Page 57 of Far from the Madding Crowd

A FOGGY NIGHT AND MORNING -- CONCLUSION

”THE most private, secret, plainest wedding that it ispossible to have.”Those had been Bathsheba's words to Oak oneevening, some time after the event of the precedingchapter, and he meditated a full hour by the clock uponhow to carry out her wishes to the letter.”A licence -- O yes, it must be a licence.” he saidto himself at last. ”Very well, then; first, a license.”On a dark night, a few days later, Oak came withmysterious steps from the surrogate's door, in Caster-bridge. On the way home he heard a heavy tread infront of him, and, overtaking the man, found him to beCoggan. They walked together into the village untilthey came to a little lane behind the church, leadingdown to the cottage of Laban Tall, who had lately beeninstalled as clerk of the parish, and was yet in mortalterror at church on Sundays when he heard his lonevoice among certain hard words of the Psalms, whitherno man ventured to follow him.”Well, good-night, Coggan.” said Oak, ”I'm goingdown this way.””Oh!” said Coggan, surprised; ”what's going on to-night then, make so bold Mr. Oak?”It seemed rather ungenerous not to tell Coggan,under the circumstances, for Coggan had been true assteel all through the time of Gabriel's unhappiness aboutBathsheba, and Gabriel said, ” You can keep a secret,Coggan?””You've proved me, and you know.””Yes, I have, and I do know. Well, then, mistressand I mean to get married to-morrow morning.””Heaven's high tower! And yet I've thought ofsuch a thing from time to time; true, I have. Butkeeping it so close! Well, there, 'tis no consarn ofamine, and I wish 'ee joy o' her.””Thank you, Coggan. But I assure 'ee that thisgreat hush is not what I wished for at all, or whateither of us would have wished if it hadn't been forcertain things that would make a gay wedding seemhardly the thing. Bathsheba has a great wish that allthe parish shall not be in church, looking at her -- she'sshylike and nervous about it, in fact -- so I be doingthis to humour her.””Ay, I see: quite right, too, I suppose I must say.And you be now going down to the clerk.””Yes; you may as well come with me.””I am afeard your labour in keeping it close will bethrowed away.” said Coggan, as they walked along.”Labe Tall's old woman will horn it all over parish inhalf-an-hour. ””So she will, upon my life; I never thought ofthat.” said Oak, pausing. ”Yet I must tell him to-night, I suppose, for he's working so far off, and leavesearly.””I'll tell 'ee how we could tackle her.” said Coggan.”I'll knock and ask to speak to Laban outside the door,you standing in the background. Then he'll come out,and you can tell yer tale. She'll never guess what Iwant en for; and I'll make up a few words about thefarm-work, as a blind.”This scheme was considered feasible; and Cogganadvanced boldly, and rapped at Mrs. Tall's door. Mrs.Tall herself opened it.”I wanted to have a word with Laban.””He's not at home, and won't be this side of eleveno'clock. He've been forced to go over to Yalbury sinceshutting out work. I shall do quite as well.””I hardly think you will. Stop a moment;” andCoggan stepped round the corner of the porch to consultOak.”Who's t'other man, then?” said Mrs. Tall.”Only a friend.” said Coggan.”Say he's wanted to meet mistress near church-hatchto-morrow morning at ten.” said Oak, in a whisper.”That he must come without fail, and wear his bestclothes.””The clothes will floor us as safe as houses!” said Coggan.”It can't be helped said Oak. ”Tell her.”So Coggan delivered the message. ”Mind, het orwet, blow or snow, he must come, added Jan. ”'Tisvery particular, indeed. The fact is, 'tis to witness hersign some law-work about taking shares wi' anotherfarmer for a long span o' years. There, that's what 'tis,and now I've told 'ee, Mother Tall, in a way I shouldn'tha' done if I hadn't loved 'ee so hopeless well.”Coggan retired before she could ask any further;and next they called at the vicar's in a manner whichexcited no curiosity at all. Then Gabriel went home,and prepared for the morrow.”Liddy.” said Bathsheba, on going to bed that night,”I want you to call me at seven o'clock to-morrow, Incase I shouldn't wake.””But you always do wake afore then, ma'am.””Yes, but I have something important to do, whichI'll tell you of when the time comes, and it's best tomake sure.”CONCLUSIONBathsheba, however, awoke voluntarily at four, norcould she by any contrivance get to sleep again. Aboutsix, being quite positive that her watch had stoppedduring the night, she could wait no longer. She wentand tapped at Liddy's door, and after some labour awokeher.”But I thought it was I who had to call you?” saidthe bewildered Liddy. ”And it isn't six yet.”Indeed it is; how can you tell such a story, Liddy?I know it must be ever so much past seven. Come tomy room as soon as you can; I want you to give myhair a good brushing.”When Liddy came to Bathsheba's room her mistresswas already waiting. Liddy could not understandthis extraordinary promptness. ”Whatever IS going on,ma'am?” she said.”Well, I'll tell you.” said Bathsheba, with a mischiev-ous smile in her bright eyes. ”Farmer Oak is cominghere to dine with me to-day!””Farmer Oak -- and nobody else? -- you two alone?””Yes.””But is it safe, ma'am, after what's been said?” askedher companion, dubiously. ”A woman's good name issuch a perishable article that -- -- ”Bathsheba laughed with a flushed cheek, andwhispered in Liddy's ear, although there was nobodypresent. Then Liddy stared and exclaimed, ” Soulsalive, what news! It makes my heart go quitebumpity-bump””It makes mine rather furious, too.” said Bathsheba.”However, there's no getting out of it now!”It was a damp disagreeable morning. Nevertheless,at twenty minutes to ten o'clock, Oak came out of hishouse, andWent up the hill sideWith that sort of strideA man puts out when walking in search of a bride,and knocked Bathsheba's door. Ten minutes latera large and a smaller umbrella might have been seenmoving from the same door, and through the mist alongthe road to the church. The distance was not morethan a quarter of a mile, and these two sensible personsdeemed it unnecessary to drive. An observer must havebeen very close indeed to discover that the forms underthe umbrellas were those of Oak and Bathsheba, arm-in-arm for the first time in their lives, Oak in a greatcoatextending to his knees, and Bathsheba in a cloak thatreached her clogs. Yet, though so plainly dressedthere was a certain rejuvenated appearance about her: -- As though a rose should shut and be a bud again.Repose had again incarnadined her cheeks; and having,at Gabriel's request, arranged her hair this morning asshe had worn it years ago on Norcombe Hill, she seemedin his eyes remarkably like a girl of that fascinatingdream, which, considering that she was now only threeor four-and-twenty, was perhaps not very wonderful. Inthe church were Tall, Liddy, and the parson, and in aremarkably short space of time the deed was done.The two sat down very quietly to tea in Bathsheba'sparlour in the evening of the same day, for it had beenarranged that Farmer Oak should go there to live, sincehe had as yet neither money, house, nor furniture worthyof the name, though he was on a sure way towards them,whilst Bathsheba was, comparatively, in a plethora of allthree.Just as Bathsheba was pouring out a cup of tea,their ears were greeted by the firing of a cannon,followed by what seemed like a tremendous blowing oftrumpets, in the front of the house.”There!” said Oak, laughing, ”I knew those fellowswere up to something, by the look on their face; ”Oak took up the light and went into the porch,followed by Bathsheba with a shawl over her head. Therays fell upon a group of male figures gathered upon thegravel in front, who, when they saw the newly-marriedcouple in the porch, set up a loud ”Hurrah!” and atthe same moment bang again went the cannon in thebackground, followed by a hideous clang of music froma drum, tambourine, clarionet, serpent, hautboy, tenor-viol, and double-bass -- the only remaining relics of thetrue and original Weatherbury band -- venerable worm-eaten instruments, which had celebrated in their ownpersons the victories of Marlhorough, under the fingersof the forefathers of those who played them now. Theperformers came forward, and marched up to thefront.”Those bright boys, Mark Clark and Jan, are at thebottom of all this.” said Oak. ”Come in, souls, andhave something to eat and drink wi' me and my wife.””Not to-night.” said Mr. Clark, with evident self-denial. ”Thank ye all the same; but we'll call at amore seemly time. However, we couldn't think ofletting the day pass without a note of admiration ofsome sort. If ye could send a drop of som'at down toWarren's, why so it is. Here's long life and happinessto neighbour Oak and his comely bride!””Thank ye; thank ye all.” said Gabriel. ”A bit anda drop shall be sent to Warren's for ye at once. I hada thought that we might very likely get a salute of somesort from our old friends, and I was saying so to mywife but now.””Faith.” said Coggan, in a critical tone, turning to hiscompanions, ”the man hev learnt to say ”my wife”in a wonderful naterel way, considering how very youth-ful he is in wedlock as yet -- hey, neighbours all?””I never heerd a skilful old married feller of twentyyears” standing pipe ”my wife” in a more used notethan 'a did.” said Jacob Smallbury. ”It might have beena little more true to nater if't had been spoke a littlechillier, but that wasn't to be expected just now.”That improvement will come wi' time.” said Jan,twirling his eye.Then Oak laughed, and Bathsheba smiled (for shenever laughed readily now), and their friends turned togo.”Yes; I suppose that's the size o't.” said JosephPoorgrass with a cheerful sigh as they moved away;”and I wish him joy o' her; though I were once ortwice upon saying to-day with holy Hosea, in myscripture manner, which is my second nature. ”Ephraimis joined to idols: let him alone.” But since 'tis as 'tiswhy, it might have been worse, and I feel my thanksaccordingly.”

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