The Return of the Native

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.