6--Thomasin Argues with Her Cousin, and He Writes a Letter
Yeobright was at this time at Blooms-End, hoping that Eustacia wouldreturn to him. The removal of furniture had been accomplished only thatday, though Clym had lived in the old house for more than a week. He hadspent the time in working about the premises, sweeping leaves from thegarden paths, cutting dead stalks from the flower beds, and nailingup creepers which had been displaced by the autumn winds. He took noparticular pleasure in these deeds, but they formed a screen betweenhimself and despair. Moreover, it had become a religion with him topreserve in good condition all that had lapsed from his mother's handsto his own.
During these operations he was constantly on the watch for Eustacia.That there should be no mistake about her knowing where to find himhe had ordered a notice board to be affixed to the garden gate atAlderworth, signifying in white letters whither he had removed. When aleaf floated to the earth he turned his head, thinking it might be herfoot-fall. A bird searching for worms in the mould of the flower-bedssounded like her hand on the latch of the gate; and at dusk, when soft,strange ventriloquisms came from holes in the ground, hollow stalks,curled dead leaves, and other crannies wherein breezes, worms, andinsects can work their will, he fancied that they were Eustacia,standing without and breathing wishes of reconciliation.
Up to this hour he had persevered in his resolve not to invite her back.At the same time the severity with which he had treated her lulledthe sharpness of his regret for his mother, and awoke some of his oldsolicitude for his mother's supplanter. Harsh feelings produce harshusage, and this by reaction quenches the sentiments that gave it birth.The more he reflected the more he softened. But to look upon his wifeas innocence in distress was impossible, though he could ask himselfwhether he had given her quite time enough--if he had not come a littletoo suddenly upon her on that sombre morning.
Now that the first flush of his anger had paled he was disinclined toascribe to her more than an indiscreet friendship with Wildeve, forthere had not appeared in her manner the signs of dishonour. And thisonce admitted, an absolutely dark interpretation of her act towards hismother was no longer forced upon him.
On the evening of the fifth November his thoughts of Eustacia wereintense. Echoes from those past times when they had exchanged tenderwords all the day long came like the diffused murmur of a seashore leftmiles behind. Surely, he said, she might have brought herself tocommunicate with me before now, and confess honestly what Wildeve was toher.
Instead of remaining at home that night he determined to go and seeThomasin and her husband. If he found opportunity he would allude to thecause of the separation between Eustacia and himself, keeping silence,however, on the fact that there was a third person in his house when hismother was turned away. If it proved that Wildeve was innocently therehe would doubtless openly mention it. If he were there with unjustintentions Wildeve, being a man of quick feeling, might possibly saysomething to reveal the extent to which Eustacia was compromised.
But on reaching his cousin's house he found that only Thomasin wasat home, Wildeve being at that time on his way towards the bonfireinnocently lit by Charley at Mistover. Thomasin then, as always, wasglad to see Clym, and took him to inspect the sleeping baby, carefullyscreening the candlelight from the infant's eyes with her hand.
Tamsin, have you heard that Eustacia is not with me now? he said whenthey had sat down again.
No, said Thomasin, alarmed.
And not that I have left Alderworth?
No. I never hear tidings from Alderworth unless you bring them. What isthe matter?
Clym in a disturbed voice related to her his visit to Susan Nunsuch'sboy, the revelation he had made, and what had resulted from hischarging Eustacia with having wilfully and heartlessly done the deed. Hesuppressed all mention of Wildeve's presence with her.
All this, and I not knowing it! murmured Thomasin in an awestrucktone, Terrible! What could have made her--O, Eustacia! And when youfound it out you went in hot haste to her? Were you too cruel?--or isshe really so wicked as she seems?
Can a man be too cruel to his mother's enemy?
I can fancy so.
Very well, then--I'll admit that he can. But now what is to be done?
Make it up again--if a quarrel so deadly can ever be made up. I almostwish you had not told me. But do try to be reconciled. There are ways,after all, if you both wish to.
I don't know that we do both wish to make it up, said Clym. If shehad wished it, would she not have sent to me by this time?
You seem to wish to, and yet you have not sent to her.
True; but I have been tossed to and fro in doubt if I ought, after suchstrong provocation. To see me now, Thomasin, gives you no idea of what Ihave been; of what depths I have descended to in these few last days. O,it was a bitter shame to shut out my mother like that! Can I ever forgetit, or even agree to see her again?
She might not have known that anything serious would come of it, andperhaps she did not mean to keep Aunt out altogether.
She says herself that she did not. But the fact remains that keep herout she did.
Believe her sorry, and send for her.
How if she will not come?
It will prove her guilty, by showing that it is her habit to nourishenmity. But I do not think that for a moment.
I will do this. I will wait for a day or two longer--not longer thantwo days certainly; and if she does not send to me in that time I willindeed send to her. I thought to have seen Wildeve here tonight. Is hefrom home?
Thomasin blushed a little. No, she said. He is merely gone out for awalk.
Why didn't he take you with him? The evening is fine. You want freshair as well as he.
Oh, I don't care for going anywhere; besides, there is baby.
Yes, yes. Well, I have been thinking whether I should not consult yourhusband about this as well as you, said Clym steadily.
I fancy I would not, she quickly answered. It can do no good.
Her cousin looked her in the face. No doubt Thomasin was ignorant thather husband had any share in the events of that tragic afternoon buther countenance seemed to signify that she concealed some suspicion orthought of the reputed tender relations between Wildeve and Eustacia indays gone by.
Clym, however, could make nothing of it, and he rose to depart, more indoubt than when he came.
You will write to her in a day or two? said the young woman earnestly.I do so hope the wretched separation may come to an end.
I will, said Clym; I don't rejoice in my present state at all.
And he left her and climbed over the hill to Blooms-End. Before going tobed he sat down and wrote the following letter:--
MY DEAR EUSTACIA,--I must obey my heart without consulting my reason tooclosely. Will you come back to me? Do so, and the past shall never bementioned. I was too severe; but O, Eustacia, the provocation! You don'tknow, you never will know, what those words of anger cost me whichyou drew down upon yourself. All that an honest man can promise you Ipromise now, which is that from me you shall never suffer anything onthis score again. After all the vows we have made, Eustacia, I think wehad better pass the remainder of our lives in trying to keep them. Cometo me, then, even if you reproach me. I have thought of your sufferingsthat morning on which I parted from you; I know they were genuine, andthey are as much as you ought to bear. Our love must still continue.Such hearts as ours would never have been given us but to be concernedwith each other. I could not ask you back at first, Eustacia, for I wasunable to persuade myself that he who was with you was not there as alover. But if you will come and explain distracting appearances I donot question that you can show your honesty to me. Why have you notcome before? Do you think I will not listen to you? Surely not, when youremember the kisses and vows we exchanged under the summer moon. Returnthen, and you shall be warmly welcomed. I can no longer think of youto your prejudice--I am but too much absorbed in justifying you.--Yourhusband as ever,
CLYM.
There, he said, as he laid it in his desk, that's a good thing done.If she does not come before tomorrow night I will send it to her.
Meanwhile, at the house he had just left Thomasin sat sighing uneasily.Fidelity to her husband had that evening induced her to conceal allsuspicion that Wildeve's interest in Eustacia had not ended withhis marriage. But she knew nothing positive; and though Clym was herwell-beloved cousin there was one nearer to her still.
When, a little later, Wildeve returned from his walk to Mistover,Thomasin said, Damon, where have you been? I was getting quitefrightened, and thought you had fallen into the river. I dislike beingin the house by myself.
Frightened? he said, touching her cheek as if she were some domesticanimal. Why, I thought nothing could frighten you. It is that you aregetting proud, I am sure, and don't like living here since we have risenabove our business. Well, it is a tedious matter, this getting a newhouse; but I couldn't have set about it sooner, unless our ten thousandpounds had been a hundred thousand, when we could have afforded todespise caution.
No--I don't mind waiting--I would rather stay here twelve months longerthan run any risk with baby. But I don't like your vanishing so in theevenings. There's something on your mind--I know there is, Damon. You goabout so gloomily, and look at the heath as if it were somebody's gaolinstead of a nice wild place to walk in.
He looked towards her with pitying surprise. What, do you like EgdonHeath? he said.
I like what I was born near to; I admire its grim old face.
Pooh, my dear. You don't know what you like.
I am sure I do. There's only one thing unpleasant about Egdon.
What's that?
You never take me with you when you walk there. Why do you wander somuch in it yourself if you so dislike it?
The inquiry, though a simple one, was plainly disconcerting, and he satdown before replying. I don't think you often see me there. Give aninstance.
I will, she answered triumphantly. When you went out this evening Ithought that as baby was asleep I would see where you were going to somysteriously without telling me. So I ran out and followed behind you.You stopped at the place where the road forks, looked round at thebonfires, and then said, 'Damn it, I'll go!' And you went quickly up theleft-hand road. Then I stood and watched you.
Wildeve frowned, afterwards saying, with a forced smile, Well, whatwonderful discovery did you make?
There--now you are angry, and we won't talk of this any more. She wentacross to him, sat on a footstool, and looked up in his face.
Nonsense! he said, that's how you always back out. We will go onwith it now we have begun. What did you next see? I particularly want toknow.
Don't be like that, Damon! she murmured. I didn't see anything. Youvanished out of sight, and then I looked round at the bonfires and camein.
Perhaps this is not the only time you have dogged my steps. Are youtrying to find out something bad about me?
Not at all! I have never done such a thing before, and I shouldn't havedone it now if words had not sometimes been dropped about you.
What DO you mean? he impatiently asked.
They say--they say you used to go to Alderworth in the evenings, and itputs into my mind what I have heard about--
Wildeve turned angrily and stood up in front of her. Now, he said,flourishing his hand in the air, just out with it, madam! I demand toknow what remarks you have heard.
Well, I heard that you used to be very fond of Eustacia--nothing morethan that, though dropped in a bit-by-bit way. You ought not to beangry!
He observed that her eyes were brimming with tears. Well, he said,there is nothing new in that, and of course I don't mean to be roughtowards you, so you need not cry. Now, don't let us speak of the subjectany more.
And no more was said, Thomasin being glad enough of a reason for notmentioning Clym's visit to her that evening, and his story.