DOUBTS ARISE -- DOUBTS LINGER
BATHSHEBA underwent the enlargement of herHusband's absence from hours to days with a slightfeeling of surprise, and a slight feeling of relief; yetneither sensation rose at any time far above the levelcommonly designated as indifference. She belonged tohim: the certainties of that position were so well defined,and the reasonable probabilities of its issue so boundedthat she could not speculate on contingencies. Takingno further interest in herself as a splendid woman, sheacquired the indifferent feelings of an outsider in contem-plating her probable fate as a singular wretch; for Bath-sheba drew herself and her future in colours that noreality could exceed for darkness. Her original vigorouspride of youth had sickened, and with it had declinedall her anxieties about coming years, since anxietyrecognizes a better and a worse alternative, and Bath-sheba had made up her mind that alternatives on anynoteworthy scale had ceased for her. Soon, or later --and that not very late -- her husband would be homeagain. And then the days of their tenancy of theUpper Farm would be numbered. There had origin-ally been shown by the agent to the estate some distrustof Bathsheba's tenure as James Everdene's successor,on the score of her sex, and her youth, and her beauty;but the peculiar nature of her uncle's will, his ownfrequent testimony before his death to her clevernessin such a pursuit, and her vigorous marshalling of thenumerous flocks and herds which came suddenly intoher hands before negotiations were concluded, had wonconfidence in her powers, and no further objections hadbeen raised. She had latterly been in great doubt asto what the legal effects of her marriage would be uponher position but no notice had been taken as yet ofher change of name, and only one point was clear -- thatin the event of her own or her husband's inability tomeet the agent at the forthcoming January rent-day,very little consideration would be shown, and, for thatmatter, very little would be deserved. Once out of thefarm, the approach of poverty would be sure.Hence Bathsheba lived in a perception that herpurposes were broken of. She was not a woman whocould hope on without good materials for the process,differing thus from the less far-Sighted and energetic,though more petted ones of the sex, with whom hopegoes on as a sort of clockwork which the merest foodand shelter are sufficient to wind up; and perceivingclearly that her mistake had been a fatal one, sheaccepted her position, and waited coldly for the end.The first Saturday after Troy's departure she wentto Casterbridge alone, a journey she had not beforetaken since her marriage. On this Saturday Bathshebawas passing slowly on foot through the crowd of ruralbusiness-men gathered as usual in front of the market-house, who were as usual gazed upon by the burgherswith feelings that those healthy lives were dearly paidfor by exclusion from possible aldermanship, when aman, who had apparently been following her, said somewords to another on her left hand. Bathsheba's earswere keen as those of any wild animal, and she dis-tinctly heard what the speaker said, though her backwas towards himI am looking for Mrs. Troy. Is that she there?Yes; that's the young lady, I believe. said thethe person addressed.I have some awkward news to break to her. Herhusband is drowned.As if endowed with the spirit of prophecy, Bathshebagasped out, No, it is not true; it cannot be true!Then she said and heard no more. The ice of self-command which had latterly gathered over her wasbroken, and the currents burst forth again, and overwhelmed her. A darkness came into her eyes, and shefell.But not to the ground. A gloomy man, who hadbeen observing her from under the portico of the oldcorn-exchange when she passed through the groupwithout, stepped quickly to her side at the moment ofher exclamation, and caught her in his arms as she sankdown.What is it? said Boldwood, looking up at thebringer of the big news, as he supported her.Her husband was drowned this week while bathingin Lulwind Cove. A coastguardsman found his clothes,and brought them into Budmouth yesterday.Thereupon a strange fire lighted up Boldwood's eye,and his face flushed with the suppressed excitement ofan unutterable thought. Everybody's glance was nowcentred upon him and the unconscious Bathsheba. Helifted her bodily off the ground, and smoothed downthe folds of her dress as a child might have taken astorm-beaten bird and arranged its ruffled plumes, andbore her along the pavement to the King's Arms Inn.Here he passed with her under the archway into aprivate room; and by the time he had deposited -- solothly -- the precious burden upon a sofa, Bathsheba hadopened her eyes. Remembering all that had occurred,she murmured, I want to go home!Boldwood left the room. He stood for a moment inthe passage to recover his senses. The experience hadbeen too much for his consciousness to keep up with,and now that he had grasped it it had gone again. Forthose few heavenly, golden moments she had been in hisarms. What did it matter about her not knowing it? Shehad been close to his breast; he had been close to hers.He started onward again, and sending a woman toher, went out to ascertain all the facts of the case.These appeared to be limited to what he had alreadyheard. He then ordered her horse to be put into thegig, and when all was ready returned to inform her.He found that, though still pale and unwell, she had inthe meantime sent for the Budmouth man who broughtthe tidings, and learnt from him all there was to know.Being hardly in a condition to drive home as shehad driven to town, Boldwood, with every delicacy ofmanner and feeling, offered to get her a driver, or togive her a seat in his phaeton, which was more com-fortable than her own conveyance. These proposalsBathsheba gently declined, and the farmer at once de-parted.About half-an-hour later she invigorated herself byan effort, and took her seat and the reins as usual-inexternal appearance much as if nothing had happened.She went out of the town by a tortuous back street, anddrove slowly along, unconscious of the road and thescene. The first shades of evening were showing them-selves when Bathsheba reached home, where, silentlyalighting and leaving the horse in the hands of the boy,she proceeded at once upstairs. Liddy met her on thelanding. The news had preceded Bathsheba to Weather-bury by half-an-hour, and Liddy looked inquiringly intoher mistress's face. Bathsheba had nothing to say.She entered her bedroom and sat by the window, andthought and thought till night enveloped her, and theextreme lines only of her shape were visible. Somebodycame to the door, knocked, and opened it.Well, what is it, Liddy? she said.I was thinking there must be something got for youto wear. said Liddy, with hesitation.What do you mean?Mourning.No, no, no. said Bathsheba, hurriedly.But I suppose there must be something done forpoor -- -- Not at present, I think. It is not necessary.Why not, ma'am?Because he's still alive.How do you know that? said Liddy, amazed.I don't know it. But wouldn't it have been different,or shouldn't I have heard more, or wouldn't they havefound him, Liddy? -- or-i don't know how it is, butdeath would have been different from how this is. I amperfectly convinced that he is still alive!Bathsheba remained firm in this opinion till Monday,when two circumstances conjoined to shake it. Thefirst was a short paragraph in the local newspaper, which,beyond making by a methodizing pen formidable pre-sumptive evidence of Troy's death by drowning, con-tained the important testimony of a young Mr. Barker,M.D., of Budmouth, who spoke to being an eyewitnessof the accident, in a letter to the editor. In this hestated that he was passing over the cliff on the remoterside of the cove just as the sun was setting. At thattime he saw a bather carried along in the current outsidethe mouth of the cove, and guessed in an instant thatthere was but a poor chance for him unless he shouldbe possessed of unusual muscular powers. He driftedbehind a projection of the coast, and Mr. Barker followedalong the shore in the same direction. But by the timethat he could reach an elevation sufficiently great tocommand a view of the sea beyond, dusk had set in, andnothing further was to be seen.The other circumstance was the arrival of his clothes,when it became necessary for her to examine and identifythem -- though this had virtually been done long beforeby those who inspected the letters in his pockets. Itwas so evident to her in the midst of her agitation thatTroy had undressed in the full conviction of dressingagain almost immediately, that the notion that anythingbut death could have prevented him was a perverse oneto entertain.Then Bathsheba said to herself that others wereassured in their opinion strange that she should notbe. A strange reflection occurred to her, causing herface to flush. Suppose that Troy had followed Fannyinto another world. Had he done this intentionally, yetcontrived to make his death appear like an accident?Nevertheless, this thought of how the apparent mightdiffer from the real-made vivid by her bygone jealousyof Fanny, and the remorse he had shown that night -- did not blind her to the perception of a likelierdifference, less tragic, but to herself far more disastrous.When alone late that evening beside a small fire, andmuch calmed down, Bathsheba took Troy's watch intoher hand, which had been restored to her with the restof the articles belonging to him. She opened the caseas he had opened it before her a week ago. There wasthe little coil of pale hair which had been as the fuze tothis great explosion.He was hers and she was his; they should be gonetogether. she said. I am nothing to either of them,and why should I keep her hair? She took it in herhand, and held it over the fire. No-i'll not burn it-i'll keep it in memory of her, poor thing! she added,snatching back her hand.
CHAPTER XLIX