3--Eustacia Dresses Herself on a Black Morning
A consciousness of a vast impassivity in all which lay around him tookpossession even of Yeobright in his wild walk towards Alderworth. He hadonce before felt in his own person this overpowering of the fervid bythe inanimate; but then it had tended to enervate a passion far sweeterthan that which at present pervaded him. It was once when he stoodparting from Eustacia in the moist still levels beyond the hills.
But dismissing all this he went onward home, and came to the front ofhis house. The blinds of Eustacia's bedroom were still closely drawn,for she was no early riser. All the life visible was in the shape ofa solitary thrush cracking a small snail upon the door-stone for hisbreakfast, and his tapping seemed a loud noise in the general silencewhich prevailed; but on going to the door Clym found it unfastened, theyoung girl who attended upon Eustacia being astir in the back part ofthe premises. Yeobright entered and went straight to his wife's room.
The noise of his arrival must have aroused her, for when he opened thedoor she was standing before the looking glass in her nightdress, theends of her hair gathered into one hand, with which she was coiling thewhole mass round her head, previous to beginning toilette operations.She was not a woman given to speaking first at a meeting, and sheallowed Clym to walk across in silence, without turning her head.He came behind her, and she saw his face in the glass. It was ashy,haggard, and terrible. Instead of starting towards him in sorrowfulsurprise, as even Eustacia, undemonstrative wife as she was, would havedone in days before she burdened herself with a secret, she remainedmotionless, looking at him in the glass. And while she looked thecarmine flush with which warmth and sound sleep had suffused her cheeksand neck dissolved from view, and the deathlike pallor in his faceflew across into hers. He was close enough to see this, and the sightinstigated his tongue.
You know what is the matter, he said huskily. I see it in your face.
Her hand relinquished the rope of hair and dropped to her side, and thepile of tresses, no longer supported, fell from the crown of her headabout her shoulders and over the white nightgown. She made no reply.
Speak to me, said Yeobright peremptorily.
The blanching process did not cease in her, and her lips now became aswhite as her face. She turned to him and said, Yes, Clym, I'll speak toyou. Why do you return so early? Can I do anything for you?
Yes, you can listen to me. It seems that my wife is not very well?
Why?
Your face, my dear; your face. Or perhaps it is the pale morning lightwhich takes your colour away? Now I am going to reveal a secret to you.Ha-ha!
O, that is ghastly!
What?
Your laugh.
There's reason for ghastliness. Eustacia, you have held my happiness inthe hollow of your hand, and like a devil you have dashed it down!
She started back from the dressing-table, retreated a few steps fromhim, and looked him in the face. Ah! you think to frighten me, shesaid, with a slight laugh. Is it worth while? I am undefended, andalone.
How extraordinary!
What do you mean?
As there is ample time I will tell you, though you know well enough.I mean that it is extraordinary that you should be alone in my absence.Tell me, now, where is he who was with you on the afternoon of thethirty-first of August? Under the bed? Up the chimney?
A shudder overcame her and shook the light fabric of her nightdressthroughout. I do not remember dates so exactly, she said. I cannotrecollect that anybody was with me besides yourself.
The day I mean, said Yeobright, his voice growing louder and harsher,was the day you shut the door against my mother and killed her. O, itis too much--too bad! He leant over the footpiece of the bedstead fora few moments, with his back towards her; then rising again--Tell me,tell me! tell me--do you hear? he cried, rushing up to her and seizingher by the loose folds of her sleeve.
The superstratum of timidity which often overlies those who are daringand defiant at heart had been passed through, and the mettlesomesubstance of the woman was reached. The red blood inundated her face,previously so pale.
What are you going to do? she said in a low voice, regarding him witha proud smile. You will not alarm me by holding on so; but it would bea pity to tear my sleeve.
Instead of letting go he drew her closer to him. Tell me theparticulars of--my mother's death, he said in a hard, panting whisper;or--I'll--I'll--
Clym, she answered slowly, do you think you dare do anything to methat I dare not bear? But before you strike me listen. You will getnothing from me by a blow, even though it should kill me, as it probablywill. But perhaps you do not wish me to speak--killing may be all youmean?
Kill you! Do you expect it?
I do.
Why?
No less degree of rage against me will match your previous grief forher.
Phew--I shall not kill you, he said contemptuously, as if under asudden change of purpose. I did think of it; but--I shall not. Thatwould be making a martyr of you, and sending you to where she is; andI would keep you away from her till the universe come to an end, if Icould.
I almost wish you would kill me, said she with gloomy bitterness.It is with no strong desire, I assure you, that I play the part I havelately played on earth. You are no blessing, my husband.
You shut the door--you looked out of the window upon her--you had aman in the house with you--you sent her away to die. The inhumanity--thetreachery--I will not touch you--stand away from me--and confess everyword!
Never! I'll hold my tongue like the very death that I don't mindmeeting, even though I can clear myself of half you believe by speaking.Yes. I will! Who of any dignity would take the trouble to clear cobwebsfrom a wild man's mind after such language as this? No; let him go on,and think his narrow thoughts, and run his head into the mire. I haveother cares.
'Tis too much--but I must spare you.
Poor charity.
By my wretched soul you sting me, Eustacia! I can keep it up, and hotlytoo. Now, then, madam, tell me his name!
Never, I am resolved.
How often does he write to you? Where does he put his letters--whendoes he meet you? Ah, his letters! Do you tell me his name?
I do not.
Then I'll find it myself. His eyes had fallen upon a small desk thatstood near, on which she was accustomed to write her letters. He went toit. It was locked.
Unlock this!
You have no right to say it. That's mine.
Without another word he seized the desk and dashed it to the floor. Thehinge burst open, and a number of letters tumbled out.
Stay! said Eustacia, stepping before him with more excitement than shehad hitherto shown.
Come, come! stand away! I must see them.
She looked at the letters as they lay, checked her feeling and movedindifferently aside; when he gathered them up, and examined them.
By no stretch of meaning could any but a harmless construction be placedupon a single one of the letters themselves. The solitary exception wasan empty envelope directed to her, and the handwriting was Wildeve's.Yeobright held it up. Eustacia was doggedly silent.
Can you read, madam? Look at this envelope. Doubtless we shall findmore soon, and what was inside them. I shall no doubt be gratified bylearning in good time what a well-finished and full-blown adept in acertain trade my lady is.
Do you say it to me--do you? she gasped.
He searched further, but found nothing more. What was in this letter?he said.
Ask the writer. Am I your hound that you should talk to me in thisway?
Do you brave me? do you stand me out, mistress? Answer. Don't look atme with those eyes if you would bewitch me again! Sooner than that Idie. You refuse to answer?
I wouldn't tell you after this, if I were as innocent as the sweetestbabe in heaven!
Which you are not.
Certainly I am not absolutely, she replied. I have not done whatyou suppose; but if to have done no harm at all is the only innocencerecognized, I am beyond forgiveness. But I require no help from yourconscience.
You can resist, and resist again! Instead of hating you I could, Ithink, mourn for and pity you, if you were contrite, and would confessall. Forgive you I never can. I don't speak of your lover--I will giveyou the benefit of the doubt in that matter, for it only affects mepersonally. But the other--had you half-killed me, had it been that youwilfully took the sight away from these feeble eyes of mine, I couldhave forgiven you. But THAT'S too much for nature!
Say no more. I will do without your pity. But I would have saved youfrom uttering what you will regret.
I am going away now. I shall leave you.
You need not go, as I am going myself. You will keep just as far awayfrom me by staying here.
Call her to mind--think of her--what goodness there was in her--itshowed in every line of her face! Most women, even when but slightlyannoyed, show a flicker of evil in some curl of the mouth or some cornerof the cheek; but as for her, never in her angriest moments was thereanything malicious in her look. She was angered quickly, but she forgavejust as readily, and underneath her pride there was the meekness of achild. What came of it?--what cared you? You hated her just as she waslearning to love you. O! couldn't you see what was best for you, butmust bring a curse upon me, and agony and death upon her, by doing thatcruel deed! What was the fellow's name who was keeping you company andcausing you to add cruelty to her to your wrong to me? Was it Wildeve?Was it poor Thomasin's husband? Heaven, what wickedness! Lost yourvoice, have you? It is natural after detection of that most nobletrick.... Eustacia, didn't any tender thought of your own mother lead youto think of being gentle to mine at such a time of weariness? Did notone grain of pity enter your heart as she turned away? Think what a vastopportunity was then lost of beginning a forgiving and honest course.Why did not you kick him out, and let her in, and say I'll be an honestwife and a noble woman from this hour? Had I told you to go and quencheternally our last flickering chance of happiness here you could havedone no worse. Well, she's asleep now; and have you a hundred gallants,neither they nor you can insult her any more.
You exaggerate fearfully, she said in a faint, weary voice; but Icannot enter into my defence--it is not worth doing. You are nothing tome in future, and the past side of the story may as well remain untold.I have lost all through you, but I have not complained. Your blundersand misfortunes may have been a sorrow to you, but they have been awrong to me. All persons of refinement have been scared away from mesince I sank into the mire of marriage. Is this your cherishing--toput me into a hut like this, and keep me like the wife of a hind? Youdeceived me--not by words, but by appearances, which are less seenthrough than words. But the place will serve as well as any other--assomewhere to pass from--into my grave. Her words were smothered in herthroat, and her head drooped down.
I don't know what you mean by that. Am I the cause of your sin?(Eustacia made a trembling motion towards him.) What, you can begin toshed tears and offer me your hand? Good God! can you? No, not I. I'llnot commit the fault of taking that. (The hand she had offered droppednervelessly, but the tears continued flowing.) Well, yes, I'll takeit, if only for the sake of my own foolish kisses that were wasted therebefore I knew what I cherished. How bewitched I was! How could there beany good in a woman that everybody spoke ill of?
O, O, O! she cried, breaking down at last; and, shaking with sobswhich choked her, she sank upon her knees. O, will you have done! O,you are too relentless--there's a limit to the cruelty of savages! Ihave held out long--but you crush me down. I beg for mercy--I cannotbear this any longer--it is inhuman to go further with this! If Ihad--killed your--mother with my own hand--I should not deserve sucha scourging to the bone as this. O, O! God have mercy upon a miserablewoman!... You have beaten me in this game--I beg you to stay your hand inpity!... I confess that I--wilfully did not undo the door the first timeshe knocked--but--I should have unfastened it the second--if I hadnot thought you had gone to do it yourself. When I found you had not Iopened it, but she was gone. That's the extent of my crime--towards HER.Best natures commit bad faults sometimes, don't they?--I think they do.Now I will leave you--for ever and ever!
Tell all, and I WILL pity you. Was the man in the house with youWildeve?
I cannot tell, she said desperately through her sobbing. Don't insistfurther--I cannot tell. I am going from this house. We cannot both stayhere.
You need not go--I will go. You can stay here.
No, I will dress, and then I will go.
Where?
Where I came from, or ELSEWHERE.
She hastily dressed herself, Yeobright moodily walking up and down theroom the whole of the time. At last all her things were on. Her littlehands quivered so violently as she held them to her chin to fasten herbonnet that she could not tie the strings, and after a few moments sherelinquished the attempt. Seeing this he moved forward and said, Let metie them.
She assented in silence, and lifted her chin. For once at least in herlife she was totally oblivious of the charm of her attitude. But hewas not, and he turned his eyes aside, that he might not be tempted tosoftness.
The strings were tied; she turned from him. Do you still prefer goingaway yourself to my leaving you? he inquired again.
I do.
Very well--let it be. And when you will confess to the man I may pityyou.
She flung her shawl about her and went downstairs, leaving him standingin the room.
Eustacia had not long been gone when there came a knock at the door ofthe bedroom; and Yeobright said, Well?
It was the servant; and she replied, Somebody from Mrs. Wildeve'shave called to tell 'ee that the mis'ess and the baby are getting onwonderful well, and the baby's name is to be Eustacia Clementine. Andthe girl retired.
What a mockery! said Clym. This unhappy marriage of mine to beperpetuated in that child's name!