and explain distracting appearances I donot question that you can show your honesty to me. Why have you notcome before? Do you think I will not listen to you? Surely not, when youremember the kisses and vows we exchanged under the summer moon. Returnthen, and you shall be warmly welcomed. I can no longer think of youto your prejudice--I am but too much absorbed in justifying you. --Yourhusband as ever, CLYM. 

"There, " he said, as he laid it in his desk, "that's a good thing done. If she does not come before tomorrow night I will send it to her. "

Meanwhile, at the house he had just left Thomasin sat sighing uneasily. Fidelity to her husband had that evening induced her to conceal allsuspicion that Wildeve's interest in Eustacia had not ended withhis marriage. But she knew nothing positive; and though Clym was herwell-beloved cousin there was one nearer to her still. 

When, a little later, Wildeve returned from his walk to Mistover, Thomasin said, "Damon, where have you been? I was getting quitefrightened, and thought you had fallen into the river. I dislike beingin the house by myself. "

"Frightened?" he said, touching her cheek as if she were some domesticanimal. "Why, I thought nothing could frighten you. It is that you aregetting proud, I am sure, and don't like living here since we have risenabove our business. Well, it is a tedious matter, this getting a newhouse; but I couldn't have set about it sooner, unless our ten thousandpounds had been a hundred thousand, when we could have afforded todespise caution. "

"No--I don't mind waiting--I would rather stay here twelve months longerthan run any risk with baby. But I don't like your vanishing so in theevenings. There's something on your mind--I know there is, Damon. You goabout so gloomily, and look at the heath as if it were somebody's gaolinstead of a nice wild place to walk in. "

He looked towards her with pitying surprise. "What, do you like EgdonHeath?" he said. 

"I like what I was born near to; I admire its grim old face. "

"Pooh, my dear. You don't know what you like. "

"I am sure I do. There's only one thing unpleasant about Egdon. "

"What's that?"

"You never take me with you when you walk there. Why do you wander somuch in it yourself if you so dislike it?"

The inquiry, though a simple one, was plainly disconcerting, and he satdown before replying. "I don't think you often see me there. Give aninstance. "

"I will, " she answered triumphantly. "When you went out this evening Ithought that as baby was asleep I would see where you were going to somysteriously without telling me. So I ran out and followed behind you. You stopped at the place where the road forks, looked round at thebonfires, and then said, 'Damn it, I'll go!' And you went quickly up theleft-hand road. Then I stood and watched you. "

Wildeve frowned, afterwards saying, with a forced smile, "Well, whatwonderful discovery did you make?"

"There--now you are angry, and we won't talk of this any more. " She wentacross to him, sat on a footstool, and looked up in his face. 

"Nonsense!" he said, "that's how you always back out. We will go onwith it now we have begun. What did you next see? I particularly want toknow. "

"Don't be like that, Damon!" she murmured. "I didn't see anything. Youvanished out of sight, and then I looked round at the bonfires and camein. "

"Perhaps this is not the only time you have dogged my steps. Are youtrying to find out something bad about me?"

"Not at all! I have never done such a thing before, and I shouldn't havedone it now if words had not sometimes been dropped about you. "

"What DO you mean?" he impatiently asked. 

"They say--they say you used to go to Alderworth in the evenings, and itputs into my mind what I have heard about--"

Wildeve turned angrily and stood up in front of her. "Now, " he said, flourishing his hand in the air, "just out with it, madam! I demand toknow what remarks you have heard. "

"Well, I heard that you used to be very fond of Eustacia--nothing morethan that, though dropped in a bit-by-bit way. You ought not to beangry!"

He observed that her eyes were brimming with tears. "Well, " he said, "there is nothing new in that, and of course I don't mean to be roughtowards you, so you need not cry. Now, don't let us speak of the subjectany more. "

And no more was said, Thomasin being glad enough of a reason for notmentioning Clym's visit to her that evening, and his story. 

7--The Night of the Sixth of November

Having resolved on flight Eustacia at times seemed anxious thatsomething should happen to thwart her own intention. The only event thatcould really change her position was the appearance of Clym. The glorywhich had encircled him as her lover was departed now; yet some goodsimple quality of his would occasionally return to her memory and stir amomentary throb of hope that he would again present himself before her. But calmly considered it was not likely that such a severance as nowexisted would ever close up--she would have to live on as a painfulobject, isolated, and out of place. She had used to think of the heathalone as an uncongenial spot to be in; she felt it now of the wholeworld. 

Towards evening on the sixth her determination to go away again revived. About four o'clock she packed up anew the few small articles she hadbrought in her flight from Alderworth, and also some belonging to herwhich had been left here; the whole formed a bundle not too large to becarried in her hand for a distance of a mile or two. The scene withoutgrew darker; mud-coloured clouds bellied downwards from the sky likevast hammocks slung across it, and with the increase of night a stormywind arose; but as yet there was no rain. 

Eustacia could not rest indoors, having nothing more to do, and shewandered to and fro on the hill, not far from the house she was soonto leave. In these desultory ramblings she passed the cottage of SusanNunsuch, a little lower down than her grandfather's. The door wasajar, and a riband of bright firelight fell over the ground without. AsEustacia crossed the firebeams she appeared for an instant as distinctas a figure in a phantasmagoria--a creature of light surrounded byan area of darkness; the moment passed, and she was absorbed in nightagain. 

A woman who was sitting inside the cottage had seen and recognizedher in that momentary irradiation. This was Susan herself, occupiedin preparing a posset for her little boy, who, often ailing, wasnow seriously unwell. Susan dropped the spoon, shook her fist at thevanished figure, and then proceeded with her work in a musing, absentway. 

At eight o'clock, the hour at which Eustacia had promised to signalWildeve if ever she signalled at all, she looked around the premises tolearn if the coast was clear, went to the furze-rick, and pulled thencea long-stemmed bough of that fuel. This she carried to the corner of thebank, and, glancing behind to see if the shutters were all closed, shestruck a light, and kindled the furze. When it was thoroughly ablazeEustacia took it by the stem and waved it in the air above her head tillit had burned itself out. 

She was gratified, if gratification were possible to such a mood, byseeing a similar light in the vicinity of Wildeve's residence a minuteor two later. Having agreed to keep watch at this hour every night, incase she should require assistance, this promptness proved how strictlyhe had held to his word. Four hours after the present time, that is, atmidnight, he was to be ready to drive her to Budmouth, as prearranged. 

Eustacia returned to the house. Supper having been got over she retiredearly, and sat in her bedroom waiting for the time to go by. The nightbeing dark and threatening, Captain Vye had not strolled out to gossipin any cottage or to call at the inn, as was sometimes his custom onthese long autumn nights; and he sat sipping grog alone downstairs. About ten o'clock there was a knock at the door. When the servant openedit the rays of the candle fell upon the form of Fairway. 

"I was a-forced to go to Lower Mistover tonight, " he said, "and Mr. Yeobright asked me to leave this here on my way; but, faith, I put it inthe lining of my hat, and thought no more about it till I got back andwas hasping my gate before going to bed. So I have run back with it atonce. "

He handed in a letter and went his way. The girl brought it to thecaptain, who found that it was directed to Eustacia. He turned it overand over, and fancied that the writing was her husband's, though hecould not be sure. However, he decided to let her have it at once ifpossible, and took it upstairs for that purpose; but on reaching thedoor of her room and looking in at the keyhole he found there was nolight within, the fact being that Eustacia, without undressing, hadflung herself upon the bed, to rest and gather a little strength for hercoming journey. Her grandfather concluded from what he saw that he oughtnot to disturb her; and descending again to the parlour he placed theletter on the mantelpiece to give it to her in the morning. 

At eleven o'clock he went to bed himself, smoked for some time in hisbedroom, put out his light at half-past eleven, and then, as was hisinvariable custom, pulled up the blind before getting into bed, that hemight see which way the wind blew on opening his eyes in the morning, his bedroom window commanding a view of the flagstaff and vane. Just ashe had lain down he was surprised to observe the white pole of the staffflash into existence like a streak of phosphorus drawn downwards acrossthe shade of night without. Only one explanation met this--a light hadbeen suddenly thrown upon the pole from the direction of the house. Aseverybody had retired to rest the old man felt it necessary to getout of bed, open the window softly, and look to the right and left. Eustacia's bedroom was lighted up, and it was the shine from her windowwhich had lighted the pole. Wondering what had aroused her, he remainedundecided at the window, and was thinking of fetching the letter to slipit under her door, when he heard a slight brushing of garments on thepartition dividing his room from the passage. 

The captain concluded that Eustacia, feeling wakeful, had gone for abook, and would have dismissed the matter as unimportant if he had notalso heard her distinctly weeping as she passed. 

"She is thinking of that husband of hers, " he said to himself. "Ah, thesilly goose! she had no business to marry him. I wonder if that letteris really his?"

He arose, threw his boat-cloak round him, opened the door, and said, "Eustacia!" There was no answer. "Eustacia!" he repeated louder, "thereis a letter on the mantelpiece for you. "

But no response was made to this statement save an imaginary one fromthe wind, which seemed to gnaw at the corners of the house, and thestroke of a few drops of rain upon the windows. 

He went on to the landing, and stood waiting nearly five minutes. Stillshe did not return. He went back for a light, and prepared to followher; but first he looked into her bedroom. There, on the outside of thequilt, was the impression of her form, showing that the bed had notbeen opened; and, what was more significant, she had not taken hercandlestick downstairs. He was now thoroughly alarmed; and hastilyputting on his clothes he descended to the front door, which he himselfhad bolted and locked. It was now unfastened. There was no longerany doubt that Eustacia had left the house at this midnight hour; andwhither could she have gone? To follow her was almost impossible. Hadthe dwelling stood in an ordinary road, two persons setting out, onein each direction, might have made sure of overtaking her; but it wasa hopeless task to seek for anybody on a heath in the dark, thepracticable directions for flight across it from any point being asnumerous as the meridians radiating from the pole. Perplexed what to do, he looked into the parlour, and was vexed to find that the letter stilllay there untouched. 

At half-past eleven, finding that the house was silent, Eustacia hadlighted her candle, put on some warm outer wrappings, taken her bag inher hand, and, extinguishing the light again, descended the staircase. When she got into the outer air she found that it had begun to rain, andas she stood pausing at the door it increased, threatening to come onheavily. But having committed herself to this line of action there wasno retreating for bad weather. Even the receipt of Clym's letter wouldnot have stopped her now. The gloom of the night was funereal; allnature seemed clothed in crape. The spiky points of the fir trees behindthe house rose into the sky like the turrets and pinnacles of an abbey. Nothing below the horizon was visible save a light which was stillburning in the cottage of Susan Nunsuch. 

Eustacia opened her umbrella and went out from the enclosure by thesteps over the bank, after which she was beyond all danger of beingperceived. Skirting the pool, she followed the path towards Rainbarrow, occasionally stumbling over twisted furze roots, tufts of rushes, oroozing lumps of fleshy fungi, which at this season lay scattered aboutthe heath like the rotten liver and lungs of some colossal animal. The moon and stars were closed up by cloud and rain to the degreeof extinction. It was a night which led the traveller's thoughtsinstinctively to dwell on nocturnal scenes of disaster in thechronicles of the world, on all that is terrible and dark in history andlegend--the last plague of Egypt, the destruction of Sennacherib's host, the agony in Gethsemane. 

Eustacia at length reached Rainbarrow, and stood still there to think. Never was harmony more perfect than that between the chaos of her mindand the chaos of the world without. A sudden recollection had flashedon her this moment--she had not money enough for undertaking a longjourney. Amid the fluctuating sentiments of the day her unpractical mindhad not dwelt on the necessity of being well-provided, and now that shethoroughly realized the conditions she sighed bitterly and ceased tostand erect, gradually crouching down under the umbrella as if she weredrawn into the Barrow by a hand from beneath. Could it be that she wasto remain a captive still? Money--she had never felt its value before. Even to efface herself from the country means were required. To askWildeve for pecuniary aid without allowing him to accompany her wasimpossible to a woman with a shadow of pride left in her; to fly ashis mistress--and she knew that he loved her--was of the nature ofhumiliation. 

Anyone who had stood by now would have pitied her, not so much onaccount of her exposure to weather, and isolation from all of humanityexcept the mouldered remains inside the tumulus; but for that other formof misery which was denoted by the slightly rocking movement that herfeelings imparted to her person. Extreme unhappiness weighed visiblyupon her. Between the drippings of the rain from her umbrella to hermantle, from her mantle to the heather, from the heather to the earth, very similar sounds could be heard coming from her lips; and thetearfulness of the outer scene was repeated upon her face. The wings ofher soul were broken by the cruel obstructiveness of all about her; andeven had she seen herself in a promising way of getting to Budmouth, entering a steamer, and sailing to some opposite port, she would havebeen but little more buoyant, so fearfully malignant were other things. She uttered words aloud. When a woman in such a situation, neither old, deaf, crazed, nor whimsical, takes upon herself to sob and soliloquizealoud there is something grievous the matter. 

"Can I go, can I go?" she moaned. "He's not GREAT enough for me to givemyself to--he does not suffice for my desire!. .. If he had been a Saul ora Bonaparte--ah! But to break my marriage vow for him--it is too poor aluxury!. .. And I have no money to go alone! And if I could, what comfortto me? I must drag on next year, as I have dragged on this year, and theyear after that as before. How I have tried and tried to be a splendidwoman, and how destiny has been against me!. .. I do not deserve my lot!"she cried in a frenzy of bitter revolt. "O, the cruelty of putting meinto this ill-conceived world! I was capable of much; but I have beeninjured and blighted and crushed by things beyond my control! O, howhard it is of Heaven to devise such tortures for me, who have done noharm to Heaven at all!"

The distant light which Eustacia had cursorily observed in leavingthe house came, as she had divined, from the cottage window of SusanNunsuch. What Eustacia did not divine was the occupation of the womanwithin at that moment. Susan's sight of her passing figure earlier inthe evening, not five minutes after the sick boy's exclamation, "Mother, I do feel so bad!" persuaded the matron that an evil influence wascertainly exercised by Eustacia's propinquity. 

On this account Susan did not go to bed as soon as the evening's workwas over, as she would have done at ordinary times. To counteract themalign spell which she imagined poor Eustacia to be working, theboy's mother busied herself with a ghastly invention of superstition, calculated to bring powerlessness, atrophy, and annihilation on anyhuman being against whom it was directed. It was a practice well knownon Egdon at that date, and one that is not quite extinct at the presentday. 

She passed with her candle into an inner room, where, among otherutensils, were two large brown pans, containing together perhaps ahundredweight of liquid honey, the produce of the bees during theforegoing summer. On a shelf over the pans was a smooth and solid yellowmass of a hemispherical form, consisting of beeswax from the same takeof honey. Susan took down the lump, and cutting off several thinslices, heaped them in an iron ladle, with which she returned to theliving-room, and placed the vessel in the hot ashes of the fireplace. Assoon as the wax had softened to the plasticity of dough she kneaded thepieces together. And now her face became more intent. She began mouldingthe wax; and it was evident from her manner of manipulation that she wasendeavouring to give it some preconceived form. The form was human. 

By warming and kneading, cutting and twisting, dismembering andre-joining the incipient image she had in about a quarter of an hourproduced a shape which tolerably well resembled a woman, and wasabout six inches high. She laid it on the table to get cold and hard. Meanwhile she took the candle and went upstairs to where the little boywas lying. 

"Did you notice, my dear, what Mrs. Eustacia wore this afternoon besidesthe dark dress?"

"A red ribbon round her neck. "

"Anything else?"

"No--except sandal-shoes. "

"A red ribbon and sandal-shoes, " she said to herself. 

Mrs. Nunsuch went and searched till she found a fragment of thenarrowest red ribbon, which she took downstairs and tied round the neckof the image. Then fetching ink and a quilt from the rickety bureau bythe window, she blackened the feet of the image to the extent presumablycovered by shoes; and on the instep of each foot marked cross-lines inthe shape taken by the sandalstrings of those days. Finally she tieda bit of black thread round the upper part of the head, in faintresemblance to a snood worn for confining the hair. 

Susan held the object at arm's length and contemplated it with asatisfaction in which there was no smile. To anybody acquainted withthe inhabitants of Egdon Heath the image would have suggested EustaciaYeobright. 

From her workbasket in the window-seat the woman took a paper of pins, of the old long and yellow sort, whose heads were disposed to come offat their first usage. These she began to thrust into the image in alldirections, with apparently excruciating energy. Probably as many asfifty were thus inserted, some into the head of the wax model, some intothe shoulders, some into the trunk, some upwards through the soles ofthe feet, till the figure was completely permeated with pins. 

She turned to the fire. It had been of turf; and though the high heapof ashes which turf fires produce was somewhat dark and dead on theoutside, upon raking it abroad with the shovel the inside of the massshowed a glow of red heat. She took a few pieces of fresh turf from thechimney-corner and built them together over the glow, upon which thefire brightened. Seizing with the tongs the image that she had made ofEustacia, she held it in the heat, and watched it as it began to wasteslowly away. And while she stood thus engaged there came from betweenher lips a murmur of words. 

It was a strange jargon--the Lord's Prayer repeated backwards--theincantation usual in proceedings for obtaining unhallowed assistanceagainst an enemy. Susan uttered the lugubrious discourse three timesslowly, and when it was completed the image had considerably diminished. As the wax dropped into the fire a long flame arose from the spot, and curling its tongue round the figure ate still further into itssubstance. A pin occasionally dropped with the wax, and the embersheated it red as it lay. 

8--Rain, Darkness, and Anxious Wanderers

While the effigy of Eustacia was melting to nothing, and the fair womanherself was standing on Rainbarrow, her soul in an abyss of desolationseldom plumbed by one so young, Yeobright sat lonely at Blooms-End. He had fulfilled his word to Thomasin by sending off Fairway with theletter to his wife, and now waited with increased impatience for somesound or signal of her return. Were Eustacia still at Mistover the veryleast he expected was that she would send him back a reply tonight bythe same hand; though, to leave all to her inclination, he had cautionedFairway not to ask for an answer. If one were handed to him he wasto bring it immediately; if not, he was to go straight home withouttroubling to come round to Blooms-End again that night. 

But secretly Clym had a more pleasing hope. Eustacia might possiblydecline to use her pen--it was rather her way to work silently--andsurprise him by appearing at his door. How fully her mind was made up todo otherwise he did not know. 

To Clym's regret it began to rain and blow hard as the evening advanced. The wind rasped and scraped at the corners of the house, and fillipedthe eavesdroppings like peas against the panes. He walked restlesslyabout the untenanted rooms, stopping strange noises in windows anddoors by jamming splinters of wood into the casements and crevices, and pressing together the leadwork of the quarries where it had becomeloosened from the glass. It was one of those nights when cracks in thewalls of old churches widen, when ancient stains on the ceilings ofdecayed manor houses are renewed and enlarged from the size of a man'shand to an area of many feet. The little gate in the palings beforehis dwelling continually opened and clicked together again, but when helooked out eagerly nobody was there; it was as if invisible shapes ofthe dead were passing in on their way to visit him. 

Between ten and eleven o'clock, finding that neither Fairway nor anybodyelse came to him, he retired to rest, and despite his anxieties soonfell asleep. His sleep, however, was not very sound, by reason of theexpectancy he had given way to, and he was easily awakened by a knockingwhich began at the door about an hour after. Clym arose and looked outof the window. Rain was still falling heavily, the whole expanse ofheath before him emitting a subdued hiss under the downpour. It was toodark to see anything at all. 

"Who's there?" he cried. 

Light footsteps shifted their position in the porch, and he could justdistinguish in a plaintive female voice the words, "O Clym, come downand let me in!"

He flushed hot with agitation. "Surely it is Eustacia!" he murmured. Ifso, she had indeed come to him unawares. 

He hastily got a light, dressed himself, and went down. On his flingingopen the door the rays of the candle fell upon a woman closely wrappedup, who at once came forward. 

"Thomasin!" he exclaimed in an indescribable tone of disappointment. "Itis Thomasin, and on such a night as this! O, where is Eustacia?"

Thomasin it was, wet, frightened, and panting. 

"Eustacia? I don't know, Clym; but I can think, " she said with muchperturbation. "Let me come in and rest--I will explain this. There is agreat trouble brewing--my husband and Eustacia!"

"What, what?"

"I think my husband is going to leave me or do something dreadful--Idon't know what--Clym, will you go and see? I have nobody to help me butyou; Eustacia has not yet come home?"

"No. "

She went on breathlessly: "Then they are going to run off together! Hecame indoors tonight about eight o'clock and said in an off-hand way, 'Tamsie, I have just found that I must go a journey. ' 'When?' Isaid. 'Tonight, ' he said. 'Where?' I asked him. 'I cannot tell you atpresent, ' he said; 'I shall be back again tomorrow. ' He then went andbusied himself in looking up his things, and took no notice of me atall. I expected to see him start, but he did not, and then it came tobe ten o'clock, when he said, 'You had better go to bed. ' I didn't knowwhat to do, and I went to bed. I believe he thought I fell asleep, forhalf an hour after that he came up and unlocked the oak chest we keepmoney in when we have much in the house and took out a roll of somethingwhich I believe was banknotes, though I was not aware that he had 'emthere. These he must have got from the bank when he went there the otherday. What does he want banknotes for, if he is only going off for a day?When he had gone down I thought of Eustacia, and how he had met her thenight before--I know he did meet her, Clym, for I followed him part ofthe way; but I did not like to tell you when you called, and so make youthink ill of him, as I did not think it was so serious. Then I could notstay in bed; I got up and dressed myself, and when I heard him out inthe stable I thought I would come and tell you. So I came downstairswithout any noise and slipped out. "

"Then he was not absolutely gone when you left?"

"No. Will you, dear Cousin Clym, go and try to persuade him not to go?He takes no notice of what I say, and puts me off with the story of hisgoing on a journey, and will be home tomorrow, and all that; but I don'tbelieve it. I think you could influence him. "

"I'll go, " said Clym. "O, Eustacia!"

Thomasin carried in her arms a large bundle; and having by this timeseated herself she began to unroll it, when a baby appeared as thekernel to the husks--dry, warm, and unconscious of travel or roughweather. Thomasin briefly kissed the baby, and then found time to begincrying as she said, "I brought baby, for I was afraid what might happento her. I suppose it will be her death, but I couldn't leave her withRachel!"

Clym hastily put together the logs on the hearth, raked abroad theembers, which were scarcely yet extinct, and blew up a flame with thebellows. 

"Dry yourself, " he said. "I'll go and get some more wood. "

"No, no--don't stay for that. I'll make up the fire. Will you go atonce--please will you?"

Yeobright ran upstairs to finish dressing himself. While he was goneanother rapping came to the door. This time there was no delusion thatit might be Eustacia's--the footsteps just preceding it had been heavyand slow. Yeobright thinking it might possibly be Fairway with a note inanswer, descended again and opened the door. 

"Captain Vye?" he said to a dripping figure. 

"Is my granddaughter here?" said the captain. 

"No. "

"Then where is she?". 

"I don't know. "

"But you ought to know--you are her husband. "

"Only in name apparently, " said Clym with rising excitement. "I believeshe means to elope tonight with Wildeve. I am just going to look to it. "

"Well, she has left my house; she left about half an hour ago. Who'ssitting there?"

"My cousin Thomasin. "

The captain bowed in a preoccupied way to her. "I only hope it is noworse than an elopement, " he said. 

"Worse? What's worse than the worst a wife can do?"

"Well, I have been told a strange tale. Before starting in search of herI called up Charley, my stable lad. I missed my pistols the other day. "

"Pistols?"

"He said at the time that he took them down to clean. He has now ownedthat he took them because he saw Eustacia looking curiously at them; andshe afterwards owned to him that she was thinking of taking her life, but bound him to secrecy, and promised never to think of such a thingagain. I hardly suppose she will ever have bravado enough to use oneof them; but it shows what has been lurking in her mind; and people whothink of that sort of thing once think of it again. "

"Where are the pistols?"

"Safely locked up. O no, she won't touch them again. But there aremore ways of letting out life than through a bullet-hole. What did youquarrel about so bitterly with her to drive her to all this? You musthave treated her badly indeed. Well, I was always against the marriage, and I was right. "

"Are you going with me?" said Yeobright, paying no attention to thecaptain's latter remark. "If so I can tell you what we quarrelled aboutas we walk along. "

"Where to?"

"To Wildeve's--that was her destination, depend upon it. "

Thomasin here broke in, still weeping: "He said he was only going on asudden short journey; but if so why did he want so much money? O, Clym, what do you think will happen? I am afraid that you, my poor baby, willsoon have no father left to you!"

"I am off now, " said Yeobright, stepping into the porch. 

"I would fain go with 'ee, " said the old man doubtfully. "But I begin tobe afraid that my legs will hardly carry me there such a night as this. I am not so young as I was. If they are interrupted in their flightshe will be sure to come back to me, and I ought to be at the house toreceive her. But be it as 'twill I can't walk to the Quiet Woman, andthat's an end on't. I'll go straight home. "

"It will perhaps be best, " said Clym. "Thomasin, dry yourself, and be ascomfortable as you can. "

With this he closed the door upon her, and left the house in companywith Captain Vye, who parted from him outside the gate, taking themiddle path, which led to Mistover. Clym crossed by the right-hand tracktowards the inn. 

Thomasin, being left alone, took off some of her wet garments, carriedthe baby upstairs to Clym's bed, and then came down to the sitting-roomagain, where she made a larger fire, and began drying herself. The firesoon flared up the chimney, giving the room an appearance of comfortthat was doubled by contrast with the drumming of the storm without, which snapped at the windowpanes and breathed into the chimney strangelow utterances that seemed to be the prologue to some tragedy. 

But the least part of Thomasin was in the house, for her heart being atease about the little girl upstairs she was mentally following Clym onhis journey. Having indulged in this imaginary peregrination forsome considerable interval, she became impressed with a sense of theintolerable slowness of time. But she sat on. The moment then came whenshe could scarcely sit longer, and it was like a satire on her patienceto remember that Clym could hardly have reached the inn as yet. At lastshe went to the baby's bedside. The child was sleeping soundly; but herimagination of possibly disastrous events at her home, the predominancewithin her of the unseen over the seen, agitated her beyond endurance. She could not refrain from going down and opening the door. The rainstill continued, the candlelight falling upon the nearest drops andmaking glistening darts of them as they descended across the throng ofinvisible ones behind. To plunge into that medium was to plunge intowater slightly diluted with air. But the difficulty of returning toher house at this moment made her all the more desirous of doingso--anything was better than suspense. "I have come here well enough, "she said, "and why shouldn't I go back again? It is a mistake for me tobe away. "

She hastily fetched the infant, wrapped it up, cloaked herself asbefore, and shoveling the ashes over the fire, to prevent accidents, went into the open air. Pausing first to put the door key in itsold place behind the shutter, she resolutely turned her face to theconfronting pile of firmamental darkness beyond the palings, and steppedinto its midst. But Thomasin's imagination being so actively engagedelsewhere, the night and the weather had for her no terror beyond thatof their actual discomfort and difficulty. 

She was soon ascending Blooms-End valley and traversing the undulationson the side of the hill. The noise of the wind over the heath wasshrill, and as if it whistled for joy at finding a night so congenial asthis. Sometimes the path led her to hollows between thickets of talland dripping bracken, dead, though not yet prostrate, which enclosed herlike a pool. When they were more than usually tall she lifted the babyto the top of her head, that it might be out of the reach of theirdrenching fronds. On higher ground, where the wind was brisk andsustained, the rain flew in a level flight without sensible descent, sothat it was beyond all power to imagine the remoteness of the pointat which it left the bosoms of the clouds. Here self-defence wasimpossible, and individual drops stuck into her like the arrows intoSaint Sebastian. She was enabled to avoid puddles by the nebulouspaleness which signified their presence, though beside anything lessdark than the heath they themselves would have appeared as blackness. 

Yet in spite of all this Thomasin was not sorry that she had started. To her there were not, as to Eustacia, demons in the air, and malicein every bush and bough. The drops which lashed her face were notscorpions, but prosy rain; Egdon in the mass was no monster whatever, but impersonal open ground. Her fears of the place were rational, herdislikes of its worst moods reasonable. At this time it was in her viewa windy, wet place, in which a person might experience much discomfort, lose the path without care, and possibly catch cold. 

If the path is well known the difficulty at such times of keepingtherein is not altogether great, from its familiar feel to the feet; butonce lost it is irrecoverable. Owing to her baby, who somewhat impededThomasin's view forward and distracted her mind, she did at last losethe track. This mishap occurred when she was descending an open slopeabout two-thirds home. Instead of attempting, by wandering hither andthither, the hopeless task of finding such a mere thread, she wentstraight on, trusting for guidance to her general knowledge of thecontours, which was scarcely surpassed by Clym's or by that of theheath-croppers themselves. 

At length Thomasin reached a hollow and began to discern through therain a faint blotted radiance, which presently assumed the oblong formof an open door. She knew that no house stood hereabouts, and was soonaware of the nature of the door by its height above the ground. 

"Why, it is Diggory Venn's van, surely!" she said. 

A certain secluded spot near Rainbarrow was, she knew, often Venn'schosen centre when staying in this neighbourhood; and she guessed atonce that she had stumbled upon this mysterious retreat. The questionarose in her mind whether or not she should ask him to guide her intothe path. In her anxiety to reach home she decided that she would appealto him, notwithstanding the strangeness of appearing before his eyes atthis place and season. But when, in pursuance of this resolve, Thomasinreached the van and looked in she found it to be untenanted; thoughthere was no doubt that it was the reddleman's. The fire was burning inthe stove, the lantern hung from the nail. Round the doorway the floorwas merely sprinkled with rain, and not saturated, which told her thatthe door had not long been opened. 

While she stood uncertainly looking in Thomasin heard a footstepadvancing from the darkness behind her, and turning, beheld thewell-known form in corduroy, lurid from head to foot, the lantern beamsfalling upon him through an intervening gauze of raindrops. 

"I thought you went down the slope, " he said, without noticing her face. "How do you come back here again?"

"Diggory?" said Thomasin faintly. 

"Who are you?" said Venn, still unperceiving. "And why were you cryingso just now?"

"O, Diggory! don't you know me?" said she. "But of course you don't, wrapped up like this. What do you mean? I have not been crying here, andI have not been here before. "

Venn then came nearer till he could see the illuminated side of herform. 

"Mrs. Wildeve!" he exclaimed, starting. "What a time for us to meet!And the baby too! What dreadful thing can have brought you out on such anight as this?"

She could not immediately answer; and without asking her permission hehopped into his van, took her by the arm, and drew her up after him. 

"What is it?" he continued when they stood within. 

"I have lost my way coming from Blooms-End, and I am in a great hurry toget home. Please show me as quickly as you can! It is so silly of me notto know Egdon better, and I cannot think how I came to lose the path. Show me quickly, Diggory, please. "

"Yes, of course. I will go with 'ee. But you came to me before this, Mrs. Wildeve?"

"I only came this minute. "

"That's strange. I was lying down here asleep about five minutes ago, with the door shut to keep out the weather, when the brushing of awoman's clothes over the heath-bushes just outside woke me up, for Idon't sleep heavy, and at the same time I heard a sobbing or crying fromthe same woman. I opened my door and held out my lantern, and just asfar as the light would reach I saw a woman; she turned her head whenthe light sheened on her, and then hurried on downhill. I hung up thelantern, and was curious enough to pull on my things and dog her a fewsteps, but I could see nothing of her any more. That was where I hadbeen when you came up; and when I saw you I thought you were the sameone. "

"Perhaps it was one of the heathfolk going home?"

"No, it couldn't be. 'Tis too late. The noise of her gown over the he'thwas of a whistling sort that nothing but silk will make. "

"It wasn't I, then. My dress is not silk, you see. .. . Are we anywhere ina line between Mistover and the inn?"

"Well, yes; not far out. "

"Ah, I wonder if it was she! Diggory, I must go at once!"

She jumped down from the van before he was aware, when Venn unhooked thelantern and leaped down after her. "I'll take the baby, ma'am, " he said. "You must be tired out by the weight. "

Thomasin hesitated a moment, and then delivered the baby into Venn'shands. "Don't squeeze her, Diggory, " she said, "or hurt her little arm;and keep the cloak close over her like this, so that the rain may notdrop in her face. "

"I will, " said Venn earnestly. "As if I could hurt anything belonging toyou!"

"I only meant accidentally, " said Thomasin. 

"The baby is dry enough, but you are pretty wet, " said the reddlemanwhen, in closing the door of his cart to padlock it, he noticed on thefloor a ring of water drops where her cloak had hung from her. 

Thomasin followed him as he wound right and left to avoid the largerbushes, stopping occasionally and covering the lantern, while he lookedover his shoulder to gain some idea of the position of Rainbarrow abovethem, which it was necessary to keep directly behind their backs topreserve a proper course. 

"You are sure the rain does not fall upon baby?"

"Quite sure. May I ask how old he is, ma'am?"

"He!" said Thomasin reproachfully. "Anybody can see better than that ina moment. She is nearly two months old. How far is it now to the inn?"

"A little over a quarter of a mile. "

"Will you walk a little faster?"

"I was afraid you could not keep up. "

"I am very anxious to get there. Ah, there is a light from the window!"

"'Tis not from the window. That's a gig-lamp, to the best of my belief. "

"O!" said Thomasin in despair. "I wish I had been there sooner--give methe baby, Diggory--you can go back now. "

"I must go all the way, " said Venn. "There is a quag between us andthat light, and you will walk into it up to your neck unless I take youround. "

"But the light is at the inn, and there is no quag in front of that. "

"No, the light is below the inn some two or three hundred yards. "

"Never mind, " said Thomasin hurriedly. "Go towards the light, and nottowards the inn. "

"Yes, " answered Venn, swerving round in obedience; and, after a pause, "I wish you would tell me what this great trouble is. I think you haveproved that I can be trusted. "

"There are some things that cannot be--cannot be told to--" And then herheart rose into her throat, and she could say no more. 

9--Sights and Sounds Draw the Wanderers Together

Having seen Eustacia's signal from the hill at eight o'clock, Wildeveimmediately prepared to assist her in her flight, and, as he hoped, accompany her. He was somewhat perturbed, and his manner of informingThomasin that he was going on a journey was in itself sufficient torouse her suspicions. When she had gone to bed he collected the fewarticles he would require, and went upstairs to the money-chest, whencehe took a tolerably bountiful sum in notes, which had been advancedto him on the property he was so soon to have in possession, to defrayexpenses incidental to the removal. 

He then went to the stable and coach-house to assure himself that thehorse, gig, and harness were in a fit condition for a long drive. Nearlyhalf an hour was spent thus, and on returning to the house Wildeve hadno thought of Thomasin being anywhere but in bed. He had told the stablelad not to stay up, leading the boy to understand that his departurewould be at three or four in the morning; for this, though anexceptional hour, was less strange than midnight, the time actuallyagreed on, the packet from Budmouth sailing between one and two. 

At last all was quiet, and he had nothing to do but to wait. By noeffort could he shake off the oppression of spirits which he hadexperienced ever since his last meeting with Eustacia, but he hopedthere was that in his situation which money could cure. He had persuadedhimself that to act not ungenerously towards his gentle wife by settlingon her the half of his property, and with chivalrous devotion towardsanother and greater woman by sharing her fate, was possible. And thoughhe meant to adhere to Eustacia's instructions to the letter, to deposither where she wished and to leave her, should that be her will, thespell that she had cast over him intensified, and his heart was beatingfast in the anticipated futility of such commands in the face of amutual wish that they should throw in their lot together. 

He would not allow himself to dwell long upon these conjectures, maxims, and hopes, and at twenty minutes to twelve he again went softly to thestable, harnessed the horse, and lit the lamps; whence, taking the horseby the head, he led him with the covered car out of the yard to a spotby the roadside some quarter of a mile below the inn. 

Here Wildeve waited, slightly sheltered from the driving rain by a highbank that had been cast up at this place. Along the surface of the roadwhere lit by the lamps the loosened gravel and small stones scudded andclicked together before the wind, which, leaving them in heaps, plungedinto the heath and boomed across the bushes into darkness. Only onesound rose above this din of weather, and that was the roaring of aten-hatch weir to the southward, from a river in the meads which formedthe boundary of the heath in this direction. 

He lingered on in perfect stillness till he began to fancy that themidnight hour must have struck. A very strong doubt had arisen inhis mind if Eustacia would venture down the hill in such weather; yetknowing her nature he felt that she might. "Poor thing! 'tis like herill-luck, " he murmured. 

At length he turned to the lamp and looked at his watch. To his surpriseit was nearly a quarter past midnight. He now wished that he had drivenup the circuitous road to Mistover, a plan not adopted because of theenormous length of the route in proportion to that of the pedestrian'spath down the open hillside, and the consequent increase of labour forthe horse. 

At this moment a footstep approached; but the light of the lamps beingin a different direction the comer was not visible. The step paused, then came on again. 

"Eustacia?" said Wildeve. 

The person came forward, and the light fell upon the form of Clym, glistening with wet, whom Wildeve immediately recognized; but Wildeve, who stood behind the lamp, was not at once recognized by Yeobright. 

He stopped as if in doubt whether this waiting vehicle could haveanything to do with the flight of his wife or not. The sight ofYeobright at once banished Wildeve's sober feelings, who saw him againas the deadly rival from whom Eustacia was to be kept at all hazards. Hence Wildeve did not speak, in the hope that Clym would pass by withoutparticular inquiry. 

While they both hung thus in hesitation a dull sound became audibleabove the storm and wind. Its origin was unmistakable--it was the fallof a body into the stream in the adjoining mead, apparently at a pointnear the weir. 

Both started. "Good God! can it be she?" said Clym. 

"Why should it be she?" said Wildeve, in his alarm forgetting that hehad hitherto screened himself. 

"Ah!--that's you, you traitor, is it?" cried Yeobright. "Why should itbe she? Because last week she would have put an end to her life if shehad been able. She ought to have been watched! Take one of the lamps andcome with me. "

Yeobright seized the one on his side and hastened on; Wildeve did notwait to unfasten the other, but followed at once along the meadow trackto the weir, a little in the rear of Clym. 

Shadwater Weir had at its foot a large circular pool, fifty feet indiameter, into which the water flowed through ten huge hatches, raisedand lowered by a winch and cogs in the ordinary manner. The sides of thepool were of masonry, to prevent the water from washing away the bank;but the force of the stream in winter was sometimes such as to underminethe retaining wall and precipitate it into the hole. Clym reached thehatches, the framework of which was shaken to its foundations by thevelocity of the current. Nothing but the froth of the waves could bediscerned in the pool below. He got upon the plank bridge over the race, and holding to the rail, that the wind might not blow him off, crossedto the other side of the river. There he leant over the wall and loweredthe lamp, only to behold the vortex formed at the curl of the returningcurrent. 

Wildeve meanwhile had arrived on the former side, and the light fromYeobright's lamp shed a flecked and agitated radiance across the weirpool, revealing to the ex-engineer the tumbling courses of the currentsfrom the hatches above. Across this gashed and puckered mirror a darkbody was slowly borne by one of the backward currents. 

"O, my darling!" exclaimed Wildeve in an agonized voice; and, withoutshowing sufficient presence of mind even to throw off his greatcoat, heleaped into the boiling caldron. 

Yeobright could now also discern the floating body, though butindistinctly; and imagining from Wildeve's plunge that there was life tobe saved he was about to leap after. Bethinking himself of a wiser plan, he placed the lamp against a post to make it stand upright, and runninground to the lower part of the pool, where there was no wall, he sprangin and boldly waded upwards towards the deeper portion. Here he wastaken off his legs, and in swimming was carried round into the centre ofthe basin, where he perceived Wildeve struggling. 

While these hasty actions were in progress here, Venn and Thomasin hadbeen toiling through the lower corner of the heath in the directionof the light. They had not been near enough to the river to hear theplunge, but they saw the removal of the carriage lamp, and watched itsmotion into the mead. As soon as they reached the car and horse Vennguessed that something new was amiss, and hastened to follow in thecourse of the moving light. Venn walked faster than Thomasin, and cameto the weir alone. 

The lamp placed against the post by Clym still shone across thewater, and the reddleman observed something floating motionless. Beingencumbered with the infant, he ran back to meet Thomasin. 

"Take the baby, please, Mrs. Wildeve, " he said hastily. "Run home withher, call the stable lad, and make him send down to me any men who maybe living near. Somebody has fallen into the weir. "

Thomasin took the child and ran. When she came to the covered car thehorse, though fresh from the stable, was standing perfectly still, asif conscious of misfortune. She saw for the first time whose it was. Shenearly fainted, and would have been unable to proceed another step butthat the necessity of preserving the little girl from harm nerved herto an amazing self-control. In this agony of suspense she entered thehouse, put the baby in a place of safety, woke the lad and the femaledomestic, and ran out to give the alarm at the nearest cottage. 

Diggory, having returned to the brink of the pool, observed that thesmall upper hatches or floats were withdrawn. He found one of theselying upon the grass, and taking it under one arm, and with his lanternin his hand, entered at the bottom of the pool as Clym had done. As soonas he began to be in deep water he flung himself across the hatch; thussupported he was able to keep afloat as long as he chose, holdingthe lantern aloft with his disengaged hand. Propelled by his feet, hesteered round and round the pool, ascending each time by one of the backstreams and descending in the middle of the current. 

At first he could see nothing. Then amidst the glistening of thewhirlpools and the white clots of foam he distinguished a woman's bonnetfloating alone. His search was now under the left wall, when somethingcame to the surface almost close beside him. It was not, as he hadexpected, a woman, but a man. The reddleman put the ring of the lanternbetween his teeth, seized the floating man by the collar, and, holdingon to the hatch with his remaining arm, struck out into the strongestrace, by which the unconscious man, the hatch, and himself were carrieddown the stream. As soon as Venn found his feet dragging over thepebbles of the shallower part below he secured his footing and wadedtowards the brink. There, where the water stood at about the height ofhis waist, he flung away the hatch, and attempted to drag forth the man. This was a matter of great difficulty, and he found as the reason thatthe legs of the unfortunate stranger were tightly embraced by the armsof another man, who had hitherto been entirely beneath the surface. 

At this moment his heart bounded to hear footsteps running towards him, and two men, roused by Thomasin, appeared at the brink above. They ranto where Venn was, and helped him in lifting out the apparently drownedpersons, separating them, and laying them out upon the grass. Vennturned the light upon their faces. The one who had been uppermost wasYeobright; he who had been completely submerged was Wildeve. 

"Now we must search the hole again, " said Venn. "A woman is in theresomewhere. Get a pole. "

One of the men went to the footbridge and tore off the handrail. Thereddleman and the two others then entered the water together from belowas before, and with their united force probed the pool forwards to whereit sloped down to its central depth. Venn was not mistaken in supposingthat any person who had sunk for the last time would be washed down tothis point, for when they had examined to about halfway across somethingimpeded their thrust. 

"Pull it forward, " said Venn, and they raked it in with the pole till itwas close to their feet. 

Venn vanished under the stream, and came up with an armful of wetdrapery enclosing a woman's cold form, which was all that remained ofthe desperate Eustacia. 

When they reached the bank there stood Thomasin, in a stress of grief, bending over the two unconscious ones who already lay there. The horseand cart were brought to the nearest point in the road, and it was thework of a few minutes only to place the three in the vehicle. Vennled on the horse, supporting Thomasin upon his arm, and the two menfollowed, till they reached the inn. 

The woman who had been shaken out of her sleep by Thomasin had hastilydressed herself and lighted a fire, the other servant being left tosnore on in peace at the back of the house. The insensible forms ofEustacia, Clym, and Wildeve were then brought in and laid on the carpet, with their feet to the fire, when such restorative processes as couldbe thought of were adopted at once, the stableman being in the meantimesent for a doctor. But there seemed to be not a whiff of life in eitherof the bodies. Then Thomasin, whose stupor of grief had been thrustoff awhile by frantic action, applied a bottle of hartshorn to Clym'snostrils, having tried it in vain upon the other two. He sighed. 

"Clym's alive!" she exclaimed. 

He soon breathed distinctly, and again and again did she attempt torevive her husband by the same means; but Wildeve gave no sign. Therewas too much reason to think that he and Eustacia both were for everbeyond the reach of stimulating perfumes. Their exertions did not relaxtill the doctor arrived, when one by one, the senseless three were takenupstairs and put into warm beds. 

Venn soon felt himself relieved from further attendance, and went tothe door, scarcely able yet to realize the strange catastrophe thathad befallen the family in which he took so great an interest. Thomasinsurely would be broken down by the sudden and overwhelming nature ofthis event. No firm and sensible Mrs. Yeobright lived now to support thegentle girl through the ordeal; and, whatever an unimpassioned spectatormight think of her loss of such a husband as Wildeve, there could be nodoubt that for the moment she was distracted and horrified by the blow. As for himself, not being privileged to go to her and comfort her, hesaw no reason for waiting longer in a house where he remained only as astranger. 

He returned across the heath to his van. The fire was not yet out, andeverything remained as he had left it. Venn now bethought himself ofhis clothes, which were saturated with water to the weight of lead. Hechanged them, spread them before the fire, and lay down to sleep. Butit was more than he could do to rest here while excited by a vividimagination of the turmoil they were in at the house he had quitted, and, blaming himself for coming away, he dressed in another suit, locked up the door, and again hastened across to the inn. Rain was stillfalling heavily when he entered the kitchen. A bright fire was shiningfrom the hearth, and two women were bustling about, one of whom was OllyDowden. 

"Well, how is it going on now?" said Venn in a whisper. 

"Mr. Yeobright is better; but Mrs. Yeobright and Mr. Wildeve are deadand cold. The doctor says they were quite gone before they were out ofthe water. "

"Ah! I thought as much when I hauled 'em up. And Mrs. Wildeve?"

"She is as well as can be expected. The doctor had her put betweenblankets, for she was almost as wet as they that had been in the river, poor young thing. You don't seem very dry, reddleman. "

"Oh, 'tis not much. I have changed my things. This is only a littledampness I've got coming through the rain again. "

"Stand by the fire. Mis'ess says you be to have whatever you want, andshe was sorry when she was told that you'd gone away. "

Venn drew near to the fireplace, and looked into the flames in an absentmood. The steam came from his leggings and ascended the chimney with thesmoke, while he thought of those who were upstairs. Two were corpses, one had barely escaped the jaws of death, another was sick and a widow. The last occasion on which he had lingered by that fireplace was whenthe raffle was in progress; when Wildeve was alive and well; Thomasinactive and smiling in the next room; Yeobright and Eustacia just madehusband and wife, and Mrs. Yeobright living at Blooms-End. It had seemedat that time that the then position of affairs was good for at leasttwenty years to come. Yet, of all the circle, he himself was the onlyone whose situation had not materially changed. 

While he ruminated a footstep descended the stairs. It was the nurse, who brought in her hand a rolled mass of wet paper. The woman was soengrossed with her occupation that she hardly saw Venn. She took from acupboard some pieces of twine, which she strained across the fireplace, tying the end of each piece to the firedog, previously pulled forwardfor the purpose, and, unrolling the wet papers, she began pinning themone by one to the strings in a manner of clothes on a line. 

"What be they?" said Venn. 

"Poor master's banknotes, " she answered. "They were found in his pocketwhen they undressed him. "

"Then he was not coming back again for some time?" said Venn. 

"That we shall never know, " said she. 

Venn was loth to depart, for all on earth that interested him lay underthis roof. As nobody in the house had any more sleep that night, exceptthe two who slept for ever, there was no reason why he should notremain. So he retired into the niche of the fireplace where he had usedto sit, and there he continued, watching the steam from the double rowof banknotes as they waved backwards and forwards in the draught of thechimney till their flaccidity was changed to dry crispness throughout. Then the woman came and unpinned them, and, folding them together, carried the handful upstairs. Presently the doctor appeared from abovewith the look of a man who could do no more, and, pulling on his gloves, went out of the house, the trotting of his horse soon dying away uponthe road. 

At four o'clock there was a gentle knock at the door. It was fromCharley, who had been sent by Captain Vye to inquire if anything hadbeen heard of Eustacia. The girl who admitted him looked in his face asif she did not know what answer to return, and showed him in to whereVenn was seated, saying to the reddleman, "Will you tell him, please?"

Venn told. Charley's only utterance was a feeble, indistinct sound. Hestood quite still; then he burst out spasmodically, "I shall see heronce more?"

"I dare say you may see her, " said Diggory gravely. "But hadn't youbetter run and tell Captain Vye?"

"Yes, yes. Only I do hope I shall see her just once again. "

"You shall, " said a low voice behind; and starting round they beheldby the dim light, a thin, pallid, almost spectral form, wrapped in ablanket, and looking like Lazarus coming from the tomb. 

It was Yeobright. Neither Venn nor Charley spoke, and Clym continued, "You shall see her. There will be time enough to tell the captain whenit gets daylight. You would like to see her too--would you not, Diggory?She looks very beautiful now. "

Venn assented by rising to his feet, and with Charley he followed Clymto the foot of the staircase, where he took off his boots; Charley didthe same. They followed Yeobright upstairs to the landing, where therewas a candle burning, which Yeobright took in his hand, and with it ledthe way into an adjoining room. Here he went to the bedside and foldedback the sheet. 

They stood silently looking upon Eustacia, who, as she lay there stillin death, eclipsed all her living phases. Pallor did not include allthe quality of her complexion, which seemed more than whiteness; it wasalmost light. The expression of her finely carved mouth was pleasant, as if a sense of dignity had just compelled her to leave off speaking. Eternal rigidity had seized upon it in a momentary transition betweenfervour and resignation. Her black hair was looser now than either ofthem had ever seen it before, and surrounded her brow like a forest. Thestateliness of look which had been almost too marked for a dweller in acountry domicile had at last found an artistically happy background. 

Nobody spoke, till at length Clym covered her and turned aside. "Nowcome here, " he said. 

They went to a recess in the same room, and there, on a smaller bed, lay another figure--Wildeve. Less repose was visible in his face thanin Eustacia's, but the same luminous youthfulness overspread it, and theleast sympathetic observer would have felt at sight of him now that hewas born for a higher destiny than this. The only sign upon him of hisrecent struggle for life was in his fingertips, which were worn andsacrificed in his dying endeavours to obtain a hold on the face of theweir-wall. 

Yeobright's manner had been so quiet, he had uttered so few syllablessince his reappearance, that Venn imagined him resigned. It was onlywhen they had left the room and stood upon the landing that the truestate of his mind was apparent. Here he said, with a wild smile, inclining his head towards the chamber in which Eustacia lay, "She isthe second woman I have killed this year. I was a great cause of mymother's death, and I am the chief cause of hers. "

"How?" said Venn. 

"I spoke cruel words to her, and she left my house. I did not invite herback till it was too late. It is I who ought to have drowned myself. Itwould have been a charity to the living had the river overwhelmed me andborne her up. But I cannot die. Those who ought to have lived lie dead;and here am I alive!"

"But you can't charge yourself with crimes in that way, " said Venn. "Youmay as well say that the parents be the cause of a murder by the child, for without the parents the child would never have been begot. "

"Yes, Venn, that is very true; but you don't know all the circumstances. If it had pleased God to put an end to me it would have been a goodthing for all. But I am getting used to the horror of my existence. Theysay that a time comes when men laugh at misery through long acquaintancewith it. Surely that time will soon come to me!"

"Your aim has always been good, " said Venn. "Why should you say suchdesperate things?"

"No, they are not desperate. They are only hopeless; and my great regretis that for what I have done no man or law can punish me!"

BOOK SIX -- AFTERCOURSES

1--The Inevitable Movement Onward

The story of the deaths of Eustacia and Wildeve was told throughoutEgdon, and far beyond, for many weeks and months. All the knownincidents of their love were enlarged, distorted, touched up, andmodified, till the original reality bore but a slight resemblance to thecounterfeit presentation by surrounding tongues. Yet, upon the whole, neither the man nor the woman lost dignity by sudden death. Misfortunehad struck them gracefully, cutting off their erratic histories with acatastrophic dash, instead of, as with many, attenuating each life to anuninteresting meagreness, through long years of wrinkles, neglect, anddecay. 

On those most nearly concerned the effect was somewhat different. Strangers who had heard of many such cases now merely heard of one more;but immediately where a blow falls no previous imaginings amount toappreciable preparation for it. The very suddenness of her bereavementdulled, to some extent, Thomasin's feelings; yet irrationally enough, aconsciousness that the husband she had lost ought to have been a betterman did not lessen her mourning at all. On the contrary, this factseemed at first to set off the dead husband in his young wife's eyes, and to be the necessary cloud to the rainbow. 

But the horrors of the unknown had passed. Vague misgivings about herfuture as a deserted wife were at an end. The worst had once been matterof trembling conjecture; it was now matter of reason only, a limitedbadness. Her chief interest, the little Eustacia, still remained. Therewas humility in her grief, no defiance in her attitude; and when this isthe case a shaken spirit is apt to be stilled. 

Could Thomasin's mournfulness now and Eustacia's serenity during lifehave been reduced to common measure, they would have touched the samemark nearly. But Thomasin's former brightness made shadow of that whichin a sombre atmosphere was light itself. 

The spring came and calmed her; the summer came and soothed her; theautumn arrived, and she began to be comforted, for her little girlwas strong and happy, growing in size and knowledge every day. Outwardevents flattered Thomasin not a little. Wildeve had died intestate, andshe and the child were his only relatives. When administration had beengranted, all the debts paid, and the residue of her husband's uncle'sproperty had come into her hands, it was found that the sum waiting tobe invested for her own and the child's benefit was little less than tenthousand pounds. 

Where should she live? The obvious place was Blooms-End. The old rooms, it is true, were not much higher than the between-decks of a frigate, necessitating a sinking in the floor under the new clock-case shebrought from the inn, and the removal of the handsome brass knobs on itshead, before there was height for it to stand; but, such as the roomswere, there were plenty of them, and the place was endeared to her byevery early recollection. Clym very gladly admitted her as a tenant, confining his own existence to two rooms at the top of the backstaircase, where he lived on quietly, shut off from Thomasin and thethree servants she had thought fit to indulge in now that she was amistress of money, going his own ways, and thinking his own thoughts. 

His sorrows had made some change in his outward appearance; and yet thealteration was chiefly within. It might have been said that he had awrinkled mind. He had no enemies, and he could get nobody to reproachhim, which was why he so bitterly reproached himself. 

He did sometimes think he had been ill-used by fortune, so far as to saythat to be born is a palpable dilemma, and that instead of men aiming toadvance in life with glory they should calculate how to retreat outof it without shame. But that he and his had been sarcastically andpitilessly handled in having such irons thrust into their souls he didnot maintain long. It is usually so, except with the sternest of men. Human beings, in their generous endeavour to construct a hypothesis thatshall not degrade a First Cause, have always hesitated to conceive adominant power of lower moral quality than their own; and, even whilethey sit down and weep by the waters of Babylon, invent excuses for theoppression which prompts their tears. 

Thus, though words of solace were vainly uttered in his presence, hefound relief in a direction of his own choosing when left to himself. For a man of his habits the house and the hundred and twenty pounds ayear which he had inherited from his mother were enough to supply allworldly needs. Resources do not depend upon gross amounts, but upon theproportion of spendings to takings. 

He frequently walked the heath alone, when the past seized upon himwith its shadowy hand, and held him there to listen to its tale. His imagination would then people the spot with its ancientinhabitants--forgotten Celtic tribes trod their tracks about him, and hecould almost live among them, look in their faces, and see them standingbeside the barrows which swelled around, untouched and perfect as at thetime of their erection. Those of the dyed barbarians who had chosenthe cultivable tracts were, in comparison with those who had left theirmarks here, as writers on paper beside writers on parchment. Theirrecords had perished long ago by the plough, while the works of theseremained. Yet they all had lived and died unconscious of the differentfates awaiting their relics. It reminded him that unforeseen factorsoperate in the evolution of immortality. 

Winter again came round, with its winds, frosts, tame robins, andsparkling starlight. The year previous Thomasin had hardly beenconscious of the season's advance; this year she laid her heart open toexternal influences of every kind. The life of this sweet cousin, herbaby, and her servants, came to Clym's senses only in the form of soundsthrough a wood partition as he sat over books of exceptionally largetype; but his ear became at last so accustomed to these slight noisesfrom the other part of the house that he almost could witness thescenes they signified. A faint beat of half-seconds conjured up Thomasinrocking the cradle, a wavering hum meant that she was singing the babyto sleep, a crunching of sand as between millstones raised the pictureof Humphrey's, Fairway's, or Sam's heavy feet crossing the stone floorof the kitchen; a light boyish step, and a gay tune in a high key, betokened a visit from Grandfer Cantle; a sudden break-off in theGrandfer's utterances implied the application to his lips of a mug ofsmall beer, a bustling and slamming of doors meant starting to go tomarket; for Thomasin, in spite of her added scope of gentility, led aludicrously narrow life, to the end that she might save every possiblepound for her little daughter. 

One summer day Clym was in the garden, immediately outside the parlourwindow, which was as usual open. He was looking at the pot-flowers onthe sill; they had been revived and restored by Thomasin to the state inwhich his mother had left them. He heard a slight scream from Thomasin, who was sitting inside the room. 

"O, how you frightened me!" she said to someone who had entered. "Ithought you were the ghost of yourself. "

Clym was curious enough to advance a little further and look in at thewindow. To his astonishment there stood within the room Diggory Venn, no longer a reddleman, but exhibiting the strangely altered hues ofan ordinary Christian countenance, white shirt-front, light floweredwaistcoat, blue-spotted neckerchief, and bottle-green coat. Nothing inthis appearance was at all singular but the fact of its great differencefrom what he had formerly been. Red, and all approach to red, wascarefully excluded from every article of clothes upon him; for what isthere that persons just out of harness dread so much as reminders of thetrade which has enriched them?

Yeobright went round to the door and entered. 

"I was so alarmed!" said Thomasin, smiling from one to the other. "Icouldn't believe that he had got white of his own accord! It seemedsupernatural. "

"I gave up dealing in reddle last Christmas, " said Venn. "It was aprofitable trade, and I found that by that time I had made enough totake the dairy of fifty cows that my father had in his lifetime. Ialways thought of getting to that place again if I changed at all, andnow I am there. "

"How did you manage to become white, Diggory?" Thomasin asked. 

"I turned so by degrees, ma'am. "

"You look much better than ever you did before. "

Venn appeared confused; and Thomasin, seeing how inadvertently she hadspoken to a man who might possibly have tender feelings for her still, blushed a little. Clym saw nothing of this, and added good-humouredly--

"What shall we have to frighten Thomasin's baby with, now you havebecome a human being again?"

"Sit down, Diggory, " said Thomasin, "and stay to tea. "

Venn moved as if he would retire to the kitchen, when Thomasin said withpleasant pertness as she went on with some sewing, "Of course you mustsit down here. And where does your fifty-cow dairy lie, Mr. Venn?"

"At Stickleford--about two miles to the right of Alderworth, ma'am, where the meads begin. I have thought that if Mr. Yeobright would liketo pay me a visit sometimes he shouldn't stay away for want of asking. I'll not bide to tea this afternoon, thank'ee, for I've got something onhand that must be settled. 'Tis Maypole-day tomorrow, and the Shadwaterfolk have clubbed with a few of your neighbours here to have a pole justoutside your palings in the heath, as it is a nice green place. " Vennwaved his elbow towards the patch in front of the house. "I have beentalking to Fairway about it, " he continued, "and I said to him thatbefore we put up the pole it would be as well to ask Mrs. Wildeve. "

"I can say nothing against it, " she answered. "Our property does notreach an inch further than the white palings. "

"But you might not like to see a lot of folk going crazy round a stick, under your very nose?"

"I shall have no objection at all. "

Venn soon after went away, and in the evening Yeobright strolled as faras Fairway's cottage. It was a lovely May sunset, and the birch treeswhich grew on this margin of the vast Egdon wilderness had put on theirnew leaves, delicate as butterflies' wings, and diaphanous as amber. Beside Fairway's dwelling was an open space recessed from the road, andhere were now collected all the young people from within a radius of acouple of miles. The pole lay with one end supported on a trestle, and women were engaged in wreathing it from the top downwards withwild-flowers. The instincts of merry England lingered on here withexceptional vitality, and the symbolic customs which tradition hasattached to each season of the year were yet a reality on Egdon. Indeed, the impulses of all such outlandish hamlets are pagan still--in thesespots homage to nature, self-adoration, frantic gaieties, fragments ofTeutonic rites to divinities whose names are forgotten, seem in some wayor other to have survived mediaeval doctrine. 

Yeobright did not interrupt the preparations, and went home again. Thenext morning, when Thomasin withdrew the curtains of her bedroom window, there stood the Maypole in the middle of the green, its top cutting intothe sky. It had sprung up in the night, or rather early morning, likeJack's bean-stalk. She opened the casement to get a better view of thegarlands and posies that adorned it. The sweet perfume of the flowershad already spread into the surrounding air, which, being free fromevery taint, conducted to her lips a full measure of the fragrancereceived from the spire of blossom in its midst. At the top of thepole were crossed hoops decked with small flowers; beneath these came amilk-white zone of Maybloom; then a zone of bluebells, then of cowslips, then of lilacs, then of ragged-robins, daffodils, and so on, till thelowest stage was reached. Thomasin noticed all these, and was delightedthat the May revel was to be so near. 

When afternoon came people began to gather on the green, and Yeobrightwas interested enough to look out upon them from the open window ofhis room. Soon after this Thomasin walked out from the door immediatelybelow and turned her eyes up to her cousin's face. She was dressedmore gaily than Yeobright had ever seen her dressed since the time ofWildeve's death, eighteen months before; since the day of her marriageeven she had not exhibited herself to such advantage. 

"How pretty you look today, Thomasin!" he said. "Is it because of theMaypole?"

"Not altogether. " And then she blushed and dropped her eyes, which hedid not specially observe, though her manner seemed to him to be ratherpeculiar, considering that she was only addressing himself. Could it bepossible that she had put on her summer clothes to please him?

He recalled her conduct towards him throughout the last few weeks, whenthey had often been working together in the garden, just as they hadformerly done when they were boy and girl under his mother's eye. Whatif her interest in him were not so entirely that of a relative as it hadformerly been? To Yeobright any possibility of this sort was a seriousmatter; and he almost felt troubled at the thought of it. Every pulse ofloverlike feeling which had not been stilled during Eustacia's lifetimehad gone into the grave with her. His passion for her had occurred toofar on in his manhood to leave fuel enough on hand for another fireof that sort, as may happen with more boyish loves. Even supposing himcapable of loving again, that love would be a plant of slow and labouredgrowth, and in the end only small and sickly, like an autumn-hatchedbird. 

He was so distressed by this new complexity that when the enthusiasticbrass band arrived and struck up, which it did about five o'clock, withapparently wind enough among its members to blow down his house, hewithdrew from his rooms by the back door, went down the garden, throughthe gate in the hedge, and away out of sight. He could not bear toremain in the presence of enjoyment today, though he had tried hard. 

Nothing was seen of him for four hours. When he came back by the samepath it was dusk, and the dews were coating every green thing. Theboisterous music had ceased; but, entering the premises as he did frombehind, he could not see if the May party had all gone till he hadpassed through Thomasin's division of the house to the front door. Thomasin was standing within the porch alone. 

She looked at him reproachfully. "You went away just when it began, Clym, " she said. 

"Yes. I felt I could not join in. You went out with them, of course?"

"No, I did not. "

"You appeared to be dressed on purpose. "

"Yes, but I could not go out alone; so many people were there. One isthere now. "

Yeobright strained his eyes across the dark-green patch beyond thepaling, and near the black form of the Maypole he discerned a shadowyfigure, sauntering idly up and down. "Who is it?" he said. 

"Mr. Venn, " said Thomasin. 

"You might have asked him to come in, I think, Tamsie. He has been verykind to you first and last. "

"I will now, " she said; and, acting on the impulse, went through thewicket to where Venn stood under the Maypole. 

"It is Mr. Venn, I think?" she inquired. 

Venn started as if he had not seen her--artful man that he was--andsaid, "Yes. "

"Will you come in?"

"I am afraid that I--"

"I have seen you dancing this evening, and you had the very best of thegirls for your partners. Is it that you won't come in because you wishto stand here, and think over the past hours of enjoyment?"

"Well, that's partly it, " said Mr. Venn, with ostentatious sentiment. "But the main reason why I am biding here like this is that I want towait till the moon rises. "

"To see how pretty the Maypole looks in the moonlight?"

"No. To look for a glove that was dropped by one of the maidens. "

Thomasin was speechless with surprise. That a man who had to walksome four or five miles to his home should wait here for such a reasonpointed to only one conclusion--the man must be amazingly interested inthat glove's owner. 

"Were you dancing with her, Diggory?" she asked, in a voice whichrevealed that he had made himself considerably more interesting to herby this disclosure. 

"No, " he sighed. 

"And you will not come in, then?"

"Not tonight, thank you, ma'am. "

"Shall I lend you a lantern to look for the young person's glove, Mr. Venn?"

"O no; it is not necessary, Mrs. Wildeve, thank you. The moon will risein a few minutes. "

Thomasin went back to the porch. "Is he coming in?" said Clym, who hadbeen waiting where she had left him. 

"He would rather not tonight, " she said, and then passed by him into thehouse; whereupon Clym too retired to his own rooms. 

When Clym was gone Thomasin crept upstairs in the dark, and, justlistening by the cot, to assure herself that the child was asleep, shewent to the window, gently lifted the corner of the white curtain, andlooked out. Venn was still there. She watched the growth of the faintradiance appearing in the sky by the eastern hill, till presentlythe edge of the moon burst upwards and flooded the valley with light. Diggory's form was now distinct on the green; he was moving about in abowed attitude, evidently scanning the grass for the precious missingarticle, walking in zigzags right and left till he should have passedover every foot of the ground. 

"How very ridiculous!" Thomasin murmured to herself, in a tone which wasintended to be satirical. "To think that a man should be so silly as togo mooning about like that for a girl's glove! A respectable dairyman, too, and a man of money as he is now. What a pity!"

At last Venn appeared to find it; whereupon he stood up and raised it tohis lips. Then placing it in his breastpocket--the nearest receptacle toa man's heart permitted by modern raiment--he ascended the valley in amathematically direct line towards his distant home in the meadows. 

2--Thomasin Walks in a Green Place by the Roman Road

Clym saw little of Thomasin for several days after this; and when theymet she was more silent than usual. At length he asked her what she wasthinking of so intently. 

"I am thoroughly perplexed, " she said candidly. "I cannot for my lifethink who it is that Diggory Venn is so much in love with. None of thegirls at the Maypole were good enough for him, and yet she must havebeen there. "

Clym tried to imagine Venn's choice for a moment; but ceasing to beinterested in the question he went on again with his gardening. 

No clearing up of the mystery was granted her for some time. But oneafternoon Thomasin was upstairs getting ready for a walk, when she hadoccasion to come to the landing and call "Rachel. " Rachel was a girlabout thirteen, who carried the baby out for airings; and she cameupstairs at the call. 

"Have you seen one of my last new gloves about the house, Rachel?"inquired Thomasin. "It is the fellow to this one. "

Rachel did not reply. 

"Why don't you answer?" said her mistress. 

"I think it is lost, ma'am. "

"Lost? Who lost it? I have never worn them but once. "

Rachel appeared as one dreadfully troubled, and at last began to cry. "Please, ma'am, on the day of the Maypole I had none to wear, and I seedyours on the table, and I thought I would borrow 'em. I did not mean tohurt 'em at all, but one of them got lost. Somebody gave me some moneyto buy another pair for you, but I have not been able to go anywhere toget 'em. "

"Who's somebody?"

"Mr. Venn. "

"Did he know it was my glove?"

"Yes. I told him. "

Thomasin was so surprised by the explanation that she quite forgotto lecture the girl, who glided silently away. Thomasin did not movefurther than to turn her eyes upon the grass-plat where the Maypole hadstood. She remained thinking, then said to herself that she would not goout that afternoon, but would work hard at the baby's unfinished lovelyplaid frock, cut on the cross in the newest fashion. How she managed towork hard, and yet do no more than she had done at the end of two hours, would have been a mystery to anyone not aware that the recent incidentwas of a kind likely to divert her industry from a manual to a mentalchannel. 

Next day she went her ways as usual, and continued her custom of walkingin the heath with no other companion than little Eustacia, now of theage when it is a matter of doubt with such characters whether they areintended to walk through the world on their hands or on their feet; sothat they get into painful complications by trying both. It was verypleasant to Thomasin, when she had carried the child to some lonelyplace, to give her a little private practice on the green turf andshepherd's-thyme, which formed a soft mat to fall headlong upon themwhen equilibrium was lost. 

Once, when engaged in this system of training, and stooping to removebits of stick, fern-stalks, and other such fragments from the child'spath, that the journey might not be brought to an untimely end bysome insuperable barrier a quarter of an inch high, she was alarmed bydiscovering that a man on horseback was almost close beside her, thesoft natural carpet having muffled the horse's tread. The rider, who wasVenn, waved his hat in the air and bowed gallantly. 

"Diggory, give me my glove, " said Thomasin, whose manner it was underany circumstances to plunge into the midst of a subject which engrossedher. 

Venn immediately dismounted, put his hand in his breastpocket, andhanded the glove. 

"Thank you. It was very good of you to take care of it. "

"It is very good of you to say so. "

"O no. I was quite glad to find you had it. Everybody gets soindifferent that I was surprised to know you thought of me. "

"If you had remembered what I was once you wouldn't have beensurprised. "

"Ah, no, " she said quickly. "But men of your character are mostly soindependent. "

"What is my character?" he asked. 

"I don't exactly know, " said Thomasin simply, "except it is to cover upyour feelings under a practical manner, and only to show them when youare alone. "

"Ah, how do you know that?" said Venn strategically. 

"Because, " said she, stopping to put the little girl, who had managed toget herself upside down, right end up again, "because I do. "

"You mustn't judge by folks in general, " said Venn. "Still I don't knowmuch what feelings are nowadays. I have got so mixed up with businessof one sort and t'other that my soft sentiments are gone off in vapourlike. Yes, I am given up body and soul to the making of money. Money isall my dream. "

"O Diggory, how wicked!" said Thomasin reproachfully, and looking at himin exact balance between taking his words seriously and judging them assaid to tease her. 

"Yes, 'tis rather a rum course, " said Venn, in the bland tone of onecomfortably resigned to sins he could no longer overcome. 

"You, who used to be so nice!"

"Well, that's an argument I rather like, because what a man has oncebeen he may be again. " Thomasin blushed. "Except that it is ratherharder now, " Venn continued. 

"Why?" she asked. 

"Because you be richer than you were at that time. "

"O no--not much. I have made it nearly all over to the baby, as it wasmy duty to do, except just enough to live on. "

"I am rather glad of that, " said Venn softly, and regarding her from thecorner of his eye, "for it makes it easier for us to be friendly. "

Thomasin blushed again, and, when a few more words had been said of anot unpleasing kind, Venn mounted his horse and rode on. 

This conversation had passed in a hollow of the heath near the oldRoman road, a place much frequented by Thomasin. And it might have beenobserved that she did not in future walk that way less often from havingmet Venn there now. Whether or not Venn abstained from riding thitherbecause he had met Thomasin in the same place might easily have beenguessed from her proceedings about two months later in the same year. 

3--The Serious Discourse of Clym with His Cousin

Throughout this period Yeobright had more or less pondered on his dutyto his cousin Thomasin. He could not help feeling that it would be apitiful waste of sweet material if the tender-natured thing should bedoomed from this early stage of her life onwards to dribble away herwinsome qualities on lonely gorse and fern. But he felt this as aneconomist merely, and not as a lover. His passion for Eustacia had beena sort of conserve of his whole life, and he had nothing more of thatsupreme quality left to bestow. So far the obvious thing was not toentertain any idea of marriage with Thomasin, even to oblige her. 

But this was not all. Years ago there had been in his mother's mind agreat fancy about Thomasin and himself. It had not positively amountedto a desire, but it had always been a favourite dream. That theyshould be man and wife in good time, if the happiness of neither wereendangered thereby, was the fancy in question. So that what course saveone was there now left for any son who reverenced his mother's memoryas Yeobright did? It is an unfortunate fact that any particular whim ofparents, which might have been dispersed by half an hour's conversationduring their lives, becomes sublimated by their deaths into a fiat themost absolute, with such results to conscientious children as thoseparents, had they lived, would have been the first to decry. 

Had only Yeobright's own future been involved he would have proposed toThomasin with a ready heart. He had nothing to lose by carrying out adead mother's hope. But he dreaded to contemplate Thomasin wedded to themere corpse of a lover that he now felt himself to be. He had but threeactivities alive in him. One was his almost daily walk to the littlegraveyard wherein his mother lay, another, his just as frequent visitsby night to the more distant enclosure which numbered his Eustacia amongits dead; the third was self-preparation for a vocation which aloneseemed likely to satisfy his cravings--that of an itinerant preacherof the eleventh commandment. It was difficult to believe that Thomasinwould be cheered by a husband with such tendencies as these. 

Yet he resolved to ask her, and let her decide for herself. It was evenwith a pleasant sense of doing his duty that he went downstairs to herone evening for this purpose, when the sun was printing on the valleythe same long shadow of the housetop that he had seen lying there timesout of number while his mother lived. 

Thomasin was not in her room, and he found her in the front garden. "Ihave long been wanting, Thomasin, " he began, "to say something about amatter that concerns both our futures. "

"And you are going to say it now?" she remarked quickly, colouring asshe met his gaze. "Do stop a minute, Clym, and let me speak first, foroddly enough, I have been wanting to say something to you. "

"By all means say on, Tamsie. "

"I suppose nobody can overhear us?" she went on, casting her eyes aroundand lowering her voice. "Well, first you will promise me this--that youwon't be angry and call me anything harsh if you disagree with what Ipropose?"

Yeobright promised, and she continued: "What I want is your advice, for you are my relation--I mean, a sort of guardian to me--aren't you, Clym?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I am; a sort of guardian. In fact, I am, ofcourse, " he said, altogether perplexed as to her drift. 

"I am thinking of marrying, " she then observed blandly. "But I shall notmarry unless you assure me that you approve of such a step. Why don'tyou speak?"

"I was taken rather by surprise. But, nevertheless, I am very glad tohear such news. I shall approve, of course, dear Tamsie. Who can it be?I am quite at a loss to guess. No I am not--'tis the old doctor!--notthat I mean to call him old, for he is not very old after all. Ah--Inoticed when he attended you last time!"

"No, no, " she said hastily. "'Tis Mr. Venn. "

Clym's face suddenly became grave. 

"There, now, you don't like him, and I wish I hadn't mentioned him!" sheexclaimed almost petulantly. "And I shouldn't have done it, either, onlyhe keeps on bothering me so till I don't know what to do!"

Clym looked at the heath. "I like Venn well enough, " he answered atlast. "He is a very honest and at the same time astute man. He is clevertoo, as is proved by his having got you to favour him. But really, Thomasin, he is not quite--"

"Gentleman enough for me? That is just what I feel. I am sorry now thatI asked you, and I won't think any more of him. At the same time I mustmarry him if I marry anybody--that I WILL say!"

"I don't see that, " said Clym, carefully concealing every clue to hisown interrupted intention, which she plainly had not guessed. "You mightmarry a professional man, or somebody of that sort, by going into thetown to live and forming acquaintances there. "

"I am not fit for town life--so very rural and silly as I always havebeen. Do not you yourself notice my countrified ways?"

"Well, when I came home from Paris I did, a little; but I don't now. "

"That's because you have got countrified too. O, I couldn't live in astreet for the world! Egdon is a ridiculous old place; but I have gotused to it, and I couldn't be happy anywhere else at all. "

"Neither could I, " said Clym. 

"Then how could you say that I should marry some town man? I am sure, say what you will, that I must marry Diggory, if I marry at all. He hasbeen kinder to me than anybody else, and has helped me in many ways thatI don't know of!" Thomasin almost pouted now. 

"Yes, he has, " said Clym in a neutral tone. "Well, I wish with all myheart that I could say, marry him. But I cannot forget what my motherthought on that matter, and it goes rather against me not to respect heropinion. There is too much reason why we should do the little we can torespect it now. "

"Very well, then, " sighed Thomasin. "I will say no more. "

"But you are not bound to obey my wishes. I merely say what I think. "

"O no--I don't want to be rebellious in that way, " she said sadly. "Ihad no business to think of him--I ought to have thought of my family. What dreadfully bad impulses there are in me!" Her lips trembled, andshe turned away to hide a tear. 

Clym, though vexed at what seemed her unaccountable taste, was in ameasure relieved to find that at any rate the marriage question inrelation to himself was shelved. Through several succeeding days he sawher at different times from the window of his room moping disconsolatelyabout the garden. He was half angry with her for choosing Venn; then hewas grieved at having put himself in the way of Venn's happiness, whowas, after all, as honest and persevering a young fellow as any onEgdon, since he had turned over a new leaf. In short, Clym did not knowwhat to do. 

When next they met she said abruptly, "He is much more respectable nowthan he was then!"

"Who? O yes--Diggory Venn. "

"Aunt only objected because he was a reddleman. "

"Well, Thomasin, perhaps I don't know all the particulars of my mother'swish. So you had better use your own discretion. "

"You will always feel that I slighted your mother's memory. "

"No, I will not. I shall think you are convinced that, had she seenDiggory in his present position, she would have considered him a fittinghusband for you. Now, that's my real feeling. Don't consult me any more, but do as you like, Thomasin. I shall be content. "

It is to be supposed that Thomasin was convinced; for a few days afterthis, when Clym strayed into a part of the heath that he had not latelyvisited, Humphrey, who was at work there, said to him, "I am glad to seethat Mrs. Wildeve and Venn have made it up again, seemingly. "

"Have they?" said Clym abstractedly. 

"Yes; and he do contrive to stumble upon her whenever she walks out onfine days with the chiel. But, Mr. Yeobright, I can't help feelingthat your cousin ought to have married you. 'Tis a pity to make twochimleycorners where there need be only one. You could get her away fromhim now, 'tis my belief, if you were only to set about it. "

"How can I have the conscience to marry after having driven two women totheir deaths? Don't think such a thing, Humphrey. After my experienceI should consider it too much of a burlesque to go to church and take awife. In the words of Job, 'I have made a covenant with mine eyes; whenthen should I think upon a maid?'"

"No, Mr. Clym, don't fancy that about driving two women to their deaths. You shouldn't say it. "

"Well, we'll leave that out, " said Yeobright. "But anyhow God has set amark upon me which wouldn't look well in a love-making scene. I have twoideas in my head, and no others. I am going to keep a night-school;and I am going to turn preacher. What have you got to say to that, Humphrey?"

"I'll come and hear 'ee with all my heart. "

"Thanks. 'Tis all I wish. "

As Clym descended into the valley Thomasin came down by the other path, and met him at the gate. "What do you think I have to tell you, Clym?"she said, looking archly over her shoulder at him. 

"I can guess, " he replied. 

She scrutinized his face. "Yes, you guess right. It is going to be afterall. He thinks I may as well make up my mind, and I have got to thinkso too. It is to be on the twenty-fifth of next month, if you don'tobject. "

"Do what you think right, dear. I am only too glad that you see your wayclear to happiness again. My sex owes you every amends for the treatmentyou received in days gone by. "*

 * The writer may state here that the original conception of the story did not design a marriage between Thomasin and Venn. He was to have retained his isolated and weird character to the last, and to have disappeared mysteriously from the heath, nobody knowing whither--Thomasin remaining a widow. But certain circumstances of serial publication led to a change of intent. 

Readers can therefore choose between the endings, and those with anaustere artistic code can assume the more consistent conclusion to bethe true one. 

4--Cheerfulness Again Asserts Itself at Blooms-End, and Clym Finds HisVocation

Anybody who had passed through Blooms-End about eleven o'clock on themorning fixed for the wedding would have found that, while Yeobright'shouse was comparatively quiet, sounds denoting great activity came fromthe dwelling of his nearest neighbour, Timothy Fairway. It was chieflya noise of feet, briskly crunching hither and thither over the sandedfloor within. One man only was visible outside, and he seemed to belater at an appointment than he had intended to be, for he hastened upto the door, lifted the latch, and walked in without ceremony. 

The scene within was not quite the customary one. Standing about theroom was the little knot of men who formed the chief part of the Egdoncoterie, there being present Fairway himself, Grandfer Cantle, Humphrey, Christian, and one or two turf-cutters. It was a warm day, and the menwere as a matter of course in their shirtsleeves, except Christian, whohad always a nervous fear of parting with a scrap of his clothing whenin anybody's house but his own. Across the stout oak table in the middleof the room was thrown a mass of striped linen, which Grandfer Cantleheld down on one side, and Humphrey on the other, while Fairway rubbedits surface with a yellow lump, his face being damp and creased with theeffort of the labour. 

"Waxing a bed-tick, souls?" said the newcomer. 

"Yes, Sam, " said Grandfer Cantle, as a man too busy to waste words. "Shall I stretch this corner a shade tighter, Timothy?"

Fairway replied, and the waxing went on with unabated vigour. "'Tisgoing to be a good bed, by the look o't, " continued Sam, after aninterval of silence. "Who may it be for?"

"'Tis a present for the new folks that's going to set up housekeeping, "said Christian, who stood helpless and overcome by the majesty of theproceedings. 

"Ah, to be sure; and a valuable one, 'a b'lieve. "

"Beds be dear to fokes that don't keep geese, bain't they, MisterFairway?" said Christian, as to an omniscient being. 

"Yes, " said the furze-dealer, standing up, giving his forehead athorough mopping, and handing the beeswax to Humphrey, who succeededat the rubbing forthwith. "Not that this couple be in want of one, but'twas well to show 'em a bit of friendliness at this great racketingvagary of their lives. I set up both my own daughters in one when theywas married, and there have been feathers enough for another in thehouse the last twelve months. Now then, neighbours, I think we havelaid on enough wax. Grandfer Cantle, you turn the tick the right wayoutwards, and then I'll begin to shake in the feathers. "

When the bed was in proper trim Fairway and Christian brought forwardvast paper bags, stuffed to the full, but light as balloons, and beganto turn the contents of each into the receptacle just prepared. As bagafter bag was emptied, airy tufts of down and feathers floated about theroom in increasing quantity till, through a mishap of Christian's, whoshook the contents of one bag outside the tick, the atmosphere of theroom became dense with gigantic flakes, which descended upon the workerslike a windless snowstorm. 

"I never saw such a clumsy chap as you, Christian, " said GrandferCantle severely. "You might have been the son of a man that's never beenoutside Blooms-End in his life for all the wit you have. Really all thesoldiering and smartness in the world in the father seems to count fornothing in forming the nater of the son. As far as that chief Christianis concerned I might as well have stayed at home and seed nothing, like all the rest of ye here. Though, as far as myself is concerned, adashing spirit has counted for sommat, to be sure!"

"Don't ye let me down so, Father; I feel no bigger than a ninepin afterit. I've made but a bruckle hit, I'm afeard. "

"Come, come. Never pitch yerself in such a low key as that, Christian;you should try more, " said Fairway. 

"Yes, you should try more, " echoed the Grandfer with insistence, asif he had been the first to make the suggestion. "In common conscienceevery man ought either to marry or go for a soldier. 'Tis a scandal tothe nation to do neither one nor t'other. I did both, thank God! Neitherto raise men nor to lay 'em low--that shows a poor do-nothing spiritindeed. "

"I never had the nerve to stand fire, " faltered Christian. "But as tomarrying, I own I've asked here and there, though without much fruitfrom it. Yes, there's some house or other that might have had a man fora master--such as he is--that's now ruled by a woman alone. Still itmight have been awkward if I had found her; for, d'ye see, neighbours, there'd have been nobody left at home to keep down Father's spirits tothe decent pitch that becomes a old man. "

"And you've your work cut out to do that, my son, " said Grandfer Cantlesmartly. "I wish that the dread of infirmities was not so strong inme!--I'd start the very first thing tomorrow to see the world overagain! But seventy-one, though nothing at home, is a high figure for arover. .. . Ay, seventy-one, last Candlemasday. Gad, I'd sooner have it inguineas than in years!" And the old man sighed. 

"Don't you be mournful, Grandfer, " said Fairway. "Empt some morefeathers into the bed-tick, and keep up yer heart. Though rather lean inthe stalks you be a green-leaved old man still. There's time enough leftto ye yet to fill whole chronicles. "

"Begad, I'll go to 'em, Timothy--to the married pair!" said GranferCantle in an encouraged voice, and starting round briskly. "I'll go to'em tonight and sing a wedding song, hey? 'Tis like me to do so, youknow; and they'd see it as such. My 'Down in Cupid's Gardens' was wellliked in four; still, I've got others as good, and even better. What doyou say to my

 She cal'-led to' her love' From the lat'-tice a-bove, 'O come in' from the fog-gy fog'-gy dew'. '

'Twould please 'em well at such a time! Really, now I come to think ofit, I haven't turned my tongue in my head to the shape of a real goodsong since Old Midsummer night, when we had the 'Barley Mow' at theWoman; and 'tis a pity to neglect your strong point where there's fewthat have the compass for such things!"

"So 'tis, so 'tis, " said Fairway. "Now gie the bed a shake down. We'veput in seventy pounds of best feathers, and I think that's as many asthe tick will fairly hold. A bit and a drap wouldn't be amiss now, Ireckon. Christian, maul down the victuals from corner-cupboard if canstreach, man, and I'll draw a drap o' sommat to wet it with. "

They sat down to a lunch in the midst of their work, feathers around, above, and below them; the original owners of which occasionally cameto the open door and cackled begrudgingly at sight of such a quantity oftheir old clothes. 

"Upon my soul I shall be chokt, " said Fairway when, having extracted afeather from his mouth, he found several others floating on the mug asit was handed round. 

"I've swallered several; and one had a tolerable quill, " said Samplacidly from the corner. 

"Hullo--what's that--wheels I hear coming?" Grandfer Cantle exclaimed, jumping up and hastening to the door. "Why, 'tis they back again--Ididn't expect 'em yet this half-hour. To be sure, how quick marrying canbe done when you are in the mind for't!"

"O yes, it can soon be DONE, " said Fairway, as if something should beadded to make the statement complete. 

He arose and followed the Grandfer, and the rest also went to the door. In a moment an open fly was driven past, in which sat Venn and Mrs. Venn, Yeobright, and a grand relative of Venn's who had come fromBudmouth for the occasion. The fly had been hired at the nearest town, regardless of distance and cost, there being nothing on Egdon Heath, inVenn's opinion, dignified enough for such an event when such a womanas Thomasin was the bride; and the church was too remote for a walkingbridal-party. 

As the fly passed the group which had run out from the homestead theyshouted "Hurrah!" and waved their hands; feathers and down floatingfrom their hair, their sleeves, and the folds of their garments at everymotion, and Grandfer Cantle's seals dancing merrily in the sunlight ashe twirled himself about. The driver of the fly turned a superciliousgaze upon them; he even treated the wedded pair themselves withsomething like condescension; for in what other state than heathen couldpeople, rich or poor, exist who were doomed to abide in such a world'send as Egdon? Thomasin showed no such superiority to the group at thedoor, fluttering her hand as quickly as a bird's wing towards them, andasking Diggory, with tears in her eyes, if they ought not to alight andspeak to these kind neighbours. Venn, however, suggested that, as theywere all coming to the house in the evening, this was hardly necessary. 

After this excitement the saluting party returned to their occupation, and the stuffing and sewing were soon afterwards finished, when Fairwayharnessed a horse, wrapped up the cumbrous present, and drove off withit in the cart to Venn's house at Stickleford. 

Yeobright, having filled the office at the wedding service whichnaturally fell to his hands, and afterwards returned to the house withthe husband and wife, was indisposed to take part in the feasting anddancing that wound up the evening. Thomasin was disappointed. 

"I wish I could be there without dashing your spirits, " he said. "But Imight be too much like the skull at the banquet. "

"No, no. "

"Well, dear, apart from that, if you would excuse me, I should be glad. I know it seems unkind; but, dear Thomasin, I fear I should not be happyin the company--there, that's the truth of it. I shall always be comingto see you at your new home, you know, so that my absence now will notmatter. "

"Then I give in. Do whatever will be most comfortable to yourself. "

Clym retired to his lodging at the housetop much relieved, and occupiedhimself during the afternoon in noting down the heads of a sermon, withwhich he intended to initiate all that really seemed practicable of thescheme that had originally brought him hither, and that he had so longkept in view under various modifications, and through evil and goodreport. He had tested and weighed his convictions again and again, andsaw no reason to alter them, though he had considerably lessened hisplan. His eyesight, by long humouring in his native air, had grownstronger, but not sufficiently strong to warrant his attempting hisextensive educational project. Yet he did not repine--there was stillmore than enough of an unambitious sort to tax all his energies andoccupy all his hours. 

Evening drew on, and sounds of life and movement in the lower part ofthe domicile became more pronounced, the gate in the palings clickingincessantly. The party was to be an early one, and all the guestswere assembled long before it was dark. Yeobright went down the backstaircase and into the heath by another path than that in front, intending to walk in the open air till the party was over, when he wouldreturn to wish Thomasin and her husband good-bye as they departed. Hissteps were insensibly bent towards Mistover by the path that he hadfollowed on that terrible morning when he learnt the strange news fromSusan's boy. 

He did not turn aside to the cottage, but pushed on to an eminence, whence he could see over the whole quarter that had once been Eustacia'shome. While he stood observing the darkening scene somebody came up. Clym, seeing him but dimly, would have let him pass silently, had notthe pedestrian, who was Charley, recognized the young man and spoken tohim. 

"Charley, I have not seen you for a length of time, " said Yeobright. "Doyou often walk this way?"

"No, " the lad replied. "I don't often come outside the bank. "

"You were not at the Maypole. "

"No, " said Charley, in the same listless tone. "I don't care for thatsort of thing now. "

"You rather liked Miss Eustacia, didn't you?" Yeobright gently asked. Eustacia had frequently told him of Charley's romantic attachment. 

"Yes, very much. Ah, I wish--"

"Yes?"

"I wish, Mr. Yeobright, you could give me something to keep that oncebelonged to her--if you don't mind. "

"I shall be very happy to. It will give me very great pleasure, Charley. Let me think what I have of hers that you would like. But come with meto the house, and I'll see. "

They walked towards Blooms-End together. When they reached the front itwas dark, and the shutters were closed, so that nothing of the interiorcould be seen. 

"Come round this way, " said Clym. "My entrance is at the back for thepresent. "

The two went round and ascended the crooked stair in darkness tillClym's sitting-room on the upper floor was reached, where he lit acandle, Charley entering gently behind. Yeobright searched his desk, and taking out a sheet of tissue-paper unfolded from it two or threeundulating locks of raven hair, which fell over the paper like blackstreams. From these he selected one, wrapped it up, and gave it to thelad, whose eyes had filled with tears. He kissed the packet, put it inhis pocket, and said in a voice of emotion, "O, Mr. Clym, how good youare to me!"

"I will go a little way with you, " said Clym. And amid the noise ofmerriment from below they descended. Their path to the front led themclose to a little side window, whence the rays of candles streamedacross the shrubs. The window, being screened from general observationby the bushes, had been left unblinded, so that a person in this privatenook could see all that was going on within the room which containedthe wedding guests, except in so far as vision was hindered by the greenantiquity of the panes. 

"Charley, what are they doing?" said Clym. "My sight is weaker againtonight, and the glass of this window is not good. "

Charley wiped his own eyes, which were rather blurred with moisture, andstepped closer to the casement. "Mr. Venn is asking Christian Cantle tosing, " he replied, "and Christian is moving about in his chair as ifhe were much frightened at the question, and his father has struck up astave instead of him. "

"Yes, I can hear the old man's voice, " said Clym. "So there's to be nodancing, I suppose. And is Thomasin in the room? I see something movingin front of the candles that resembles her shape, I think. "

"Yes. She do seem happy. She is red in the face, and laughing atsomething Fairway has said to her. O my!"

"What noise was that?" said Clym. 

"Mr. Venn is so tall that he knocked his head against the beam in gieinga skip as he passed under. Mrs. Venn has run up quite frightened and nowshe's put her hand to his head to feel if there's a lump. And now theybe all laughing again as if nothing had happened. "

"Do any of them seem to care about my not being there?" Clym asked. 

"No, not a bit in the world. Now they are all holding up their glassesand drinking somebody's health. "

"I wonder if it is mine?"

"No, 'tis Mr. And Mrs. Venn's, because he is making a hearty sort ofspeech. There--now Mrs. Venn has got up, and is going away to put on herthings, I think. "

"Well, they haven't concerned themselves about me, and it is quite rightthey should not. It is all as it should be, and Thomasin at least ishappy. We will not stay any longer now, as they will soon be coming outto go home. "

He accompanied the lad into the heath on his way home, and, returningalone to the house a quarter of an hour later, found Venn and Thomasinready to start, all the guests having departed in his absence. Thewedded pair took their seats in the four-wheeled dogcart which Venn'shead milker and handy man had driven from Stickleford to fetch them in;little Eustacia and the nurse were packed securely upon the open flapbehind; and the milker, on an ancient overstepping pony, whose shoesclashed like cymbals at every tread, rode in the rear, in the manner ofa body-servant of the last century. 

"Now we leave you in absolute possession of your own house again, " saidThomasin as she bent down to wish her cousin good night. "It will berather lonely for you, Clym, after the hubbub we have been making. "

"O, that's no inconvenience, " said Clym, smiling rather sadly. And thenthe party drove off and vanished in the night shades, and Yeobrightentered the house. The ticking of the clock was the only sound thatgreeted him, for not a soul remained; Christian, who acted as cook, valet, and gardener to Clym, sleeping at his father's house. Yeobrightsat down in one of the vacant chairs, and remained in thought a longtime. His mother's old chair was opposite; it had been sat in thatevening by those who had scarcely remembered that it ever was hers. Butto Clym she was almost a presence there, now as always. Whatever shewas in other people's memories, in his she was the sublime saint whoseradiance even his tenderness for Eustacia could not obscure. But hisheart was heavy, that Mother had NOT crowned him in the day of hisespousals and in the day of the gladness of his heart. And events hadborne out the accuracy of her judgment, and proved the devotedness ofher care. He should have heeded her for Eustacia's sake even more thanfor his own. "It was all my fault, " he whispered. "O, my mother, mymother! would to God that I could live my life again, and endure for youwhat you endured for me!"

On the Sunday after this wedding an unusual sight was to be seen onRainbarrow. From a distance there simply appeared to be a motionlessfigure standing on the top of the tumulus, just as Eustacia had stood onthat lonely summit some two years and a half before. But now it was finewarm weather, with only a summer breeze blowing, and early afternooninstead of dull twilight. Those who ascended to the immediateneighbourhood of the Barrow perceived that the erect form in the centre, piercing the sky, was not really alone. Round him upon the slopes of theBarrow a number of heathmen and women were reclining or sitting at theirease. They listened to the words of the man in their midst, who waspreaching, while they abstractedly pulled heather, stripped ferns, ortossed pebbles down the slope. This was the first of a series of morallectures or Sermons on the Mount, which were to be delivered from thesame place every Sunday afternoon as long as the fine weather lasted. 

The commanding elevation of Rainbarrow had been chosen for two reasons:first, that it occupied a central position among the remote cottagesaround; secondly, that the preacher thereon could be seen from alladjacent points as soon as he arrived at his post, the view of him beingthus a convenient signal to those stragglers who wished to draw near. The speaker was bareheaded, and the breeze at each waft gently liftedand lowered his hair, somewhat too thin for a man of his years, thesestill numbering less than thirty-three. He wore a shade over his eyes, and his face was pensive and lined; but, though these bodily featureswere marked with decay there was no defect in the tones of his voice, which were rich, musical, and stirring. He stated that his discourses topeople were to be sometimes secular, and sometimes religious, but neverdogmatic; and that his texts would be taken from all kinds of books. This afternoon the words were as follows:--

"'And the king rose up to meet her, and bowed himself unto her, and satdown on his throne, and caused a seat to be set for the king's mother;and she sat on his right hand. Then she said, I desire one smallpetition of thee; I pray thee say me not nay. And the king said untoher, Ask, on, my mother: for I will not say thee nay. '"

Yeobright had, in fact, found his vocation in the career of an itinerantopen-air preacher and lecturer on morally unimpeachable subjects; andfrom this day he laboured incessantly in that office, speaking not onlyin simple language on Rainbarrow and in the hamlets round, but in a morecultivated strain elsewhere--from the steps and porticoes of town halls, from market-crosses, from conduits, on esplanades and on wharves, fromthe parapets of bridges, in barns and outhouses, and all other suchplaces in the neighbouring Wessex towns and villages. He left alonecreeds and systems of philosophy, finding enough and more than enoughto occupy his tongue in the opinions and actions common to all good men. Some believed him, and some believed not; some said that his words werecommonplace, others complained of his want of theological doctrine;while others again remarked that it was well enough for a man to take topreaching who could not see to do anything else. But everywhere he waskindly received, for the story of his life had become generally known.