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.