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 unnaturallythin as she murmured, "'Tis too much--Clym, how can he bear to do it!He is at 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 ina hollow. 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 asshe appeared, and trotted on beside her without perceptibleconsciousness of his act.
Mrs. Yeobright spoke to him as one in a mesmeric sleep. "'Tis a longway home, my child, and we shall not get there till evening."
"I shall," said her small companion. "I am going to play marnelsafore supper, and we go to supper at six o'clock, because father comeshome. 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 awindow-pane."
"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 half-way howwell it might have been done! But there is no chance. Shut out! Shemust have set him against me. Can there be beautiful bodies withouthearts inside? I think so. I would not have done it against aneighbour's cat on such a fiery 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 upyour mother 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 isdry this 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 theclearest you can find. I am very faint."
She drew from the small willow reticule that she carried in her handan old-fashioned china teacup without a handle; it was one of half adozen of the same sort lying in the reticule, which she had preservedever since her childhood, and had brought with her today as a smallpresent for Clym and Eustacia.
The boy started on his errand, and soon came back with the water,such as it was. Mrs. Yeobright attempted to drink, but it was so warmas to give her nausea, and she threw it away. Afterwards she stillremained sitting, 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,that he was to be pressed into some unpleasant service. "Do you wantme any more, 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 if he had misgivings on the generosity of forsaking her thus. Hegazed into her face in a vague, wondering manner, like that of oneexamining some strange old manuscript the key to whose charactersis undiscoverable. He was not so young as to be absolutely withouta sense that sympathy was demanded, he was not old enough to befree from the terror felt in childhood at beholding misery in adultquarters hitherto deemed impregnable; and whether she were in aposition to cause trouble or to suffer from it, whether she and heraffliction were something to pity or something to fear, it was beyondhim to decide. He lowered his eyes and went on without another word.Before he had gone half a mile he had forgotten all about her, exceptthat she was a woman who had sat down to rest.
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, brandin hand, waiting to consume her. With the departure of the boyall visible animation disappeared from the landscape, though theintermittent husky notes of the male grasshoppers from every tuft offurze were enough to show that amid the prostration of the largeranimal species an unseen insect world was busy in all the fullness oflife.
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 ants hadestablished 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 thesewhich walked there now. She leant back to obtain more thorough rest,and the soft eastern portion of the sky was as great a relief to hereyes as the thyme was to her head. While she looked a heron arose onthat side of the sky and flew on with his face towards the sun. Hehad come dripping wet from some pool in the valleys, and as he flewthe edges and lining of his wings, his thighs, and his breast wereso caught by the bright sunbeams that he appeared as if formed ofburnished silver. Up in the zenith where he was seemed a free andhappy place, away from all contact with the earthly ball to which shewas pinioned; and she wished that she could arise uncrushed from itssurface 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 thoughtbeen marked by a streak in the air, like the path of a meteor,it would have shown a direction contrary to the heron's, and havedescended to the eastward upon the roof of Clym's house.