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.