The Return of the Native

5--Perplexity among Honest People

Thomasin looked as if quite overcome by her aunt's change of manner.”It means just what it seems to mean: I am--not married,” she repliedfaintly. ”Excuse me--for humiliating you, Aunt, by this mishap--I amsorry for it. But I cannot help it.”

”Me? Think of yourself first.”

”It was nobody's fault. When we got there the parson wouldn't marry usbecause of some trifling irregularity in the license.”

”What irregularity?”

”I don't know. Mr. Wildeve can explain. I did not think when I went awaythis morning that I should come back like this.” It being dark, Thomasinallowed her emotion to escape her by the silent way of tears, whichcould roll down her cheek unseen.

”I could almost say that it serves you right--if I did not feel thatyou don't deserve it,” continued Mrs. Yeobright, who, possessing twodistinct moods in close contiguity, a gentle mood and an angry, flewfrom one to the other without the least warning. ”Remember, Thomasin,this business was none of my seeking; from the very first, when youbegan to feel foolish about that man, I warned you he would not make youhappy. I felt it so strongly that I did what I would never have believedmyself capable of doing--stood up in the church, and made myself thepublic talk for weeks. But having once consented, I don't submit tothese fancies without good reason. Marry him you must after this.”

”Do you think I wish to do otherwise for one moment?” said Thomasin,with a heavy sigh. ”I know how wrong it was of me to love him, but don'tpain me by talking like that, Aunt! You would not have had me stay therewith him, would you?--and your house is the only home I have to returnto. He says we can be married in a day or two.”

”I wish he had never seen you.”

”Very well; then I will be the miserablest woman in the world, and notlet him see me again. No, I won't have him!”

”It is too late to speak so. Come with me. I am going to the inn to seeif he has returned. Of course I shall get to the bottom of this storyat once. Mr. Wildeve must not suppose he can play tricks upon me, or anybelonging to me.”

”It was not that. The license was wrong, and he couldn't get another thesame day. He will tell you in a moment how it was, if he comes.”

”Why didn't he bring you back?”

”That was me!” again sobbed Thomasin. ”When I found we could not bemarried I didn't like to come back with him, and I was very ill. ThenI saw Diggory Venn, and was glad to get him to take me home. I cannotexplain it any better, and you must be angry with me if you will.”

”I shall see about that,” said Mrs. Yeobright; and they turned towardsthe inn, known in the neighbourhood as the Quiet Woman, the sign ofwhich represented the figure of a matron carrying her head under herarm, beneath which gruesome design was written the couplet so well knownto frequenters of the inn:--

SINCE THE WOMAN'S QUIET LET NO MAN BREED A RIOT.(1)

(1) The inn which really bore this sign and legend stood some miles to the northwest of the present scene, wherein the house more immediately referred to is now no longer an inn; and the surroundings are much changed. But another inn, some of whose features are also embodied in this description, the RED LION at Winfrith, still remains as a haven for the wayfarer (1912).

The front of the house was towards the heath and Rainbarrow, whose darkshape seemed to threaten it from the sky. Upon the door was a neglectedbrass plate, bearing the unexpected inscription, ”Mr. Wildeve,Engineer”--a useless yet cherished relic from the time when he had beenstarted in that profession in an office at Budmouth by those who hadhoped much from him, and had been disappointed. The garden was at theback, and behind this ran a still deep stream, forming the margin of theheath in that direction, meadow-land appearing beyond the stream.

But the thick obscurity permitted only skylines to be visible of anyscene at present. The water at the back of the house could beheard, idly spinning whirpools in its creep between the rows of dryfeather-headed reeds which formed a stockade along each bank. Theirpresence was denoted by sounds as of a congregation praying humbly,produced by their rubbing against each other in the slow wind.

The window, whence the candlelight had shone up the vale to the eyesof the bonfire group, was uncurtained, but the sill lay too high for apedestrian on the outside to look over it into the room. A vast shadow,in which could be dimly traced portions of a masculine contour, blottedhalf the ceiling.

”He seems to be at home,” said Mrs. Yeobright.

”Must I come in, too, Aunt?” asked Thomasin faintly. ”I suppose not; itwould be wrong.”

”You must come, certainly--to confront him, so that he may make no falserepresentations to me. We shall not be five minutes in the house, andthen we'll walk home.”

Entering the open passage, she tapped at the door of the privateparlour, unfastened it, and looked in.

The back and shoulders of a man came between Mrs. Yeobright's eyes andthe fire. Wildeve, whose form it was, immediately turned, arose, andadvanced to meet his visitors.

He was quite a young man, and of the two properties, form and motion,the latter first attracted the eye in him. The grace of his movementwas singular--it was the pantomimic expression of a lady-killing career.Next came into notice the more material qualities, among which was aprofuse crop of hair impending over the top of his face, lending to hisforehead the high-cornered outline of an early Gothic shield; and a neckwhich was smooth and round as a cylinder. The lower half of his figurewas of light build. Altogether he was one in whom no man would have seenanything to admire, and in whom no woman would have seen anything todislike.

He discerned the young girl's form in the passage, and said, ”Thomasin,then, has reached home. How could you leave me in that way, darling?”And turning to Mrs. Yeobright--”It was useless to argue with her. Shewould go, and go alone.”

”But what's the meaning of it all?” demanded Mrs. Yeobright haughtily.

”Take a seat,” said Wildeve, placing chairs for the two women. ”Well,it was a very stupid mistake, but such mistakes will happen. The licensewas useless at Anglebury. It was made out for Budmouth, but as I didn'tread it I wasn't aware of that.”

”But you had been staying at Anglebury?”

”No. I had been at Budmouth--till two days ago--and that was where Ihad intended to take her; but when I came to fetch her we decided uponAnglebury, forgetting that a new license would be necessary. There wasnot time to get to Budmouth afterwards.”

”I think you are very much to blame,” said Mrs. Yeobright.

”It was quite my fault we chose Anglebury,” Thomasin pleaded. ”Iproposed it because I was not known there.”

”I know so well that I am to blame that you need not remind me of it,”replied Wildeve shortly.

”Such things don't happen for nothing,” said the aunt. ”It is a greatslight to me and my family; and when it gets known there will be avery unpleasant time for us. How can she look her friends in the facetomorrow? It is a very great injury, and one I cannot easily forgive. Itmay even reflect on her character.”

”Nonsense,” said Wildeve.

Thomasin's large eyes had flown from the face of one to the face ofthe other during this discussion, and she now said anxiously, ”Will youallow me, Aunt, to talk it over alone with Damon for five minutes? Willyou, Damon?”

”Certainly, dear,” said Wildeve, ”if your aunt will excuse us.” He ledher into an adjoining room, leaving Mrs. Yeobright by the fire.

As soon as they were alone, and the door closed, Thomasin said, turningup her pale, tearful face to him, ”It is killing me, this, Damon! I didnot mean to part from you in anger at Anglebury this morning; but I wasfrightened and hardly knew what I said. I've not let Aunt know how muchI suffered today; and it is so hard to command my face and voice, and tosmile as if it were a slight thing to me; but I try to do so, that shemay not be still more indignant with you. I know you could not help it,dear, whatever Aunt may think.”

”She is very unpleasant.”

”Yes,” Thomasin murmured, ”and I suppose I seem so now.... Damon, what doyou mean to do about me?”

”Do about you?”

”Yes. Those who don't like you whisper things which at moments make medoubt you. We mean to marry, I suppose, don't we?”

”Of course we do. We have only to go to Budmouth on Monday, and we marryat once.”

”Then do let us go!--O Damon, what you make me say!” She hid her face inher handkerchief. ”Here am I asking you to marry me, when by rightsyou ought to be on your knees imploring me, your cruel mistress, notto refuse you, and saying it would break your heart if I did. I used tothink it would be pretty and sweet like that; but how different!”

”Yes, real life is never at all like that.”

”But I don't care personally if it never takes place,” she added with alittle dignity; ”no, I can live without you. It is Aunt I think of. Sheis so proud, and thinks so much of her family respectability, that shewill be cut down with mortification if this story should get abroadbefore--it is done. My cousin Clym, too, will be much wounded.”

”Then he will be very unreasonable. In fact, you are all ratherunreasonable.”

Thomasin coloured a little, and not with love. But whatever themomentary feeling which caused that flush in her, it went as it came,and she humbly said, ”I never mean to be, if I can help it. I merelyfeel that you have my aunt to some extent in your power at last.”

”As a matter of justice it is almost due to me,” said Wildeve. ”Thinkwhat I have gone through to win her consent; the insult that it is toany man to have the banns forbidden--the double insult to a man unluckyenough to be cursed with sensitiveness, and blue demons, and Heavenknows what, as I am. I can never forget those banns. A harsher man wouldrejoice now in the power I have of turning upon your aunt by going nofurther in the business.”

She looked wistfully at him with her sorrowful eyes as he said thosewords, and her aspect showed that more than one person in the room coulddeplore the possession of sensitiveness. Seeing that she was reallysuffering he seemed disturbed and added, ”This is merely a reflectionyou know. I have not the least intention to refuse to complete themarriage, Tamsie mine--I could not bear it.”

”You could not, I know!” said the fair girl, brightening. ”You, whocannot bear the sight of pain in even an insect, or any disagreeablesound, or unpleasant smell even, will not long cause pain to me andmine.”

”I will not, if I can help it.”

”Your hand upon it, Damon.”

He carelessly gave her his hand.

”Ah, by my crown, what's that?” he said suddenly.

There fell upon their ears the sound of numerous voices singing infront of the house. Among these, two made themselves prominent by theirpeculiarity: one was a very strong bass, the other a wheezy thin piping.Thomasin recognized them as belonging to Timothy Fairway and GrandferCantle respectively.

”What does it mean--it is not skimmity-riding, I hope?” she said, with afrightened gaze at Wildeve.

”Of course not; no, it is that the heath-folk have come to sing to usa welcome. This is intolerable!” He began pacing about, the men outsidesinging cheerily--

”He told' her that she' was the joy' of his life', And if' she'dcon-sent' he would make her his wife'; She could' not refuse' him;to church' so they went', Young Will was forgot', and young Sue' wascontent'; And then' was she kiss'd' and set down' on his knee', No man'in the world' was so lov'-ing as he'!”

Mrs. Yeobright burst in from the outer room. ”Thomasin, Thomasin!” shesaid, looking indignantly at Wildeve; ”here's a pretty exposure! Let usescape at once. Come!”

It was, however, too late to get away by the passage. A rugged knockinghad begun upon the door of the front room. Wildeve, who had gone to thewindow, came back.

”Stop!” he said imperiously, putting his hand upon Mrs. Yeobright's arm.”We are regularly besieged. There are fifty of them out there if there'sone. You stay in this room with Thomasin; I'll go out and face them. Youmust stay now, for my sake, till they are gone, so that it may seem asif all was right. Come, Tamsie dear, don't go making a scene--we mustmarry after this; that you can see as well as I. Sit still, that'sall--and don't speak much. I'll manage them. Blundering fools!”

He pressed the agitated girl into a seat, returned to the outer room andopened the door. Immediately outside, in the passage, appeared GrandferCantle singing in concert with those still standing in front of thehouse. He came into the room and nodded abstractedly to Wildeve, hislips still parted, and his features excruciatingly strained in theemission of the chorus. This being ended, he said heartily, ”Here'swelcome to the new-made couple, and God bless 'em!”

”Thank you,” said Wildeve, with dry resentment, his face as gloomy as athunderstorm.

At the Grandfer's heels now came the rest of the group, which includedFairway, Christian, Sam the turf-cutter, Humphrey, and a dozen others.All smiled upon Wildeve, and upon his tables and chairs likewise, froma general sense of friendliness towards the articles as well as towardstheir owner.

”We be not here afore Mrs. Yeobright after all,” said Fairway,recognizing the matron's bonnet through the glass partition whichdivided the public apartment they had entered from the room where thewomen sat. ”We struck down across, d'ye see, Mr. Wildeve, and she wentround by the path.”

”And I see the young bride's little head!” said Grandfer, peeping in thesame direction, and discerning Thomasin, who was waiting beside her auntin a miserable and awkward way. ”Not quite settled in yet--well, well,there's plenty of time.”

Wildeve made no reply; and probably feeling that the sooner he treatedthem the sooner they would go, he produced a stone jar, which threw awarm halo over matters at once.

”That's a drop of the right sort, I can see,” said Grandfer Cantle, withthe air of a man too well-mannered to show any hurry to taste it.

”Yes,” said Wildeve, ”'tis some old mead. I hope you will like it.”

”O ay!” replied the guests, in the hearty tones natural when the wordsdemanded by politeness coincide with those of deepest feeling. ”Thereisn't a prettier drink under the sun.”

”I'll take my oath there isn't,” added Grandfer Cantle. ”All that can besaid against mead is that 'tis rather heady, and apt to lie about a mana good while. But tomorrow's Sunday, thank God.”

”I feel'd for all the world like some bold soldier after I had had someonce,” said Christian.

”You shall feel so again,” said Wildeve, with condescension, ”Cups orglasses, gentlemen?”

”Well, if you don't mind, we'll have the beaker, and pass 'en round;'tis better than heling it out in dribbles.”

”Jown the slippery glasses,” said Grandfer Cantle. ”What's the good ofa thing that you can't put down in the ashes to warm, hey, neighbours;that's what I ask?”

”Right, Grandfer,” said Sam; and the mead then circulated.

”Well,” said Timothy Fairway, feeling demands upon his praise in someform or other, ”'tis a worthy thing to be married, Mr. Wildeve; and thewoman you've got is a dimant, so says I. Yes,” he continued, to GrandferCantle, raising his voice so as to be heard through the partition, ”herfather (inclining his head towards the inner room) was as good afeller as ever lived. He always had his great indignation ready againstanything underhand.”

”Is that very dangerous?” said Christian.

”And there were few in these parts that were upsides with him,” saidSam. ”Whenever a club walked he'd play the clarinet in the band thatmarched before 'em as if he'd never touched anything but a clarinet allhis life. And then, when they got to church door he'd throw down theclarinet, mount the gallery, snatch up the bass viol, and rozum away asif he'd never played anything but a bass viol. Folk would say--folk thatknowed what a true stave was--'Surely, surely that's never the same manthat I saw handling the clarinet so masterly by now!”

”I can mind it,” said the furze-cutter. ”'Twas a wonderful thing thatone body could hold it all and never mix the fingering.”

”There was Kingsbere church likewise,” Fairway recommenced, as oneopening a new vein of the same mine of interest.

Wildeve breathed the breath of one intolerably bored, and glancedthrough the partition at the prisoners.

”He used to walk over there of a Sunday afternoon to visit his oldacquaintance Andrew Brown, the first clarinet there; a good man enough,but rather screechy in his music, if you can mind?”

”'A was.”

”And neighbour Yeobright would take Andrey's place for some part ofthe service, to let Andrey have a bit of a nap, as any friend wouldnaturally do.”

”As any friend would,” said Grandfer Cantle, the other listenersexpressing the same accord by the shorter way of nodding their heads.

”No sooner was Andrey asleep and the first whiff of neighbourYeobright's wind had got inside Andrey's clarinet than everyone inchurch feeled in a moment there was a great soul among 'em. All headswould turn, and they'd say, 'Ah, I thought 'twas he!' One Sunday I canwell mind--a bass viol day that time, and Yeobright had brought his own.'Twas the Hundred-and-thirty-third to 'Lydia'; and when they'd cometo 'Ran down his beard and o'er his robes its costly moisture shed,'neighbour Yeobright, who had just warmed to his work, drove his bow intothem strings that glorious grand that he e'en a'most sawed the bassviol into two pieces. Every winder in church rattled as if 'twere athunderstorm. Old Pa'son Williams lifted his hands in his great holysurplice as natural as if he'd been in common clothes, and seemed to sayhisself, 'O for such a man in our parish!' But not a soul in Kingsberecould hold a candle to Yeobright.”

”Was it quite safe when the winder shook?” Christian inquired.

He received no answer, all for the moment sitting rapt in admirationof the performance described. As with Farinelli's singing before theprincesses, Sheridan's renowned Begum Speech, and other such examples,the fortunate condition of its being for ever lost to the world investedthe deceased Mr. Yeobright's tour de force on that memorable afternoonwith a cumulative glory which comparative criticism, had that beenpossible, might considerably have shorn down.

”He was the last you'd have expected to drop off in the prime of life,”said Humphrey.

”Ah, well; he was looking for the earth some months afore he went. Atthat time women used to run for smocks and gown-pieces at GreenhillFair, and my wife that is now, being a long-legged slittering maid,hardly husband-high, went with the rest of the maidens, for 'a was agood, runner afore she got so heavy. When she came home I said--we werethen just beginning to walk together--'What have ye got, my honey?''I've won--well, I've won--a gown-piece,' says she, her colours comingup in a moment. 'Tis a smock for a crown, I thought; and so it turnedout. Ay, when I think what she'll say to me now without a mossel of redin her face, it do seem strange that 'a wouldn't say such a little thingthen.... However, then she went on, and that's what made me bring up thestory. Well, whatever clothes I've won, white or figured, for eyes tosee or for eyes not to see' ('a could do a pretty stroke of modesty inthose days), 'I'd sooner have lost it than have seen what I have. PoorMr. Yeobright was took bad directly he reached the fair ground, and wasforced to go home again.' That was the last time he ever went out of theparish.”

”'A faltered on from one day to another, and then we heard he was gone.”

”D'ye think he had great pain when 'a died?” said Christian.

”O no--quite different. Nor any pain of mind. He was lucky enough to beGod A'mighty's own man.”

”And other folk--d'ye think 'twill be much pain to 'em, Mister Fairway?”

”That depends on whether they be afeard.”

”I bain't afeard at all, I thank God!” said Christian strenuously. ”I'mglad I bain't, for then 'twon't pain me.... I don't think I be afeard--orif I be I can't help it, and I don't deserve to suffer. I wish I was notafeard at all!”

There was a solemn silence, and looking from the window, which wasunshuttered and unblinded, Timothy said, ”Well, what a fess littlebonfire that one is, out by Cap'n Vye's! 'Tis burning just the same nowas ever, upon my life.”

All glances went through the window, and nobody noticed that Wildevedisguised a brief, telltale look. Far away up the sombre valley ofheath, and to the right of Rainbarrow, could indeed be seen the light,small, but steady and persistent as before.

”It was lighted before ours was,” Fairway continued; ”and yet every onein the country round is out afore 'n.”

”Perhaps there's meaning in it!” murmured Christian.

”How meaning?” said Wildeve sharply.

Christian was too scattered to reply, and Timothy helped him.

”He means, sir, that the lonesome dark-eyed creature up there that somesay is a witch--ever I should call a fine young woman such a name--isalways up to some odd conceit or other; and so perhaps 'tis she.”

”I'd be very glad to ask her in wedlock, if she'd hae me and takethe risk of her wild dark eyes ill-wishing me,” said Grandfer Cantlestaunchly.

”Don't ye say it, Father!” implored Christian.

”Well, be dazed if he who do marry the maid won't hae an uncommonpicture for his best parlour,” said Fairway in a liquid tone, placingdown the cup of mead at the end of a good pull.

”And a partner as deep as the North Star,” said Sam, taking up the cupand finishing the little that remained. ”Well, really, now I think wemust be moving,” said Humphrey, observing the emptiness of the vessel.

”But we'll gie 'em another song?” said Grandfer Cantle. ”I'm as full ofnotes as a bird!”

”Thank you, Grandfer,” said Wildeve. ”But we will not trouble you now.Some other day must do for that--when I have a party.”

”Be jown'd if I don't learn ten new songs for't, or I won't learn aline!” said Grandfer Cantle. ”And you may be sure I won't disappoint yeby biding away, Mr. Wildeve.”

”I quite believe you,” said that gentleman.

All then took their leave, wishing their entertainer long life andhappiness as a married man, with recapitulations which occupied sometime. Wildeve attended them to the door, beyond which the deep-dyedupward stretch of heath stood awaiting them, an amplitude of darknessreigning from their feet almost to the zenith, where a definite formfirst became visible in the lowering forehead of Rainbarrow. Divinginto the dense obscurity in a line headed by Sam the turf-cutter, theypursued their trackless way home.

When the scratching of the furze against their leggings had fainted uponthe ear, Wildeve returned to the room where he had left Thomasin and heraunt. The women were gone.

They could only have left the house in one way, by the back window; andthis was open.

Wildeve laughed to himself, remained a moment thinking, and idlyreturned to the front room. Here his glance fell upon a bottle of winewhich stood on the mantelpiece. ”Ah--old Dowden!” he murmured; and goingto the kitchen door shouted, ”Is anybody here who can take something toold Dowden?”

There was no reply. The room was empty, the lad who acted as hisfactotum having gone to bed. Wildeve came back put on his hat, took thebottle, and left the house, turning the key in the door, for there wasno guest at the inn tonight. As soon as he was on the road the littlebonfire on Mistover Knap again met his eye.

”Still waiting, are you, my lady?” he murmured.

However, he did not proceed that way just then; but leaving the hill tothe left of him, he stumbled over a rutted road that brought him to acottage which, like all other habitations on the heath at this hour, wasonly saved from being visible by a faint shine from its bedroom window.This house was the home of Olly Dowden, the besom-maker, and he entered.

The lower room was in darkness; but by feeling his way he found a table,whereon he placed the bottle, and a minute later emerged again upon theheath. He stood and looked northeast at the undying little fire--high upabove him, though not so high as Rainbarrow.

We have been told what happens when a woman deliberates; and the epigramis not always terminable with woman, provided that one be in the case,and that a fair one. Wildeve stood, and stood longer, and breathedperplexedly, and then said to himself with resignation, ”Yes--by Heaven,I must go to her, I suppose!”

Instead of turning in the direction of home he pressed on rapidly by apath under Rainbarrow towards what was evidently a signal light.