VI
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 onlythat day, though Clym had lived in the old house for more than a week.He had spent the time in working about the premises, sweeping leavesfrom the garden-paths, cutting dead stalks from the flower-beds, andnailing up creepers which had been displaced by the autumn winds. Hetook no particular pleasure in these deeds, but they formed a screenbetween himself and despair. Moreover, it had become a religion withhim to preserve in good condition all that had lapsed from hismother's hands to 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 herfootfall. A bird searching for worms in the mould of the flower-bedssounded like her hand on the latch of the gate; and at dusk, whensoft, strange ventriloquisms came from holes in the ground, hollowstalks, curled dead leaves, and other crannies wherein breezes, worms,and insects 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 herback. At the same time the severity with which he had treated herlulled the sharpness of his regret for his mother, and awoke someof his old solicitude for his mother's supplanter. Harsh feelingsproduce harsh usage, and this by reaction quenches the sentiments thatgave it birth. The more he reflected the more he softened. But tolook upon his wife as innocence in distress was impossible, though hecould ask himself whether he had given her quite time enough--if hehad not come a little too 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 towardshis mother 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 seashoreleft miles behind. "Surely," he said, "she might have brought herselfto communicate with me before now, and confess honestly what Wildevewas to her."
Instead of remaining at home that night he determined to go and seeThomasin and her husband. If he found opportunity he would allude tothe cause of the separation between Eustacia and himself, keepingsilence, however, on the fact that there was a third person in hishouse when his mother was turned away. If it proved that Wildeve wasinnocently there he would doubtless openly mention it. If he werethere with unjust intentions Wildeve, being a man of quick feeling,might possibly say something to reveal the extent to which Eustaciawas 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 saidwhen they 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. Whatis the 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.He suppressed 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 bedone?"
"Make it up again--if a quarrel so deadly can ever be made up. Ialmost wish you had not told me. But do try to be reconciled. Thereare 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, aftersuch strong provocation. To see me now, Thomasin, gives you no ideaof what I have been; of what depths I have descended to in these fewlast days. O, it was a bitter shame to shut out my mother like that!Can I ever forget it, 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 keepher out 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 longerthan two days certainly; and if she does not send to me in that time Iwill indeed send to her. I thought to have seen Wildeve here tonight.Is he from home?"
Thomasin blushed a little. "No," she said. "He is merely gone outfor a walk."
"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 consultyour husband 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 ignorantthat her husband had any share in the events of that tragic afternoon;but her countenance seemed to signify that she concealed somesuspicion or thought of the reputed tender relations between Wildeveand Eustacia in days gone by.
Clym, however, could make nothing of it, and he rose to depart, morein doubt than when he came.
"You will write to her in a day or two?" said the young womanearnestly. "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 goingto bed he sat down and wrote the following letter:--
MY DEAR EUSTACIA,--I must obey my heart without consulting my reason too closely. Will you come back to me? Do so, and the past shall never be mentioned. I was too severe; but O, Eustacia, the provocation! You don't know, you never will know, what those words of anger cost me which you drew down upon yourself. All that an honest man can promise you I promise now, which is that from me you shall never suffer anything on this score again. After all the vows we have made, Eustacia, I think we had better pass the remainder of our lives in trying to keep them. Come to me, then, even if you reproach me. I have thought of your sufferings that morning on which I parted from you; I know they were genuine, and they 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 concerned with each other. I could not ask you back at first, Eustacia, for I was unable to persuade myself that he who was with you was not there as a lover. But if you will come and explain distracting appearances I do not question that you can show your honesty to me. Why have you not come before? Do you think I will not listen to you? Surely not, when you remember the kisses and vows we exchanged under the summer moon. Return then, and you shall be warmly welcomed. I can no
longer think of you to your prejudice--I am but too much absorbed in justifying you.--Your husband as ever,
CLYM.
"There," he said, as he laid it in his desk, "that's a good thingdone. If she does not come before tomorrow night I will send it toher."
Meanwhile, at the house he had just left Thomasin sat sighinguneasily. Fidelity to her husband had that evening induced her toconceal all suspicion that Wildeve's interest in Eustacia had notended with his marriage. But she knew nothing positive; and thoughClym was her well-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 dislikebeing in 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 youare getting proud, I am sure, and don't like living here since we haverisen above our business. Well, it is a tedious matter, this gettinga new house; but I couldn't have set about it sooner, unless ourten thousand pounds had been a hundred thousand, when we could haveafforded to despise caution."
"No--I don't mind waiting--I would rather stay here twelve monthslonger than run any risk with baby. But I don't like your vanishingso in the evenings. There's something on your mind--I know there is,Damon. You go about so gloomily, and look at the heath as if it weresomebody's gaol instead 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 hesat down before replying. "I don't think you often see me there.Give an instance."
"I will," she answered triumphantly. "When you went out this eveningI thought that as baby was asleep I would see where you were going toso mysteriously without telling me. So I ran out and followed behindyou. You stopped at the place where the road forks, looked round atthe bonfires, and then said, 'Damn it, I'll go!' And you went quicklyup the left-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." Shewent across 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 particularlywant to know."
"Don't be like that, Damon!" she murmured. "I didn't see anything.You vanished out of sight, and then I looked round at the bonfires andcame in."
"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'thave done 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, andit puts 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 thesubject any 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.