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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3058-h.zip b/3058-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a9ae4f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/3058-h.zip diff --git a/3058-h/3058-h.htm b/3058-h/3058-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..51f06f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/3058-h/3058-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8732 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>A Changed Man and Other Tales</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">A Changed Man and Other Tales, by Thomas Hardy</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Changed Man and Other Tales, by Thomas Hardy + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: A Changed Man and Other Tales + +Author: Thomas Hardy + +Release Date: November 2, 2004 [eBook #3058] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHANGED MAN AND OTHER TALES*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1920 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>A CHANGED MAN AND OTHER TALES</h1> +<p>Contents:</p> +<p>Prefatory Note<br /> +A Changed Man<br /> +The Waiting Supper<br /> +Alicia’s Diary<br /> +The Grave by the Handpost<br /> +Enter a Dragoon<br /> +A Tryst at an Ancient Earthwork<br /> +What the Shepherd Saw<br /> +A Committee Man of ‘The Terror’<br /> +Master John Horseleigh, Knight<br /> +The Duke’s Reappearance<br /> +A Mere Interlude</p> +<h2>PREFATORY NOTE</h2> +<p>I reprint in this volume, for what they may be worth, a dozen minor +novels that have been published in the periodical press at various dates +in the past, in order to render them accessible to readers who desire +to have them in the complete series issued by my publishers. For +aid in reclaiming some of the narratives I express my thanks to the +proprietors and editors of the newspapers and magazines in whose pages +they first appeared.</p> +<p>T. H.<br /> +<i>August</i> 1913.</p> +<h2>A CHANGED MAN</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<p>The person who, next to the actors themselves, chanced to know most +of their story, lived just below ‘Top o’ Town’ (as +the spot was called) in an old substantially-built house, distinguished +among its neighbours by having an oriel window on the first floor, whence +could be obtained a raking view of the High Street, west and east, the +former including Laura’s dwelling, the end of the Town Avenue +hard by (in which were played the odd pranks hereafter to be mentioned), +the Port-Bredy road rising westwards, and the turning that led to the +cavalry barracks where the Captain was quartered. Looking eastward +down the town from the same favoured gazebo, the long perspective of +houses declined and dwindled till they merged in the highway across +the moor. The white riband of road disappeared over Grey’s +Bridge a quarter of a mile off, to plunge into innumerable rustic windings, +shy shades, and solitary undulations up hill and down dale for one hundred +and twenty miles till it exhibited itself at Hyde Park Corner as a smooth +bland surface in touch with a busy and fashionable world.</p> +<p>To the barracks aforesaid had recently arrived the ---th Hussars, +a regiment new to the locality. Almost before any acquaintance +with its members had been made by the townspeople, a report spread that +they were a ‘crack’ body of men, and had brought a splendid +band. For some reason or other the town had not been used as the +headquarters of cavalry for many years, the various troops stationed +there having consisted of casual detachments only; so that it was with +a sense of honour that everybody—even the small furniture-broker +from whom the married troopers hired tables and chairs—received +the news of their crack quality.</p> +<p>In those days the Hussar regiments still wore over the left shoulder +that attractive attachment, or frilled half-coat, hanging loosely behind +like the wounded wing of a bird, which was called the pelisse, though +it was known among the troopers themselves as a ‘sling-jacket.’ +It added amazingly to their picturesqueness in women’s eyes, and, +indeed, in the eyes of men also.</p> +<p>The burgher who lived in the house with the oriel window sat during +a great many hours of the day in that projection, for he was an invalid, +and time hung heavily on his hands unless he maintained a constant interest +in proceedings without. Not more than a week after the arrival +of the Hussars his ears were assailed by the shout of one schoolboy +to another in the street below.</p> +<p>‘Have ’ee heard this about the Hussars? They are +haunted! Yes—a ghost troubles ’em; he has followed +’em about the world for years.’</p> +<p>A haunted regiment: that was a new idea for either invalid or stalwart. +The listener in the oriel came to the conclusion that there were some +lively characters among the ---th Hussars.</p> +<p>He made Captain Maumbry’s acquaintance in an informal manner +at an afternoon tea to which he went in a wheeled chair—one of +the very rare outings that the state of his health permitted. +Maumbry showed himself to be a handsome man of twenty-eight or thirty, +with an attractive hint of wickedness in his manner that was sure to +make him adorable with good young women. The large dark eyes that +lit his pale face expressed this wickedness strongly, though such was +the adaptability of their rays that one could think they might have +expressed sadness or seriousness just as readily, if he had had a mind +for such.</p> +<p>An old and deaf lady who was present asked Captain Maumbry bluntly: +‘What’s this we hear about you? They say your regiment +is haunted.’</p> +<p>The Captain’s face assumed an aspect of grave, even sad, concern. +‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘it is too true.’</p> +<p>Some younger ladies smiled till they saw how serious he looked, when +they looked serious likewise.</p> +<p>‘Really?’ said the old lady.</p> +<p>‘Yes. We naturally don’t wish to say much about +it.’</p> +<p>‘No, no; of course not. But—how haunted?’</p> +<p>‘Well; the—<i>thing</i>, as I’ll call it, follows +us. In country quarters or town, abroad or at home, it’s +just the same.’</p> +<p>‘How do you account for it?’</p> +<p>‘H’m.’ Maumbry lowered his voice. ‘Some +crime committed by certain of our regiment in past years, we suppose.’</p> +<p>‘Dear me . . . How very horrid, and singular!’</p> +<p>‘But, as I said, we don’t speak of it much.’</p> +<p>‘No . . . no.’</p> +<p>When the Hussar was gone, a young lady, disclosing a long-suppressed +interest, asked if the ghost had been seen by any of the town.</p> +<p>The lawyer’s son, who always had the latest borough news, said +that, though it was seldom seen by any one but the Hussars themselves, +more than one townsman and woman had already set eyes on it, to his +or her terror. The phantom mostly appeared very late at night, +under the dense trees of the town-avenue nearest the barracks. +It was about ten feet high; its teeth chattered with a dry naked sound, +as if they were those of a skeleton; and its hip-bones could be heard +grating in their sockets.</p> +<p>During the darkest weeks of winter several timid persons were seriously +frightened by the object answering to this cheerful description, and +the police began to look into the matter. Whereupon the appearances +grew less frequent, and some of the Boys of the regiment thankfully +stated that they had not been so free from ghostly visitation for years +as they had become since their arrival in Casterbridge.</p> +<p>This playing at ghosts was the most innocent of the amusements indulged +in by the choice young spirits who inhabited the lichened, red-brick +building at the top of the town bearing ‘W.D.’ and a broad +arrow on its quoins. Far more serious escapades—levities +relating to love, wine, cards, betting—were talked of, with no +doubt more or less of exaggeration. That the Hussars, Captain +Maumbry included, were the cause of bitter tears to several young women +of the town and country is unquestionably true, despite the fact that +the gaieties of the young men wore a more staring colour in this old-fashioned +place than they would have done in a large and modern city.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<p>Regularly once a week they rode out in marching order.</p> +<p>Returning up the town on one of these occasions, the romantic pelisse +flapping behind each horseman’s shoulder in the soft south-west +wind, Captain Maumbry glanced up at the oriel. A mutual nod was +exchanged between him and the person who sat there reading. The +reader and a friend in the room with him followed the troop with their +eyes all the way up the street, till, when the soldiers were opposite +the house in which Laura lived, that young lady became discernible in +the balcony.</p> +<p>‘They are engaged to be married, I hear,’ said the friend.</p> +<p>‘Who—Maumbry and Laura? Never—so soon?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘He’ll never marry. Several girls have been mentioned +in connection with his name. I am sorry for Laura.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, but you needn’t be. They are excellently matched.’</p> +<p>‘She’s only one more.’</p> +<p>‘She’s one more, and more still. She has regularly +caught him. She is a born player of the game of hearts, and she +knew how to beat him in his own practices. If there is one woman +in the town who has any chance of holding her own and marrying him, +she is that woman.’</p> +<p>This was true, as it turned out. By natural proclivity Laura +had from the first entered heart and soul into military romance as exhibited +in the plots and characters of those living exponents of it who came +under her notice. From her earliest young womanhood civilians, +however promising, had no chance of winning her interest if the meanest +warrior were within the horizon. It may be that the position of +her uncle’s house (which was her home) at the corner of West Street +nearest the barracks, the daily passing of the troops, the constant +blowing of trumpet-calls a furlong from her windows, coupled with the +fact that she knew nothing of the inner realities of military life, +and hence idealized it, had also helped her mind’s original bias +for thinking men-at-arms the only ones worthy of a woman’s heart.</p> +<p>Captain Maumbry was a typical prize; one whom all surrounding maidens +had coveted, ached for, angled for, wept for, had by her judicious management +become subdued to her purpose; and in addition to the pleasure of marrying +the man she loved, Laura had the joy of feeling herself hated by the +mothers of all the marriageable girls of the neighbourhood.</p> +<p>The man in the oriel went to the wedding; not as a guest, for at +this time he was but slightly acquainted with the parties; but mainly +because the church was close to his house; partly, too, for a reason +which moved many others to be spectators of the ceremony; a subconsciousness +that, though the couple might be happy in their experiences, there was +sufficient possibility of their being otherwise to colour the musings +of an onlooker with a pleasing pathos of conjecture. He could +on occasion do a pretty stroke of rhyming in those days, and he beguiled +the time of waiting by pencilling on a blank page of his prayer-book +a few lines which, though kept private then, may be given here:-</p> +<blockquote><p>AT A HASTY WEDDING</p> +<p>(Triolet)</p> +<p>If hours be years the twain are blest,<br /> + For now they solace swift desire<br /> +By lifelong ties that tether zest<br /> + If hours be years. The twain are blest<br /> +Do eastern suns slope never west,<br /> + Nor pallid ashes follow fire.<br /> +If hours be years the twain are blest<br /> + For now they solace swift desire.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As if, however, to falsify all prophecies, the couple seemed to find +in marriage the secret of perpetuating the intoxication of a courtship +which, on Maumbry’s side at least, had opened without serious +intent. During the winter following they were the most popular +pair in and about Casterbridge—nay in South Wessex itself. +No smart dinner in the country houses of the younger and gayer families +within driving distance of the borough was complete without their lively +presence; Mrs. Maumbry was the blithest of the whirling figures at the +county ball; and when followed that inevitable incident of garrison-town +life, an amateur dramatic entertainment, it was just the same. +The acting was for the benefit of such and such an excellent charity—nobody +cared what, provided the play were played—and both Captain Maumbry +and his wife were in the piece, having been in fact, by mutual consent, +the originators of the performance. And so with laughter, and +thoughtlessness, and movement, all went merrily. There was a little +backwardness in the bill-paying of the couple; but in justice to them +it must be added that sooner or later all owings were paid.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<p>At the chapel-of-ease attended by the troops there arose above the +edge of the pulpit one Sunday an unknown face. This was the face +of a new curate. He placed upon the desk, not the familiar sermon +book, but merely a Bible. The person who tells these things was +not present at that service, but he soon learnt that the young curate +was nothing less than a great surprise to his congregation; a mixed +one always, for though the Hussars occupied the body of the building, +its nooks and corners were crammed with civilians, whom, up to the present, +even the least uncharitable would have described as being attracted +thither less by the services than by the soldiery.</p> +<p>Now there arose a second reason for squeezing into an already overcrowded +church. The persuasive and gentle eloquence of Mr. Sainway operated +like a charm upon those accustomed only to the higher and dryer styles +of preaching, and for a time the other churches of the town were thinned +of their sitters.</p> +<p>At this point in the nineteenth century the sermon was the sole reason +for churchgoing amongst a vast body of religious people. The liturgy +was a formal preliminary, which, like the Royal proclamation in a court +of assize, had to be got through before the real interest began; and +on reaching home the question was simply: Who preached, and how did +he handle his subject? Even had an archbishop officiated in the +service proper nobody would have cared much about what was said or sung. +People who had formerly attended in the morning only began to go in +the evening, and even to the special addresses in the afternoon.</p> +<p>One day when Captain Maumbry entered his wife’s drawing-room, +filled with hired furniture, she thought he was somebody else, for he +had not come upstairs humming the most catching air afloat in musical +circles or in his usual careless way.</p> +<p>‘What’s the matter, Jack?’ she said without looking +up from a note she was writing.</p> +<p>‘Well—not much, that I know.’</p> +<p>‘O, but there is,’ she murmured as she wrote.</p> +<p>‘Why—this cursed new lath in a sheet—I mean the +new parson! He wants us to stop the band-playing on Sunday afternoons.’</p> +<p>Laura looked up aghast.</p> +<p>‘Why, it is the one thing that enables the few rational beings +hereabouts to keep alive from Saturday to Monday!’</p> +<p>‘He says all the town flock to the music and don’t come +to the service, and that the pieces played are profane, or mundane, +or inane, or something—not what ought to be played on Sunday. +Of course ’tis Lautmann who settles those things.’</p> +<p>Lautmann was the bandmaster.</p> +<p>The barrack-green on Sunday afternoons had, indeed, become the promenade +of a great many townspeople cheerfully inclined, many even of those +who attended in the morning at Mr. Sainway’s service; and little +boys who ought to have been listening to the curate’s afternoon +lecture were too often seen rolling upon the grass and making faces +behind the more dignified listeners.</p> +<p>Laura heard no more about the matter, however, for two or three weeks, +when suddenly remembering it she asked her husband if any further objections +had been raised.</p> +<p>‘O—Mr. Sainway. I forgot to tell you. I’ve +made his acquaintance. He is not a bad sort of man.’</p> +<p>Laura asked if either Maumbry or some others of the officers did +not give the presumptuous curate a good setting down for his interference.</p> +<p>‘O well—we’ve forgotten that. He’s +a stunning preacher, they tell me.’</p> +<p>The acquaintance developed apparently, for the Captain said to her +a little later on, ‘There’s a good deal in Sainway’s +argument about having no band on Sunday afternoons. After all, +it is close to his church. But he doesn’t press his objections +unduly.’</p> +<p>‘I am surprised to hear you defend him!’</p> +<p>‘It was only a passing thought of mine. We naturally +don’t wish to offend the inhabitants of the town if they don’t +like it.’</p> +<p>‘But they do.’</p> +<p>The invalid in the oriel never clearly gathered the details of progress +in this conflict of lay and clerical opinion; but so it was that, to +the disappointment of musicians, the grief of out-walking lovers, and +the regret of the junior population of the town and country round, the +band-playing on Sunday afternoons ceased in Casterbridge barrack-square.</p> +<p>By this time the Maumbrys had frequently listened to the preaching +of the gentle if narrow-minded curate; for these light-natured, hit-or-miss, +rackety people went to church like others for respectability’s +sake. None so orthodox as your unmitigated worldling. A +more remarkable event was the sight to the man in the window of Captain +Maumbry and Mr. Sainway walking down the High Street in earnest conversation. +On his mentioning this fact to a caller he was assured that it was a +matter of common talk that they were always together.</p> +<p>The observer would soon have learnt this with his own eyes if he +had not been told. They began to pass together nearly every day. +Hitherto Mrs. Maumbry, in fashionable walking clothes, had usually been +her husband’s companion; but this was less frequent now. +The close and singular friendship between the two men went on for nearly +a year, when Mr. Sainway was presented to a living in a densely-populated +town in the midland counties. He bade the parishioners of his +old place a reluctant farewell and departed, the touching sermon he +preached on the occasion being published by the local printer. +Everybody was sorry to lose him; and it was with genuine grief that +his Casterbridge congregation learnt later on that soon after his induction +to his benefice, during some bitter weather, he had fallen seriously +ill of inflammation of the lungs, of which he eventually died.</p> +<p>We now get below the surface of things. Of all who had known +the dead curate, none grieved for him like the man who on his first +arrival had called him a ‘lath in a sheet.’ Mrs. Maumbry +had never greatly sympathized with the impressive parson; indeed, she +had been secretly glad that he had gone away to better himself. +He had considerably diminished the pleasures of a woman by whom the +joys of earth and good company had been appreciated to the full. +Sorry for her husband in his loss of a friend who had been none of hers, +she was yet quite unprepared for the sequel.</p> +<p>‘There is something that I have wanted to tell you lately, +dear,’ he said one morning at breakfast with hesitation. +‘Have you guessed what it is?’</p> +<p>She had guessed nothing.</p> +<p>‘That I think of retiring from the army.’</p> +<p>‘What!’</p> +<p>‘I have thought more and more of Sainway since his death, and +of what he used to say to me so earnestly. And I feel certain +I shall be right in obeying a call within me to give up this fighting +trade and enter the Church.’</p> +<p>‘What—be a parson?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘But what should <i>I</i> do?’</p> +<p>‘Be a parson’s wife.’</p> +<p>‘Never!’ she affirmed.</p> +<p>‘But how can you help it?’</p> +<p>‘I’ll run away rather!’ she said vehemently;</p> +<p>‘No, you mustn’t,’ Maumbry replied, in the tone +he used when his mind was made up. ‘You’ll get accustomed +to the idea, for I am constrained to carry it out, though it is against +my worldly interests. I am forced on by a Hand outside me to tread +in the steps of Sainway.’</p> +<p>‘Jack,’ she asked, with calm pallor and round eyes; ‘do +you mean to say seriously that you are arranging to be a curate instead +of a soldier?’</p> +<p>‘I might say a curate <i>is</i> a soldier—of the church +militant; but I don’t want to offend you with doctrine. +I distinctly say, yes.’</p> +<p>Late one evening, a little time onward, he caught her sitting by +the dim firelight in her room. She did not know he had entered; +and he found her weeping. ‘What are you crying about, poor +dearest?’ he said.</p> +<p>She started. ‘Because of what you have told me!’ +The Captain grew very unhappy; but he was undeterred.</p> +<p>In due time the town learnt, to its intense surprise, that Captain +Maumbry had retired from the ---th Hussars and gone to Fountall Theological +College to prepare for the ministry.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<p>‘O, the pity of it! Such a dashing soldier—so popular—such +an acquisition to the town—the soul of social life here! +And now! . . . One should not speak ill of the dead, but that dreadful +Mr. Sainway—it was too cruel of him!’</p> +<p>This is a summary of what was said when Captain, now the Reverend, +John Maumbry was enabled by circumstances to indulge his heart’s +desire of returning to the scene of his former exploits in the capacity +of a minister of the Gospel. A low-lying district of the town, +which at that date was crowded with impoverished cottagers, was crying +for a curate, and Mr. Maumbry generously offered himself as one willing +to undertake labours that were certain to produce little result, and +no thanks, credit, or emolument.</p> +<p>Let the truth be told about him as a clergyman; he proved to be anything +but a brilliant success. Painstaking, single-minded, deeply in +earnest as all could see, his delivery was laboured, his sermons were +dull to listen to, and alas, too, too long. Even the dispassionate +judges who sat by the hour in the bar-parlour of the White Hart—an +inn standing at the dividing line between the poor quarter aforesaid +and the fashionable quarter of Maumbry’s former triumphs, and +hence affording a position of strict impartiality—agreed in substance +with the young ladies to the westward, though their views were somewhat +more tersely expressed: ‘Surely, God A’mighty spwiled a +good sojer to make a bad pa’son when He shifted Cap’n Ma’mbry +into a sarpless!’</p> +<p>The latter knew that such things were said, but he pursued his daily’ +labours in and out of the hovels with serene unconcern.</p> +<p>It was about this time that the invalid in the oriel became more +than a mere bowing acquaintance of Mrs. Maumbry’s. She had +returned to the town with her husband, and was living with him in a +little house in the centre of his circle of ministration, when by some +means she became one of the invalid’s visitors. After a +general conversation while sitting in his room with a friend of both, +an incident led up to the matter that still rankled deeply in her soul. +Her face was now paler and thinner than it had been; even more attractive, +her disappointments having inscribed themselves as meek thoughtfulness +on a look that was once a little frivolous. The two ladies had +called to be allowed to use the window for observing the departure of +the Hussars, who were leaving for barracks much nearer to London.</p> +<p>The troopers turned the corner of Barrack Road into the top of High +Street, headed by their band playing ‘The girl I left behind me’ +(which was formerly always the tune for such times, though it is now +nearly disused). They came and passed the oriel, where an officer +or two, looking up and discovering Mrs. Maumbry, saluted her, whose +eyes filled with tears as the notes of the band waned away. Before +the little group had recovered from that sense of the romantic which +such spectacles impart, Mr. Maumbry came along the pavement. He +probably had bidden his former brethren-in-arms a farewell at the top +of the street, for he walked from that direction in his rather shabby +clerical clothes, and with a basket on his arm which seemed to hold +some purchases he had been making for his poorer parishioners. +Unlike the soldiers he went along quite unconscious of his appearance +or of the scene around.</p> +<p>The contrast was too much for Laura. With lips that now quivered, +she asked the invalid what he thought of the change that had come to +her.</p> +<p>It was difficult to answer, and with a wilfulness that was too strong +in her she repeated the question.</p> +<p>‘Do you think,’ she added, ‘that a woman’s +husband has a right to do such a thing, even if he does feel a certain +call to it?’</p> +<p>Her listener sympathized too largely with both of them to be anything +but unsatisfactory in his reply. Laura gazed longingly out of +the window towards the thin dusty line of Hussars, now smalling towards +the Mellstock Ridge. ‘I,’ she said, ‘who should +have been in their van on the way to London, am doomed to fester in +a hole in Durnover Lane!’</p> +<p>Many events had passed and many rumours had been current concerning +her before the invalid saw her again after her leave-taking that day.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> +<p>Casterbridge had known many military and civil episodes; many happy +times, and times less happy; and now came the time of her visitation. +The scourge of cholera had been laid on the suffering country, and the +low-lying purlieus of this ancient borough had more than their share +of the infliction. Mixen Lane, in the Durnover quarter, and in +Maumbry’s parish, was where the blow fell most heavily. +Yet there was a certain mercy in its choice of a date, for Maumbry was +the man for such an hour.</p> +<p>The spread of the epidemic was so rapid that many left the town and +took lodgings in the villages and farms. Mr. Maumbry’s house +was close to the most infected street, and he himself was occupied morn, +noon, and night in endeavours to stamp out the plague and in alleviating +the sufferings of the victims. So, as a matter of ordinary precaution, +he decided to isolate his wife somewhere away from him for a while.</p> +<p>She suggested a village by the sea, near Budmouth Regis, and lodgings +were obtained for her at Creston, a spot divided from the Casterbridge +valley by a high ridge that gave it quite another atmosphere, though +it lay no more than six miles off.</p> +<p>Thither she went. While she was rusticating in this place of +safety, and her husband was slaving in the slums, she struck up an acquaintance +with a lieutenant in the ---st Foot, a Mr. Vannicock, who was stationed +with his regiment at the Budmouth infantry barracks. As Laura +frequently sat on the shelving beach, watching each thin wave slide +up to her, and hearing, without heeding, its gnaw at the pebbles in +its retreat, he often took a walk that way.</p> +<p>The acquaintance grew and ripened. Her situation, her history, +her beauty, her age—a year or two above his own—all tended +to make an impression on the young man’s heart, and a reckless +flirtation was soon in blithe progress upon that lonely shore.</p> +<p>It was said by her detractors afterwards that she had chosen her +lodging to be near this gentleman, but there is reason to believe that +she had never seen him till her arrival there. Just now Casterbridge +was so deeply occupied with its own sad affairs—a daily burying +of the dead and destruction of contaminated clothes and bedding—that +it had little inclination to promulgate such gossip as may have reached +its ears on the pair. Nobody long considered Laura in the tragic +cloud which overhung all.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, on the Budmouth side of the hill the very mood of men +was in contrast. The visitation there had been slight and much +earlier, and normal occupations and pastimes had been resumed. +Mr. Maumbry had arranged to see Laura twice a week in the open air, +that she might run no risk from him; and, having heard nothing of the +faint rumour, he met her as usual one dry and windy afternoon on the +summit of the dividing hill, near where the high road from town to town +crosses the old Ridge-way at right angles.</p> +<p>He waved his hand, and smiled as she approached, shouting to her: +‘We will keep this wall between us, dear.’ (Walls +formed the field-fences here.) ‘You mustn’t be endangered. +It won’t be for long, with God’s help!’</p> +<p>‘I will do as you tell me, Jack. But you are running +too much risk yourself, aren’t you? I get little news of +you; but I fancy you are.’</p> +<p>‘Not more than others.’</p> +<p>Thus somewhat formally they talked, an insulating wind beating the +wall between them like a mill-weir.</p> +<p>‘But you wanted to ask me something?’ he added.</p> +<p>‘Yes. You know we are trying in Budmouth to raise some +money for your sufferers; and the way we have thought of is by a dramatic +performance. They want me to take a part.’</p> +<p>His face saddened. ‘I have known so much of that sort +of thing, and all that accompanies it! I wish you had thought +of some other way.’</p> +<p>She said lightly that she was afraid it was all settled. ‘You +object to my taking a part, then? Of course—’</p> +<p>He told her that he did not like to say he positively objected. +He wished they had chosen an oratorio, or lecture, or anything more +in keeping with the necessity it was to relieve.</p> +<p>‘But,’ said she impatiently, ‘people won’t +come to oratorios or lectures! They will crowd to comedies and +farces.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I cannot dictate to Budmouth how it shall earn the money +it is going to give us. Who is getting up this performance?’</p> +<p>‘The boys of the ---st.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, yes; our old game!’ replied Mr. Maumbry. ‘The +grief of Casterbridge is the excuse for their frivolity. Candidly, +dear Laura, I wish you wouldn’t play in it. But I don’t +forbid you to. I leave the whole to your judgment.’</p> +<p>The interview ended, and they went their ways northward and southward. +Time disclosed to all concerned that Mrs. Maumbry played in the comedy +as the heroine, the lover’s part being taken by Mr. Vannicock.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> +<p>Thus was helped on an event which the conduct of the mutually-attracted +ones had been generating for some time.</p> +<p>It is unnecessary to give details. The ---st Foot left for +Bristol, and this precipitated their action. After a week of hesitation +she agreed to leave her home at Creston and meet Vannicock on the ridge +hard by, and to accompany him to Bath, where he had secured lodgings +for her, so that she would be only about a dozen miles from his quarters.</p> +<p>Accordingly, on the evening chosen, she laid on her dressing-table +a note for her husband, running thus:-</p> +<blockquote><p>DEAR JACK—I am unable to endure this life any longer, +and I have resolved to put an end to it. I told you I should run +away if you persisted in being a clergyman, and now I am doing it. +One cannot help one’s nature. I have resolved to throw in +my lot with Mr. Vannicock, and I hope rather than expect you will forgive +me.—L.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then, with hardly a scrap of luggage, she went, ascending to the +ridge in the dusk of early evening. Almost on the very spot where +her husband had stood at their last tryst she beheld the outline of +Vannicock, who had come all the way from Bristol to fetch her.</p> +<p>‘I don’t like meeting here—it is so unlucky!’ +she cried to him. ‘For God’s sake let us have a place +of our own. Go back to the milestone, and I’ll come on.’</p> +<p>He went back to the milestone that stands on the north slope of the +ridge, where the old and new roads diverge, and she joined him there.</p> +<p>She was taciturn and sorrowful when he asked her why she would not +meet him on the top. At last she inquired how they were going +to travel.</p> +<p>He explained that he proposed to walk to Mellstock Hill, on the other +side of Casterbridge, where a fly was waiting to take them by a cross-cut +into the Ivell Road, and onward to that town. The Bristol railway +was open to Ivell.</p> +<p>This plan they followed, and walked briskly through the dull gloom +till they neared Casterbridge, which place they avoided by turning to +the right at the Roman Amphitheatre and bearing round to Durnover Cross. +Thence the way was solitary and open across the moor to the hill whereon +the Ivell fly awaited them.</p> +<p>‘I have noticed for some time,’ she said, ‘a lurid +glare over the Durnover end of the town. It seems to come from +somewhere about Mixen Lane.’</p> +<p>‘The lamps,’ he suggested.</p> +<p>‘There’s not a lamp as big as a rushlight in the whole +lane. It is where the cholera is worst.’</p> +<p>By Standfast Corner, a little beyond the Cross, they suddenly obtained +an end view of the lane. Large bonfires were burning in the middle +of the way, with a view to purifying the air; and from the wretched +tenements with which the lane was lined in those days persons were bringing +out bedding and clothing. Some was thrown into the fires, the +rest placed in wheel-barrows and wheeled into the moor directly in the +track of the fugitives.</p> +<p>They followed on, and came up to where a vast copper was set in the +open air. Here the linen was boiled and disinfected. By +the light of the lanterns Laura discovered that her husband was standing +by the copper, and that it was he who unloaded the barrow and immersed +its contents. The night was so calm and muggy that the conversation +by the copper reached her ears.</p> +<p>‘Are there many more loads to-night?’</p> +<p>‘There’s the clothes o’ they that died this afternoon, +sir. But that might bide till to-morrow, for you must be tired +out.’</p> +<p>‘We’ll do it at once, for I can’t ask anybody else +to undertake it. Overturn that load on the grass and fetch the +rest.’</p> +<p>The man did so and went off with the barrow. Maumbry paused +for a moment to wipe his face, and resumed his homely drudgery amid +this squalid and reeking scene, pressing down and stirring the contents +of the copper with what looked like an old rolling-pin. The steam +therefrom, laden with death, travelled in a low trail across the meadow.</p> +<p>Laura spoke suddenly: ‘I won’t go to-night after all. +He is so tired, and I must help him. I didn’t know things +were so bad as this!’</p> +<p>Vannicock’s arm dropped from her waist, where it had been resting +as they walked. ‘Will you leave?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘I will if you say I must. But I’d rather help +too.’ There was no expostulation in his tone.</p> +<p>Laura had gone forward. ‘Jack,’ she said, ‘I +am come to help!’</p> +<p>The weary curate turned and held up the lantern. ‘O—what, +is it you, Laura?’ he asked in surprise. ‘Why did +you come into this? You had better go back—the risk is great.’</p> +<p>‘But I want to help you, Jack. Please let me help! +I didn’t come by myself—Mr. Vannicock kept me company. +He will make himself useful too, if he’s not gone on. Mr. +Vannicock!’</p> +<p>The young lieutenant came forward reluctantly. Mr. Maumbry +spoke formally to him, adding as he resumed his labour, ‘I thought +the ---st Foot had gone to Bristol.’</p> +<p>‘We have. But I have run down again for a few things.’</p> +<p>The two newcomers began to assist, Vannicock placing on the ground +the small bag containing Laura’s toilet articles that he had been +carrying. The barrowman soon returned with another load, and all +continued work for nearly a half-hour, when a coachman came out from +the shadows to the north.</p> +<p>‘Beg pardon, sir,’ he whispered to Vannicock, ‘but +I’ve waited so long on Mellstock hill that at last I drove down +to the turnpike; and seeing the light here, I ran on to find out what +had happened.’</p> +<p>Lieutenant Vannicock told him to wait a few minutes, and the last +barrow-load was got through. Mr. Maumbry stretched himself and +breathed heavily, saying, ‘There; we can do no more.’</p> +<p>As if from the relaxation of effort he seemed to be seized with violent +pain. He pressed his hands to his sides and bent forward.</p> +<p>‘Ah! I think it has got hold of me at last,’ he +said with difficulty. ‘I must try to get home. Let +Mr. Vannicock take you back, Laura.’</p> +<p>He walked a few steps, they helping him, but was obliged to sink +down on the grass.</p> +<p>‘I am—afraid—you’ll have to send for a hurdle, +or shutter, or something,’ he went on feebly, ‘or try to +get me into the barrow.’</p> +<p>But Vannicock had called to the driver of the fly, and they waited +until it was brought on from the turnpike hard by. Mr. Maumbry +was placed therein. Laura entered with him, and they drove to +his humble residence near the Cross, where he was got upstairs.</p> +<p>Vannicock stood outside by the empty fly awhile, but Laura did not +reappear. He thereupon entered the fly and told the driver to +take him back to Ivell.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> +<p>Mr. Maumbry had over-exerted himself in the relief of the suffering +poor, and fell a victim—one of the last—to the pestilence +which had carried off so many. Two days later he lay in his coffin.</p> +<p>Laura was in the room below. A servant brought in some letters, +and she glanced them over. One was the note from herself to Maumbry, +informing him that she was unable to endure life with him any longer +and was about to elope with Vannicock. Having read the letter +she took it upstairs to where the dead man was, and slipped it into +his coffin. The next day she buried him.</p> +<p>She was now free.</p> +<p>She shut up his house at Durnover Cross and returned to her lodgings +at Creston. Soon she had a letter from Vannicock, and six weeks +after her husband’s death her lover came to see her.</p> +<p>‘I forgot to give you back this—that night,’ he +said presently, handing her the little bag she had taken as her whole +luggage when leaving.</p> +<p>Laura received it and absently shook it out. There fell upon +the carpet her brush, comb, slippers, nightdress, and other simple necessaries +for a journey. They had an intolerably ghastly look now, and she +tried to cover them.</p> +<p>‘I can now,’ he said, ‘ask you to belong to me +legally—when a proper interval has gone—instead of as we +meant.’</p> +<p>There was languor in his utterance, hinting at a possibility that +it was perfunctorily made. Laura picked up her articles, answering +that he certainly could so ask her—she was free. Yet not +her expression either could be called an ardent response. Then +she blinked more and more quickly and put her handkerchief to her face. +She was weeping violently.</p> +<p>He did not move or try to comfort her in any way. What had +come between them? No living person. They had been lovers. +There was now no material obstacle whatever to their union. But +there was the insistent shadow of that unconscious one; the thin figure +of him, moving to and fro in front of the ghastly furnace in the gloom +of Durnover Moor.</p> +<p>Yet Vannicock called upon Laura when he was in the neighbourhood, +which was not often; but in two years, as if on purpose to further the +marriage which everybody was expecting, the ---st Foot returned to Budmouth +Regis.</p> +<p>Thereupon the two could not help encountering each other at times. +But whether because the obstacle had been the source of the love, or +from a sense of error, and because Mrs. Maumbry bore a less attractive +look as a widow than before, their feelings seemed to decline from their +former incandescence to a mere tepid civility. What domestic issues +supervened in Vannicock’s further story the man in the oriel never +knew; but Mrs. Maumbry lived and died a widow.</p> +<p>1900.</p> +<h2>THE WAITING SUPPER</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<p>Whoever had perceived the yeoman standing on Squire Everard’s +lawn in the dusk of that October evening fifty years ago, might have +said at first sight that he was loitering there from idle curiosity. +For a large five-light window of the manor-house in front of him was +unshuttered and uncurtained, so that the illuminated room within could +be scanned almost to its four corners. Obviously nobody was ever +expected to be in this part of the grounds after nightfall.</p> +<p>The apartment thus swept by an eye from without was occupied by two +persons; they were sitting over dessert, the tablecloth having been +removed in the old-fashioned way. The fruits were local, consisting +of apples, pears, nuts, and such other products of the summer as might +be presumed to grow on the estate. There was strong ale and rum +on the table, and but little wine. Moreover, the appointments +of the dining-room were simple and homely even for the date, betokening +a countrified household of the smaller gentry, without much wealth or +ambition—formerly a numerous class, but now in great part ousted +by the territorial landlords.</p> +<p>One of the two sitters was a young lady in white muslin, who listened +somewhat impatiently to the remarks of her companion, an elderly, rubicund +personage, whom the merest stranger could have pronounced to be her +father. The watcher evinced no signs of moving, and it became +evident that affairs were not so simple as they first had seemed. +The tall farmer was in fact no accidental spectator, and he stood by +premeditation close to the trunk of a tree, so that had any traveller +passed along the road without the park gate, or even round the lawn +to the door, that person would scarce have noticed the other, notwithstanding +that the gate was quite near at hand, and the park little larger than +a paddock. There was still light enough in the western heaven +to brighten faintly one side of the man’s face, and to show against +the trunk of the tree behind the admirable cut of his profile; also +to reveal that the front of the manor-house, small though it seemed, +was solidly built of stone in that never-to-be-surpassed style for the +English country residence—the mullioned and transomed Elizabethan.</p> +<p>The lawn, although neglected, was still as level as a bowling-green—which +indeed it might once have served for; and the blades of grass before +the window were raked by the candle-shine, which stretched over them +so far as to touch the yeoman’s face in front.</p> +<p>Within the dining-room there were also, with one of the twain, the +same signs of a hidden purpose that marked the farmer. The young +lady’s mind was straying as clearly into the shadows as that of +the loiterer was fixed upon the room—nay, it could be said that +she was quite conscious of his presence outside. Impatience caused +her foot to beat silently on the carpet, and she more than once rose +to leave the table. This proceeding was checked by her father, +who would put his hand upon her shoulder and unceremoniously press her +down into her chair, till he should have concluded his observations. +Her replies were brief enough, and there was factitiousness in her smiles +of assent to his views. A small iron casement between two of the +mullions was open, and some occasional words of the dialogue were audible +without.</p> +<p>‘As for drains—how can I put in drains? The pipes +don’t cost much, that’s true; but the labour in sinking +the trenches is ruination. And then the gates—they should +be hung to stone posts, otherwise there’s no keeping them up through +harvest.’ The Squire’s voice was strongly toned with +the local accent, so that he said ‘draïns’ and ‘geäts’ +like the rustics on his estate.</p> +<p>The landscape without grew darker, and the young man’s figure +seemed to be absorbed into the trunk of the tree. The small stars +filled in between the larger, the nebulae between the small stars, the +trees quite lost their voice; and if there was still a sound, it was +from the cascade of a stream which stretched along under the trees that +bounded the lawn on its northern side.</p> +<p>At last the young girl did get to her feet and secure her retreat. +‘I have something to do, papa,’ she said. ‘I +shall not be in the drawing-room just yet.’</p> +<p>‘Very well,’ replied he. ‘Then I won’t +hurry.’ And closing the door behind her, he drew his decanters +together and settled down in his chair.</p> +<p>Three minutes after that a woman’s shape emerged from the drawing-room +window, and passing through a wall-door to the entrance front, came +across the grass. She kept well clear of the dining-room window, +but enough of its light fell on her to show, escaping from the dark-hooded +cloak that she wore, stray verges of the same light dress which had +figured but recently at the dinner-table. The hood was contracted +tight about her face with a drawing-string, making her countenance small +and baby-like, and lovelier even than before.</p> +<p>Without hesitation she brushed across the grass to the tree under +which the young man stood concealed. The moment she had reached +him he enclosed her form with his arm. The meeting and embrace, +though by no means formal, were yet not passionate; the whole proceeding +was that of persons who had repeated the act so often as to be unconscious +of its performance. She turned within his arm, and faced in the +same direction with himself, which was towards the window; and thus +they stood without speaking, the back of her head leaning against his +shoulder. For a while each seemed to be thinking his and her diverse +thoughts.</p> +<p>‘You have kept me waiting a long time, dear Christine,’ +he said at last. ‘I wanted to speak to you particularly, +or I should not have stayed. How came you to be dining at this +time o’ night?’</p> +<p>‘Father has been out all day, and dinner was put back till +six. I know I have kept you; but Nicholas, how can I help it sometimes, +if I am not to run any risk? My poor father insists upon my listening +to all he has to say; since my brother left he has had nobody else to +listen to him; and to-night he was particularly tedious on his usual +topics—draining, and tenant-farmers, and the village people. +I must take daddy to London; he gets so narrow always staying here.’</p> +<p>‘And what did you say to it all?’</p> +<p>‘Well, I took the part of the tenant-farmers, of course, as +the beloved of one should in duty do.’ There followed a +little break or gasp, implying a strangled sigh.</p> +<p>‘You are sorry you have encouraged that beloving one?’</p> +<p>‘O no, Nicholas . . . What is it you want to see me for particularly?’</p> +<p>‘I know you are sorry, as time goes on, and everything is at +a dead-lock, with no prospect of change, and your rural swain loses +his freshness! Only think, this secret understanding between us +has lasted near three year, ever since you was a little over sixteen.’</p> +<p>‘Yes; it has been a long time.’</p> +<p>‘And I an untamed, uncultivated man, who has never seen London, +and knows nothing about society at all.’</p> +<p>‘Not uncultivated, dear Nicholas. Untravelled, socially +unpractised, if you will,’ she said, smiling. ‘Well, +I did sigh; but not because I regret being your promised one. +What I do sometimes regret is that the scheme, which my meetings with +you are but a part of, has not been carried out completely. You +said, Nicholas, that if I consented to swear to keep faith with you, +you would go away and travel, and see nations, and peoples, and cities, +and take a professor with you, and study books and art, simultaneously +with your study of men and manners; and then come back at the end of +two years, when I should find that my father would by no means be indisposed +to accept you as a son-in-law. You said your reason for wishing +to get my promise before starting was that your mind would then be more +at rest when you were far away, and so could give itself more completely +to knowledge than if you went as my unaccepted lover only, fuming with +anxiety as to how I should be when you came back. I saw how reasonable +that was; and solemnly swore myself to you in consequence. But +instead of going to see the world you stay on and on here to see me.’</p> +<p>‘And you don’t want me to see you?’</p> +<p>‘Yes—no—it is not that. It is that I have +latterly felt frightened at what I am doing when not in your actual +presence. It seems so wicked not to tell my father that I have +a lover close at hand, within touch and view of both of us; whereas +if you were absent my conduct would not seem quite so treacherous. +The realities would not stare at one so. You would be a pleasant +dream to me, which I should be free to indulge in without reproach of +my conscience; I should live in hopeful expectation of your returning +fully qualified to boldly claim me of my father. There, I have +been terribly frank, I know.’</p> +<p>He in his turn had lapsed into gloomy breathings now. ‘I +did plan it as you state,’ he answered. ‘I did mean +to go away the moment I had your promise. But, dear Christine, +I did not foresee two or three things. I did not know what a lot +of pain it would cost to tear myself from you. And I did not know +that my stingy uncle—heaven forgive me calling him so!—would +so flatly refuse to advance me money for my purpose—the scheme +of travelling with a first-rate tutor costing a formidable sum o’ +money. You have no idea what it would cost!’</p> +<p>‘But I have said that I’ll find the money.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, there,’ he returned, ‘you have hit a sore +place. To speak truly, dear, I would rather stay unpolished a +hundred years than take your money.’</p> +<p>‘But why? Men continually use the money of the women +they marry.’</p> +<p>‘Yes; but not till afterwards. No man would like to touch +your money at present, and I should feel very mean if I were to do so +in present circumstances. That brings me to what I was going to +propose. But no—upon the whole I will not propose it now.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! I would guarantee expenses, and you won’t +let me! The money is my personal possession: it comes to me from +my late grandfather, and not from my father at all.’</p> +<p>He laughed forcedly and pressed her hand. ‘There are +more reasons why I cannot tear myself away,’ he added. ‘What +would become of my uncle’s farming? Six hundred acres in +this parish, and five hundred in the next—a constant traipsing +from one farm to the other; he can’t be in two places at once. +Still, that might be got over if it were not for the other matters. +Besides, dear, I still should be a little uneasy, even though I have +your promise, lest somebody should snap you up away from me.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, you should have thought of that before. Otherwise +I have committed myself for nothing.’</p> +<p>‘I should have thought of it,’ he answered gravely. +‘But I did not. There lies my fault, I admit it freely. +Ah, if you would only commit yourself a little more, I might at least +get over that difficulty! But I won’t ask you. You +have no idea how much you are to me still; you could not argue so coolly +if you had. What property belongs to you I hate the very sound +of; it is you I care for. I wish you hadn’t a farthing in +the world but what I could earn for you!’</p> +<p>‘I don’t altogether wish that,’ she murmured.</p> +<p>‘I wish it, because it would have made what I was going to +propose much easier to do than it is now. Indeed I will not propose +it, although I came on purpose, after what you have said in your frankness.’</p> +<p>‘Nonsense, Nic. Come, tell me. How can you be so +touchy?’</p> +<p>‘Look at this then, Christine dear.’ He drew from +his breast-pocket a sheet of paper and unfolded it, when it was observable +that a seal dangled from the bottom.</p> +<p>‘What is it?’ She held the paper sideways, so that +what there was of window-light fell on its surface. ‘I can +only read the Old English letters—why—our names! Surely +it is not a marriage-licence?’</p> +<p>‘It is.’</p> +<p>She trembled. ‘O Nic! how could you do this—and +without telling me!’</p> +<p>‘Why should I have thought I must tell you? You had not +spoken “frankly” then as you have now. We have been +all to each other more than these two years, and I thought I would propose +that we marry privately, and that I then leave you on the instant. +I would have taken my travelling-bag to church, and you would have gone +home alone. I should not have started on my adventures in the +brilliant manner of our original plan, but should have roughed it a +little at first; my great gain would have been that the absolute possession +of you would have enabled me to work with spirit and purpose, such as +nothing else could do. But I dare not ask you now—so frank +as you have been.’</p> +<p>She did not answer. The document he had produced gave such +unexpected substantiality to the venture with which she had so long +toyed as a vague dream merely, that she was, in truth, frightened a +little. ‘I—don’t know about it!’ she said.</p> +<p>‘Perhaps not. Ah, my little lady, you are wearying of +me!’</p> +<p>‘No, Nic,’ responded she, creeping closer. ‘I +am not. Upon my word, and truth, and honour, I am not, Nic.’</p> +<p>‘A mere tiller of the soil, as I should be called,’ he +continued, without heeding her. ‘And you—well, a daughter +of one of the—I won’t say oldest families, because that’s +absurd, all families are the same age—one of the longest chronicled +families about here, whose name is actually the name of the place.’</p> +<p>‘That’s not much, I am sorry to say! My poor brother—but +I won’t speak of that . . . Well,’ she murmured mischievously, +after a pause, ‘you certainly would not need to be uneasy if I +were to do this that you want me to do. You would have me safe +enough in your trap then; I couldn’t get away!’</p> +<p>‘That’s just it!’ he said vehemently. ‘It +<i>is</i> a trap—you feel it so, and that though you wouldn’t +be able to get away from me you might particularly wish to! Ah, +if I had asked you two years ago you would have agreed instantly. +But I thought I was bound to wait for the proposal to come from you +as the superior!’</p> +<p>‘Now you are angry, and take seriously what I meant purely +in fun. You don’t know me even yet! To show you that +you have not been mistaken in me, I do propose to carry out this licence. +I’ll marry you, dear Nicholas, to-morrow morning.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, Christine! I am afraid I have stung you on to this, +so that I cannot—’</p> +<p>‘No, no, no!’ she hastily rejoined; and there was something +in her tone which suggested that she had been put upon her mettle and +would not flinch. ‘Take me whilst I am in the humour. +What church is the licence for?’</p> +<p>‘That I’ve not looked to see—why our parish church +here, of course. Ah, then we cannot use it! We dare not +be married here.’</p> +<p>‘We do dare,’ said she. ‘And we will too, +if you’ll be there.’</p> +<p><i>‘If</i> I’ll be there!’</p> +<p>They speedily came to an agreement that he should be in the church-porch +at ten minutes to eight on the following morning, awaiting her; and +that, immediately after the conclusion of the service which would make +them one, Nicholas should set out on his long-deferred educational tour, +towards the cost of which she was resolving to bring a substantial subscription +with her to church. Then, slipping from him, she went indoors +by the way she had come, and Nicholas bent his steps homewards.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<p>Instead of leaving the spot by the gate, he flung himself over the +fence, and pursued a direction towards the river under the trees. +And it was now, in his lonely progress, that he showed for the first +time outwardly that he was not altogether unworthy of her. He +wore long water-boots reaching above his knees, and, instead of making +a circuit to find a bridge by which he might cross the Froom—the +river aforesaid—he made straight for the point whence proceeded +the low roar that was at this hour the only evidence of the stream’s +existence. He speedily stood on the verge of the waterfall which +caused the noise, and stepping into the water at the top of the fall, +waded through with the sure tread of one who knew every inch of his +footing, even though the canopy of trees rendered the darkness almost +absolute, and a false step would have precipitated him into the pool +beneath. Soon reaching the boundary of the grounds, he continued +in the same direct line to traverse the alluvial valley, full of brooks +and tributaries to the main stream—in former times quite impassable, +and impassable in winter now. Sometimes he would cross a deep +gully on a plank not wider than the hand; at another time he ploughed +his way through beds of spear-grass, where at a few feet to the right +or left he might have been sucked down into a morass. At last +he reached firm land on the other side of this watery tract, and came +to his house on the rise behind—Elsenford—an ordinary farmstead, +from the back of which rose indistinct breathings, belchings, and snortings, +the rattle of halters, and other familiar features of an agriculturist’s +home.</p> +<p>While Nicholas Long was packing his bag in an upper room of this +dwelling, Miss Christine Everard sat at a desk in her own chamber at +Froom-Everard manor-house, looking with pale fixed countenance at the +candles.</p> +<p>‘I ought—I must now!’ she whispered to herself. +‘I should not have begun it if I had not meant to carry it through! +It runs in the blood of us, I suppose.’ She alluded to a +fact unknown to her lover, the clandestine marriage of an aunt under +circumstances somewhat similar to the present. In a few minutes +she had penned the following note:-</p> +<blockquote><p>October 13, 183-.</p> +<p>DEAR MR. BEALAND—Can you make it convenient to yourself to +meet me at the Church to-morrow morning at eight? I name the early +hour because it would suit me better than later on in the day. +You will find me in the chancel, if you can come. An answer yes +or no by the bearer of this will be sufficient.</p> +<p>CHRISTINE EVERARD.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>She sent the note to the rector immediately, waiting at a small side-door +of the house till she heard the servant’s footsteps returning +along the lane, when she went round and met him in the passage. +The rector had taken the trouble to write a line, and answered that +he would meet her with pleasure.</p> +<p>A dripping fog which ushered in the next morning was highly favourable +to the scheme of the pair. At that time of the century Froom-Everard +House had not been altered and enlarged; the public lane passed close +under its walls; and there was a door opening directly from one of the +old parlours—the south parlour, as it was called—into the +lane which led to the village. Christine came out this way, and +after following the lane for a short distance entered upon a path within +a belt of plantation, by which the church could be reached privately. +She even avoided the churchyard gate, walking along to a place where +the turf without the low wall rose into a mound, enabling her to mount +upon the coping and spring down inside. She crossed the wet graves, +and so glided round to the door. He was there, with his bag in +his hand. He kissed her with a sort of surprise, as if he had +expected that at the last moment her heart would fail her.</p> +<p>Though it had not failed her, there was, nevertheless, no great ardour +in Christine’s bearing—merely the momentum of an antecedent +impulse. They went up the aisle together, the bottle-green glass +of the old lead quarries admitting but little light at that hour, and +under such an atmosphere. They stood by the altar-rail in silence, +Christine’s skirt visibly quivering at each beat of her heart.</p> +<p>Presently a quick step ground upon the gravel, and Mr. Bealand came +round by the front. He was a quiet bachelor, courteous towards +Christine, and not at first recognizing in Nicholas a neighbouring yeoman +(for he lived aloofly in the next parish), advanced to her without revealing +any surprise at her unusual request. But in truth he was +surprised, the keen interest taken by many country young women at the +present day in church decoration and festivals being then unknown.</p> +<p>‘Good morning,’ he said; and repeated the same words +to Nicholas more mechanically.</p> +<p>‘Good morning,’ she replied gravely. ‘Mr. +Bealand, I have a serious reason for asking you to meet me—us, +I may say. We wish you to marry us.’</p> +<p>The rector’s gaze hardened to fixity, rather between than upon +either of them, and he neither moved nor replied for some time.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ he said at last.</p> +<p>‘And we are quite ready.’</p> +<p>‘I had no idea—’</p> +<p>‘It has been kept rather private,’ she said calmly.</p> +<p>‘Where are your witnesses?’</p> +<p>‘They are outside in the meadow, sir. I can call them +in a moment,’ said Nicholas.</p> +<p>‘Oh—I see it is—Mr. Nicholas Long,’ said +Mr. Bealand, and turning again to Christine, ‘Does your father +know of this?’</p> +<p>‘Is it necessary that I should answer that question, Mr. Bealand?’</p> +<p>‘I am afraid it is—highly necessary.’</p> +<p>Christine began to look concerned.</p> +<p>‘Where is the licence?’ the rector asked; ‘since +there have been no banns.’</p> +<p>Nicholas produced it, Mr. Bealand read it, an operation which occupied +him several minutes—or at least he made it appear so; till Christine +said impatiently, ‘We are quite ready, Mr. Bealand. Will +you proceed? Mr. Long has to take a journey of a great many miles +to-day.’</p> +<p>‘And you?’</p> +<p>‘No. I remain.’</p> +<p>Mr. Bealand assumed firmness. ‘There is something wrong +in this,’ he said. ‘I cannot marry you without your +father’s presence.’</p> +<p>‘But have you a right to refuse us?’ interposed Nicholas. +‘I believe we are in a position to demand your fulfilment of our +request.’</p> +<p>‘No, you are not! Is Miss Everard of age? I think +not. I think she is months from being so. Eh, Miss Everard?’</p> +<p>‘Am I bound to tell that?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly. At any rate you are bound to write it. +Meanwhile I refuse to solemnize the service. And let me entreat +you two young people to do nothing so rash as this, even if by going +to some strange church, you may do so without discovery. The tragedy +of marriage—’</p> +<p>‘Tragedy?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly. It is full of crises and catastrophes, and +ends with the death of one of the actors. The tragedy of marriage, +as I was saying, is one I shall not be a party to your beginning with +such light hearts, and I shall feel bound to put your father on his +guard, Miss Everard. Think better of it, I entreat you! +Remember the proverb, “Marry in haste and repent at leisure.”’</p> +<p>Christine, spurred by opposition, almost stormed at him. Nicholas +implored; but nothing would turn that obstinate rector. She sat +down and reflected. By-and-by she confronted Mr. Bealand.</p> +<p>‘Our marriage is not to be this morning, I see,’ she +said. ‘Now grant me one favour, and in return I’ll +promise you to do nothing rashly. Do not tell my father a word +of what has happened here.’</p> +<p>‘I agree—if you undertake not to elope.’</p> +<p>She looked at Nicholas, and he looked at her. ‘Do you +wish me to elope, Nic?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘No,’ he said.</p> +<p>So the compact was made, and they left the church singly, Nicholas +remaining till the last, and closing the door. On his way home, +carrying the well-packed bag which was just now to go no further, the +two men who were mending water-carriers in the meadows approached the +hedge, as if they had been on the alert all the time.</p> +<p>‘You said you mid want us for zummat, sir?’</p> +<p>‘All right—never mind,’ he answered through the +hedge. ‘I did not require you after all.’</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<p>At a manor not far away there lived a queer and primitive couple +who had lately been blessed with a son and heir. The christening +took place during the week under notice, and this had been followed +by a feast to the parishioners. Christine’s father, one +of the same generation and kind, had been asked to drive over and assist +in the entertainment, and Christine, as a matter of course, accompanied +him.</p> +<p>When they reached Athelhall, as the house was called, they found +the usually quiet nook a lively spectacle. Tables had been spread +in the apartment which lent its name to the whole building—the +hall proper—covered with a fine open-timbered roof, whose braces, +purlins, and rafters made a brown thicket of oak overhead. Here +tenantry of all ages sat with their wives and families, and the servants +were assisted in their ministrations by the sons and daughters of the +owner’s friends and neighbours. Christine lent a hand among +the rest.</p> +<p>She was holding a plate in each hand towards a huge brown platter +of baked rice-pudding, from which a footman was scooping a large spoonful, +when a voice reached her ear over her shoulder: ‘Allow me to hold +them for you.’</p> +<p>Christine turned, and recognized in the speaker the nephew of the +entertainer, a young man from London, whom she had already met on two +or three occasions.</p> +<p>She accepted the proffered help, and from that moment, whenever he +passed her in their marchings to and fro during the remainder of the +serving, he smiled acquaintance. When their work was done, he +improved the few words into a conversation. He plainly had been +attracted by her fairness.</p> +<p>Bellston was a self-assured young man, not particularly good-looking, +with more colour in his skin than even Nicholas had. He had flushed +a little in attracting her notice, though the flush had nothing of nervousness +in it—the air with which it was accompanied making it curiously +suggestive of a flush of anger; and even when he laughed it was difficult +to banish that fancy.</p> +<p>The late autumn sunlight streamed in through the window panes upon +the heads and shoulders of the venerable patriarchs of the hamlet, and +upon the middle-aged, and upon the young; upon men and women who had +played out, or were to play, tragedies or tragi-comedies in that nook +of civilization not less great, essentially, than those which, enacted +on more central arenas, fix the attention of the world. One of +the party was a cousin of Nicholas Long’s, who sat with her husband +and children.</p> +<p>To make himself as locally harmonious as possible, Mr. Bellston remarked +to his companion on the scene—‘It does one’s heart +good,’ he said, ‘to see these simple peasants enjoying themselves.’</p> +<p>‘O Mr. Bellston!’ exclaimed Christine; ‘don’t +be too sure about that word “simple”! You little think +what they see and meditate! Their reasonings and emotions are +as complicated as ours.’</p> +<p>She spoke with a vehemence which would have been hardly present in +her words but for her own relation to Nicholas. The sense of that +produced in her a nameless depression thenceforward. The young +man, however, still followed her up.</p> +<p>‘I am glad to hear you say it,’ he returned warmly. +‘I was merely attuning myself to your mood, as I thought. +The real truth is that I know more of the Parthians, and Medes, and +dwellers in Mesopotamia—almost of any people, indeed—than +of the English rustics. Travel and exploration are my profession, +not the study of the British peasantry.’</p> +<p>Travel. There was sufficient coincidence between his declaration +and the course she had urged upon her lover, to lend Bellston’s +account of himself a certain interest in Christine’s ears. +He might perhaps be able to tell her something that would be useful +to Nicholas, if their dream were carried out. A door opened from +the hall into the garden, and she somehow found herself outside, chatting +with Mr. Bellston on this topic, till she thought that upon the whole +she liked the young man. The garden being his uncle’s, he +took her round it with an air of proprietorship; and they went on amongst +the Michaelmas daisies and chrysanthemums, and through a door to the +fruit-garden. A green-house was open, and he went in and cut her +a bunch of grapes.</p> +<p>‘How daring of you! They are your uncle’s.’</p> +<p>‘O, he don’t mind—I do anything here. A rough +old buffer, isn’t he?’</p> +<p>She was thinking of her Nic, and felt that, by comparison with her +present acquaintance, the farmer more than held his own as a fine and +intelligent fellow; but the harmony with her own existence in little +things, which she found here, imparted an alien tinge to Nicholas just +now. The latter, idealized by moonlight, or a thousand miles of +distance, was altogether a more romantic object for a woman’s +dream than this smart new-lacquered man; but in the sun of afternoon, +and amid a surrounding company, Mr. Bellston was a very tolerable companion.</p> +<p>When they re-entered the hall, Bellston entreated her to come with +him up a spiral stair in the thickness of the wall, leading to a passage +and gallery whence they could look down upon the scene below. +The people had finished their feast, the newly-christened baby had been +exhibited, and a few words having been spoken to them they began, amid +a racketing of forms, to make for the greensward without, Nicholas’s +cousin and cousin’s wife and cousin’s children among the +rest. While they were filing out, a voice was heard calling—‘Hullo!—here, +Jim; where are you?’ said Bellston’s uncle. The young +man descended, Christine following at leisure.</p> +<p>‘Now will ye be a good fellow,’ the Squire continued, +‘and set them going outside in some dance or other that they know? +I’m dog-tired, and I want to have a yew words with Mr. Everard +before we join ’em—hey, Everard? They are shy till +somebody starts ’em; afterwards they’ll keep gwine brisk +enough.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, that they wool,’ said Squire Everard.</p> +<p>They followed to the lawn; and here it proved that James Bellston +was as shy, or rather as averse, as any of the tenantry themselves, +to acting the part of fugleman. Only the parish people had been +at the feast, but outlying neighbours had now strolled in for a dance.</p> +<p>‘They want “Speed the Plough,”’ said Bellston, +coming up breathless. ‘It must be a country dance, I suppose? +Now, Miss Everard, do have pity upon me. I am supposed to lead +off; but really I know no more about speeding the plough than a child +just born! Would you take one of the villagers?—just to +start them, my uncle says. Suppose you take that handsome young +farmer over there—I don’t know his name, but I dare say +you do—and I’ll come on with one of the dairyman’s +daughters as a second couple.’</p> +<p>Christine turned in the direction signified, and changed colour—though +in the shade nobody noticed it, ‘Oh, yes—I know him,’ +she said coolly. ‘He is from near our own place—Mr. +Nicholas Long.’</p> +<p>‘That’s capital—then you can easily make him stand +as first couple with you. Now I must pick up mine.’</p> +<p>‘I—I think I’ll dance with you, Mr. Bellston,’ +she said with some trepidation. ‘Because, you see,’ +she explained eagerly, ‘I know the figure and you don’t—so +that I can help you; while Nicholas Long, I know, is familiar with the +figure, and that will make two couples who know it—which is necessary, +at least.’</p> +<p>Bellston showed his gratification by one of his angry-pleasant flushes—he +had hardly dared to ask for what she proffered freely; and having requested +Nicholas to take the dairyman’s daughter, led Christine to her +place, Long promptly stepping up second with his charge. There +were grim silent depths in Nic’s character; a small deedy spark +in his eye, as it caught Christine’s, was all that showed his +consciousness of her. Then the fiddlers began—the celebrated +Mellstock fiddlers who, given free stripping, could play from sunset +to dawn without turning a hair. The couples wheeled and swung, +Nicholas taking Christine’s hand in the course of business with +the figure, when she waited for him to give it a little squeeze; but +he did not.</p> +<p>Christine had the greatest difficulty in steering her partner through +the maze, on account of his self-will, and when at last they reached +the bottom of the long line, she was breathless with her hard labour.. +Resting here, she watched Nic and his lady; and, though she had decidedly +cooled off in these later months, began to admire him anew. Nobody +knew these dances like him, after all, or could do anything of this +sort so well. His performance with the dairyman’s daughter +so won upon her, that when ‘Speed the Plough’ was over she +contrived to speak to him.</p> +<p>‘Nic, you are to dance with me next time.’</p> +<p>He said he would, and presently asked her in a formal public manner, +lifting his hat gallantly. She showed a little backwardness, which +he quite understood, and allowed him to lead her to the top, a row of +enormous length appearing below them as if by magic as soon as they +had taken their places. Truly the Squire was right when he said +that they only wanted starting.</p> +<p>‘What is it to be?’ whispered Nicholas.</p> +<p>She turned to the band. ‘The Honeymoon,’ she said.</p> +<p>And then they trod the delightful last-century measure of that name, +which if it had been ever danced better, was never danced with more +zest. The perfect responsiveness which their tender acquaintance +threw into the motions of Nicholas and his partner lent to their gyrations +the fine adjustment of two interacting parts of a single machine. +The excitement of the movement carried Christine back to the time—the +unreflecting passionate time, about two years before—when she +and Nic had been incipient lovers only; and it made her forget the carking +anxieties, the vision of social breakers ahead, that had begun to take +the gilding off her position now. Nicholas, on his part, had never +ceased to be a lover; no personal worries had as yet made him conscious +of any staleness, flatness, or unprofitableness in his admiration of +Christine.</p> +<p>‘Not quite so wildly, Nic,’ she whispered. ‘I +don’t object personally; but they’ll notice us. How +came you here?’</p> +<p>‘I heard that you had driven over; and I set out—on purpose +for this.’</p> +<p>‘What—you have walked?’</p> +<p>‘Yes. If I had waited for one of uncle’s horses +I should have been too late.’</p> +<p>‘Five miles here and five back—ten miles on foot—merely +to dance!’</p> +<p>‘With you. What made you think of this old “Honeymoon” +thing?’</p> +<p>‘O! it came into my head when I saw you, as what would have +been a reality with us if you had not been stupid about that licence, +and had got it for a distant church.’</p> +<p>‘Shall we try again?’</p> +<p>‘No—I don’t know. I’ll think it over.’</p> +<p>The villagers admired their grace and skill, as the dancers themselves +perceived; but they did not know what accompanied that admiration in +one spot, at least.</p> +<p>‘People who wonder they can foot it so featly together should +know what some others think,’ a waterman was saying to his neighbour. +‘Then their wonder would be less.’</p> +<p>His comrade asked for information.</p> +<p>‘Well—really I hardly believe it—but ’tis +said they be man and wife. Yes, sure—went to church and +did the job a’most afore ’twas light one morning. +But mind, not a word of this; for ’twould be the loss of a winter’s +work to me if I had spread such a report and it were not true.’</p> +<p>When the dance had ended she rejoined her own section of the company. +Her father and Mr. Bellston the elder had now come out from the house, +and were smoking in the background. Presently she found that her +father was at her elbow.</p> +<p>‘Christine, don’t dance too often with young Long—as +a mere matter of prudence, I mean, as volk might think it odd, he being +one of our own neighbouring farmers. I should not mention this +to ’ee if he were an ordinary young fellow; but being superior +to the rest it behoves you to be careful.’</p> +<p>‘Exactly, papa,’ said Christine.</p> +<p>But the revived sense that she was deceiving him threw a damp over +her spirits. ‘But, after all,’ she said to herself, +‘he is a young man of Elsenford, handsome, able, and the soul +of honour; and I am a young woman of the adjoining parish, who have +been constantly thrown into communication with him. Is it not, +by nature’s rule, the most proper thing in the world that I should +marry him, and is it not an absurd conventional regulation which says +that such a union would be wrong?’</p> +<p>It may be concluded that the strength of Christine’s large-minded +argument was rather an evidence of weakness than of strength in the +passion it concerned, which had required neither argument nor reasoning +of any kind for its maintenance when full and flush in its early days.</p> +<p>When driving home in the dark with her father she sank into pensive +silence. She was thinking of Nicholas having to trudge on foot +all those miles back after his exertions on the sward. Mr. Everard, +arousing himself from a nap, said suddenly, ‘I have something +to mention to ’ee, by George—so I have, Chris! You +probably know what it is?’</p> +<p>She expressed ignorance, wondering if her father had discovered anything +of her secret.</p> +<p>‘Well, according to <i>him</i> you know it. But I will +tell ’ee. Perhaps you noticed young Jim Bellston walking +me off down the lawn with him?—whether or no, we walked together +a good while; and he informed me that he wanted to pay his addresses +to ’ee. I naturally said that it depended upon yourself; +and he replied that you were willing enough; you had given him particular +encouragement—showing your preference for him by specially choosing +him for your partner—hey? “In that case,” says +I, “go on and conquer—settle it with her—I have no +objection.” The poor fellow was very grateful, and in short, +there we left the matter. He’ll propose to-morrow.’</p> +<p>She saw now to her dismay what James Bellston had read as encouragement. +‘He has mistaken me altogether,’ she said. ‘I +had no idea of such a thing.’</p> +<p>‘What, you won’t have him?’</p> +<p>‘Indeed, I cannot!’</p> +<p>‘Chrissy,’ said Mr. Everard with emphasis, ‘there’s +<i>noo</i>body whom I should so like you to marry as that young man. +He’s a thoroughly clever fellow, and fairly well provided for. +He’s travelled all over the temperate zone; but he says that directly +he marries he’s going to give up all that, and be a regular stay-at-home. +You would be nowhere safer than in his hands.’</p> +<p>‘It is true,’ she answered. ‘He <i>is</i> +a highly desirable match, and I <i>should</i> be well provided for, +and probably very safe in his hands.’</p> +<p>‘Then don’t be skittish, and stand-to.’</p> +<p>She had spoken from her conscience and understanding, and not to +please her father. As a reflecting woman she believed that such +a marriage would be a wise one. In great things Nicholas was closest +to her nature; in little things Bellston seemed immeasurably nearer +than Nic; and life was made up of little things.</p> +<p>Altogether the firmament looked black for Nicholas Long, notwithstanding +her half-hour’s ardour for him when she saw him dancing with the +dairyman’s daughter. Most great passions, movements, and +beliefs—individual and national—burst during their decline +into a temporary irradiation, which rivals their original splendour; +and then they speedily become extinct. Perhaps the dance had given +the last flare-up to Christine’s love. It seemed to have +improvidently consumed for its immediate purpose all her ardour forwards, +so that for the future there was nothing left but frigidity.</p> +<p>Nicholas had certainly been very foolish about that licence!</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<p>This laxity of emotional tone was further increased by an incident, +when, two days later, she kept an appointment with Nicholas in the Sallows. +The Sallows was an extension of shrubberies and plantations along the +banks of the Froom, accessible from the lawn of Froom-Everard House +only, except by wading through the river at the waterfall or elsewhere. +Near the brink was a thicket of box in which a trunk lay prostrate; +this had been once or twice their trysting-place, though it was by no +means a safe one; and it was here she sat awaiting him now.</p> +<p>The noise of the stream muffled any sound of footsteps, and it was +before she was aware of his approach that she looked up and saw him +wading across at the top of the waterfall.</p> +<p>Noontide lights and dwarfed shadows always banished the romantic +aspect of her love for Nicholas. Moreover, something new had occurred +to disturb her; and if ever she had regretted giving way to a tenderness +for him—which perhaps she had not done with any distinctness—she +regretted it now. Yet in the bottom of their hearts those two +were excellently paired, the very twin halves of a perfect whole; and +their love was pure. But at this hour surfaces showed garishly, +and obscured the depths. Probably her regret appeared in her face.</p> +<p>He walked up to her without speaking, the water running from his +boots; and, taking one of her hands in each of his own, looked narrowly +into her eyes.</p> +<p>‘Have you thought it over?’</p> +<p>‘<i>What</i>?’</p> +<p>‘Whether we shall try again; you remember saying you would +at the dance?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I had forgotten that!’</p> +<p>‘You are sorry we tried at all!’ he said accusingly.</p> +<p>‘I am not so sorry for the fact as for the rumours,’ +she said.</p> +<p>‘Ah! rumours?’</p> +<p>‘They say we are already married.’</p> +<p>‘Who?’</p> +<p>‘I cannot tell exactly. I heard some whispering to that +effect. Somebody in the village told one of the servants, I believe. +This man said that he was crossing the churchyard early on that unfortunate +foggy morning, and heard voices in the chancel, and peeped through the +window as well as the dim panes would let him; and there he saw you +and me and Mr. Bealand, and so on; but thinking his surmises would be +dangerous knowledge, he hastened on. And so the story got afloat. +Then your aunt, too—’</p> +<p>‘Good Lord!—what has she done?’</p> +<p>The story was, told her, and she said proudly, “O yes, it is +true enough. I have seen the licence. But it is not to be +known yet.”’</p> +<p>‘Seen the licence? How the—’</p> +<p>‘Accidentally, I believe, when your coat was hanging somewhere.’</p> +<p>The information, coupled with the infelicitous word ‘proudly,’ +caused Nicholas to flush with mortification. He knew that it was +in his aunt’s nature to make a brag of that sort; but worse than +the brag was the fact that this was the first occasion on which Christine +had deigned to show her consciousness that such a marriage would be +a source of pride to his relatives—the only two he had in the +world.</p> +<p>‘You are sorry, then, even to be thought my wife, much less +to be it.’ He dropped her hand, which fell lifelessly.</p> +<p>‘It is not sorry exactly, dear Nic. But I feel uncomfortable +and vexed, that after screwing up my courage, my fidelity, to the point +of going to church, you should have so muddled—managed the matter +that it has ended in neither one thing nor the other. How can +I meet acquaintances, when I don’t know what they are thinking +of me?’</p> +<p>‘Then, dear Christine, let us mend the muddle. I’ll +go away for a few days and get another licence, and you can come to +me.’</p> +<p>She shrank from this perceptibly. ‘I cannot screw myself +up to it a second time,’ she said. ‘I am sure I cannot! +Besides, I promised Mr. Bealand. And yet how can I continue to +see you after such a rumour? We shall be watched now, for certain.’</p> +<p>‘Then don’t see me.’</p> +<p>‘I fear I must not for the present. Altogether—’</p> +<p>‘What?’</p> +<p>‘I am very depressed.’</p> +<p>These views were not very inspiriting to Nicholas, as he construed +them. It may indeed have been possible that he construed them +wrongly, and should have insisted upon her making the rumour true. +Unfortunately, too, he had come to her in a hurry through brambles and +briars, water and weed, and the shaggy wildness which hung about his +appearance at this fine and correct time of day lent an impracticability +to the look of him.</p> +<p>‘You blame me—you repent your courses—you repent +that you ever, ever owned anything to me!’</p> +<p>‘No, Nicholas, I do not repent that,’ she returned gently, +though with firmness. ‘But I think that you ought not to +have got that licence without asking me first; and I also think that +you ought to have known how it would be if you lived on here in your +present position, and made no effort to better it. I can bear +whatever comes, for social ruin is not personal ruin or even personal +disgrace. But as a sensible, new-risen poet says, whom I have +been reading this morning:-</p> +<blockquote><p>The world and its ways have a certain worth:<br /> +And to press a point while these oppose<br /> +Were simple policy. Better wait.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As soon as you had got my promise, Nic, you should have gone away—yes—and +made a name, and come back to claim me. That was my silly girlish +dream about my hero.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps I can do as much yet! And would you have indeed +liked better to live away from me for family reasons, than to run a +risk in seeing me for affection’s sake? O what a cold heart +it has grown! If I had been a prince, and you a dairymaid, I’d +have stood by you in the face of the world!’</p> +<p>She shook her head. ‘Ah—you don’t know what +society is—you don’t know.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps not. Who was that strange gentleman of about +seven-and-twenty I saw at Mr. Bellston’s christening feast?’</p> +<p>‘Oh—that was his nephew James. Now he is a man +who has seen an unusual extent of the world for his age. He is +a great traveller, you know.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed.’</p> +<p>‘In fact an explorer. He is very entertaining.’</p> +<p>‘No doubt.’</p> +<p>Nicholas received no shock of jealousy from her announcement. +He knew her so well that he could see she was not in the least in love +with Bellston. But he asked if Bellston were going to continue +his explorations.</p> +<p>‘Not if he settles in life. Otherwise he will, I suppose.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps I could be a great explorer, too, if I tried.’</p> +<p>‘You could, I am sure.’</p> +<p>They sat apart, and not together; each looking afar off at vague +objects, and not in each other’s eyes. Thus the sad autumn +afternoon waned, while the waterfall hissed sarcastically of the inevitableness +of the unpleasant. Very different this from the time when they +had first met there.</p> +<p>The nook was most picturesque; but it looked horridly common and +stupid now. Their sentiment had set a colour hardly less visible +than a material one on surrounding objects, as sentiment must where +life is but thought. Nicholas was as devoted as ever to the fair +Christine; but unhappily he too had moods and humours, and the division +between them was not closed.</p> +<p>She had no sooner got indoors and sat down to her work-table than +her father entered the drawing-room.</p> +<p>She handed him his newspaper; he took it without a word, went and +stood on the hearthrug, and flung the paper on the floor.</p> +<p>‘Christine, what’s the meaning of this terrible story? +I was just on my way to look at the register.’</p> +<p>She looked at him without speech.</p> +<p>‘You have married—Nicholas Long?’</p> +<p>‘No, father.’</p> +<p>‘No? Can you say no in the face of such facts as I have +been put in possession of?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘But—the note you wrote to the rector—and the going +to church?’</p> +<p>She briefly explained that their attempt had failed.</p> +<p>‘Ah! Then this is what that dancing meant, was it? +By ---, it makes me ---. How long has this been going on, +may I ask?’</p> +<p>‘This what?’</p> +<p>‘What, indeed! Why, making him your beau. Now listen +to me. All’s well that ends well; from this day, madam, +this moment, he is to be nothing more to you. You are not to see +him. Cut him adrift instantly! I only wish his volk were +on my farm—out they should go, or I would know the reason why. +However, you are to write him a letter to this effect at once.’</p> +<p>‘How can I cut him adrift?’</p> +<p>‘Why not? You must, my good maid!’</p> +<p>‘Well, though I have not actually married him, I have solemnly +sworn to be his wife when he comes home from abroad to claim me. +It would be gross perjury not to fulfil my promise. Besides, no +woman can go to church with a man to deliberately solemnize matrimony, +and refuse him afterwards, if he does nothing wrong meanwhile.’</p> +<p>The uttered sound of her strong conviction seemed to kindle in Christine +a livelier perception of all its bearings than she had known while it +had lain unformulated in her mind. For when she had done speaking +she fell down on her knees before her father, covered her face, and +said, ‘Please, please forgive me, papa! How could I do it +without letting you know! I don’t know, I don’t know!’</p> +<p>When she looked up she found that, in the turmoil of his mind, her +father was moving about the room. ‘You are within an ace +of ruining yourself, ruining me, ruining us all!’ he said. +‘You are nearly as bad as your brother, begad!’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps I am—yes—perhaps I am!’</p> +<p>‘That I should father such a harum-scarum brood!’</p> +<p>‘It is very bad; but Nicholas—’</p> +<p>‘He’s a scoundrel!’</p> +<p>‘He is <i>not</i> a scoundrel!’ cried she, turning quickly. +‘He’s as good and worthy as you or I, or anybody bearing +our name, or any nobleman in the kingdom, if you come to that! +Only—only’—she could not continue the argument on +those lines. ‘Now, father, listen!’ she sobbed; ‘if +you taunt me I’ll go off and join him at his farm this very day, +and marry him to-morrow, that’s what I’ll do!’</p> +<p>‘I don’t taant ye!’</p> +<p>‘I wish to avoid unseemliness as much as you.’</p> +<p>She went away. When she came back a quarter of an hour later, +thinking to find the room empty, he was standing there as before, never +having apparently moved. His manner had quite changed. He +seemed to take a resigned and entirely different view of circumstances.</p> +<p>‘Christine, here’s a paragraph in the paper hinting at +a secret wedding, and I’m blazed if it don’t point to you. +Well, since this was to happen, I’ll bear it, and not complain. +All volk have crosses, and this is one of mine. Now, this is what +I’ve got to say—I feel that you must carry out this attempt +at marrying Nicholas Long. Faith, you must! The rumour will +become a scandal if you don’t—that’s my view. +I have tried to look at the brightest side of the case. Nicholas +Long is a young man superior to most of his class, and fairly presentable. +And he’s not poor—at least his uncle is not. I believe +the old muddler could buy me up any day. However, a farmer’s +wife you must be, as far as I can see. As you’ve made your +bed, so ye must lie. Parents propose, and ungrateful children +dispose. You shall marry him, and immediately.’</p> +<p>Christine hardly knew what to make of this. ‘He is quite +willing to wait, and so am I. We can wait for two or three years, +and then he will be as worthy as—’</p> +<p>‘You must marry him. And the sooner the better, if ’tis +to be done at all . . . And yet I did wish you could have been Jim Bellston’s +wife. I did wish it! But no.’</p> +<p>‘I, too, wished it and do still, in one sense,’ she returned +gently. His moderation had won her out of her defiant mood, and +she was willing to reason with him.</p> +<p>‘You do?’ he said surprised.</p> +<p>‘I see that in a worldly sense my conduct with Mr. Long may +be considered a mistake.’</p> +<p>‘H’m—I am glad to hear that—after my death +you may see it more clearly still; and you won’t have long to +wait, to my reckoning.’</p> +<p>She fell into bitter repentance, and kissed him in her anguish. +‘Don’t say that!’ she cried. ‘Tell me +what to do?’</p> +<p>‘If you’ll leave me for an hour or two I’ll think. +Drive to the market and back—the carriage is at the door—and +I’ll try to collect my senses. Dinner can be put back till +you return.’</p> +<p>In a few minutes she was dressed, and the carriage bore her up the +hill which divided the village and manor from the market-town.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> +<p>A quarter of an hour brought her into the High Street, and for want +of a more important errand she called at the harness-maker’s for +a dog-collar that she required.</p> +<p>It happened to be market-day, and Nicholas, having postponed the +engagements which called him thither to keep the appointment with her +in the Sallows, rushed off at the end of the afternoon to attend to +them as well as he could. Arriving thus in a great hurry on account +of the lateness of the hour, he still retained the wild, amphibious +appearance which had marked him when he came up from the meadows to +her side—an exceptional condition of things which had scarcely +ever before occurred. When she crossed the pavement from the shop +door, the shopman bowing and escorting her to the carriage, Nicholas +chanced to be standing at the road-waggon office, talking to the master +of the waggons. There were a good many people about, and those +near paused and looked at her transit, in the full stroke of the level +October sun, which went under the brims of their hats, and pierced through +their button-holes. From the group she heard murmured the words: +‘Mrs. Nicholas Long.’</p> +<p>The unexpected remark, not without distinct satire in its tone, took +her so greatly by surprise that she was confounded. Nicholas was +by this time nearer, though coming against the sun he had not yet perceived +her. Influenced by her father’s lecture, she felt angry +with him for being there and causing this awkwardness. Her notice +of him was therefore slight, supercilious perhaps, slurred over; and +her vexation at his presence showed distinctly in her face as she sat +down in her seat. Instead of catching his waiting eye, she positively +turned her head away.</p> +<p>A moment after she was sorry she had treated him so; but he was gone.</p> +<p>Reaching home she found on her dressing-table a note from her father. +The statement was brief:</p> +<blockquote><p>I have considered and am of the same opinion. You +must marry him. He can leave home at once and travel as proposed. +I have written to him to this effect. I don’t want any victuals, +so don’t wait dinner for me.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Nicholas was the wrong kind of man to be blind to his Christine’s +mortification, though he did not know its entire cause. He had +lately foreseen something of this sort as possible.</p> +<p>‘It serves me right,’ he thought, as he trotted homeward. +‘It was absurd—wicked of me to lead her on so. The +sacrifice would have been too great—too cruel!’ And +yet, though he thus took her part, he flushed with indignation every +time he said to himself, ‘She is ashamed of me!’</p> +<p>On the ridge which overlooked Froom-Everard he met a neighbour of +his—a stock-dealer—in his gig, and they drew rein and exchanged +a few words. A part of the dealer’s conversation had much +meaning for Nicholas.</p> +<p>‘I’ve had occasion to call on Squire Everard,’ +the former said; ‘but he couldn’t see me on account of being +quite knocked up at some bad news he has heard.’</p> +<p>Nicholas rode on past Froom-Everard to Elsenford Farm, pondering. +He had new and startling matter for thought as soon as he got there. +The Squire’s note had arrived. At first he could not credit +its import; then he saw further, took in the tone of the letter, saw +the writer’s contempt behind the words, and understood that the +letter was written as by a man hemmed into a corner. Christine +was defiantly—insultingly—hurled at his head. He was +accepted because he was so despised.</p> +<p>And yet with what respect he had treated her and hers! Now +he was reminded of what an agricultural friend had said years ago, seeing +the eyes of Nicholas fixed on Christine as on an angel when she passed: +‘Better a little fire to warm ’ee than a great one to burn +’ee. No good can come of throwing your heart there.’ +He went into the mead, sat down, and asked himself four questions:</p> +<p>1. How could she live near her acquaintance as his wife, even +in his absence, without suffering martyrdom from the stings of their +contempt?</p> +<p>2. Would not this entail total estrangement between Christine +and her family also, and her own consequent misery?</p> +<p>3. Must not such isolation extinguish her affection for him?</p> +<p>4. Supposing that her father rigged them out as colonists and +sent them off to America, was not the effect of such exile upon one +of her gentle nurture likely to be as the last?</p> +<p>In short, whatever they should embark in together would be cruelty +to her, and his death would be a relief. It would, indeed, in +one aspect be a relief to her now, if she were so ashamed of him as +she had appeared to be that day. Were he dead, this little episode +with him would fade away like a dream.</p> +<p>Mr. Everard was a good-hearted man at bottom, but to take his enraged +offer seriously was impossible. Obviously it was hotly made in +his first bitterness at what he had heard. The least thing that +he could do would be to go away and never trouble her more. To +travel and learn and come back in two years, as mapped out in their +first sanguine scheme, required a staunch heart on her side, if the +necessary expenditure of time and money were to be afterwards justified; +and it were folly to calculate on that when he had seen to-day that +her heart was failing her already. To travel and disappear and +not be heard of for many years would be a far more independent stroke, +and it would leave her entirely unfettered. Perhaps he might rival +in this kind the accomplished Mr. Bellston, of whose journeyings he +had heard so much.</p> +<p>He sat and sat, and the fog rose out of the river, enveloping him +like a fleece; first his feet and knees, then his arms and body, and +finally submerging his head. When he had come to a decision he +went up again into the homestead. He would be independent, if +he died for it, and he would free Christine. Exile was the only +course. The first step was to inform his uncle of his determination.</p> +<p>Two days later Nicholas was on the same spot in the mead, at almost +the same hour of eve. But there was no fog now; a blusterous autumn +wind had ousted the still, golden days and misty nights; and he was +going, full of purpose, in the opposite direction. When he had +last entered the mead he was an inhabitant of the Froom valley; in forty-eight +hours he had severed himself from that spot as completely as if he had +never belonged to it. All that appertained to him in the Froom +valley now was circumscribed by the portmanteau in his hand.</p> +<p>In making his preparations for departure he had unconsciously held +a faint, foolish hope that she would communicate with him and make up +their estrangement in some soft womanly way. But she had given +no signal, and it was too evident to him that her latest mood had grown +to be her fixed one, proving how well founded had been his impulse to +set her free.</p> +<p>He entered the Sallows, found his way in the dark to the garden-door +of the house, slipped under it a note to tell her of his departure, +and explaining its true reason to be a consciousness of her growing +feeling that he was an encumbrance and a humiliation. Of the direction +of his journey and of the date of his return he said nothing.</p> +<p>His course now took him into the high road, which he pursued for +some miles in a north-easterly direction, still spinning the thread +of sad inferences, and asking himself why he should ever return. +At daybreak he stood on the hill above Shottsford-Forum, and awaited +a coach which passed about this time along that highway towards Melchester +and London.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> +<p>Some fifteen years after the date of the foregoing incidents, a man +who had dwelt in far countries, and viewed many cities, arrived at Roy-Town, +a roadside hamlet on the old western turnpike road, not five miles from +Froom-Everard, and put up at the Buck’s Head, an isolated inn +at that spot. He was still barely of middle age, but it could +be seen that a haze of grey was settling upon the locks of his hair, +and that his face had lost colour and curve, as if by exposure to bleaching +climates and strange atmospheres, or from ailments incidental thereto. +He seemed to observe little around him, by reason of the intrusion of +his musings upon the scene. In truth Nicholas Long was just now +the creature of old hopes and fears consequent upon his arrival—this +man who once had not cared if his name were blotted out from that district. +The evening light showed wistful lines which he could not smooth away +by the worldling’s gloss of nonchalance that he had learnt to +fling over his face.</p> +<p>The Buck’s Head was a somewhat unusual place for a man of this +sort to choose as a house of sojourn in preference to some Casterbridge +inn four miles further on. Before he left home it had been a lively +old tavern at which High-flyers, and Heralds, and Tally-hoes had changed +horses on their stages up and down the country; but now the house was +rather cavernous and chilly, the stable-roofs were hollow-backed, the +landlord was asthmatic, and the traffic gone.</p> +<p>He arrived in the afternoon, and when he had sent back the fly and +was having a nondescript meal, he put a question to the waiting-maid +with a mien of indifference.</p> +<p>‘Squire Everard, of Froom-Everard Manor, has been dead some +years, I believe?’</p> +<p>She replied in the affirmative.</p> +<p>‘And are any of the family left there still?’</p> +<p>‘O no, bless you, sir! They sold the place years ago—Squire +Everard’s son did—and went away. I’ve never +heard where they went to. They came quite to nothing.’</p> +<p>‘Never heard anything of the young lady—the Squire’s +daughter?’</p> +<p>‘No. You see ’twas before I came to these parts.’</p> +<p>When the waitress left the room, Nicholas pushed aside his plate +and gazed out of the window. He was not going over into the Froom +Valley altogether on Christine’s account, but she had greatly +animated his motive in coming that way. Anyhow he would push on +there now that he was so near, and not ask questions here where he was +liable to be wrongly informed. The fundamental inquiry he had +not ventured to make—whether Christine had married before the +family went away. He had abstained because of an absurd dread +of extinguishing hopeful surmise. That the Everards had left their +old home was bad enough intelligence for one day.</p> +<p>Rising from the table he put on his hat and went out, ascending towards +the upland which divided this district from his native vale. The +first familiar feature that met his eye was a little spot on the distant +sky—a clump of trees standing on a barrow which surmounted a yet +more remote upland—a point where, in his childhood, he had believed +people could stand and see America. He reached the further verge +of the plateau on which he had entered. Ah, there was the valley—a +greenish-grey stretch of colour—still looking placid and serene, +as though it had not much missed him. If Christine was no longer +there, why should he pause over it this evening? His uncle and +aunt were dead, and to-morrow would be soon enough to inquire for remoter +relatives. Thus, disinclined to go further, he turned to retrace +his way to the inn.</p> +<p>In the backward path he now perceived the figure of a woman, who +had been walking at a distance behind him; and as she drew nearer he +began to be startled. Surely, despite the variations introduced +into that figure by changing years, its ground-lines were those of Christine?</p> +<p>Nicholas had been sentimental enough to write to Christine immediately +on landing at Southampton a day or two before this, addressing his letter +at a venture to the old house, and merely telling her that he planned +to reach the Roy-Town inn on the present afternoon. The news of +the scattering of the Everards had dissipated his hope of hearing of +her; but here she was.</p> +<p>So they met—there, alone, on the open down by a pond, just +as if the meeting had been carefully arranged.</p> +<p>She threw up her veil. She was still beautiful, though the +years had touched her; a little more matronly—much more homely. +Or was it only that he was much less homely now—a man of the world—the +sense of homeliness being relative? Her face had grown to be pre-eminently +of the sort that would be called interesting. Her habiliments +were of a demure and sober cast, though she was one who had used to +dress so airily and so gaily. Years had laid on a few shadows +too in this.</p> +<p>‘I received your letter,’ she said, when the momentary +embarrassment of their first approach had passed. ‘And I +thought I would walk across the hills to-day, as it was fine. +I have just called at the inn, and they told me you were out. +I was now on my way homeward.’</p> +<p>He hardly listened to this, though he intently gazed at her. +‘Christine,’ he said, ‘one word. Are you free?’</p> +<p>‘I—I am in a certain sense,’ she replied, colouring.</p> +<p>The announcement had a magical effect. The intervening time +between past and present closed up for him, and moved by an impulse +which he had combated for fifteen years, he seized her two hands and +drew her towards him.</p> +<p>She started back, and became almost a mere acquaintance. ‘I +have to tell you,’ she gasped, ‘that I have—been married.’</p> +<p>Nicholas’s rose-coloured dream was immediately toned down to +a greyish tinge.</p> +<p>‘I did not marry till many years after you had left,’ +she continued in the humble tones of one confessing to a crime. +‘Oh Nic,’ she cried reproachfully, ‘how could you +stay away so long?’</p> +<p>‘Whom did you marry?’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Bellston.’</p> +<p>‘I—ought to have expected it.’ He was going +to add, ‘And is he dead?’ but he checked himself. +Her dress unmistakably suggested widowhood; and she had said she was +free.</p> +<p>‘I must now hasten home,’ said she. ‘I felt +that, considering my shortcomings at our parting so many years ago, +I owed you the initiative now.’</p> +<p>‘There is some of your old generosity in that. I’ll +walk with you, if I may. Where are you living, Christine?’</p> +<p>‘In the same house, but not on the old conditions. I +have part of it on lease; the farmer now tenanting the premises found +the whole more than he wanted, and the owner allowed me to keep what +rooms I chose. I am poor now, you know, Nicholas, and almost friendless. +My brother sold the Froom-Everard estate when it came to him, and the +person who bought it turned our home into a farmhouse. Till my +father’s death my husband and I lived in the manor-house with +him, so that I have never lived away from the spot.’</p> +<p>She was poor. That, and the change of name, sufficiently accounted +for the inn-servant’s ignorance of her continued existence within +the walls of her old home.</p> +<p>It was growing dusk, and he still walked with her. A woman’s +head arose from the declivity before them, and as she drew nearer, Christine +asked him to go back.</p> +<p>‘This is the wife of the farmer who shares the house,’ +she said. ‘She is accustomed to come out and meet me whenever +I walk far and am benighted. I am obliged to walk everywhere now.’</p> +<p>The farmer’s wife, seeing that Christine was not alone, paused +in her advance, and Nicholas said, ‘Dear Christine, if you are +obliged to do these things, I am not, and what wealth I can command +you may command likewise. They say rolling stones gather no moss; +but they gather dross sometimes. I was one of the pioneers to +the gold-fields, you know, and made a sufficient fortune there for my +wants. What is more, I kept it. When I had done this I was +coming home, but hearing of my uncle’s death I changed my plan, +travelled, speculated, and increased my fortune. Now, before we +part: you remember you stood with me at the altar once, and therefore +I speak with less preparation than I should otherwise use. Before +we part then I ask, shall another again intrude between us? Or +shall we complete the union we began?’</p> +<p>She trembled—just as she had done at that very minute of standing +with him in the church, to which he had recalled her mind. ‘I +will not enter into that now, dear Nicholas,’ she replied. +‘There will be more to talk of and consider first—more to +explain, which it would have spoiled this meeting to have entered into +now.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, yes; but—’</p> +<p>‘Further than the brief answer I first gave, Nic, don’t +press me to-night. I still have the old affection for you, or +I should not have sought you. Let that suffice for the moment.’</p> +<p>‘Very well, dear one. And when shall I call to see you?’</p> +<p>‘I will write and fix an hour. I will tell you everything +of my history then.’</p> +<p>And thus they parted, Nicholas feeling that he had not come here +fruitlessly. When she and her companion were out of sight he retraced +his steps to Roy-Town, where he made himself as comfortable as he could +in the deserted old inn of his boyhood’s days. He missed +her companionship this evening more than he had done at any time during +the whole fifteen years; and it was as though instead of separation +there had been constant communion with her throughout that period. +The tones of her voice had stirred his heart in a nook which had lain +stagnant ever since he last heard them. They recalled the woman +to whom he had once lifted his eyes as to a goddess. Her announcement +that she had been another’s came as a little shock to him, and +he did not now lift his eyes to her in precisely the same way as he +had lifted them at first. But he forgave her for marrying Bellston; +what could he expect after fifteen years?</p> +<p>He slept at Roy-Town that night, and in the morning there was a short +note from her, repeating more emphatically her statement of the previous +evening—that she wished to inform him clearly of her circumstances, +and to calmly consider with him the position in which she was placed. +Would he call upon her on Sunday afternoon, when she was sure to be +alone?</p> +<p>‘Nic,’ she wrote on, ‘what a cosmopolite you are! +I expected to find my old yeoman still; but I was quite awed in the +presence of such a citizen of the world. Did I seem rusty and +unpractised? Ah—you seemed so once to me!’</p> +<p>Tender playful words; the old Christine was in them. She said +Sunday afternoon, and it was now only Saturday morning. He wished +she had said to-day; that short revival of her image had vitalized to +sudden heat feelings that had almost been stilled. Whatever she +might have to explain as to her position—and it was awkwardly +narrowed, no doubt—he could not give her up. Miss Everard +or Mrs. Bellston, what mattered it?—she was the same Christine.</p> +<p>He did not go outside the inn all Saturday. He had no wish +to see or do anything but to await the coming interview. So he +smoked, and read the local newspaper of the previous week, and stowed +himself in the chimney-corner. In the evening he felt that he +could remain indoors no longer, and the moon being near the full, he +started from the inn on foot in the same direction as that of yesterday, +with the view of contemplating the old village and its precincts, and +hovering round her house under the cloak of night.</p> +<p>With a stout stick in his hand he climbed over the five miles of +upland in a comparatively short space of time. Nicholas had seen +many strange lands and trodden many strange ways since he last walked +that path, but as he trudged he seemed wonderfully like his old self, +and had not the slightest difficulty in finding the way. In descending +to the meads the streams perplexed him a little, some of the old foot-bridges +having been removed; but he ultimately got across the larger water-courses, +and pushed on to the village, avoiding her residence for the moment, +lest she should encounter him, and think he had not respected the time +of her appointment.</p> +<p>He found his way to the churchyard, and first ascertained where lay +the two relations he had left alive at his departure; then he observed +the gravestones of other inhabitants with whom he had been well acquainted, +till by degrees he seemed to be in the society of all the elder Froom-Everard +population, as he had known the place. Side by side as they had +lived in his day here were they now. They had moved house in mass.</p> +<p>But no tomb of Mr. Bellston was visible, though, as he had lived +at the manor-house, it would have been natural to find it here. +In truth Nicholas was more anxious to discover that than anything, being +curious to know how long he had been dead. Seeing from the glimmer +of a light in the church that somebody was there cleaning for Sunday +he entered, and looked round upon the walls as well as he could. +But there was no monument to her husband, though one had been erected +to the Squire.</p> +<p>Nicholas addressed the young man who was sweeping. ‘I +don’t see any monument or tomb to the late Mr. Bellston?’</p> +<p>‘O no, sir; you won’t see that,’ said the young +man drily.</p> +<p>‘Why, pray?’</p> +<p>‘Because he’s not buried here. He’s not Christian-buried +anywhere, as far as we know. In short, perhaps he’s not +buried at all; and between ourselves, perhaps he’s alive.’</p> +<p>Nicholas sank an inch shorter. ‘Ah,’ he answered.</p> +<p>‘Then you don’t know the peculiar circumstances, sir?’</p> +<p>‘I am a stranger here—as to late years.’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Bellston was a traveller—an explorer—it was +his calling; you may have heard his name as such?’</p> +<p>‘I remember.’ Nicholas recalled the fact that this +very bent of Mr. Bellston’s was the incentive to his own roaming.</p> +<p>‘Well, when he married he came and lived here with his wife +and his wife’s father, and said he would travel no more. +But after a time he got weary of biding quiet here, and weary of her—he +was not a good husband to the young lady by any means—and he betook +himself again to his old trick of roving—with her money. +Away he went, quite out of the realm of human foot, into the bowels +of Asia, and never was heard of more. He was murdered, it is said, +but nobody knows; though as that was nine years ago he’s dead +enough in principle, if not in corporation. His widow lives quite +humble, for between her husband and her brother she’s left in +very lean pasturage.’</p> +<p>Nicholas went back to the Buck’s Head without hovering round +her dwelling. This then was the explanation which she had wanted +to make. Not dead, but missing. How could he have expected +that the first fair promise of happiness held out to him would remain +untarnished? She had said that she was free; and legally she was +free, no doubt. Moreover, from her tone and manner he felt himself +justified in concluding that she would be willing to run the risk of +a union with him, in the improbability of her husband’s existence. +Even if that husband lived, his return was not a likely event, to judge +from his character. A man who could spend her money on his own +personal adventures would not be anxious to disturb her poverty after +such a lapse of time.</p> +<p>Well, the prospect was not so unclouded as it had seemed. But +could he, even now, give up Christine?</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> +<p>Two months more brought the year nearly to a close, and found Nicholas +Long tenant of a spacious house in the market-town nearest to Froom-Everard. +A man of means, genial character, and a bachelor, he was an object of +great interest to his neighbours, and to his neighbours’ wives +and daughters. But he took little note of this, and had made it +his business to go twice a week, no matter what the weather, to the +now farmhouse at Froom-Everard, a wing of which had been retained as +the refuge of Christine. He always walked, to give no trouble +in putting up a horse to a housekeeper whose staff was limited.</p> +<p>The two had put their heads together on the situation, had gone to +a solicitor, had balanced possibilities, and had resolved to make the +plunge of matrimony. ‘Nothing venture, nothing have,’ +Christine had said, with some of her old audacity.</p> +<p>With almost gratuitous honesty they had let their intentions be widely +known. Christine, it is true, had rather shrunk from publicity +at first; but Nicholas argued that their boldness in this respect would +have good results. With his friends he held that there was not +the slightest probability of her being other than a widow, and a challenge +to the missing man now, followed by no response, would stultify any +unpleasant remarks which might be thrown at her after their union. +To this end a paragraph was inserted in the Wessex papers, announcing +that their marriage was proposed to be celebrated on such and such a +day in December.</p> +<p>His periodic walks along the south side of the valley to visit her +were among the happiest experiences of his life. The yellow leaves +falling around him in the foreground, the well-watered meads on the +left hand, and the woman he loved awaiting him at the back of the scene, +promised a future of much serenity, as far as human judgment could foresee. +On arriving, he would sit with her in the ‘parlour’ of the +wing she retained, her general sitting-room, where the only relics of +her early surroundings were an old clock from the other end of the house, +and her own piano. Before it was quite dark they would stand, +hand in hand, looking out of the window across the flat turf to the +dark clump of trees which hid further view from their eyes.</p> +<p>‘Do you wish you were still mistress here, dear?’ he +once said.</p> +<p>‘Not at all,’ said she cheerfully. ‘I have +a good enough room, and a good enough fire, and a good enough friend. +Besides, my latter days as mistress of the house were not happy ones, +and they spoilt the place for me. It was a punishment for my faithlessness. +Nic, you do forgive me? Really you do?’</p> +<p>The twenty-third of December, the eve of the wedding-day, had arrived +at last in the train of such uneventful ones as these. Nicholas +had arranged to visit her that day a little later than usual, and see +that everything was ready with her for the morrow’s event and +her removal to his house; for he had begun to look after her domestic +affairs, and to lighten as much as possible the duties of her housekeeping.</p> +<p>He was to come to an early supper, which she had arranged to take +the place of a wedding-breakfast next day—the latter not being +feasible in her present situation. An hour or so after dark the +wife of the farmer who lived in the other part of the house entered +Christine’s parlour to lay the cloth.</p> +<p>‘What with getting the ham skinned, and the black-puddings +hotted up,’ she said, ‘it will take me all my time before +he’s here, if I begin this minute.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll lay the table myself,’ said Christine, jumping +up. ‘Do you attend to the cooking.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, ma’am. And perhaps ’tis no matter, +seeing that it is the last night you’ll have to do such work. +I knew this sort of life wouldn’t last long for ’ee, being +born to better things.’</p> +<p>‘It has lasted rather long, Mrs. Wake. And if he had +not found me out it would have lasted all my days.’</p> +<p>‘But he did find you out.’</p> +<p>‘He did. And I’ll lay the cloth immediately.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Wake went back to the kitchen, and Christine began to bustle +about. She greatly enjoyed preparing this table for Nicholas and +herself with her own hands. She took artistic pleasure in adjusting +each article to its position, as if half an inch error were a point +of high importance. Finally she placed the two candles where they +were to stand, and sat down by the fire.</p> +<p>Mrs. Wake re-entered and regarded the effect. ‘Why not +have another candle or two, ma’am?’ she said. ‘’Twould +make it livelier. Say four.’</p> +<p>‘Very well,’ said Christine, and four candles were lighted. +‘Really,’ she added, surveying them, ‘I have been +now so long accustomed to little economies that they look quite extravagant.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, you’ll soon think nothing of forty in his grand +new house! Shall I bring in supper directly he comes, ma’am?’</p> +<p>‘No, not for half an hour; and, Mrs. Wake, you and Betsy are +busy in the kitchen, I know; so when he knocks don’t disturb yourselves; +I can let him in.’</p> +<p>She was again left alone, and, as it still wanted some time to Nicholas’s +appointment, she stood by the fire, looking at herself in the glass +over the mantel. Reflectively raising a lock of her hair just +above her temple she uncovered a small scar. That scar had a history. +The terrible temper of her late husband—those sudden moods of +irascibility which had made even his friendly excitements look like +anger—had once caused him to set that mark upon her with the bezel +of a ring he wore. He declared that the whole thing was an accident. +She was a woman, and kept her own opinion.</p> +<p>Christine then turned her back to the glass and scanned the table +and the candles, shining one at each corner like types of the four Evangelists, +and thought they looked too assuming—too confident. She +glanced up at the clock, which stood also in this room, there not being +space enough for it in the passage. It was nearly seven, and she +expected Nicholas at half-past. She liked the company of this +venerable article in her lonely life: its tickings and whizzings were +a sort of conversation. It now began to strike the hour. +At the end something grated slightly. Then, without any warning, +the clock slowly inclined forward and fell at full length upon the floor.</p> +<p>The crash brought the farmer’s wife rushing into the room. +Christine had well-nigh sprung out of her shoes. Mrs. Wake’s +enquiry what had happened was answered by the evidence of her own eyes.</p> +<p>‘How did it occur?’ she said.</p> +<p>‘I cannot say; it was not firmly fixed, I suppose. Dear +me, how sorry I am! My dear father’s hall-clock! And +now I suppose it is ruined.’</p> +<p>Assisted by Mrs. Wake, she lifted the clock. Every inch of +glass was, of course, shattered, but very little harm besides appeared +to be done. They propped it up temporarily, though it would not +go again.</p> +<p>Christine had soon recovered her composure, but she saw that Mrs. +Wake was gloomy. ‘What does it mean, Mrs. Wake?’ she +said. ‘Is it ominous?’</p> +<p>‘It is a sign of a violent death in the family.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t talk of it. I don’t believe such things; +and don’t mention it to Mr. Long when he comes. <i>He’s</i> +not in the family yet, you know.’</p> +<p>‘O no, it cannot refer to him,’ said Mrs. Wake musingly.</p> +<p>‘Some remote cousin, perhaps,’ observed Christine, no +less willing to humour her than to get rid of a shapeless dread which +the incident had caused in her own mind. ‘And—supper +is almost ready, Mrs. Wake?’</p> +<p>‘In three-quarters of an hour.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Wake left the room, and Christine sat on. Though it still +wanted fifteen minutes to the hour at which Nicholas had promised to +be there, she began to grow impatient. After the accustomed ticking +the dead silence was oppressive. But she had not to wait so long +as she had expected; steps were heard approaching the door, and there +was a knock.</p> +<p>Christine was already there to open it. The entrance had no +lamp, but it was not particularly dark out of doors. She could +see the outline of a man, and cried cheerfully, ‘You are early; +it is very good of you.’</p> +<p>‘I beg pardon. It is not Mr. Bellston himself—only +a messenger with his bag and great-coat. But he will be here soon.’</p> +<p>The voice was not the voice of Nicholas, and the intelligence was +strange. ‘I—I don’t understand. Mr. Bellston?’ +she faintly replied.</p> +<p>‘Yes, ma’am. A gentleman—a stranger to me—gave +me these things at Casterbridge station to bring on here, and told me +to say that Mr. Bellston had arrived there, and is detained for half-an-hour, +but will be here in the course of the evening.’</p> +<p>She sank into a chair. The porter put a small battered portmanteau +on the floor, the coat on a chair, and looking into the room at the +spread table said, ‘If you are disappointed, ma’am, that +your husband (as I s’pose he is) is not come, I can assure you +he’ll soon be here. He’s stopped to get a shave, to +my thinking, seeing he wanted it. What he said was that I could +tell you he had heard the news in Ireland, and would have come sooner, +his hand being forced; but was hindered crossing by the weather, having +took passage in a sailing vessel. What news he meant he didn’t +say.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, yes,’ she faltered. It was plain that the +man knew nothing of her intended re-marriage.</p> +<p>Mechanically rising and giving him a shilling, she answered to his +‘good-night,’ and he withdrew, the beat of his footsteps +lessening in the distance. She was alone; but in what a solitude.</p> +<p>Christine stood in the middle of the hall, just as the man had left +her, in the gloomy silence of the stopped clock within the adjoining +room, till she aroused herself, and turning to the portmanteau and great-coat +brought them to the light of the candles, and examined them. The +portmanteau bore painted upon it the initials ‘J. B.’ in +white letters—the well-known initials of her husband.</p> +<p>She examined the great-coat. In the breast-pocket was an empty +spirit flask, which she firmly fancied she recognized as the one she +had filled many times for him when he was living at home with her.</p> +<p>She turned desultorily hither and thither, until she heard another +tread without, and there came a second knocking at the door. She +did not respond to it; and Nicholas—for it was he—thinking +that he was not heard by reason of a concentration on to-morrow’s +proceedings, opened the door softly, and came on to the door of her +room, which stood unclosed, just as it had been left by the Casterbridge +porter.</p> +<p>Nicholas uttered a blithe greeting, cast his eye round the parlour, +which with its tall candles, blazing fire, snow-white cloth, and prettily-spread +table, formed a cheerful spectacle enough for a man who had been walking +in the dark for an hour.</p> +<p>‘My bride—almost, at last!’ he cried, encircling +her with his arms.</p> +<p>Instead of responding, her figure became limp, frigid, heavy; her +head fell back, and he found that she had fainted.</p> +<p>It was natural, he thought. She had had many little worrying +matters to attend to, and but slight assistance. He ought to have +seen more effectually to her affairs; the closeness of the event had +over-excited her. Nicholas kissed her unconscious face—more +than once, little thinking what news it was that had changed its aspect. +Loth to call Mrs. Wake, he carried Christine to a couch and laid her +down. This had the effect of reviving her. Nicholas bent +and whispered in her ear, ‘Lie quiet, dearest, no hurry; and dream, +dream, dream of happy days. It is only I. You will soon +be better.’ He held her by the hand.</p> +<p>‘No, no, no!’ she said, with a stare. ‘O, +how can this be?’</p> +<p>Nicholas was alarmed and perplexed, but the disclosure was not long +delayed. When she had sat up, and by degrees made the stunning +event known to him, he stood as if transfixed.</p> +<p>‘Ah—is it so?’ said he. Then, becoming quite +meek, ‘And why was he so cruel as to—delay his return till +now?’</p> +<p>She dutifully recited the explanation her husband had given her through +the messenger; but her mechanical manner of telling it showed how much +she doubted its truth. It was too unlikely that his arrival at +such a dramatic moment should not be a contrived surprise, quite of +a piece with his previous dealings towards her.</p> +<p>‘But perhaps it may be true—and he may have become kind +now—not as he used to be,’ she faltered. ‘Yes, +perhaps, Nicholas, he is an altered man—we’ll hope he is. +I suppose I ought not to have listened to my legal advisers, and assumed +his death so surely! Anyhow, I am roughly received back into—the +right way!’</p> +<p>Nicholas burst out bitterly: ‘O what too, too honest fools +we were!—to so court daylight upon our intention by putting that +announcement in the papers! Why could we not have married privately, +and gone away, so that he would never have known what had become of +you, even if he had returned? Christine, he has done it to . . +. But I’ll say no more. Of course we—might fly now.’</p> +<p>‘No, no; we might not,’ said she hastily.</p> +<p>‘Very well. But this is hard to bear! “When +I looked for good then evil came unto me, and when I waited for light +there came darkness.” So once said a sorely tried man in +the land of Uz, and so say I now! . . . I wonder if he is almost here +at this moment?’</p> +<p>She told him she supposed Bellston was approaching by the path across +the fields, having sent on his great-coat, which he would not want walking.</p> +<p>‘And is this meal laid for him, or for me?’</p> +<p>‘It was laid for you.’</p> +<p>‘And it will be eaten by him?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘Christine, are you <i>sure</i> that he is come, or have you +been sleeping over the fire and dreaming it?’</p> +<p>She pointed anew to the portmanteau with the initials ‘J. B.,’ +and to the coat beside it.</p> +<p>‘Well, good-bye—good-bye! Curse that parson for +not marrying us fifteen years ago!’</p> +<p>It is unnecessary to dwell further upon that parting. There +are scenes wherein the words spoken do not even approximate to the level +of the mental communion between the actors. Suffice it to say +that part they did, and quickly; and Nicholas, more dead than alive, +went out of the house homewards.</p> +<p>Why had he ever come back? During his absence he had not cared +for Christine as he cared now. If he had been younger he might +have felt tempted to descend into the meads instead of keeping along +their edge. The Froom was down there, and he knew of quiet pools +in that stream to which death would come easily. But he was too +old to put an end to himself for such a reason as love; and another +thought, too, kept him from seriously contemplating any desperate act. +His affection for her was strongly protective, and in the event of her +requiring a friend’s support in future troubles there was none +but himself left in the world to afford it. So he walked on.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Christine had resigned herself to circumstances. +A resolve to continue worthy of her history and of her family lent her +heroism and dignity. She called Mrs. Wake, and explained to that +worthy woman as much of what had occurred as she deemed necessary. +Mrs. Wake was too amazed to reply; she retreated slowly, her lips parted; +till at the door she said with a dry mouth, ‘And the beautiful +supper, ma’am?’</p> +<p>‘Serve it when he comes.’</p> +<p>‘When Mr. Bellston—yes, ma’am, I will.’ +She still stood gazing, as if she could hardly take in the order.</p> +<p>‘That will do, Mrs. Wake. I am much obliged to you for +all your kindness.’ And Christine was left alone again, +and then she wept.</p> +<p>She sat down and waited. That awful silence of the stopped +clock began anew, but she did not mind it now. She was listening +for a footfall in a state of mental tensity which almost took away from +her the power of motion. It seemed to her that the natural interval +for her husband’s journey thither must have expired; but she was +not sure, and waited on.</p> +<p>Mrs. Wake again came in. ‘You have not rung for supper—’</p> +<p>‘He is not yet come, Mrs. Wake. If you want to go to +bed, bring in the supper and set it on the table. It will be nearly +as good cold. Leave the door unbarred.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Wake did as was suggested, made up the fire, and went away. +Shortly afterwards Christine heard her retire to her chamber. +But Christine still sat on, and still her husband postponed his entry.</p> +<p>She aroused herself once or twice to freshen the fire, but was ignorant +how the night was going. Her watch was upstairs and she did not +make the effort to go up to consult it. In her seat she continued; +and still the supper waited, and still he did not come.</p> +<p>At length she was so nearly persuaded that the arrival of his things +must have been a dream after all, that she again went over to them, +felt them, and examined them. His they unquestionably were; and +their forwarding by the porter had been quite natural. She sighed +and sat down again.</p> +<p>Presently she fell into a doze, and when she again became conscious +she found that the four candles had burnt into their sockets and gone +out. The fire still emitted a feeble shine. Christine did +not take the trouble to get more candles, but stirred the fire and sat +on.</p> +<p>After a long period she heard a creaking of the chamber floor and +stairs at the other end of the house, and knew that the farmer’s +family were getting up. By-and-by Mrs. Wake entered the room, +candle in hand, bouncing open the door in her morning manner, obviously +without any expectation of finding a person there.</p> +<p>‘Lord-a-mercy! What, sitting here again, ma’am?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I am sitting here still.’</p> +<p>‘You’ve been there ever since last night?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘Then—’</p> +<p>‘He’s not come.’</p> +<p>‘Well, he won’t come at this time o’ morning,’ +said the farmer’s wife. ‘Do ’ee get on to bed, +ma’am. You must be shrammed to death!’</p> +<p>It occurred to Christine now that possibly her husband had thought +better of obtruding himself upon her company within an hour of revealing +his existence to her, and had decided to pay a more formal visit next +day. She therefore adopted Mrs. Wake’s suggestion and retired.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> +<p>Nicholas had gone straight home, neither speaking to nor seeing a +soul. From that hour a change seemed to come over him. He +had ever possessed a full share of self-consciousness; he had been readily +piqued, had shown an unusual dread of being personally obtrusive. +But now his sense of self, as an individual provoking opinion, appeared +to leave him. When, therefore, after a day or two of seclusion, +he came forth again, and the few acquaintances he had formed in the +town condoled with him on what had happened, and pitied his haggard +looks, he did not shrink from their regard as he would have done formerly, +but took their sympathy as it would have been accepted by a child.</p> +<p>It reached his ears that Bellston had not appeared on the evening +of his arrival at any hotel in the town or neighbourhood, or entered +his wife’s house at all. ‘That’s a part of his +cruelty,’ thought Nicholas. And when two or three days had +passed, and still no account came to him of Bellston having joined her, +he ventured to set out for Froom-Everard.</p> +<p>Christine was so shaken that she was obliged to receive him as she +lay on a sofa, beside the square table which was to have borne their +evening feast. She fixed her eyes wistfully upon him, and smiled +a sad smile.</p> +<p>‘He has not come?’ said Nicholas under his breath.</p> +<p>‘He has not.’</p> +<p>Then Nicholas sat beside her, and they talked on general topics merely +like saddened old friends. But they could not keep away the subject +of Bellston, their voices dropping as it forced its way in. Christine, +no less than Nicholas, knowing her husband’s character, inferred +that, having stopped her game, as he would have phrased it, he was taking +things leisurely, and, finding nothing very attractive in her limited +mode of living, was meaning to return to her only when he had nothing +better to do.</p> +<p>The bolt which laid low their hopes had struck so recently that they +could hardly look each other in the face when speaking that day. +But when a week or two had passed, and all the horizon still remained +as vacant of Bellston as before, Nicholas and she could talk of the +event with calm wonderment. Why had he come, to go again like +this?</p> +<p>And then there set in a period of resigned surmise, during which</p> +<blockquote><p>So like, so very like, was day to day,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>that to tell of one of them is to tell of all. Nicholas would +arrive between three and four in the afternoon, a faint trepidation +influencing his walk as he neared her door. He would knock; she +would always reply in person, having watched for him from the window. +Then he would whisper—‘He has not come?’</p> +<p>‘He has not,’ she would say.</p> +<p>Nicholas would enter then, and she being ready bonneted, they would +walk into the Sallows together as far as to the spot which they had +frequently made their place of appointment in their youthful days. +A plank bridge, which Bellston had caused to be thrown over the stream +during his residence with her in the manor-house, was now again removed, +and all was just the same as in Nicholas’s time, when he had been +accustomed to wade across on the edge of the cascade and come up to +her like a merman from the deep. Here on the felled trunk, which +still lay rotting in its old place, they would now sit, gazing at the +descending sheet of water, with its never-ending sarcastic hiss at their +baffled attempts to make themselves one flesh. Returning to the +house they would sit down together to tea, after which, and the confidential +chat that accompanied it, he walked home by the declining light. +This proceeding became as periodic as an astronomical recurrence. +Twice a week he came—all through that winter, all through the +spring following, through the summer, through the autumn, the next winter, +the next year, and the next, till an appreciable span of human life +had passed by. Bellston still tarried.</p> +<p>Years and years Nic walked that way, at this interval of three days, +from his house in the neighbouring town; and in every instance the aforesaid +order of things was customary; and still on his arrival the form of +words went on—‘He has not come?’</p> +<p>‘He has not.’</p> +<p>So they grew older. The dim shape of that third one stood continually +between them; they could not displace it; neither, on the other hand, +could it effectually part them. They were in close communion, +yet not indissolubly united; lovers, yet never growing cured of love. +By the time that the fifth year of Nic’s visiting had arrived, +on about the five-hundredth occasion of his presence at her tea-table, +he noticed that the bleaching process which had begun upon his own locks +was also spreading to hers. He told her so, and they laughed. +Yet she was in good health: a condition of suspense, which would have +half-killed a man, had been endured by her without complaint, and even +with composure.</p> +<p>One day, when these years of abeyance had numbered seven, they had +strolled as usual as far as the waterfall, whose faint roar formed a +sort of calling voice sufficient in the circumstances to direct their +listlessness. Pausing there, he looked up at her face and said, +‘Why should we not try again, Christine? We are legally +at liberty to do so now. Nothing venture nothing have.’</p> +<p>But she would not. Perhaps a little primness of idea was by +this time ousting the native daring of Christine. ‘What +he has done once he can do twice,’ she said. ‘He is +not dead, and if we were to marry he would say we had “forced +his hand,” as he said before, and duly reappear.’</p> +<p>Some years after, when Christine was about fifty, and Nicholas fifty-three, +a new trouble of a minor kind arrived. He found an inconvenience +in traversing the distance between their two houses, particularly in +damp weather, the years he had spent in trying climates abroad having +sown the seeds of rheumatism, which made a journey undesirable on inclement +days, even in a carriage. He told her of this new difficulty, +as he did of everything.</p> +<p>‘If you could live nearer,’ suggested she.</p> +<p>Unluckily there was no house near. But Nicholas, though not +a millionaire, was a man of means; he obtained a small piece of ground +on lease at the nearest spot to her home that it could be so obtained, +which was on the opposite brink of the Froom, this river forming the +boundary of the Froom-Everard manor; and here he built a cottage large +enough for his wants. This took time, and when he got into it +he found its situation a great comfort to him. He was not more +than five hundred yards from her now, and gained a new pleasure in feeling +that all sounds which greeted his ears, in the day or in the night, +also fell upon hers—the caw of a particular rook, the voice of +a neighbouring nightingale, the whistle of a local breeze, or the purl +of the fall in the meadows, whose rush was a material rendering of Time’s +ceaseless scour over themselves, wearing them away without uniting them.</p> +<p>Christine’s missing husband was taking shape as a myth among +the surrounding residents; but he was still believed in as corporeally +imminent by Christine herself, and also, in a milder degree, by Nicholas. +For a curious unconsciousness of the long lapse of time since his revelation +of himself seemed to affect the pair. There had been no passing +events to serve as chronological milestones, and the evening on which +she had kept supper waiting for him still loomed out with startling +nearness in their retrospects.</p> +<p>In the seventeenth pensive year of this their parallel march towards +the common bourne, a labourer came in a hurry one day to Nicholas’s +house and brought strange tidings. The present owner of Froom-Everard—a +non-resident—had been improving his property in sundry ways, and +one of these was by dredging the stream which, in the course of years, +had become choked with mud and weeds in its passage through the Sallows. +The process necessitated a reconstruction of the waterfall. When +the river had been pumped dry for this purpose, the skeleton of a man +had been found jammed among the piles supporting the edge of the fall. +Every particle of his flesh and clothing had been eaten by fishes or +abraded to nothing by the water, but the relics of a gold watch remained, +and on the inside of the case was engraved the name of the maker of +her husband’s watch, which she well remembered.</p> +<p>Nicholas, deeply agitated, hastened down to the place and examined +the remains attentively, afterwards going across to Christine, and breaking +the discovery to her. She would not come to view the skeleton, +which lay extended on the grass, not a finger or toe-bone missing, so +neatly had the aquatic operators done their work. Conjecture was +directed to the question how Bellston had got there; and conjecture +alone could give an explanation.</p> +<p>It was supposed that, on his way to call upon her, he had taken a +short cut through the grounds, with which he was naturally very familiar, +and coming to the fall under the trees had expected to find there the +plank which, during his occupancy of the premises with Christine and +her father, he had placed there for crossing into the meads on the other +side instead of wading across as Nicholas had done. Before discovering +its removal he had probably overbalanced himself, and was thus precipitated +into the cascade, the piles beneath the descending current wedging him +between them like the prongs of a pitchfork, and effectually preventing +the rising of his body, over which the weeds grew. Such was the +reasonable supposition concerning the discovery; but proof was never +forthcoming.</p> +<p>‘To think,’ said Nicholas, when the remains had been +decently interred, and he was again sitting with Christine—though +not beside the waterfall—‘to think how we visited him! +How we sat over him, hours and hours, gazing at him, bewailing our fate, +when all the time he was ironically hissing at us from the spot, in +an unknown tongue, that we could marry if we chose!’</p> +<p>She echoed the sentiment with a sigh.</p> +<p>‘I have strange fancies,’ she said. ‘I suppose +it <i>must</i> have been my husband who came back, and not some other +man.’</p> +<p>Nicholas felt that there was little doubt. ‘Besides—the +skeleton,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘Yes . . . If it could not have been another person’s—but +no, of course it was he.’</p> +<p>‘You might have married me on the day we had fixed, and there +would have been no impediment. You would now have been seventeen +years my wife, and we might have had tall sons and daughters.’</p> +<p>‘It might have been so,’ she murmured.</p> +<p>‘Well—is it still better late than never?’</p> +<p>The question was one which had become complicated by the increasing +years of each. Their wills were somewhat enfeebled now, their +hearts sickened of tender enterprise by hope too long deferred. +Having postponed the consideration of their course till a year after +the interment of Bellston, each seemed less disposed than formerly to +take it up again.</p> +<p>‘Is it worth while, after so many years?’ she said to +him. ‘We are fairly happy as we are—perhaps happier +than we should be in any other relation, seeing what old people we have +grown. The weight is gone from our lives; the shadow no longer +divides us: then let us be joyful together as we are, dearest Nic, in +the days of our vanity; and</p> +<blockquote><p>With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He fell in with these views of hers to some extent. But occasionally +he ventured to urge her to reconsider the case, though he spoke not +with the fervour of his earlier years.</p> +<p><i>Autumn</i>, 1887.</p> +<h2>ALICIA’S DIARY</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I.—SHE MISSES HER SISTER</h3> +<p><i>July</i> 7.—I wander about the house in a mood of unutterable +sadness, for my dear sister Caroline has left home to-day with my mother, +and I shall not see them again for several weeks. They have accepted +a long-standing invitation to visit some old friends of ours, the Marlets, +who live at Versailles for cheapness—my mother thinking that it +will be for the good of Caroline to see a little of France and Paris. +But I don’t quite like her going. I fear she may lose some +of that childlike simplicity and gentleness which so characterize her, +and have been nourished by the seclusion of our life here. Her +solicitude about her pony before starting was quite touching, and she +made me promise to visit it daily, and see that it came to no harm.</p> +<p>Caroline gone abroad, and I left here! It is the reverse of +an ordinary situation, for good or ill-luck has mostly ordained that +I should be the absent one. Mother will be quite tired out by +the young enthusiasm of Caroline. She will demand to be taken +everywhere—to Paris continually, of course; to all the stock shrines +of history’s devotees; to palaces and prisons; to kings’ +tombs and queens’ tombs; to cemeteries and picture-galleries, +and royal hunting forests. My poor mother, having gone over most +of this ground many times before, will perhaps not find the perambulation +so exhilarating as will Caroline herself. I wish I could have +gone with them. I would not have minded having my legs walked +off to please Caroline. But this regret is absurd: I could not, +of course, leave my father with not a soul in the house to attend to +the calls of the parishioners or to pour out his tea.</p> +<p><i>July</i> 15.—A letter from Caroline to-day. It is +very strange that she tells me nothing which I expected her to tell—only +trivial details. She seems dazzled by the brilliancy of Paris—which +no doubt appears still more brilliant to her from the fact of her only +being able to obtain occasional glimpses of it. She would see +that Paris, too, has a seamy side if you live there. I was not +aware that the Marlets knew so many people. If, as mother has +said, they went to reside at Versailles for reasons of economy, they +will not effect much in that direction while they make a practice of +entertaining all the acquaintances who happen to be in their neighbourhood. +They do not confine their hospitalities to English people, either. +I wonder who this M. de la Feste is, in whom Caroline says my mother +is so much interested.</p> +<p><i>July</i> 18.—Another letter from Caroline. I have +learnt from this epistle, that M. Charles de la Feste is ‘only +one of the many friends of the Marlets’; that though a Frenchman +by birth, and now again temporarily at Versailles, he has lived in England +many many years; that he is a talented landscape and marine painter, +and has exhibited at the <i>Salon</i>, and I think in London. +His style and subjects are considered somewhat peculiar in Paris—rather +English than Continental. I have not as yet learnt his age, or +his condition, married or single. From the tone and nature of +her remarks about him he sometimes seems to be a middle-aged family +man, sometimes quite the reverse. From his nomadic habits I should +say the latter is the most likely. He has travelled and seen a +great deal, she tells me, and knows more about English literature than +she knows herself.</p> +<p><i>July</i> 21.—Letter from Caroline. Query: Is ‘a +friend of ours and the Marlets,’ of whom she now anonymously and +mysteriously speaks, the same personage as the ‘M. de la Feste’ +of her former letters? He must be the same, I think, from his +pursuits. If so, whence this sudden change of tone? . . . I have +been lost in thought for at least a quarter of an hour since writing +the preceding sentence. Suppose my dear sister is falling in love +with this young man—there is no longer any doubt about his age; +what a very awkward, risky thing for her! I do hope that my mother +has an eye on these proceedings. But, then, poor mother never +sees the drift of anything: she is in truth less of a mother to Caroline +than I am. If I were there, how jealously I would watch him, and +ascertain his designs!</p> +<p>I am of a stronger nature than Caroline. How I have supported +her in the past through her little troubles and great griefs! +Is she agitated at the presence of this, to her, new and strange feeling? +But I am assuming her to be desperately in love, when I have no proof +of anything of the kind. He may be merely a casual friend, of +whom I shall hear no more.</p> +<p><i>July</i> 24.—Then he <i>is</i> a bachelor, as I suspected. +‘If M. de la Feste ever marries he will,’ etc. So +she writes. They are getting into close quarters, obviously. +Also, ‘Something to keep my hair smooth, which M. de la Feste +told me he had found useful for the tips of his moustache.’ +Very naively related this; and with how much unconsciousness of the +intimacy between them that the remark reveals! But my mother—what +can she be doing? Does she know of this? And if so, why +does she not allude to it in her letters to my father? . . . I have +been to look at Caroline’s pony, in obedience to her reiterated +request that I would not miss a day in seeing that she was well cared +for. Anxious as Caroline was about this pony of hers before starting, +she now never mentioned the poor animal once in her letters. The +image of her pet suffers from displacement.</p> +<p><i>August</i> 3.—Caroline’s forgetfulness of her pony +has naturally enough extended to me, her sister. It is ten days +since she last wrote, and but for a note from my mother I should not +know if she were dead or alive.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II.—NEWS INTERESTING AND SERIOUS</h3> +<p><i>August</i> 5.—A cloud of letters. A letter from Caroline, +another from mother; also one from each to my father.</p> +<p>The probability to which all the intelligence from my sister has +pointed of late turns out to be a fact. There is an engagement, +or almost an engagement, announced between my dear Caroline and M. de +la Feste—to Caroline’s sublime happiness, and my mother’s +entire satisfaction; as well as to that of the Marlets. They and +my mother seem to know all about the young man—which is more than +I do, though a little extended information about him, considering that +I am Caroline’s elder sister, would not have been amiss. +I half feel with my father, who is much surprised, and, I am sure, not +altogether satisfied, that he should not have been consulted at all +before matters reached such a definite stage, though he is too amiable +to say so openly. I don’t quite say that a good thing should +have been hindered for the sake of our opinion, if it is a good thing; +but the announcement comes very suddenly. It must have been foreseen +by my mother for some time that this upshot was probable, and Caroline +might have told me more distinctly that M. de la Feste was her lover, +instead of alluding so mysteriously to him as only a friend of the Marlets, +and lately dropping his name altogether. My father, without exactly +objecting to him as a Frenchman, ‘wishes he were of English or +some other reasonable nationality for one’s son-in-law,’ +but I tell him that the demarcations of races, kingdoms, and creeds, +are wearing down every day, that patriotism is a sort of vice, and that +the character of the individual is all we need think about in this case. +I wonder if, in the event of their marriage, he will continue to live +at Versailles, or if he will come to England.</p> +<p><i>August</i> 7.—A supplemental letter from Caroline, answering, +by anticipation, some of the aforesaid queries. She tells me that +‘Charles,’ though he makes Versailles his present home, +is by no means bound by his profession to continue there; that he will +live just where she wishes, provided it be not too far from some centre +of thought, art, and civilization. My mother and herself both +think that the marriage should not take place till next year. +He exhibits landscapes and canal scenery every year, she says; so I +suppose he is popular, and that his income is sufficient to keep them +in comfort. If not, I do not see why my father could not settle +something more on them than he had intended, and diminish by a little +what he had proposed for me, whilst it was imagined that I should be +the first to stand in need of such.</p> +<p>‘Of engaging manner, attractive appearance, and virtuous character,’ +is the reply I receive from her in answer to my request for a personal +description. That is vague enough, and I would rather have had +one definite fact of complexion, voice, deed, or opinion. But +of course she has no eye now for material qualities; she cannot see +him as he is. She sees him irradiated with glories such as never +appertained and never will appertain to any man, foreign, English, or +Colonial. To think that Caroline, two years my junior, and so +childlike as to be five years my junior in nature, should be engaged +to be married before me. But that is what happens in families +more often than we are apt to remember.</p> +<p><i>August</i> 16.—Interesting news to-day. Charles, she +says, has pleaded that their marriage may just as well be this year +as next; and he seems to have nearly converted my mother to the same +way of thinking. I do not myself see any reason for delay, beyond +the standing one of my father having as yet had no opportunity of forming +an opinion upon the man, the time, or anything. However, he takes +his lot very quietly, and they are coming home to talk the question +over with us; Caroline having decided not to make any positive arrangements +for this change of state till she has seen me. Subject to my own +and my father’s approval, she says, they are inclined to settle +the date of the wedding for November, three months from the present +time, that it shall take place here in the village, that I, of course, +shall be bridesmaid, and many other particulars. She draws an +artless picture of the probable effect upon the minds of the villagers +of this romantic performance in the chancel of our old church, in which +she is to be chief actor—the foreign gentleman dropping down like +a god from the skies, picking her up, and triumphantly carrying her +off. Her only grief will be separation from me, but this is to +be assuaged by my going and staying with her for long months at a time. +This simple prattle is very sweet to me, my dear sister, but I cannot +help feeling sad at the occasion of it. In the nature of things +it is obvious that I shall never be to you again what I hitherto have +been: your guide, counsellor, and most familiar friend.</p> +<p>M. de la Feste does certainly seem to be all that one could desire +as protector to a sensitive fragile child like Caroline, and for that +I am thankful. Still, I must remember that I see him as yet only +through her eyes. For her sake I am intensely anxious to meet +him, and scrutinise him through and through, and learn what the man +is really made of who is to have such a treasure in his keeping. +The engagement has certainly been formed a little precipitately; I quite +agree with my father in that: still, good and happy marriages have been +made in a hurry before now, and mother seems well satisfied.</p> +<p><i>August</i> 20.—A terrible announcement came this morning; +and we are in deep trouble. I have been quite unable to steady +my thoughts on anything to-day till now—half-past eleven at night—and +I only attempt writing these notes because I am too restless to remain +idle, and there is nothing but waiting and waiting left for me to do. +Mother has been taken dangerously ill at Versailles: they were within +a day or two of starting; but all thought of leaving must now be postponed, +for she cannot possibly be moved in her present state. I don’t +like the sound of haemorrhage at all in a woman of her full habit, and +Caroline and the Marlets have not exaggerated their accounts I am certain. +On the receipt of the letter my father instantly decided to go to her, +and I have been occupied all day in getting him off, for as he calculates +on being absent several days, there have been many matters for him to +arrange before setting out—the chief being to find some one who +will do duty for him next Sunday—a quest of no small difficulty +at such short notice; but at last poor old feeble Mr. Dugdale has agreed +to attempt it, with Mr. Highman, the Scripture reader, to assist him +in the lessons.</p> +<p>I fain would have gone with my father to escape the irksome anxiety +of awaiting her; but somebody had to stay, and I could best be spared. +George has driven him to the station to meet the last train by which +he will catch the midnight boat, and reach Havre some time in the morning. +He hates the sea, and a night passage in particular. I hope he +will get there without mishap of any kind; but I feel anxious for him, +stay-at-home as he is, and unable to cope with any difficulty. +Such an errand, too; the journey will be sad enough at best. I +almost think I ought to have been the one to go to her.</p> +<p><i>August</i> 21.—I nearly fell asleep of heaviness of spirit +last night over my writing. My father must have reached Paris +by this time; and now here comes a letter . . .</p> +<p><i>Later.—</i>The letter was to express an earnest hope that +my father had set out. My poor mother is sinking, they fear. +What will become of Caroline? O, how I wish I could see mother; +why could not both have gone?</p> +<p><i>Later</i>.—I get up from my chair, and walk from window +to window, and then come and write a line. I cannot even divine +how poor Caroline’s marriage is to be carried out if mother dies. +I pray that father may have got there in time to talk to her and receive +some directions from her about Caroline and M. de la Feste—a man +whom neither my father nor I have seen. I, who might be useful +in this emergency, am doomed to stay here, waiting in suspense.</p> +<p><i>August</i> 23.—A letter from my father containing the sad +news that my mother’s spirit has flown. Poor little Caroline +is heart-broken—she was always more my mother’s pet than +I was. It is some comfort to know that my father arrived in time +to hear from her own lips her strongly expressed wish that Caroline’s +marriage should be solemnized as soon as possible. M. de la Feste +seems to have been a great favourite of my dear mother’s; and +I suppose it now becomes almost a sacred duty of my father to accept +him as a son-in-law without criticism.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III.—HER GLOOM LIGHTENS A LITTLE</h3> +<p><i>September</i> 10.—I have inserted nothing in my diary for +more than a fortnight. Events have been altogether too sad for +me to have the spirit to put them on paper. And yet there comes +a time when the act of recording one’s trouble is recognized as +a welcome method of dwelling upon it . . .</p> +<p>My dear mother has been brought home and buried here in the parish. +It was not so much her own wish that this should be done as my father’s, +who particularly desired that she should lie in the family vault beside +his first wife. I saw them side by side before the vault was closed—two +women beloved by one man. As I stood, and Caroline by my side, +I fell into a sort of dream, and had an odd fancy that Caroline and +I might be also beloved of one, and lie like these together—an +impossibility, of course, being sisters. When I awoke from my +reverie Caroline took my hand and said it was time to leave.</p> +<p><i>September</i> 14.—The wedding is indefinitely postponed. +Caroline is like a girl awakening in the middle of a somnambulistic +experience, and does not realize where she is, or how she stands. +She walks about silently, and I cannot tell her thoughts, as I used +to do. It was her own doing to write to M. de la Feste and tell +him that the wedding could not possibly take place this autumn as originally +planned. There is something depressing in this long postponement +if she is to marry him at all; and yet I do not see how it could be +avoided.</p> +<p><i>October</i> 20.—I have had so much to occupy me in consoling +Caroline that I have been continually overlooking my diary. Her +life was much nearer to my mother’s than mine was. She has +never, as I, lived away from home long enough to become self-dependent, +and hence in her first loss, and all that it involved, she drooped like +a rain-beaten lily. But she is of a nature whose wounds soon heal, +even though they may be deep, and the supreme poignancy of her sorrow +has already passed.</p> +<p>My father is of opinion that the wedding should not be delayed too +long. While at Versailles he made the acquaintance of M. de la +Feste, and though they had but a short and hurried communion with each +other, he was much impressed by M. de la Feste’s disposition and +conduct, and is strongly in favour of his suit. It is odd that +Caroline’s betrothed should influence in his favour all who come +near him. His portrait, which dear Caroline has shown me, exhibits +him to be of a physique that partly accounts for this: but there must +be something more than mere appearance, and it is probably some sort +of glamour or fascinating power—the quality which prevented Caroline +from describing him to me with any accuracy of detail. At the +same time, I see from the photograph that his face and head are remarkably +well formed; and though the contours of his mouth are hidden by his +moustache, his arched brows show well the romantic disposition of a +true lover and painter of Nature. I think that the owner of such +a face as this must be tender and sympathetic and true.</p> +<p>October 30.—As my sister’s grief for her mother becomes +more and more calmed, her love for M. de la Feste begins to reassume +its former absorbing command of her. She thinks of him incessantly, +and writes whole treatises to him by way of letters. Her blank +disappointment at his announcement of his inability to pay us a visit +quite so soon as he had promised, was quite tragic. I, too, am +disappointed, for I wanted to see and estimate him. But having +arranged to go to Holland to seize some aerial effects for his pictures, +which are only to be obtained at this time of the autumn, he is obliged +to postpone his journey this way, which is now to be made early in the +new year. I think myself that he ought to have come at all sacrifices, +considering Caroline’s recent loss, the sad postponement of what +she was looking forward to, and her single-minded affection for him. +Still, who knows; his professional success is important. Moreover, +she is cheerful, and hopeful, and the delay will soon be overpast.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV.—SHE BEHOLDS THE ATTRACTIVE STRANGER</h3> +<p><i>February</i> 16.—We have had such a dull life here all the +winter that I have found nothing important enough to set down, and broke +off my journal accordingly. I resume it now to make an entry on +the subject of dear Caroline’s future. It seems that she +was too grieved, immediately after the loss of our mother, to answer +definitely the question of M. de la Feste how long the postponement +was to be; then, afterwards, it was agreed that the matter should be +discussed on his autumn visit; but as he did not come, it has remained +in abeyance till this week, when Caroline, with the greatest simplicity +and confidence, has written to him without any further pressure on his +part, and told him that she is quite ready to fix the time, and will +do so as soon as he arrives to see her. She is a little frightened +now, lest it should seem forward in her to have revived the subject +of her own accord; but she may assume that his question has been waiting +on for an answer ever since, and that she has, therefore, acted only +within her promise. In truth, the secret at the bottom of it all +is that she is somewhat saddened because he has not latterly reminded +her of the pause in their affairs—that, in short, his original +impatience to possess her is not now found to animate him so obviously. +I suppose that he loves her as much as ever; indeed, I am sure he must +do so, seeing how lovable she is. It is mostly thus with all men +when women are out of their sight; they grow negligent. Caroline +must have patience, and remember that a man of his genius has many and +important calls upon his time. In justice to her I must add that +she does remember it fairly well, and has as much patience as any girl +ever had in the circumstances. He hopes to come at the beginning +of April at latest. Well, when he comes we shall see him.</p> +<p><i>April 5.—</i>I think that what M. de la Feste writes is +reasonable enough, though Caroline looks heart-sick about it. +It is hardly worth while for him to cross all the way to England and +back just now, while the sea is so turbulent, seeing that he will be +obliged, in any event, to come in May, when he has to be in London for +professional purposes, at which time he can take us easily on his way +both coming and going. When Caroline becomes his wife she will +be more practical, no doubt; but she is such a child as yet that there +is no contenting her with reasons. However, the time will pass +quickly, there being so much to do in preparing a trousseau for her, +which must now be put in hand in order that we may have plenty of leisure +to get it ready. On no account must Caroline be married in half-mourning; +I am sure that mother, could she know, would not wish it, and it is +odd that Caroline should be so intractably persistent on this point, +when she is usually so yielding.</p> +<p><i>April</i> 30.—This month has flown on swallow’s wings. +We are in a great state of excitement—I as much as she—I +cannot quite tell why. He is really coming in ten days, he says.</p> +<p><i>May</i> 9. <i>Four p.m</i>.—I am so agitated I can +scarcely write, and yet am particularly impelled to do so before leaving +my room. It is the unexpected shape of an expected event which +has caused my absurd excitement, which proves me almost as much a school-girl +as Caroline.</p> +<p>M. de la Feste was not, as we understood, to have come till to-morrow; +but he is here—just arrived. All household directions have +devolved upon me, for my father, not thinking M. de la Feste would appear +before us for another four-and-twenty hours, left home before post time +to attend a distant consecration; and hence Caroline and I were in no +small excitement when Charles’s letter was opened, and we read +that he had been unexpectedly favoured in the dispatch of his studio +work, and would follow his letter in a few hours. We sent the +covered carriage to meet the train indicated, and waited like two newly +strung harps for the first sound of the returning wheels. At last +we heard them on the gravel; and the question arose who was to receive +him. It was, strictly speaking, my duty; but I felt timid; I could +not help shirking it, and insisted that Caroline should go down. +She did not, however, go near the door as she usually does when anybody +is expected, but waited palpitating in the drawing-room. He little +thought when he saw the silent hall, and the apparently deserted house, +how that house was at the very same moment alive and throbbing with +interest under the surface. I stood at the back of the upper landing, +where nobody could see me from downstairs, and heard him walk across +the hall—a lighter step than my father’s—and heard +him then go into the drawing-room, and the servant shut the door behind +him and go away.</p> +<p>What a pretty lover’s meeting they must have had in there all +to themselves! Caroline’s sweet face looking up from her +black gown—how it must have touched him. I know she wept +very much, for I heard her; and her eyes will be red afterwards, and +no wonder, poor dear, though she is no doubt happy. I can imagine +what she is telling him while I write this—her fears lest anything +should have happened to prevent his coming after all—gentle, smiling +reproaches for his long delay; and things of that sort. His two +portmanteaus are at this moment crossing the landing on the way to his +room. I wonder if I ought to go down.</p> +<p><i>A little later</i>.—I have seen him! It was not at +all in the way that I intended to encounter him, and I am vexed. +Just after his portmanteaus were brought up I went out from my room +to descend, when, at the moment of stepping towards the first stair, +my eyes were caught by an object in the hall below, and I paused for +an instant, till I saw that it was a bundle of canvas and sticks, composing +a sketching tent and easel. At the same nick of time the drawing-room +door opened and the affianced pair came out. They were saying +they would go into the garden; and he waited a moment while she put +on her hat. My idea was to let them pass on without seeing me, +since they seemed not to want my company, but I had got too far on the +landing to retreat; he looked up, and stood staring at me—engrossed +to a dream-like fixity. Thereupon I, too, instead of advancing +as I ought to have done, stood moonstruck and awkward, and before I +could gather my weak senses sufficiently to descend, she had called +him, and they went out by the garden door together. I then thought +of following them, but have changed my mind, and come here to jot down +these few lines. It is all I am fit for . . .</p> +<p>He is even more handsome than I expected. I was right in feeling +he must have an attraction beyond that of form: it appeared even in +that momentary glance. How happy Caroline ought to be. But +I must, of course, go down to be ready with tea in the drawing-room +by the time they come indoors.</p> +<p>11 p.m.—I have made the acquaintance of M. de la Feste; and +I seem to be another woman from the effect of it. I cannot describe +why this should be so, but conversation with him seems to expand the +view, and open the heart, and raise one as upon stilts to wider prospects. +He has a good intellectual forehead, perfect eyebrows, dark hair and +eyes, an animated manner, and a persuasive voice. His voice is +soft in quality—too soft for a man, perhaps; and yet on second +thoughts I would not have it less so. We have been talking of +his art: I had no notion that art demanded such sacrifices or such tender +devotion; or that there were two roads for choice within its precincts, +the road of vulgar money-making, and the road of high aims and consequent +inappreciation for many long years by the public. That he has +adopted the latter need not be said to those who understand him. +It is a blessing for Caroline that she has been chosen by such a man, +and she ought not to lament at postponements and delays, since they +have arisen unavoidably. Whether he finds hers a sufficiently +rich nature, intellectually and emotionally, for his own, I know not, +but he seems occasionally to be disappointed at her simple views of +things. Does he really feel such love for her at this moment as +he no doubt believes himself to be feeling, and as he no doubt hopes +to feel for the remainder of his life towards her?</p> +<p>It was a curious thing he told me when we were left for a few minutes +alone; that Caroline had alluded so slightly to me in her conversation +and letters that he had not realized my presence in the house here at +all. But, of course, it was only natural that she should write +and talk most about herself. I suppose it was on account of the +fact of his being taken in some measure unawares, that I caught him +on two or three occasions regarding me fixedly in a way that disquieted +me somewhat, having been lately in so little society; till my glance +aroused him from his reverie, and he looked elsewhere in some confusion. +It was fortunate that he did so, and thus failed to notice my own. +It shows that he, too, is not particularly a society person.</p> +<p><i>May</i> 10.—Have had another interesting conversation with +M. de la Feste on schools of landscape painting in the drawing-room +after dinner this evening—my father having fallen asleep, and +left nobody but Caroline and myself for Charles to talk to. I +did not mean to say so much to him, and had taken a volume of <i>Modern +Painters</i> from the bookcase to occupy myself with, while leaving +the two lovers to themselves; but he would include me in his audience, +and I was obliged to lay the book aside. However, I insisted on +keeping Caroline in the conversation, though her views on pictorial +art were only too charmingly crude and primitive.</p> +<p>To-morrow, if fine, we are all three going to Wherryborne Wood, where +Charles will give us practical illustrations of the principles of coloring +that he has enumerated to-night. I am determined not to occupy +his attention to the exclusion of Caroline, and my plan is that when +we are in the dense part of the wood I will lag behind, and slip away, +and leave them to return by themselves. I suppose the reason of +his attentiveness to me lies in his simply wishing to win the good opinion +of one who is so closely united to Caroline, and so likely to influence +her good opinion of him.</p> +<p><i>May</i> 11. <i>Late.—</i>I cannot sleep, and in desperation +have lit my candle and taken up my pen. My restlessness is occasioned +by what has occurred to-day, which at first I did not mean to write +down, or trust to any heart but my own. We went to Wherryborne +Wood—Caroline, Charles and I, as we had intended—and walked +all three along the green track through the midst, Charles in the middle +between Caroline and myself. Presently I found that, as usual, +he and I were the only talkers, Caroline amusing herself by observing +birds and squirrels as she walked docilely alongside her betrothed. +Having noticed this I dropped behind at the first opportunity and slipped +among the trees, in a direction in which I knew I should find another +path that would take me home. Upon this track I by and by emerged, +and walked along it in silent thought till, at a bend, I suddenly encountered +M. de la Feste standing stock still and smiling thoughtfully at me.</p> +<p>‘Where is Caroline?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Only a little way off,’ says he. ‘When we +missed you from behind us we thought you might have mistaken the direction +we had followed, so she has gone one way to find you and I have come +this way.’</p> +<p>We then went back to find Caroline, but could not discover her anywhere, +and the upshot was that he and I were wandering about the woods alone +for more than an hour. On reaching home we found she had given +us up after searching a little while, and arrived there some time before. +I should not be so disturbed by the incident if I had not perceived +that, during her absence from us, he did not make any earnest effort +to rediscover her; and in answer to my repeated expressions of wonder +as to whither she could have wandered he only said, ‘Oh, she’s +quite safe; she told me she knew the way home from any part of this +wood. Let us go on with our talk. I assure you I value this +privilege of being with one I so much admire more than you imagine;’ +and other things of that kind. I was so foolish as to show a little +perturbation—I cannot tell why I did not control myself; and I +think he noticed that I was not cool. Caroline has, with her simple +good faith, thought nothing of the occurrence; yet altogether I am not +satisfied.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER V.—HER SITUATION IS A TRYING ONE</h3> +<p><i>May 15</i>.—The more I think of it day after day, the more +convinced I am that my suspicions are true. He is too interested +in me—well, in plain words, loves me; or, not to degrade that +phrase, has a wild passion for me; and his affection for Caroline is +that towards a sister only. That is the distressing truth; how +it has come about I cannot tell, and it wears upon me.</p> +<p>A hundred little circumstances have revealed this to me, and the +longer I dwell upon it the more agitating does the consideration become. +Heaven only can help me out of the terrible difficulty in which this +places me. I have done nothing to encourage him to be faithless +to her. I have studiously kept out of his way; have persistently +refused to be a third in their interviews. Yet all to no purpose. +Some fatality has seemed to rule, ever since he came to the house, that +this disastrous inversion of things should arise. If I had only +foreseen the possibility of it before he arrived, how gladly would I +have departed on some visit or other to the meanest friend to hinder +such an apparent treachery. But I blindly welcomed him—indeed, +made myself particularly agreeable to him for her sake.</p> +<p>There is no possibility of my suspicions being wrong; not until they +have reached absolute certainty have I dared even to admit the truth +to myself. His conduct to-day would have proved them true had +I entertained no previous apprehensions. Some photographs of myself +came for me by post, and they were handed round at the breakfast table +and criticised. I put them temporarily on a side table, and did +not remember them until an hour afterwards when I was in my own room. +On going to fetch them I discovered him standing at the table with his +back towards the door bending over the photographs, one of which he +raised to his lips.</p> +<p>The witnessing this act so frightened me that I crept away to escape +observation. It was the climax to a series of slight and significant +actions all tending to the same conclusion. The question for me +now is, what am I to do? To go away is what first occurs to me, +but what reason can I give Caroline and my father for such a step; besides, +it might precipitate some sort of catastrophe by driving Charles to +desperation. For the present, therefore, I have decided that I +can only wait, though his contiguity is strangely disturbing to me now, +and I hardly retain strength of mind to encounter him. How will +the distressing complication end?</p> +<p><i>May</i> 19.—And so it has come! My mere avoidance +of him has precipitated the worst issue—a declaration. I +had occasion to go into the kitchen garden to gather some of the double +ragged-robins which grew in a corner there. Almost as soon as +I had entered I heard footsteps without. The door opened and shut, +and I turned to behold him just inside it. As the garden is closed +by four walls and the gardener was absent, the spot ensured absolute +privacy. He came along the path by the asparagus-bed, and overtook +me.</p> +<p>‘You know why I come, Alicia?’ said he, in a tremulous +voice.</p> +<p>I said nothing, and hung my head, for by his tone I did know.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ he went on, ‘it is you I love; my sentiment +towards your sister is one of affection too, but protective, tutelary +affection—no more. Say what you will I cannot help it. +I mistook my feeling for her, and I know how much I am to blame for +my want of self-knowledge. I have fought against this discovery +night and day; but it cannot be concealed. Why did I ever see +you, since I could not see you till I had committed myself? At +the moment my eyes beheld you on that day of my arrival, I said, “This +is the woman for whom my manhood has waited.” Ever since +an unaccountable fascination has riveted my heart to you. Answer +one word!’</p> +<p>‘O, M. de la Feste!’ I burst out. What I said more +I cannot remember, but I suppose that the misery I was in showed pretty +plainly, for he said, ‘Something must be done to let her know; +perhaps I have mistaken her affection, too; but all depends upon what +you feel.’</p> +<p>‘I cannot tell what I feel,’ said I, ‘except that +this seems terrible treachery; and every moment that I stay with you +here makes it worse! . . . Try to keep faith with +her—her young heart is tender; believe me there is no mistake +in the quality of her love for you. Would there were! This +would kill her if she knew it!’</p> +<p>He sighed heavily. ‘She ought never to be my wife,’ +he said. ‘Leaving my own happiness out of the question, +it would be a cruelty to her to unite her to me.’</p> +<p>I said I could not hear such words from him, and begged him in tears +to go away; he obeyed, and I heard the garden door shut behind him. +What is to be the end of the announcement, and the fate of Caroline?</p> +<p><i>May</i> 20.—I put a good deal on paper yesterday, and yet +not all. I was, in truth, hoping against hope, against conviction, +against too conscious self-judgment. I scarcely dare own the truth +now, yet it relieves my aching heart to set it down. Yes, I love +him—that is the dreadful fact, and I can no longer parry, evade, +or deny it to myself though to the rest of the world it can never be +owned. I love Caroline’s betrothed, and he loves me. +It is no yesterday’s passion, cultivated by our converse; it came +at first sight, independently of my will; and my talk with him yesterday +made rather against it than for it, but, alas, did not quench it. +God forgive us both for this terrible treachery.</p> +<p><i>May</i> 25.—All is vague; our courses shapeless. He +comes and goes, being occupied, ostensibly at least, with sketching +in his tent in the wood. Whether he and she see each other privately +I cannot tell, but I rather think they do not; that she sadly awaits +him, and he does not appear. Not a sign from him that my repulse +has done him any good, or that he will endeavour to keep faith with +her. O, if I only had the compulsion of a god, and the self-sacrifice +of a martyr!</p> +<p><i>May</i> 31.—It has all ended—or rather this act of +the sad drama has ended—in nothing. He has left us. +No day for the fulfilment of the engagement with Caroline is named, +my father not being the man to press any one on such a matter, or, indeed, +to interfere in any way. We two girls are, in fact, quite defenceless +in a case of this kind; lovers may come when they choose, and desert +when they choose; poor father is too urbane to utter a word of remonstrance +or inquiry. Moreover, as the approved of my dead mother, M. de +la Feste has a sort of autocratic power with my father, who holds it +unkind to her memory to have an opinion about him. I, feeling +it my duty, asked M. de la Feste at the last moment about the engagement, +in a voice I could not keep firm.</p> +<p>‘Since the death of your mother all has been indefinite—all!’ +he said gloomily. That was the whole. Possibly, Wherryborne +Rectory may see him no more.</p> +<p><i>June</i> 7 .—M. de la Feste has written—one letter +to her, one to me. Hers could not have been very warm, for she +did not brighten on reading it. Mine was an ordinary note of friendship, +filling an ordinary sheet of paper, which I handed over to Caroline +when I had finished looking it through. But there was a scrap +of paper in the bottom of the envelope, which I dared not show any one. +This scrap is his real letter: I scanned it alone in my room, trembling, +hot and cold by turns. He tells me he is very wretched; that he +deplores what has happened, but was helpless. Why did I let him +see me, if only to make him faithless. Alas, alas!</p> +<p><i>June</i> 21 .—My dear Caroline has lost appetite, spirits, +health. Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. His letters +to her grow colder—if indeed he has written more than one. +He has refrained from writing again to me—he knows it is no use. +Altogether the situation that he and she and I are in is melancholy +in the extreme. Why are human hearts so perverse?</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI.—HER INGENUITY INSTIGATES HER</h3> +<p><i>September</i> 19.—Three months of anxious care—till +at length I have taken the extreme step of writing to him. Our +chief distress has been caused by the state of poor Caroline, who, after +sinking by degrees into such extreme weakness as to make it doubtful +if she can ever recover full vigour, has to-day been taken much worse. +Her position is very critical. The doctor says plainly that she +is dying of a broken heart—and that even the removal of the cause +may not now restore her. Ought I to have written to Charles sooner? +But how could I when she forbade me? It was her pride only which +instigated her, and I should not have obeyed.</p> +<p><i>Sept</i>. 26.—Charles has arrived and has seen her. +He is shocked, conscience-stricken, remorseful. I have told him +that he can do no good beyond cheering her by his presence. I +do not know what he thinks of proposing to her if she gets better, but +he says little to her at present: indeed he dares not: his words agitate +her dangerously.</p> +<p><i>Sept</i>. 28.—After a struggle between duty and selfishness, +such as I pray to Heaven I may never have to undergo again, I have asked +him for pity’s sake to make her his wife, here and now, as she +lies. I said to him that the poor child would not trouble him +long; and such a solemnization would soothe her last hours as nothing +else could do. He said that he would willingly do so, and had +thought of it himself; but for one forbidding reason: in the event of +her death as his wife he can never marry me, her sister, according to +our laws. I started at his words. He went on: ‘On +the other hand, if I were sure that immediate marriage with me would +save her life, I would not refuse, for possibly I might after a while, +and out of sight of you, make myself fairly content with one of so sweet +a disposition as hers; but if, as is probable, neither my marrying her +nor any other act can avail to save her life, by so doing I lose both +her and you.’ I could not answer him.</p> +<p><i>Sept. 29.—</i>He continued firm in his reasons for refusal +till this morning, and then I became possessed with an idea, which I +at once propounded to him. It was that he should at least consent +to a <i>form</i> of marriage with Caroline, in consideration of her +love; a form which need not be a legal union, but one which would satisfy +her sick and enfeebled soul. Such things have been done, and the +sentiment of feeling herself his would inexpressibly comfort her mind, +I am sure. Then, if she is taken from us, I should not have lost +the power of becoming his lawful wife at some future day, if it indeed +should be deemed expedient; if, on the other hand, she lives, he can +on her recovery inform her of the incompleteness of their marriage contract, +the ceremony can be repeated, and I can, and I am sure willingly would, +avoid troubling them with my presence till grey hairs and wrinkles make +his unfortunate passion for me a thing of the past. I put all +this before him; but he demurred.</p> +<p><i>Sept</i>. 30.—I have urged him again. He says he will +consider. It is no time to mince matters, and as a further inducement +I have offered to enter into a solemn engagement to marry him myself +a year after her death.</p> +<p><i>Sept</i>. 30. <i>Later</i>.—An agitating interview. +He says he will agree to whatever I propose, the three possibilities +and our contingent acts being recorded as follows: First, in the event +of dear Caroline being taken from us, I marry him on the expiration +of a year: Second, in the forlorn chance of her recovery I take upon +myself the responsibility of explaining to Caroline the true nature +of the ceremony he has gone through with her, that it was done at my +suggestion to make her happy at once, before a special licence could +be obtained, and that a public ceremony at church is awaiting her: Third, +in the unlikely event of her cooling, and refusing to repeat the ceremony +with him, I leave England, join him abroad, and there wed him, agreeing +not to live in England again till Caroline has either married another +or regards her attachment to Charles as a bygone matter. I have +thought over these conditions, and have agreed to them all as they stand.</p> +<p>11 <i>p.m</i>.—I do not much like this scheme, after all. +For one thing, I have just sounded my father on it before parting with +him for the night, my impression having been that he would see no objection. +But he says he could on no account countenance any such unreal proceeding; +however good our intentions, and even though the poor girl were dying, +it would not be right. So I sadly seek my pillow.</p> +<p><i>October</i> 1.—I am sure my father is wrong in his view. +Why is it not right, if it would be balm to Caroline’s wounded +soul, and if a real ceremony is absolutely refused by Charles—moreover +is hardly practicable in the difficulty of getting a special licence, +if he were agreed? My father does not know, or will not believe, +that Caroline’s attachment has been the cause of her hopeless +condition. But that it is so, and that the form of words would +give her inexpressible happiness, I know well; for I whispered tentatively +in her ear on such marriages, and the effect was great. Henceforth +my father cannot be taken into confidence on the subject of Caroline. +He does not understand her.</p> +<p>12 <i>o’clock noon</i>.—I have taken advantage of my +father’s absence to-day to confide my secret notion to a thoughtful +young man, who called here this morning to speak to my father. +He is the Mr. Theophilus Higham, of whom I have already had occasion +to speak—a Scripture reader in the next town, and is soon going +to be ordained. I told him the pitiable case, and my remedy. +He says ardently that he will assist me—would do anything for +me (he is, in truth, an admirer of mine); he sees no wrong in such an +act of charity. He is coming again to the house this afternoon +before my father returns, to carry out the idea. I have spoken +to Charles, who promises to be ready. I must now break the news +to Caroline.</p> +<p>11 o’clock p.m.—I have been in too much excitement till +now to set down the result. We have accomplished our plan; and +though I feel like a guilty sinner, I am glad. My father, of course, +is not to be informed as yet. Caroline has had a seraphic expression +upon her wasted, transparent face ever since. I should hardly +be surprised if it really saved her life even now, and rendered a legitimate +union necessary between them. In that case my father can be informed +of the whole proceeding, and in the face of such wonderful success cannot +disapprove. Meanwhile poor Charles has not lost the possibility +of taking unworthy me to fill her place should she—. But +I cannot contemplate that alternative unmoved, and will not write it. +Charles left for the South of Europe immediately after the ceremony. +He was in a high-strung, throbbing, almost wild state of mind at first, +but grew calmer under my exhortations. I had to pay the penalty +of receiving a farewell kiss from him, which I much regret, considering +its meaning; but he took me so unexpectedly, and in a moment was gone.</p> +<p><i>Oct</i>. 6.—She certainly is better, and even when she found +that Charles had been suddenly obliged to leave, she received the news +quite cheerfully. The doctor says that her apparent improvement +may be delusive; but I think our impressing upon her the necessity of +keeping what has occurred a secret from papa, and everybody, helps to +give her a zest for life.</p> +<p><i>Oct</i>. 8.—She is still mending. I am glad to have +saved her—my only sister—if I have done so; though I shall +now never become Charles’s wife.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.—A SURPRISE AWAITS HER</h3> +<p><i>Feb</i>. 5.—Writing has been absolutely impossible for a +long while; but I now reach a stage at which it seems possible to jot +down a line. Caroline’s recovery, extending over four months, +has been very engrossing; at first slow, latterly rapid. But a +fearful complication of affairs attends it!</p> +<blockquote><p>O what a tangled web we weave<br /> +When first we practise to deceive!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Charles has written reproachfully to me from Venice, where he is. +He says how can he fulfil in the real what he has enacted in the counterfeit, +while he still loves me? Yet how, on the other hand, can he leave +it unfulfilled? All this time I have not told her, and up to this +minute she believes that he has indeed taken her for better, for worse, +till death them do part. It is a harassing position for me, and +all three. In the awful approach of death, one’s judgment +loses its balance, and we do anything to meet the exigencies of the +moment, with a single eye to the one who excites our sympathy, and from +whom we seem on the brink of being separated for ever.</p> +<p>Had he really married her at that time all would be settled now. +But he took too much thought; she might have died, and then he had his +reason. If indeed it had turned out so, I should now be perhaps +a sad woman; but not a tempest-tossed one . . . The possibility of his +claiming me after all is what lies at the root of my agitation. +Everything hangs by a thread. Suppose I tell her the marriage +was a mockery; suppose she is indignant with me and with him for the +deception—and then? Otherwise, suppose she is not indignant +but forgives all; he is bound to marry her; and honour constrains me +to urge him thereto, in spite of what he protests, and to smooth the +way to this issue by my method of informing her. I have meant +to tell her the last month—ever since she has been strong enough +to bear such tidings; but I have been without the power—the moral +force. Surely I must write, and get him to come and assist me.</p> +<p><i>March</i> 14.—She continually wonders why he does not come, +the five months of his enforced absence having expired; and still more +she wonders why he does not write oftener. His last letter was +cold, she says, and she fears he regrets his marriage, which he may +only have celebrated with her for pity’s sake, thinking she was +sure to die. It makes one’s heart bleed to hear her hovering +thus so near the truth, and yet never discerning its actual shape.</p> +<p>A minor trouble besets me, too, in the person of the young Scripture +reader, whose conscience pricks him for the part he played. Surely +I am punished, if ever woman were, for a too ingenious perversion of +her better judgment!</p> +<p><i>April</i> 2.—She is practically well. The faint pink +revives in her cheek, though it is not quite so full as heretofore. +But she still wonders what she can have done to offend ‘her dear +husband,’ and I have been obliged to tell the smallest part of +the truth—an unimportant fragment of the whole, in fact, I said +that I feared for the moment he might regret the precipitancy of the +act, which her illness caused, his affairs not having been quite sufficiently +advanced for marriage just then, though he will doubtless come to her +as soon as he has a home ready. Meanwhile I have written to him, +peremptorily, to come and relieve me in this awful dilemma. He +will find no note of love in that.</p> +<p><i>April</i> 10.—To my alarm the letter I lately addressed +to him at Venice, where he is staying, as well as the last one she sent +him, have received no reply. She thinks he is ill. I do +not quite think that, but I wish we could hear from him. Perhaps +the peremptoriness of my words had offended him; it grieves me to think +it possible. <i>I</i> offend him! But too much of this. +I <i>must</i> tell her the truth, or she may in her ignorance commit +herself to some course or other that may be ruinously compromising. +She said plaintively just now that if he could see her, and know how +occupied with him and him alone is her every waking hour, she is sure +he would forgive her the wicked presumption of becoming his wife. +Very sweet all that, and touching. I could not conceal my tears.</p> +<p><i>April</i> 15.—The house is in confusion; my father is angry +and distressed, and I am distracted. Caroline has disappeared—gone +away secretly. I cannot help thinking that I know where she is +gone to. How guilty I seem, and how innocent she! O that +I had told her before now!</p> +<p>1 <i>o’clock</i>.—No trace of her as yet. We find +also that the little waiting-maid we have here in training has disappeared +with Caroline, and there is not much doubt that Caroline, fearing to +travel alone, has induced this girl to go with her as companion. +I am almost sure she has started in desperation to find him, and that +Venice is her goal. Why should she run away, if not to join her +husband, as she thinks him? Now that I consider, there have been +indications of this wish in her for days, as in birds of passage there +lurk signs of their incipient intention; and yet I did not think she +would have taken such an extreme step, unaided, and without consulting +me. I can only jot down the bare facts—I have no time for +reflections. But fancy Caroline travelling across the continent +of Europe with a chit of a girl, who will be more of a charge than an +assistance! They will be a mark for every marauder who encounters +them.</p> +<p><i>Evening</i>: 8 <i>o’clock</i>.—Yes, it is as I surmised. +She has gone to join him. A note posted by her in Budmouth Regis +at daybreak has reached me this afternoon—thanks to the fortunate +chance of one of the servants calling for letters in town to-day, or +I should not have got it until to-morrow. She merely asserts her +determination of going to him, and has started privately, that nothing +may hinder her; stating nothing about her route. That such a gentle +thing should suddenly become so calmly resolute quite surprises me. +Alas, he may have left Venice—she may not find him for weeks—may +not at all.</p> +<p>My father, on learning the facts, bade me at once have everything +ready by nine this evening, in time to drive to the train that meets +the night steam-boat. This I have done, and there being an hour +to spare before we start, I relieve the suspense of waiting by taking +up my pen. He says overtake her we must, and calls Charles the +hardest of names. He believes, of course, that she is merely an +infatuated girl rushing off to meet her lover; and how can the wretched +I tell him that she is more, and in a sense better than that—yet +not sufficiently more and better to make this flight to Charles anything +but a still greater danger to her than a mere lover’s impulse. +We shall go by way of Paris, and we think we may overtake her there. +I hear my father walking restlessly up and down the hall, and can write +no more.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII.—SHE TRAVELS IN PURSUIT</h3> +<p><i>April</i> 16. <i>Evening, Paris, Hôtel</i> ---.—There +is no overtaking her at this place; but she has been here, as I thought, +no other hotel in Paris being known to her. We go on to-morrow +morning.</p> +<p><i>April</i> 18. <i>Venice.—</i>A morning of adventures +and emotions which leave me sick and weary, and yet unable to sleep, +though I have lain down on the sofa of my room for more than an hour +in the attempt. I therefore make up my diary to date in a hurried +fashion, for the sake of the riddance it affords to ideas which otherwise +remain suspended hotly in the brain.</p> +<p>We arrived here this morning in broad sunlight, which lit up the +sea-girt buildings as we approached so that they seemed like a city +of cork floating raft-like on the smooth, blue deep. But I only +glanced from the carriage window at the lovely scene, and we were soon +across the intervening water and inside the railway station. When +we got to the front steps the row of black gondolas and the shouts of +the gondoliers so bewildered my father that he was understood to require +two gondolas instead of one with two oars, and so I found him in one +and myself in another. We got this righted after a while, and +were rowed at once to the hotel on the Riva degli Schiavoni where M. +de la Feste had been staying when we last heard from him, the way being +down the Grand Canal for some distance, under the Rialto, and then by +narrow canals which eventually brought us under the Bridge of Sighs—harmonious +to our moods!—and out again into open water. The scene was +purity itself as to colour, but it was cruel that I should behold it +for the first time under such circumstances.</p> +<p>As soon as I entered the hotel, which is an old-fashioned place, +like most places here, where people are taken <i>en pension</i> as well +as the ordinary way, I rushed to the framed list of visitors hanging +in the hall, and in a moment I saw Charles’s name upon it among +the rest. But she was our chief thought. I turned to the +hall porter, and—knowing that she would have travelled as ‘Madame +de la Feste’—I asked for her under that name, without my +father hearing. (He, poor soul, was making confused inquiries +outside the door about ‘an English lady,’ as if there were +not a score of English ladies at hand.)</p> +<p>‘She has just come,’ said the porter. ‘Madame +came by the very early train this morning, when Monsieur was asleep, +and she requested us not to disturb him. She is now in her room.’</p> +<p>Whether Caroline had seen us from the window, or overheard me, I +do not know, but at that moment I heard footsteps on the bare marble +stairs, and she appeared in person descending.</p> +<p>‘Caroline!’ I exclaimed, ‘why have you done this?’ +and rushed up to her.</p> +<p>She did not answer; but looked down to hide her emotion, which she +conquered after the lapse of a few seconds, putting on a practical tone +that belied her.</p> +<p>‘I am just going to my husband,’ she said. ‘I +have not yet seen him. I have not been here long.’ +She condescended to give no further reason for her movements, and made +as if to move on. I implored her to come into a private room where +I could speak to her in confidence, but she objected. However, +the dining-room, close at hand, was quite empty at this hour, and I +got her inside and closed the door. I do not know how I began +my explanation, or how I ended it, but I told her briefly and brokenly +enough that the marriage was not real.</p> +<p>‘Not real?’ she said vacantly.</p> +<p>‘It is not,’ said I. ‘You will find that +it is all as I say.’</p> +<p>She could not believe my meaning even then. ‘Not his +wife?’ she cried. ‘It is impossible. What am +I, then?’</p> +<p>I added more details, and reiterated the reason for my conduct as +well as I could; but Heaven knows how very difficult I found it to feel +a jot more justification for it in my own mind than she did in hers.</p> +<p>The revulsion of feeling, as soon as she really comprehended all, +was most distressing. After her grief had in some measure spent +itself she turned against both him and me.</p> +<p>‘Why should have I been deceived like this?’ she demanded, +with a bitter haughtiness of which I had not deemed such a tractable +creature capable. ‘Do you suppose that <i>anything</i> could +justify such an imposition? What, O what a snare you have spread +for me!’</p> +<p>I murmured, ‘Your life seemed to require it,’ but she +did not hear me. She sank down in a chair, covered her face, and +then my father came in. ‘O, here you are!’ he said. +‘I could not find you. And Caroline!’</p> +<p>‘And were <i>you</i>, papa, a party to this strange deed of +kindness?’</p> +<p>‘To what?’ said he.</p> +<p>Then out it all came, and for the first time he was made acquainted +with the fact that the scheme for soothing her illness, which I had +sounded him upon, had been really carried out. In a moment he +sided with Caroline. My repeated assurance that my motive was +good availed less than nothing. In a minute or two Caroline arose +and went abruptly out of the room, and my father followed her, leaving +me alone to my reflections.</p> +<p>I was so bent upon finding Charles immediately that I did not notice +whither they went. The servants told me that M. de la Feste was +just outside smoking, and one of them went to look for him, I following; +but before we had gone many steps he came out of the hotel behind me. +I expected him to be amazed; but he showed no surprise at seeing me, +though he showed another kind of feeling to an extent which dismayed +me. I may have revealed something similar; but I struggled hard +against all emotion, and as soon as I could I told him she had come. +He simply said ‘Yes’ in a low voice.</p> +<p>‘You know it, Charles?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘I have just learnt it,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘O, Charles,’ I went on, ‘having delayed completing +your marriage with her till now, I fear—it has become a serious +position for us. Why did you not reply to our letters?’</p> +<p>‘I was purposing to reply in person: I did not know how to +address her on the point—how to address you. But what has +become of her?’</p> +<p>‘She has gone off with my father,’ said I; ‘indignant +with you, and scorning me.’</p> +<p>He was silent: and I suggested that we should follow them, pointing +out the direction which I fancied their gondola had taken. As +the one we got into was doubly manned we soon came in view of their +two figures ahead of us, while they were not likely to observe us, our +boat having the ‘felze’ on, while theirs was uncovered. +They shot into a narrow canal just beyond the Giardino Reale, and by +the time we were floating up between its slimy walls we saw them getting +out of their gondola at the steps which lead up near the end of the +Via 22 Marzo. When we reached the same spot they were walking +up and down the Via in consultation. Getting out he stood on the +lower steps watching them. I watched him. He seemed to fall +into a reverie.</p> +<p>‘Will you not go and speak to her?’ said I at length.</p> +<p>He assented, and went forward. Still he did not hasten to join +them, but, screened by a projecting window, observed their musing converse. +At last he looked back at me; whereupon I pointed forward, and he in +obedience stepped out, and met them face to face. Caroline flushed +hot, bowed haughtily to him, turned away, and taking my father’s +arm violently, led him off before he had had time to use his own judgment. +They disappeared into a narrow <i>calle</i>, or alley, leading to the +back of the buildings on the Grand Canal.</p> +<p>M. de la Feste came slowly back; as he stepped in beside me I realized +my position so vividly that my heart might almost have been heard to +beat. The third condition had arisen—the least expected +by either of us. She had refused him; he was free to claim me.</p> +<p>We returned in the boat together. He seemed quite absorbed +till we had turned the angle into the Grand Canal, when he broke the +silence. ‘She spoke very bitterly to you in the <i>salle-à-manger</i>,’ +he said. ‘I do not think she was quite warranted in speaking +so to you, who had nursed her so tenderly.’</p> +<p>‘O, but I think she was,’ I answered. ‘It +was there I told her what had been done; she did not know till then.’</p> +<p>‘She was very dignified—very striking,’ he murmured. +‘You were more.’</p> +<p>‘But how do you know what passed between us,’ said I. +He then told me that he had seen and heard all. The dining-room +was divided by folding-doors from an inner portion, and he had been +sitting in the latter part when we entered the outer, so that our words +were distinctly audible.</p> +<p>‘But, dear Alicia,’ he went on, ‘I was more impressed +by the affection of your apology to her than by anything else. +And do you know that now the conditions have arisen which give me liberty +to consider you my affianced?’ I had been expecting this, +but yet was not prepared. I stammered out that we would not discuss +it then.</p> +<p>‘Why not?’ said he. ‘Do you know that we +may marry here and now? She has cast off both you and me.’</p> +<p>‘It cannot be,’ said I, firmly. ‘She has +not been fairly asked to be your wife in fact—to repeat the service +lawfully; and until that has been done it would be grievous sin in me +to accept you.’</p> +<p>I had not noticed where the gondoliers were rowing us. I suppose +he had given them some direction unheard by me, for as I resigned myself +in despairing indolence to the motion of the gondola, I perceived that +it was taking us up the Canal, and, turning into a side opening near +the Palazzo Grimani, drew up at some steps near the end of a large church.</p> +<p>‘Where are we?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘It is the Church of the Frari,’ he replied. ‘We +might be married there. At any rate, let us go inside, and grow +calm, and decide what to do.’</p> +<p>When we had entered I found that whether a place to marry in or not, +it was one to depress. The word which Venice speaks most constantly—decay—was +in a sense accentuated here. The whole large fabric itself seemed +sinking into an earth which was not solid enough to bear it. Cobwebbed +cracks zigzagged the walls, and similar webs clouded the window-panes. +A sickly-sweet smell pervaded the aisles. After walking about +with him a little while in embarrassing silences, divided only by his +cursory explanations of the monuments and other objects, and almost +fearing he might produce a marriage licence, I went to a door in the +south transept which opened into the sacristy.</p> +<p>I glanced through it, towards the small altar at the upper end. +The place was empty save of one figure; and she was kneeling here in +front of the beautiful altarpiece by Bellini. Beautiful though +it was she seemed not to see it. She was weeping and praying as +though her heart was broken. She was my sister Caroline. +I beckoned to Charles, and he came to my side, and looked through the +door with me.</p> +<p>‘Speak to her,’ said I. ‘She will forgive +you.’</p> +<p>I gently pushed him through the doorway, and went back into the transept, +down the nave, and onward to the west door. There I saw my father, +to whom I spoke. He answered severely that, having first obtained +comfortable quarters in a pension on the Grand Canal, he had gone back +to the hotel on the Riva degli Schiavoni to find me; but that I was +not there. He was now waiting for Caroline, to accompany her back +to the <i>pension</i>, at which she had requested to be left to herself +as much as possible till she could regain some composure.</p> +<p>I told him that it was useless to dwell on what was past, that I +no doubt had erred, that the remedy lay in the future and their marriage. +In this he quite agreed with me, and on my informing him that M. de +la Feste was at that moment with Caroline in the sacristy, he assented +to my proposal that we should leave them to themselves, and return together +to await them at the <i>pension</i>, where he had also engaged a room +for me. This we did, and going up to the chamber he had chosen +for me, which overlooked the Canal, I leant from the window to watch +for the gondola that should contain Charles and my sister.</p> +<p>They were not long in coming. I recognized them by the colour +of her sunshade as soon as they turned the bend on my right hand. +They were side by side of necessity, but there was no conversation between +them, and I thought that she looked flushed and he pale. When +they were rowed in to the steps of our house he handed her up. +I fancied she might have refused his assistance, but she did not. +Soon I heard her pass my door, and wishing to know the result of their +interview I went downstairs, seeing that the gondola had not put off +with him. He was turning from the door, but not towards the water, +intending apparently to walk home by way of the <i>calle</i> which led +into the Via 22 Marzo.</p> +<p>‘Has she forgiven you?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘I have not asked her,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘But you are bound to do so,’ I told him.</p> +<p>He paused, and then said, ‘Alicia, let us understand each other. +Do you mean to tell me, once for all, that if your sister is willing +to become my wife you absolutely make way for her, and will not entertain +any thought of what I suggested to you any more?’</p> +<p>‘I do tell you so,’ said I with dry lips. ‘You +belong to her—how can I do otherwise?’</p> +<p>‘Yes; it is so; it is purely a question of honour,’ he +returned. ‘Very well then, honour shall be my word, and +not my love. I will put the question to her frankly; if she says +yes, the marriage shall be. But not here. It shall be at +your own house in England.’</p> +<p>‘When?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘I will accompany her there,’ he replied, ‘and +it shall be within a week of her return. I have nothing to gain +by delay. But I will not answer for the consequences.’</p> +<p>‘What do you mean?’ said I. He made no reply, went +away, and I came back to my room.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX.—SHE WITNESSES THE END</h3> +<p><i>April</i> 20. <i>Milan</i>, 10.30 <i>p.m</i>.—We are +thus far on our way homeward. I, being decidedly <i>de trop</i>, +travel apart from the rest as much as I can. Having dined at the +hotel here, I went out by myself; regardless of the proprieties, for +I could not stay in. I walked at a leisurely pace along the Via +Allesandro Manzoni till my eye was caught by the grand Galleria Vittorio +Emanuele, and I entered under the high glass arcades till I reached +the central octagon, where I sat down on one of a group of chairs placed +there. Becoming accustomed to the stream of promenaders, I soon +observed, seated on the chairs opposite, Caroline and Charles. +This was the first occasion on which I had seen them <i>en tête-à-tête</i> +since my conversation with him. She soon caught sight of me; averted +her eyes; then, apparently abandoning herself to an impulse, she jumped +up from her seat and came across to me. We had not spoken to each +other since the meeting in Venice.</p> +<p>‘Alicia,’ she said, sitting down by my side, ‘Charles +asks me to forgive you, and I do forgive you.’</p> +<p>I pressed her hand, with tears in my eyes, and said, ‘And do +you forgive him?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said she, shyly.</p> +<p>‘And what’s the result?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘We are to be married directly we reach home.’</p> +<p>This was almost the whole of our conversation; she walked home with +me, Charles following a little way behind, though she kept turning her +head, as if anxious that he should overtake us. ‘Honour +and not love’ seemed to ring in my ears. So matters stand. +Caroline is again happy.</p> +<p><i>April</i> 25.—We have reached home, Charles with us. +Events are now moving in silent speed, almost with velocity, indeed; +and I sometimes feel oppressed by the strange and preternatural ease +which seems to accompany their flow. Charles is staying at the +neighbouring town; he is only waiting for the marriage licence; when +obtained he is to come here, be quietly married to her, and carry her +off. It is rather resignation than content which sits on his face; +but he has not spoken a word more to me on the burning subject, or deviated +one hair’s breadth from the course he laid down. They may +be happy in time to come: I hope so. But I cannot shake off depression.</p> +<p><i>May</i> 6.—Eve of the wedding. Caroline is serenely +happy, though not blithe. But there is nothing to excite anxiety +about her. I wish I could say the same of him. He comes +and goes like a ghost, and yet nobody seems to observe this strangeness +in his mien.</p> +<p>I could not help being here for the ceremony; but my absence would +have resulted in less disquiet on his part, I believe. However, +I may be wrong in attributing causes: my father simply says that Charles +and Caroline have as good a chance of being happy as other people. +Well, to-morrow settles all.</p> +<p><i>May</i> 7.—They are married: we have just returned from +church. Charles looked so pale this morning that my father asked +him if he was ill. He said, ‘No: only a slight headache;’ +and we started for the church.</p> +<p>There was no hitch or hindrance; and the thing is done.</p> +<p>4 p.m.—They ought to have set out on their journey by this +time; but there is an unaccountable delay. Charles went out half-an-hour +ago, and has not yet returned. Caroline is waiting in the hall; +but I am dreadfully afraid they will miss the train. I suppose +the trifling hindrance is of no account; and yet I am full of misgivings +. . .</p> +<p><i>Sept</i>. 14.—Four months have passed; <i>only</i> four +months! It seems like years. Can it be that only seventeen +weeks ago I set on this paper the fact of their marriage? I am +now an aged woman by comparison!</p> +<p>On that never to be forgotten day we waited and waited, and Charles +did not return. At six o’clock, when poor little Caroline +had gone back to her room in a state of suspense impossible to describe, +a man who worked in the water-meadows came to the house and asked for +my father. He had an interview with him in the study. My +father then rang his bell, and sent for me. I went down; and I +then learnt the fatal news. Charles was no more. The waterman +had been going to shut down the hatches of a weir in the meads when +he saw a hat on the edge of the pool below, floating round and round +in the eddy, and looking into the pool saw something strange at the +bottom. He knew what it meant, and lowering the hatches so that +the water was still, could distinctly see the body. It is needless +to write particulars that were in the newspapers at the time. +Charles was brought to the house, but he was dead.</p> +<p>We all feared for Caroline; and she suffered much; but strange to +say, her suffering was purely of the nature of deep grief which found +relief in sobbing and tears. It came out at the inquest that Charles +had been accustomed to cross the meads to give an occasional half-crown +to an old man who lived on the opposite hill, who had once been a landscape +painter in an humble way till he lost his eyesight; and it was assumed +that he had gone thither for the same purpose to-day, and to bid him +farewell. On this information the coroner’s jury found that +his death had been caused by misadventure; and everybody believes to +this hour that he was drowned while crossing the weir to relieve the +old man. Except one: she believes in no accident. After +the stunning effect of the first news, I thought it strange that he +should have chosen to go on such an errand at the last moment, and to +go personally, when there was so little time to spare, since any gift +could have been so easily sent by another hand. Further reflection +has convinced me that this step out of life was as much a part of the +day’s plan as was the wedding in the church hard by. +They were the two halves of his complete intention when he gave me on +the Grand Canal that assurance which I shall never forget: ‘Very +well, then; honour shall be my word, not love. If she says “Yes,” +the marriage shall be.’</p> +<p>I do not know why I should have made this entry at this particular +time; but it has occurred to me to do it—to complete, in a measure, +that part of my desultory chronicle which relates to the love-story +of my sister and Charles. She lives on meekly in her grief; and +will probably outlive it; while I—but never mind me.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER X.—SHE ADDS A NOTE LONG AFTER</h3> +<p><i>Five-years later.—</i>I have lighted upon this old diary, +which it has interested me to look over, containing, as it does, records +of the time when life shone more warmly in my eye than it does now. +I am impelled to add one sentence to round off its record of the past. +About a year ago my sister Caroline, after a persistent wooing, accepted +the hand and heart of Theophilus Higham, once the blushing young Scripture +reader who assisted at the substitute for a marriage I planned, and +now the fully-ordained curate of the next parish. His penitence +for the part he played ended in love. We have all now made atonement +for our sins against her: may she be deceived no more.</p> +<p>1887.</p> +<h2>THE GRAVE BY THE HANDPOST</h2> +<p>I never pass through Chalk-Newton without turning to regard the neighbouring +upland, at a point where a lane crosses the lone straight highway dividing +this from the next parish; a sight which does not fail to recall the +event that once happened there; and, though it may seem superfluous, +at this date, to disinter more memories of village history, the whispers +of that spot may claim to be preserved.</p> +<p>It was on a dark, yet mild and exceptionally dry evening at Christmas-time +(according to the testimony of William Dewy of Mellstock, Michael Mail, +and others), that the choir of Chalk-Newton—a large parish situate +about half-way between the towns of Ivel and Casterbridge, and now a +railway station—left their homes just before midnight to repeat +their annual harmonies under the windows of the local population. +The band of instrumentalists and singers was one of the largest in the +county; and, unlike the smaller and finer Mellstock string-band, which +eschewed all but the catgut, it included brass and reed performers at +full Sunday services, and reached all across the west gallery.</p> +<p>On this night there were two or three violins, two ‘cellos, +a tenor viol, double bass, hautboy, clarionets, serpent, and seven singers. +It was, however, not the choir’s labours, but what its members +chanced to witness, that particularly marked the occasion.</p> +<p>They had pursued their rounds for many years without meeting with +any incident of an unusual kind, but to-night, according to the assertions +of several, there prevailed, to begin with, an exceptionally solemn +and thoughtful mood among two or three of the oldest in the band, as +if they were thinking they might be joined by the phantoms of dead friends +who had been of their number in earlier years, and now were mute in +the churchyard under flattening mounds—friends who had shown greater +zest for melody in their time than was shown in this; or that some past +voice of a semi-transparent figure might quaver from some bedroom-window +its acknowledgment of their nocturnal greeting, instead of a familiar +living neighbour. Whether this were fact or fancy, the younger +members of the choir met together with their customary thoughtlessness +and buoyancy. When they had gathered by the stone stump of the +cross in the middle of the village, near the White Horse Inn, which +they made their starting point, some one observed that they were full +early, that it was not yet twelve o’clock. The local waits +of those days mostly refrained from sounding a note before Christmas +morning had astronomically arrived, and not caring to return to their +beer, they decided to begin with some outlying cottages in Sidlinch +Lane, where the people had no clocks, and would not know whether it +were night or morning. In that direction they accordingly went; +and as they ascended to higher ground their attention was attracted +by a light beyond the houses, quite at the top of the lane.</p> +<p>The road from Chalk-Newton to Broad Sidlinch is about two miles long +and in the middle of its course, where it passes over the ridge dividing +the two villages, it crosses at right angles, as has been stated, the +lonely monotonous old highway known as Long Ash Lane, which runs, straight +as a surveyor’s line, many miles north and south of this spot, +on the foundation of a Roman road, and has often been mentioned in these +narratives. Though now quite deserted and grass-grown, at the +beginning of the century it was well kept and frequented by traffic. +The glimmering light appeared to come from the precise point where the +roads intersected.</p> +<p>‘I think I know what that mid mean!’ one of the group +remarked.</p> +<p>They stood a few moments, discussing the probability of the light +having origin in an event of which rumours had reached them, and resolved +to go up the hill.</p> +<p>Approaching the high land their conjectures were strengthened. +Long Ash Lane cut athwart them, right and left; and they saw that at +the junction of the four ways, under the hand-post, a grave was dug, +into which, as the choir drew nigh, a corpse had just been thrown by +the four Sidlinch men employed for the purpose. The cart and horse +which had brought the body thither stood silently by.</p> +<p>The singers and musicians from Chalk-Newton halted, and looked on +while the gravediggers shovelled in and trod down the earth, till, the +hole being filled, the latter threw their spades into the cart, and +prepared to depart.</p> +<p>‘Who mid ye be a-burying there?’ asked Lot Swanhills +in a raised voice. ‘Not the sergeant?’</p> +<p>The Sidlinch men had been so deeply engrossed in their task that +they had not noticed the lanterns of the Chalk-Newton choir till now.</p> +<p>‘What—be you the Newton carol-singers?’ returned +the representatives of Sidlinch.</p> +<p>‘Ay, sure. Can it be that it is old Sergeant Holway you’ve +a-buried there?’</p> +<p>‘’Tis so. You’ve heard about it, then?’</p> +<p>The choir knew no particulars—only that he had shot himself +in his apple-closet on the previous Sunday. ‘Nobody seem’th +to know what ‘a did it for, ‘a b’lieve? Leastwise, +we don’t know at Chalk-Newton,’ continued Lot.</p> +<p>‘O yes. It all came out at the inquest.’</p> +<p>The singers drew close, and the Sidlinch men, pausing to rest after +their labours, told the story. ‘It was all owing to that +son of his, poor old man. It broke his heart.’</p> +<p>‘But the son is a soldier, surely; now with his regiment in +the East Indies?’</p> +<p>‘Ay. And it have been rough with the army over there +lately. ’Twas a pity his father persuaded him to go. +But Luke shouldn’t have twyted the sergeant o’t, since ‘a +did it for the best.’</p> +<p>The circumstances, in brief, were these: The sergeant who had come +to this lamentable end, father of the young soldier who had gone with +his regiment to the East, had been singularly comfortable in his military +experiences, these having ended long before the outbreak of the great +war with France. On his discharge, after duly serving his time, +he had returned to his native village, and married, and taken kindly +to domestic life. But the war in which England next involved herself +had cost him many frettings that age and infirmity prevented him from +being ever again an active unit of the army. When his only son +grew to young manhood, and the question arose of his going out in life, +the lad expressed his wish to be a mechanic. But his father advised +enthusiastically for the army.</p> +<p>‘Trade is coming to nothing in these days,’ he said. +‘And if the war with the French lasts, as it will, trade will +be still worse. The army, Luke—that’s the thing for +’ee. ’Twas the making of me, and ’twill be the +making of you. I hadn’t half such a chance as you’ll +have in these splendid hotter times.’</p> +<p>Luke demurred, for he was a home-keeping, peace-loving youth. +But, putting respectful trust in his father’s judgment, he at +length gave way, and enlisted in the ---d Foot. In the course +of a few weeks he was sent out to India to his regiment, which had distinguished +itself in the East under General Wellesley.</p> +<p>But Luke was unlucky. News came home indirectly that he lay +sick out there; and then on one recent day when his father was out walking, +the old man had received tidings that a letter awaited him at Casterbridge. +The sergeant sent a special messenger the whole nine miles, and the +letter was paid for and brought home; but though, as he had guessed, +it came from Luke, its contents were of an unexpected tenor.</p> +<p>The letter had been written during a time of deep depression. +Luke said that his life was a burden and a slavery, and bitterly reproached +his father for advising him to embark on a career for which he felt +unsuited. He found himself suffering fatigues and illnesses without +gaining glory, and engaged in a cause which he did not understand or +appreciate. If it had not been for his father’s bad advice +he, Luke, would now have been working comfortably at a trade in the +village that he had never wished to leave.</p> +<p>After reading the letter the sergeant advanced a few steps till he +was quite out of sight of everybody, and then sat down on the bank by +the wayside.</p> +<p>When he arose half-an-hour later he looked withered and broken, and +from that day his natural spirits left him. Wounded to the quick +by his son’s sarcastic stings, he indulged in liquor more and +more frequently. His wife had died some years before this date, +and the sergeant lived alone in the house which had been hers. +One morning in the December under notice the report of a gun had been +heard on his premises, and on entering the neighbours found him in a +dying state. He had shot himself with an old firelock that he +used for scaring birds; and from what he had said the day before, and +the arrangements he had made for his decease, there was no doubt that +his end had been deliberately planned, as a consequence of the despondency +into which he had been thrown by his son’s letter. The coroner’s +jury returned a verdict of <i>felo de se.</i></p> +<p>‘Here’s his son’s letter,’ said one of the +Sidlinch men. ‘’Twas found in his father’s pocket. +You can see by the state o’t how many times he read it over. +Howsomever, the Lord’s will be done, since it must, whether or +no.’</p> +<p>The grave was filled up and levelled, no mound being shaped over +it. The Sidlinch men then bade the Chalk-Newton choir good-night, +and departed with the cart in which they had brought the sergeant’s +body to the hill. When their tread had died away from the ear, +and the wind swept over the isolated grave with its customary siffle +of indifference, Lot Swanhills turned and spoke to old Richard Toller, +the hautboy player.</p> +<p>‘’Tis hard upon a man, and he a wold sojer, to serve +en so, Richard. Not that the sergeant was ever in a battle bigger +than would go into a half-acre paddock, that’s true. Still, +his soul ought to hae as good a chance as another man’s, all the +same, hey?’</p> +<p>Richard replied that he was quite of the same opinion. ‘What +d’ye say to lifting up a carrel over his grave, as ’tis +Christmas, and no hurry to begin down in parish, and ’twouldn’t +take up ten minutes, and not a soul up here to say us nay, or know anything +about it?’</p> +<p>Lot nodded assent. ‘The man ought to hae his chances,’ +he repeated.</p> +<p>‘Ye may as well spet upon his grave, for all the good we shall +do en by what we lift up, now he’s got so far,’ said Notton, +the clarionet man and professed sceptic of the choir. ‘But +I’m agreed if the rest be.’</p> +<p>They thereupon placed themselves in a semicircle by the newly stirred +earth, and roused the dull air with the well-known Number Sixteen of +their collection, which Lot gave out as being the one he thought best +suited to the occasion and the mood</p> +<blockquote><p>He comes’ the pri’-soners to’ re-lease’,<br /> +In Sa’-tan’s bon’-dage held’.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Jown it—we’ve never played to a dead man afore,’ +said Ezra Cattstock, when, having concluded the last verse, they stood +reflecting for a breath or two. ‘But it do seem more merciful +than to go away and leave en, as they t’other fellers have done.’</p> +<p>‘Now backalong to Newton, and by the time we get overright +the pa’son’s ’twill be half after twelve,’ said +the leader.</p> +<p>They had not, however, done more than gather up their instruments +when the wind brought to their notice the noise of a vehicle rapidly +driven up the same lane from Sidlinch which the gravediggers had lately +retraced. To avoid being run over when moving on, they waited +till the benighted traveller, whoever he might be, should pass them +where they stood in the wider area of the Cross.</p> +<p>In half a minute the light of the lanterns fell upon a hired fly, +drawn by a steaming and jaded horse. It reached the hand-post, +when a voice from the inside cried, ‘Stop here!’ The +driver pulled rein. The carriage door was opened from within, +and there leapt out a private soldier in the uniform of some line regiment. +He looked around, and was apparently surprised to see the musicians +standing there.</p> +<p>‘Have you buried a man here?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘No. We bain’t Sidlinch folk, thank God; we be +Newton choir. Though a man is just buried here, that’s true; +and we’ve raised a carrel over the poor mortal’s natomy. +What—do my eyes see before me young Luke Holway, that went wi’ +his regiment to the East Indies, or do I see his spirit straight from +the battlefield? Be you the son that wrote the letter—’</p> +<p>‘Don’t—don’t ask me. The funeral is +over, then?’</p> +<p>‘There wer no funeral, in a Christen manner of speaking. +But’s buried, sure enough. You must have met the men going +back in the empty cart.’</p> +<p>‘Like a dog in a ditch, and all through me!’</p> +<p>He remained silent, looking at the grave, and they could not help +pitying him. ‘My friends,’ he said, ‘I understand +better now. You have, I suppose, in neighbourly charity, sung +peace to his soul? I thank you, from my heart, for your kind pity. +Yes; I am Sergeant Holway’s miserable son—I’m the +son who has brought about his father’s death, as truly as if I +had done it with my own hand!’</p> +<p>‘No, no. Don’t ye take on so, young man. +He’d been naturally low for a good while, off and on, so we hear.’</p> +<p>‘We were out in the East when I wrote to him. Everything +had seemed to go wrong with me. Just after my letter had gone +we were ordered home. That’s how it is you see me here. +As soon as we got into barracks at Casterbridge I heard o’ this +. . . Damn me! I’ll dare to follow my father, and make away +with myself, too. It is the only thing left to do!’</p> +<p>‘Don’t ye be rash, Luke Holway, I say again; but try +to make amends by your future life. And maybe your father will +smile a smile down from heaven upon ’ee for ‘t.’</p> +<p>He shook his head. ‘I don’t know about that!’ +he answered bitterly.</p> +<p>‘Try and be worthy of your father at his best. ’Tis +not too late.’</p> +<p>‘D’ye think not? I fancy it is! . . . Well, I’ll +turn it over. Thank you for your good counsel. I’ll +live for one thing, at any rate. I’ll move father’s +body to a decent Christian churchyard, if I do it with my own hands. +I can’t save his life, but I can give him an honourable grave. +He shan’t lie in this accursed place!’</p> +<p>‘Ay, as our pa’son says, ’tis a barbarous custom +they keep up at Sidlinch, and ought to be done away wi’. +The man a’ old soldier, too. You see, our pa’son is +not like yours at Sidlinch.’</p> +<p>‘He says it is barbarous, does he? So it is!’ cried +the soldier. ‘Now hearken, my friends.’ Then +he proceeded to inquire if they would increase his indebtedness to them +by undertaking the removal, privately, of the body of the suicide to +the churchyard, not of Sidlinch, a parish he now hated, but of Chalk-Newton. +He would give them all he possessed to do it.</p> +<p>Lot asked Ezra Cattstock what he thought of it.</p> +<p>Cattstock, the ‘cello player, who was also the sexton, demurred, +and advised the young soldier to sound the rector about it first. +‘Mid be he would object, and yet ‘a mid’nt. +The pa’son o’ Sidlinch is a hard man, I own ye, and ‘a +said if folk will kill theirselves in hot blood they must take the consequences. +But ours don’t think like that at all, and might allow it.’</p> +<p>‘What’s his name?’</p> +<p>‘The honourable and reverent Mr. Oldham, brother to Lord Wessex. +But you needn’t be afeard o’ en on that account. He’ll +talk to ’ee like a common man, if so be you haven’t had +enough drink to gie ’ee bad breath.’</p> +<p>‘O, the same as formerly. I’ll ask him. Thank +you. And that duty done—’</p> +<p>‘What then?’</p> +<p>‘There’s war in Spain. I hear our next move is +there. I’ll try to show myself to be what my father wished +me. I don’t suppose I shall—but I’ll try in +my feeble way. That much I swear—here over his body. +So help me God.’</p> +<p>Luke smacked his palm against the white hand-post with such force +that it shook. ‘Yes, there’s war in Spain; and another +chance for me to be worthy of father.’</p> +<p>So the matter ended that night. That the private acted in one +thing as he had vowed to do soon became apparent, for during the Christmas +week the rector came into the churchyard when Cattstock was there, and +asked him to find a spot that would be suitable for the purpose of such +an interment, adding that he had slightly known the late sergeant, and +was not aware of any law which forbade him to assent to the removal, +the letter of the rule having been observed. But as he did not +wish to seem moved by opposition to his neighbour at Sidlinch, he had +stipulated that the act of charity should be carried out at night, and +as privately as possible, and that the grave should be in an obscure +part of the enclosure. ‘You had better see the young man +about it at once,’ added the rector.</p> +<p>But before Ezra had done anything Luke came down to his house. +His furlough had been cut short, owing to new developments of the war +in the Peninsula, and being obliged to go back to his regiment immediately, +he was compelled to leave the exhumation and reinterment to his friends. +Everything was paid for, and he implored them all to see it carried +out forthwith.</p> +<p>With this the soldier left. The next day Ezra, on thinking +the matter over, again went across to the rectory, struck with sudden +misgiving. He had remembered that the sergeant had been buried +without a coffin, and he was not sure that a stake had not been driven +through him. The business would be more troublesome than they +had at first supposed.</p> +<p>‘Yes, indeed!’ murmured the rector. ‘I am +afraid it is not feasible after all.’</p> +<p>The next event was the arrival of a headstone by carrier from the +nearest town; to be left at Mr. Ezra Cattstock’s; all expenses +paid. The sexton and the carrier deposited the stone in the former’s +outhouse; and Ezra, left alone, put on his spectacles and read the brief +and simple inscription:-</p> +<blockquote><p>HERE LYETH THE BODY OF SAMUEL HOLWAY, LATE SERGEANT IN +HIS MAJESTY’S ---D REGIMENT OF FOOT, WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE DECEMBER +THE 20TH, 180-. ERECTED BY L. H.<br /> +‘I AM NOT WORTHY TO BE CALLED THY SON.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Ezra again called at the riverside rectory. ‘The stone +is come, sir. But I’m afeard we can’t do it nohow.’</p> +<p>‘I should like to oblige him,’ said the gentlemanly old +incumbent. ‘And I would forego all fees willingly. +Still, if you and the others don’t think you can carry it out, +I am in doubt what to say.’</p> +<p>Well, sir; I’ve made inquiry of a Sidlinch woman as to his +burial, and what I thought seems true. They buried en wi’ +a new six-foot hurdle-saul drough’s body, from the sheep-pen up +in North Ewelease though they won’t own to it now. And the +question is, Is the moving worth while, considering the awkwardness?’</p> +<p>‘Have you heard anything more of the young man?’</p> +<p>Ezra had only heard that he had embarked that week for Spain with +the rest of the regiment. ‘And if he’s as desperate +as ‘a seemed, we shall never see him here in England again.’</p> +<p>‘It is an awkward case,’ said the rector.</p> +<p>Ezra talked it over with the choir; one of whom suggested that the +stone might be erected at the crossroads. This was regarded as +impracticable. Another said that it might be set up in the churchyard +without removing the body; but this was seen to be dishonest. +So nothing was done.</p> +<p>The headstone remained in Ezra’s outhouse till, growing tired +of seeing it there, he put it away among the bushes at the bottom of +his garden. The subject was sometimes revived among them, but +it always ended with: ‘Considering how ‘a was buried, we +can hardly make a job o’t.’</p> +<p>There was always the consciousness that Luke would never come back, +an impression strengthened by the disasters which were rumoured to have +befallen the army in Spain. This tended to make their inertness +permanent. The headstone grew green as it lay on its back under +Ezra’s bushes; then a tree by the river was blown down, and, falling +across the stone, cracked it in three pieces. Ultimately the pieces +became buried in the leaves and mould.</p> +<p>Luke had not been born a Chalk-Newton man, and he had no relations +left in Sidlinch, so that no tidings of him reached either village throughout +the war. But after Waterloo and the fall of Napoleon there arrived +at Sidlinch one day an English sergeant-major covered with stripes and, +as it turned out, rich in glory. Foreign service had so totally +changed Luke Holway that it was not until he told his name that the +inhabitants recognized him as the sergeant’s only son.</p> +<p>He had served with unswerving effectiveness through the Peninsular +campaigns under Wellington; had fought at Busaco, Fuentes d’Onore, +Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, Salamanca, Vittoria, Quatre Bras, and Waterloo; +and had now returned to enjoy a more than earned pension and repose +in his native district.</p> +<p>He hardly stayed in Sidlinch longer than to take a meal on his arrival. +The same evening he started on foot over the hill to Chalk-Newton, passing +the hand-post, and saying as he glanced at the spot, ‘Thank God: +he’s not there!’ Nightfall was approaching when he +reached the latter village; but he made straight for the churchyard. +On his entering it there remained light enough to discern the headstones +by, and these he narrowly scanned. But though he searched the +front part by the road, and the back part by the river, what he sought +he could not find—the grave of Sergeant Holway, and a memorial +bearing the inscription: ‘I AM NOT WORTHY TO BE CALLED THY SON.’</p> +<p>He left the churchyard and made inquiries. The honourable and +reverend old rector was dead, and so were many of the choir; but by +degrees the sergeant-major learnt that his father still lay at the cross-roads +in Long Ash Lane.</p> +<p>Luke pursued his way moodily homewards, to do which, in the natural +course, he would be compelled to repass the spot, there being no other +road between the two villages. But he could not now go by that +place, vociferous with reproaches in his father’s tones; and he +got over the hedge and wandered deviously through the ploughed fields +to avoid the scene. Through many a fight and fatigue Luke had +been sustained by the thought that he was restoring the family honour +and making noble amends. Yet his father lay still in degradation. +It was rather a sentiment than a fact that his father’s body had +been made to suffer for his own misdeeds; but to his super-sensitiveness +it seemed that his efforts to retrieve his character and to propitiate +the shade of the insulted one had ended in failure.</p> +<p>He endeavoured, however, to shake off his lethargy, and, not liking +the associations of Sidlinch, hired a small cottage at Chalk-Newton +which had long been empty. Here he lived alone, becoming quite +a hermit, and allowing no woman to enter the house.</p> +<p>The Christmas after taking up his abode herein he was sitting in +the chimney corner by himself, when he heard faint notes in the distance, +and soon a melody burst forth immediately outside his own window, it +came from the carol-singers, as usual; and though many of the old hands, +Ezra and Lot included, had gone to their rest, the same old carols were +still played out of the same old books. There resounded through +the sergeant-major’s window-shutters the familiar lines that the +deceased choir had rendered over his father’s grave:-</p> +<blockquote><p>He comes’ the pri’-soners to’ re-lease’,<br /> +In Sa’-tan’s bon’-dage held’.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When they had finished they went on to another house, leaving him +to silence and loneliness as before.</p> +<p>The candle wanted snuffing, but he did not snuff it, and he sat on +till it had burnt down into the socket and made waves of shadow on the +ceiling.</p> +<p>The Christmas cheerfulness of next morning was broken at breakfast-time +by tragic intelligence which went down the village like wind. +Sergeant-Major Holway had been found shot through the head by his own +hand at the cross-roads in Long Ash Lane where his father lay buried.</p> +<p>On the table in the cottage he had left a piece of paper, on which +he had written his wish that he might be buried at the Cross beside +his father. But the paper was accidentally swept to the floor, +and overlooked till after his funeral, which took place in the ordinary +way in the churchyard.</p> +<p>Christmas 1897.</p> +<h2>ENTER A DRAGOON</h2> +<p>I lately had a melancholy experience (said the gentleman who is answerable +for the truth of this story). It was that of going over a doomed +house with whose outside aspect I had long been familiar—a house, +that is, which by reason of age and dilapidation was to be pulled down +during the following week. Some of the thatch, brown and rotten +as the gills of old mushrooms, had, indeed, been removed before I walked +over the building. Seeing that it was only a very small house—which +is usually called a ‘cottage-residence’—situated in +a remote hamlet, and that it was not more than a hundred years old, +if so much, I was led to think in my progress through the hollow rooms, +with their cracked walls and sloping floors, what an exceptional number +of abrupt family incidents had taken place therein—to reckon only +those which had come to my own knowledge. And no doubt there were +many more of which I had never heard.</p> +<p>It stood at the top of a garden stretching down to the lane or street +that ran through a hermit-group of dwellings in Mellstock parish. +From a green gate at the lower entrance, over which the thorn hedge +had been shaped to an arch by constant clippings, a gravel path ascended +between the box edges of once trim raspberry, strawberry, and vegetable +plots, towards the front door. This was in colour an ancient and +bleached green that could be rubbed off with the finger, and it bore +a small long-featured brass knocker covered with verdigris in its crevices. +For some years before this eve of demolition the homestead had degenerated, +and been divided into two tenements to serve as cottages for farm labourers; +but in its prime it had indisputable claim to be considered neat, pretty, +and genteel.</p> +<p>The variety of incidents above alluded to was mainly owing to the +nature of the tenure, whereby the place had been occupied by families +not quite of the kind customary in such spots—people whose circumstances, +position, or antecedents were more or less of a critical happy-go-lucky +cast. And of these residents the family whose term comprised the +story I wish to relate was that of Mr. Jacob Paddock the market-gardener, +who dwelt there for some years with his wife and grown-up daughter.</p> +<h3>I</h3> +<p>An evident commotion was agitating the premises, which jerked busy +sounds across the front plot, resembling those of a disturbed hive. +If a member of the household appeared at the door it was with a countenance +of abstraction and concern.</p> +<p>Evening began to bend over the scene; and the other inhabitants of +the hamlet came out to draw water, their common well being in the public +road opposite the garden and house of the Paddocks. Having wound +up their bucketsfull respectively they lingered, and spoke significantly +together. From their words any casual listener might have gathered +information of what had occurred.</p> +<p>The woodman who lived nearest the site of the story told most of +the tale. Selina, the daughter of the Paddocks opposite, had been +surprised that afternoon by receiving a letter from her once intended +husband, then a corporal, but now a sergeant-major of dragoons, whom +she had hitherto supposed to be one of the slain in the Battle of the +Alma two or three years before.</p> +<p>‘She picked up wi’en against her father’s wish, +as we know, and before he got his stripes,’ their informant continued. +‘Not but that the man was as hearty a feller as you’d meet +this side o’ London. But Jacob, you see, wished her to do +better, and one can understand it. However, she was determined +to stick to him at that time; and for what happened she was not much +to blame, so near as they were to matrimony when the war broke out and +spoiled all.’</p> +<p>‘Even the very pig had been killed for the wedding,’ +said a woman, ‘and the barrel o’ beer ordered in. +O, the man meant honourable enough. But to be off in two days +to fight in a foreign country—’twas natural of her father +to say they should wait till he got back.’</p> +<p>‘And he never came,’ murmured one in the shade.</p> +<p>‘The war ended but her man never turned up again. She +was not sure he was killed, but was too proud, or too timid, to go and +hunt for him.’</p> +<p>‘One reason why her father forgave her when he found out how +matters stood was, as he said plain at the time, that he liked the man, +and could see that he meant to act straight. So the old folks +made the best of what they couldn’t mend, and kept her there with +’em, when some wouldn’t. Time has proved seemingly +that he did mean to act straight, now that he has writ to her that he’s +coming. She’d have stuck to him all through the time, ’tis +my belief; if t’other hadn’t come along.’</p> +<p>‘At the time of the courtship,’ resumed the woodman, +‘the regiment was quartered in Casterbridge Barracks, and he and +she got acquainted by his calling to buy a penn’orth of rathe-ripes +off that tree yonder in her father’s orchard—though ’twas +said he seed <i>her</i> over hedge as well as the apples. He declared +’twas a kind of apple he much fancied; and he called for a penn’orth +every day till the tree was cleared. It ended in his calling for +her.’</p> +<p>‘’Twas a thousand pities they didn’t jine up at +once and ha’ done wi’ it.</p> +<p>‘Well; better late than never, if so be he’ll have her +now. But, Lord, she’d that faith in ‘en that she’d +no more belief that he was alive, when a’ didn’t come, than +that the undermost man in our churchyard was alive. She’d +never have thought of another but for that—O no!’</p> +<p>‘’Tis awkward, altogether, for her now.’</p> +<p>‘Still she hadn’t married wi’ the new man. +Though to be sure she would have committed it next week, even the licence +being got, they say, for she’d have no banns this time, the first +being so unfortunate.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps the sergeant-major will think he’s released, +and go as he came.’</p> +<p>‘O, not as I reckon. Soldiers bain’t particular, +and she’s a tidy piece o’ furniture still. What will +happen is that she’ll have her soldier, and break off with the +master-wheelwright, licence or no—daze me if she won’t.’</p> +<p>In the progress of these desultory conjectures the form of another +neighbour arose in the gloom. She nodded to the people at the +well, who replied ‘G’d night, Mrs. Stone,’ as she +passed through Mr. Paddock’s gate towards his door. She +was an intimate friend of the latter’s household, and the group +followed her with their eyes up the path and past the windows, which +were now lighted up by candles inside.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p>Mrs. Stone paused at the door, knocked, and was admitted by Selina’s +mother, who took her visitor at once into the parlour on the left hand, +where a table was partly spread for supper. On the ‘beaufet’ +against the wall stood probably the only object which would have attracted +the eye of a local stranger in an otherwise ordinarily furnished room, +a great plum-cake guarded as if it were a curiosity by a glass shade +of the kind seen in museums—square, with a wooden back like those +enclosing stuffed specimens of rare feather or fur. This was the +mummy of the cake intended in earlier days for the wedding-feast of +Selina and the soldier, which had been religiously and lovingly preserved +by the former as a testimony to her intentional respectability in spite +of an untoward subsequent circumstance, which will be mentioned. +This relic was now as dry as a brick, and seemed to belong to a pre-existent +civilization. Till quite recently, Selina had been in the habit +of pausing before it daily, and recalling the accident whose consequences +had thrown a shadow over her life ever since—that of which the +water-drawers had spoken—the sudden news one morning that the +Route had come for the ---th Dragoons, two days only being the interval +before departure; the hurried consultation as to what should be done, +the second time of asking being past but not the third; and the decision +that it would be unwise to solemnize matrimony in such haphazard circumstances, +even if it were possible, which was doubtful.</p> +<p>Before the fire the young woman in question was now seated on a low +stool, in the stillness of reverie, and a toddling boy played about +the floor around her.</p> +<p>‘Ah, Mrs. Stone!’ said Selina, rising slowly. ‘How +kind of you to come in. You’ll bide to supper? Mother +has told you the strange news, of course?’</p> +<p>‘No. But I heard it outside, that is, that you’d +had a letter from Mr. Clark—Sergeant-Major Clark, as they say +he is now—and that he’s coming to make it up with ’ee.’</p> +<p>‘Yes; coming to-night—all the way from the north of England +where he’s quartered. I don’t know whether I’m +happy or—frightened at it. Of course I always believed that +if he was alive he’d come and keep his solemn vow to me. +But when it is printed that a man is killed—what can you think?’</p> +<p>‘It <i>was</i> printed?’</p> +<p>‘Why, yes. After the Battle of the Alma the book of the +names of the killed and wounded was nailed up against Casterbridge Town +Hall door. ’Twas on a Saturday, and I walked there o’ +purpose to read and see for myself; for I’d heard that his name +was down. There was a crowd of people round the book, looking +for the names of relations; and I can mind that when they saw me they +made way for me—knowing that we’d been just going to be +married—and that, as you may say, I belonged to him. Well, +I reached up my arm, and turned over the farrels of the book, and under +the “killed” I read his surname, but instead of “John” +they’d printed “James,” and I thought ’twas +a mistake, and that it must be he. Who could have guessed there +were two nearly of one name in one regiment.’</p> +<p>‘Well—he’s coming to finish the wedding of ’ee +as may be said; so never mind, my dear. All’s well that +ends well.’</p> +<p>‘That’s what he seems to say. But then he has not +heard yet about Mr. Miller; and that’s what rather terrifies me. +Luckily my marriage with him next week was to have been by licence, +and not banns, as in John’s case; and it was not so well known +on that account. Still, I don’t know what to think.’</p> +<p>‘Everything seems to come just ’twixt cup and lip with +’ee, don’t it now, Miss Paddock. Two weddings broke +off—’tis odd! How came you to accept Mr. Miller, my +dear?’</p> +<p>‘He’s been so good and faithful! Not minding about +the child at all; for he knew the rights of the story. He’s +dearly fond o’ Johnny, you know—just as if ’twere +his own—isn’t he, my duck? Do Mr. Miller love you +or don’t he?’</p> +<p>‘Iss! An’ I love Mr. Miller,’ said the toddler.</p> +<p>‘Well, you see, Mrs. Stone, he said he’d make me a comfortable +home; and thinking ’twould be a good thing for Johnny, Mr. Miller +being so much better off than me, I agreed at last, just as a widow +might—which is what I have always felt myself; ever since I saw +what I thought was John’s name printed there. I hope John +will forgive me!’</p> +<p>‘So he will forgive ’ee, since ’twas no manner +of wrong to him. He ought to have sent ’ee a line, saying +’twas another man.’</p> +<p>Selina’s mother entered. ‘We’ve not known +of this an hour, Mrs. Stone,’ she said. ‘The letter +was brought up from Lower Mellstock Post-office by one of the school +children, only this afternoon. Mr. Miller was coming here this +very night to settle about the wedding doings. Hark! Is +that your father? Or is it Mr. Miller already come?’</p> +<p>The footsteps entered the porch; there was a brushing on the mat, +and the door of the room sprung back to disclose a rubicund man about +thirty years of age, of thriving master-mechanic appearance and obviously +comfortable temper. On seeing the child, and before taking any +notice whatever of the elders, the comer made a noise like the crowing +of a cock and flapped his arms as if they were wings, a method of entry +which had the unqualified admiration of Johnny.</p> +<p>‘Yes—it is he,’ said Selina constrainedly advancing.</p> +<p>‘What—were you all talking about me, my dear?’ +said the genial young man when he had finished his crowing and resumed +human manners. ‘Why what’s the matter,’ he went +on. ‘You look struck all of a heap.’ Mr. Miller +spread an aspect of concern over his own face, and drew a chair up to +the fire.</p> +<p>‘O mother, would you tell Mr. Miller, if he don’t know?’</p> +<p><i>‘Mister</i> Miller! and going to be married in six days!’ +he interposed.</p> +<p>‘Ah—he don’t know it yet!’ murmured Mrs. +Paddock.</p> +<p>‘Know what?’</p> +<p>‘Well—John Clark—now Sergeant-Major Clark—wasn’t +shot at Alma after all. ’Twas another of almost the same +name.’</p> +<p>‘Now that’s interesting! There were several cases +like that.’</p> +<p>‘And he’s home again; and he’s coming here to-night +to see her.’</p> +<p>‘Whatever shall I say, that he may not be offended with what +I’ve done?’ interposed Selina.</p> +<p>‘But why should it matter if he be?’</p> +<p>‘O! I must agree to be his wife if he forgives me—of +course I must.’</p> +<p>‘Must! But why not say nay, Selina, even if he do forgive +’ee?’</p> +<p>‘O no! How can I without being wicked? You were +very very kind, Mr. Miller, to ask me to have you; no other man would +have done it after what had happened; and I agreed, even though I did +not feel half so warm as I ought. Yet it was entirely owing to +my believing him in the grave, as I knew that if he were not he would +carry out his promise; and this shows that I was right in trusting him.’</p> +<p>‘Yes . . . He must be a goodish sort of fellow,’ said +Mr. Miller, for a moment so impressed with the excellently faithful +conduct of the sergeant-major of dragoons that he disregarded its effect +upon his own position. He sighed slowly and added, ‘Well, +Selina, ’tis for you to say. I love you, and I love the +boy; and there’s my chimney-corner and sticks o’ furniture +ready for ’ee both.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I know! But I mustn’t hear it any more now,’ +murmured Selina quickly. ‘John will be here soon. +I hope he’ll see how it all was when I tell him. If so be +I could have written it to him it would have been better.’</p> +<p>‘You think he doesn’t know a single word about our having +been on the brink o’t. But perhaps it’s the other +way—he’s heard of it and that may have brought him.</p> +<p>‘Ah—perhaps he has!’ she said brightening. +‘And already forgives me.’</p> +<p>‘If not, speak out straight and fair, and tell him exactly +how it fell out. If he’s a man he’ll see it.’</p> +<p>‘O he’s a man true enough. But I really do think +I shan’t have to tell him at all, since you’ve put it to +me that way!’</p> +<p>As it was now Johnny’s bedtime he was carried upstairs, and +when Selina came down again her mother observed with some anxiety, ‘I +fancy Mr. Clark must be here soon if he’s coming; and that being +so, perhaps Mr. Miller wouldn’t mind—wishing us good-night! +since you are so determined to stick to your sergeant-major.’ +A little bitterness bubbled amid the closing words. ‘It +would be less awkward, Mr. Miller not being here—if he will allow +me to say it.’</p> +<p>‘To be sure; to be sure,’ the master-wheelwright exclaimed +with instant conviction, rising alertly from his chair. ‘Lord +bless my soul,’ he said, taking up his hat and stick, ‘and +we to have been married in six days! But Selina—you’re +right. You do belong to the child’s father since he’s +alive. I’ll try to make the best of it.’</p> +<p>Before the generous Miller had got further there came a knock to +the door accompanied by the noise of wheels.</p> +<p>‘I thought I heard something driving up!’ said Mrs Paddock.</p> +<p>They heard Mr. Paddock, who had been smoking in the room opposite, +rise and go to the door, and in a moment a voice familiar enough to +Selina was audibly saying, ‘At last I am here again—not +without many interruptions! How is it with ’ee, Mr. Paddock? +And how is she? Thought never to see me again, I suppose?’</p> +<p>A step with a clink of spurs in it struck upon the entry floor.</p> +<p>‘Danged if I bain’t catched!’ murmured Mr. Miller, +forgetting company-speech. ‘Never mind—I may as well +meet him here as elsewhere; and I should like to see the chap, and make +friends with en, as he seems one o’ the right sort.’ +He returned to the fireplace just as the sergeant-major was ushered +in.</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p>He was a good specimen of the long-service soldier of those days; +a not unhandsome man, with a certain undemonstrative dignity, which +some might have said to be partly owing to the stiffness of his uniform +about his neck, the high stock being still worn. He was much stouter +than when Selina had parted from him. Although she had not meant +to be demonstrative she ran across to him directly she saw him, and +he held her in his arms and kissed her.</p> +<p>Then in much agitation she whispered something to him, at which he +seemed to be much surprised.</p> +<p>‘He’s just put to bed,’ she continued. ‘You +can go up and see him. I knew you’d come if you were alive! +But I had quite gi’d you up for dead. You’ve been +home in England ever since the war ended?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear.’</p> +<p>‘Why didn’t you come sooner?’</p> +<p>‘That’s just what I ask myself! Why was I such +a sappy as not to hurry here the first day I set foot on shore! +Well, who’d have thought it—you are as pretty as ever!’</p> +<p>He relinquished her to peep upstairs a little way, where, by looking +through the ballusters, he could see Johnny’s cot just within +an open door. On his stepping down again Mr. Miller was preparing +to depart.</p> +<p>‘Now, what’s this? I am sorry to see anybody going +the moment I’ve come,’ expostulated the sergeant-major. +‘I thought we might make an evening of it. There’s +a nine gallon cask o’ “Phoenix” beer outside in the +trap, and a ham, and half a rawmil’ cheese; for I thought you +might be short o’ forage in a lonely place like this; and it struck +me we might like to ask in a neighbour or two. But perhaps it +would be taking a liberty?’</p> +<p>‘O no, not at all,’ said Mr. Paddock, who was now in +the room, in a judicial measured manner. ‘Very thoughtful +of ’ee, only ’twas not necessary, for we had just laid in +an extry stock of eatables and drinkables in preparation for the coming +event.’</p> +<p>‘’Twas very kind, upon my heart,’ said the soldier, +‘to think me worth such a jocund preparation, since you could +only have got my letter this morning.’</p> +<p>Selina gazed at her father to stop him, and exchanged embarrassed +glances with Miller. Contrary to her hopes Sergeant-Major Clark +plainly did not know that the preparations referred to were for something +quite other than his own visit.</p> +<p>The movement of the horse outside, and the impatient tapping of a +whip-handle upon the vehicle reminded them that Clark’s driver +was still in waiting. The provisions were brought into the house, +and the cart dismissed. Miller, with very little pressure indeed, +accepted an invitation to supper, and a few neighbours were induced +to come in to make up a cheerful party.</p> +<p>During the laying of the meal, and throughout its continuance, Selina, +who sat beside her first intended husband, tried frequently to break +the news to him of her engagement to the other—now terminated +so suddenly, and so happily for her heart, and her sense of womanly +virtue. But the talk ran entirely upon the late war; and though +fortified by half a horn of the strong ale brought by the sergeant-major +she decided that she might have a better opportunity when supper was +over of revealing the situation to him in private.</p> +<p>Having supped, Clark leaned back at ease in his chair and looked +around. ‘We used sometimes to have a dance in that other +room after supper, Selina dear, I recollect. We used to clear +out all the furniture into this room before beginning. Have you +kept up such goings on?’</p> +<p>‘No, not at all!’ said his sweetheart, sadly.</p> +<p>‘We were not unlikely to revive it in a few days,’ said +Mr. Paddock. ‘But, howsomever, there’s seemingly many +a slip, as the saying is.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I’ll tell John all about that by and by!’ +interposed Selina; at which, perceiving that the secret which he did +not like keeping was to be kept even yet, her father held his tongue +with some show of testiness.</p> +<p>The subject of a dance having been broached, to put the thought in +practice was the feeling of all. Soon after the tables and chairs +were borne from the opposite room to this by zealous hands, and two +of the villagers sent home for a fiddle and tambourine, when the majority +began to tread a measure well known in that secluded vale. Selina +naturally danced with the sergeant-major, not altogether to her father’s +satisfaction, and to the real uneasiness of her mother, both of whom +would have preferred a postponement of festivities till the rashly anticipated +relationship between their daughter and Clark in the past had been made +fact by the church’s ordinances. They did not, however, +express a positive objection, Mr. Paddock remembering, with self-reproach, +that it was owing to his original strongly expressed disapproval of +Selina’s being a soldier’s wife that the wedding had been +delayed, and finally hindered—with worse consequences than were +expected; and ever since the misadventure brought about by his government +he had allowed events to steer their own courses.</p> +<p>‘My tails will surely catch in your spurs, John!’ murmured +the daughter of the house, as she whirled around upon his arm with the +rapt soul and look of a somnambulist. ‘I didn’t know +we should dance, or I would have put on my other frock.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll take care, my love. We’ve danced here +before. Do you think your father objects to me now? I’ve +risen in rank. I fancy he’s still a little against me.’</p> +<p>‘He has repented, times enough.’</p> +<p>‘And so have I! If I had married you then ’twould +have saved many a misfortune. I have sometimes thought it might +have been possible to rush the ceremony through somehow before I left; +though we were only in the second asking, were we? And even if +I had come back straight here when we returned from the Crimea, and +married you then, how much happier I should have been!’</p> +<p>‘Dear John, to say that! Why didn’t you?’</p> +<p>‘O—dilatoriness and want of thought, and a fear of facing +your father after so long. I was in hospital a great while, you +know. But how familiar the place seems again! What’s +that I saw on the beaufet in the other room? It never used to +be there. A sort of withered corpse of a cake—not an old +bride-cake surely?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, John, ours. ’Tis the very one that was made +for our wedding three years ago.’</p> +<p>‘Sakes alive! Why, time shuts up together, and all between +then and now seems not to have been! What became of that wedding-gown +that they were making in this room, I remember—a bluish, whitish, +frothy thing?’</p> +<p>‘I have that too.’</p> +<p>‘Really! . . . Why, Selina—’</p> +<p>‘Yes!’</p> +<p>‘Why not put it on now?’</p> +<p>‘Wouldn’t it seem—. And yet, O how I should +like to! It would remind them all, if we told them what it was, +how we really meant to be married on that bygone day!’ Her +eyes were again laden with wet.</p> +<p>‘Yes . . . The pity that we didn’t—the pity!’ +Moody mournfulness seemed to hold silent awhile one not naturally taciturn. +‘Well—will you?’ he said.</p> +<p>‘I will—the next dance, if mother don’t mind.’</p> +<p>Accordingly, just before the next figure was formed, Selina disappeared, +and speedily came downstairs in a creased and box-worn, but still airy +and pretty, muslin gown, which was indeed the very one that had been +meant to grace her as a bride three years before.</p> +<p>‘It is dreadfully old-fashioned,’ she apologized.</p> +<p>‘Not at all. What a grand thought of mine! Now, +let’s to’t again.’</p> +<p>She explained to some of them, as he led her to the second dance, +what the frock had been meant for, and that she had put it on at his +request. And again athwart and around the room they went.</p> +<p>‘You seem the bride!’ he said.</p> +<p>‘But I couldn’t wear this gown to be married in now!’ +she replied, ecstatically, ‘or I shouldn’t have put it on +and made it dusty. It is really too old-fashioned, and so folded +and fretted out, you can’t think. That was with my taking +it out so many times to look at. I have never put it on—never—till +now!’</p> +<p>‘Selina, I am thinking of giving up the army. Will you +emigrate with me to New Zealand? I’ve an uncle out there +doing well, and he’d soon help me to making a larger income. +The English army is glorious, but it ain’t altogether enriching.’</p> +<p>‘Of course, anywhere that you decide upon. Is it healthy +there for Johnny?’</p> +<p>‘A lovely climate. And I shall never be happy in England +. . . Aha!’ he concluded again, with a bitterness of unexpected +strength, ‘would to Heaven I had come straight back here!’</p> +<p>As the dance brought round one neighbour after another the re-united +pair were thrown into juxtaposition with Bob Heartall among the rest +who had been called in; one whose chronic expression was that he carried +inside him a joke on the point of bursting with its own vastness. +He took occasion now to let out a little of its quality, shaking his +head at Selina as he addressed her in an undertone—</p> +<p>‘This is a bit of a topper to the bridegroom, ho ho! +’Twill teach en the liberty you’ll expect when you’ve +married en!’</p> +<p>‘What does he mean by a “topper,”’ the sergeant-major +asked, who, not being of local extraction, despised the venerable local +language, and also seemed to suppose ‘bridegroom’ to be +an anticipatory name for himself. ‘I only hope I shall never +be worse treated than you’ve treated me to-night!’</p> +<p>Selina looked frightened. ‘He didn’t mean you, +dear,’ she said as they moved on. ‘We thought perhaps +you knew what had happened, owing to your coming just at this time. +Had you—heard anything about—what I intended?’</p> +<p>‘Not a breath—how should I—away up in Yorkshire? +It was by the merest accident that I came just at this date to make +peace with you for my delay.’</p> +<p>‘I was engaged to be married to Mr. Bartholomew Miller. +That’s what it is! I would have let ’ee know by letter, +but there was no time, only hearing from ’ee this afternoon . +. . You won’t desert me for it, will you, John? Because, +as you know, I quite supposed you dead, and—and—’ +Her eyes were full of tears of trepidation, and he might have felt a +sob heaving within her.</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p>The soldier was silent during two or three double bars of the tune. +‘When were you to have been married to the said Mr. Bartholomew +Miller?’ he inquired.</p> +<p>‘Quite soon.’</p> +<p>‘How soon?’</p> +<p>‘Next week—O yes—just the same as it was with you +and me. There’s a strange fate of interruption hanging over +me, I sometimes think! He had bought the licence, which I preferred +so that it mightn’t be like—ours. But it made no difference +to the fate of it.’</p> +<p>‘Had bought the licence! The devil!’</p> +<p>‘Don’t be angry, dear John. I didn’t know!’</p> +<p>‘No, no, I’m not angry.’</p> +<p>‘It was so kind of him, considering!’</p> +<p>‘Yes . . . I see, of course, how natural your action was—never +thinking of seeing me any more! Is it the Mr. Miller who is in +this dance?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>Clark glanced round upon Bartholomew and was silent again, for some +little while, and she stole a look at him, to find that he seemed changed. +‘John, you look ill!’ she almost sobbed. ‘’Tisn’t +me, is it?’</p> +<p>‘O dear, no. Though I hadn’t, somehow, expected +it. I can’t find fault with you for a moment—and I +don’t . . . This is a deuce of a long dance, don’t you think? +We’ve been at it twenty minutes if a second, and the figure doesn’t +allow one much rest. I’m quite out of breath.’</p> +<p>‘They like them so dreadfully long here. Shall we drop +out? Or I’ll stop the fiddler.’</p> +<p>‘O no, no, I think I can finish. But although I look +healthy enough I have never been so strong as I formerly was, since +that long illness I had in the hospital at Scutari.’</p> +<p>‘And I knew nothing about it!’</p> +<p>‘You couldn’t, dear, as I didn’t write. What +a fool I have been altogether!’ He gave a twitch, as of +one in pain. ‘I won’t dance again when this one is +over. The fact is I have travelled a long way to-day, and it seems +to have knocked me up a bit.’</p> +<p>There could be no doubt that the sergeant-major was unwell, and Selina +made herself miserable by still believing that her story was the cause +of his ailment. Suddenly he said in a changed voice, and she perceived +that he was paler than ever: ‘I must sit down.’</p> +<p>Letting go her waist he went quickly to the other room. She +followed, and found him in the nearest chair, his face bent down upon +his hands and arms, which were resting on the table.</p> +<p>‘What’s the matter?’ said her father, who sat there +dozing by the fire.</p> +<p>‘John isn’t well . . . We are going to New Zealand when +we are married, father. A lovely country! John, would you +like something to drink?’</p> +<p>‘A drop o’ that Schiedam of old Owlett’s, that’s +under stairs, perhaps,’ suggested her father. ‘Not +that nowadays ’tis much better than licensed liquor.’</p> +<p>‘John,’ she said, putting her face close to his and pressing +his arm. ‘Will you have a drop of spirits or something?’</p> +<p>He did not reply, and Selina observed that his ear and the side of +his face were quite white. Convinced that his illness was serious, +a growing dismay seized hold of her. The dance ended; her mother +came in, and learning what had happened, looked narrowly at the sergeant-major.</p> +<p>‘We must not let him lie like that, lift him up,’ she +said. ‘Let him rest in the window-bench on some cushions.’</p> +<p>They unfolded his arms and hands as they lay clasped upon the table, +and on lifting his head found his features to bear the very impress +of death itself. Bartholomew Miller, who had now come in, assisted +Mr. Paddock to make a comfortable couch in the window-seat, where they +stretched out Clark upon his back.</p> +<p>Still he seemed unconscious. ‘We must get a doctor,’ +said Selina. ‘O, my dear John, how is it you be taken like +this?’</p> +<p>‘My impression is that he’s dead!’ murmured Mr. +Paddock. ‘He don’t breathe enough to move a tomtit’s +feather.’</p> +<p>There were plenty to volunteer to go for a doctor, but as it would +be at least an hour before he could get there the case seemed somewhat +hopeless. The dancing-party ended as unceremoniously as it had +begun; but the guests lingered round the premises till the doctor should +arrive. When he did come the sergeant-major’s extremities +were already cold, and there was no doubt that death had overtaken him +almost at the moment that he had sat down.</p> +<p>The medical practitioner quite refused to accept the unhappy Selina’s +theory that her revelation had in any way induced Clark’s sudden +collapse. Both he and the coroner afterwards, who found the immediate +cause to be heart-failure, held that such a supposition was unwarranted +by facts. They asserted that a long day’s journey, a hurried +drive, and then an exhausting dance, were sufficient for such a result +upon a heart enfeebled by fatty degeneration after the privations of +a Crimean winter and other trying experiences, the coincidence of the +sad event with any disclosure of hers being a pure accident.</p> +<p>This conclusion, however, did not dislodge Selina’s opinion +that the shock of her statement had been the immediate stroke which +had felled a constitution so undermined.</p> +<h3>V</h3> +<p>At this date the Casterbridge Barracks were cavalry quarters, their +adaptation to artillery having been effected some years later. +It had been owing to the fact that the ---th Dragoons, in which John +Clark had served, happened to be lying there that Selina made his acquaintance. +At the time of his death the barracks were occupied by the Scots Greys, +but when the pathetic circumstances of the sergeant-major’s end +became known in the town the officers of the Greys offered the services +of their fine reed and brass band, that he might have a funeral marked +by due military honours. His body was accordingly removed to the +barracks, and carried thence to the churchyard in the Durnover quarter +on the following afternoon, one of the Greys’ most ancient and +docile chargers being blacked up to represent Clark’s horse on +the occasion.</p> +<p>Everybody pitied Selina, whose story was well known. She followed +the corpse as the only mourner, Clark having been without relations +in this part of the country, and a communication with his regiment having +brought none from a distance. She sat in a little shabby brown-black +mourning carriage, squeezing herself up in a corner to be as much as +possible out of sight during the slow and dramatic march through the +town to the tune from <i>Saul</i>. When the interment had taken +place, the volleys been fired, and the return journey begun, it was +with something like a shock that she found the military escort to be +moving at a quick march to the lively strains of ‘Off she goes!’ +as if all care for the sergeant-major was expected to be ended with +the late discharge of the carbines. It was, by chance, the very +tune to which they had been footing when he died, and unable to bear +its notes, she hastily told her driver to drop behind. The band +and military party diminished up the High Street, and Selina turned +over Swan bridge and homeward to Mellstock.</p> +<p>Then recommenced for her a life whose incidents were precisely of +a suit with those which had preceded the soldier’s return; but +how different in her appreciation of them! Her narrow miss of +the recovered respectability they had hoped for from that tardy event +worked upon her parents as an irritant, and after the first week or +two of her mourning her life with them grew almost insupportable. +She had impulsively taken to herself the weeds of a widow, for such +she seemed to herself to be, and clothed little Johnny in sables likewise. +This assumption of a moral relationship to the deceased, which she asserted +to be only not a legal one by two most unexpected accidents, led the +old people to indulge in sarcasm at her expense whenever they beheld +her attire, though all the while it cost them more pain to utter than +it gave her to hear it. Having become accustomed by her residence +at home to the business carried on by her father, she surprised them +one day by going off with the child to Chalk-Newton, in the direction +of the town of Ivell, and opening a miniature fruit and vegetable shop, +attending Ivell market with her produce. Her business grew somewhat +larger, and it was soon sufficient to enable her to support herself +and the boy in comfort. She called herself ‘Mrs. John Clark’ +from the day of leaving home, and painted the name on her signboard—no +man forbidding her.</p> +<p>By degrees the pain of her state was forgotten in her new circumstances, +and getting to be generally accepted as the widow of a sergeant-major +of dragoons—an assumption which her modest and mournful demeanour +seemed to substantiate—her life became a placid one, her mind +being nourished by the melancholy luxury of dreaming what might have +been her future in New Zealand with John, if he had only lived to take +her there. Her only travels now were a journey to Ivell on market-days, +and once a fortnight to the churchyard in which Clark lay, there to +tend, with Johnny’s assistance, as widows are wont to do, the +flowers she had planted upon his grave.</p> +<p>On a day about eighteen months after his unexpected decease, Selina +was surprised in her lodging over her little shop by a visit from Bartholomew +Miller. He had called on her once or twice before, on which occasions +he had used without a word of comment the name by which she was known.</p> +<p>‘I’ve come this time,’ he said, ‘less because +I was in this direction than to ask you, Mrs. Clark, what you mid well +guess. I’ve come o’ purpose, in short.’</p> +<p>She smiled.</p> +<p>‘’Tis to ask me again to marry you?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, of course. You see, his coming back for ’ee +proved what I always believed of ’ee, though others didn’t. +There’s nobody but would be glad to welcome you to our parish +again, now you’ve showed your independence and acted up to your +trust in his promise. Well, my dear, will you come?’</p> +<p>‘I’d rather bide as Mrs. Clark, I think,’ she answered. +‘I am not ashamed of my position at all; for I am John’s +widow in the eyes of Heaven.’</p> +<p>‘I quite agree—that’s why I’ve come. +Still, you won’t like to be always straining at this shop-keeping +and market-standing; and ’twould be better for Johnny if you had +nothing to do but tend him.’</p> +<p>He here touched the only weak spot in Selina’s resistance to +his proposal—the good of the boy. To promote that there +were other men she might have married offhand without loving them if +they had asked her to; but though she had known the worthy speaker from +her youth, she could not for the moment fancy herself happy as Mrs. +Miller.</p> +<p>He paused awhile. ‘I ought to tell ’ee, Mrs. Clark,’ +he said by and by, ‘that marrying is getting to be a pressing +question with me. Not on my own account at all. The truth +is, that mother is growing old, and I am away from home a good deal, +so that it is almost necessary there should be another person in the +house with her besides me. That’s the practical consideration +which forces me to think of taking a wife, apart from my wish to take +you; and you know there’s nobody in the world I care for so much.’</p> +<p>She said something about there being far better women than she, and +other natural commonplaces; but assured him she was most grateful to +him for feeling what he felt, as indeed she sincerely was. However, +Selina would not consent to be the useful third person in his comfortable +home—at any rate just then. He went away, after taking tea +with her, without discerning much hope for him in her good-bye.</p> +<h3>VI</h3> +<p>After that evening she saw and heard nothing of him for a great while. +Her fortnightly journeys to the sergeant-major’s grave were continued, +whenever weather did not hinder them; and Mr. Miller must have known, +she thought, of this custom of hers. But though the churchyard +was not nearly so far from his homestead as was her shop at Chalk-Newton, +he never appeared in the accidental way that lovers use.</p> +<p>An explanation was forthcoming in the shape of a letter from her +mother, who casually mentioned that Mr. Bartholomew Miller had gone +away to the other side of Shottsford-Forum to be married to a thriving +dairyman’s daughter that he knew there. His chief motive, +it was reported, had been less one of love than a wish to provide a +companion for his aged mother.</p> +<p>Selina was practical enough to know that she had lost a good and +possibly the only opportunity of settling in life after what had happened, +and for a moment she regretted her independence. But she became +calm on reflection, and to fortify herself in her course started that +afternoon to tend the sergeant-major’s grave, in which she took +the same sober pleasure as at first.</p> +<p>On reaching the churchyard and turning the corner towards the spot +as usual, she was surprised to perceive another woman, also apparently +a respectable widow, and with a tiny boy by her side, bending over Clark’s +turf, and spudding up with the point of her umbrella some ivy-roots +that Selina had reverently planted there to form an evergreen mantle +over the mound.</p> +<p>‘What are you digging up my ivy for!’ cried Selina, rushing +forward so excitedly that Johnny tumbled over a grave with the force +of the tug she gave his hand in her sudden start.</p> +<p>‘Your ivy?’ said the respectable woman.</p> +<p>‘Why yes! I planted it there—on my husband’s +grave.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Your</i> husband’s!’</p> +<p>‘Yes. The late Sergeant-Major Clark. Anyhow, as +good as my husband, for he was just going to be.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed. But who may be my husband, if not he? +I am the only Mrs. John Clark, widow of the late Sergeant-Major of Dragoons, +and this is his only son and heir.’</p> +<p>‘How can that be?’ faltered Selina, her throat seeming +to stick together as she just began to perceive its possibility. +‘He had been—going to marry me twice—and we were going +to New Zealand.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!—I remember about you,’ returned the legitimate +widow calmly and not unkindly. ‘You must be Selina; he spoke +of you now and then, and said that his relations with you would always +be a weight on his conscience. Well; the history of my life with +him is soon told. When he came back from the Crimea he became +acquainted with me at my home in the north, and we were married within +a month of first knowing each other. Unfortunately, after living +together a few months, we could not agree; and after a particularly +sharp quarrel, in which, perhaps, I was most in the wrong—as I +don’t mind owning here by his graveside—he went away from +me, declaring he would buy his discharge and emigrate to New Zealand, +and never come back to me any more. The next thing I heard was +that he had died suddenly at Mellstock at some low carouse; and as he +had left me in such anger to live no more with me, I wouldn’t +come down to his funeral, or do anything in relation to him. ’Twas +temper, I know, but that was the fact. Even if we had parted friends +it would have been a serious expense to travel three hundred miles to +get there, for one who wasn’t left so very well off . . . I am +sorry I pulled up your ivy-roots; but that common sort of ivy is considered +a weed in my part of the country.’</p> +<p><i>December</i> 1899.</p> +<h2>A TRYST AT AN ANCIENT EARTH WORK</h2> +<p>At one’s every step forward it rises higher against the south +sky, with an obtrusive personality that compels the senses to regard +it and consider. The eyes may bend in another direction, but never +without the consciousness of its heavy, high-shouldered presence at +its point of vantage. Across the intervening levels the gale races +in a straight line from the fort, as if breathed out of it hitherward. +With the shifting of the clouds the faces of the steeps vary in colour +and in shade, broad lights appearing where mist and vagueness had prevailed, +dissolving in their turn into melancholy gray, which spreads over and +eclipses the luminous bluffs. In this so-thought immutable spectacle +all is change.</p> +<p>Out of the invisible marine region on the other side birds soar suddenly +into the air, and hang over the summits of the heights with the indifference +of long familiarity. Their forms are white against the tawny concave +of cloud, and the curves they exhibit in their floating signify that +they are sea-gulls which have journeyed inland from expected stress +of weather. As the birds rise behind the fort, so do the clouds +rise behind the birds, almost as it seems, stroking with their bagging +bosoms the uppermost flyers.</p> +<p>The profile of the whole stupendous ruin, as seen at a distance of +a mile eastward, is cleanly cut as that of a marble inlay. It +is varied with protuberances, which from hereabouts have the animal +aspect of warts, wens, knuckles, and hips. It may indeed be likened +to an enormous many-limbed organism of an antediluvian time—partaking +of the cephalopod in shape—lying lifeless, and covered with a +thin green cloth, which hides its substance, while revealing its contour. +This dull green mantle of herbage stretches down towards the levels, +where the ploughs have essayed for centuries to creep up near and yet +nearer to the base of the castle, but have always stopped short before +reaching it. The furrows of these environing attempts show themselves +distinctly, bending to the incline as they trench upon it; mounting +in steeper curves, till the steepness baffles them, and their parallel +threads show like the striae of waves pausing on the curl. The +peculiar place of which these are some of the features is ‘Mai-Dun,’ +‘The Castle of the Great Hill,’ said to be the Dunium of +Ptolemy, the capital of the Durotriges, which eventually came into Roman +occupation, and was finally deserted on their withdrawal from the island.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The evening is followed by a night on which an invisible moon bestows +a subdued, yet pervasive light—without radiance, as without blackness. +From the spot whereon I am ensconced in a cottage, a mile away, the +fort has now ceased to be visible; yet, as by day, to anybody whose +thoughts have been engaged with it and its barbarous grandeurs of past +time the form asserts its existence behind the night gauzes as persistently +as if it had a voice. Moreover, the south-west wind continues +to feed the intervening arable flats with vapours brought directly from +its sides.</p> +<p>The midnight hour for which there has been occasion to wait at length +arrives, and I journey towards the stronghold in obedience to a request +urged earlier in the day. It concerns an appointment, which I +rather regret my decision to keep now that night is come. The +route thither is hedgeless and treeless—I need not add deserted. +The moonlight is sufficient to disclose the pale riband-like surface +of the way as it trails along between the expanses of darker fallow. +Though the road passes near the fortress it does not conduct directly +to its fronts. As the place is without an inhabitant, so it is +without a trackway. So presently leaving the macadamized road +to pursue its course elsewhither, I step off upon the fallow, and plod +stumblingly across it. The castle looms out off the shade by degrees, +like a thing waking up and asking what I want there. It is now +so enlarged by nearness that its whole shape cannot be taken in at one +view. The ploughed ground ends as the rise sharpens, the sloping +basement of grass begins, and I climb upward to invade Mai-Dun.</p> +<p>Impressive by day as this largest Ancient-British work in the kingdom +undoubtedly is, its impressiveness is increased now. After standing +still and spending a few minutes in adding its age to its size, and +its size to its solitude, it becomes appallingly mournful in its growing +closeness. A squally wind blows in the face with an impact which +proclaims that the vapours of the air sail low to-night. The slope +that I so laboriously clamber up the wind skips sportively down. +Its track can be discerned even in this light by the undulations of +the withered grass-bents—the only produce of this upland summit +except moss. Four minutes of ascent, and a vantage-ground of some +sort is gained. It is only the crest of the outer rampart. +Immediately within this a chasm gapes; its bottom is imperceptible, +but the counterscarp slopes not too steeply to admit of a sliding descent +if cautiously performed. The shady bottom, dank and chilly, is +thus gained, and reveals itself as a kind of winding lane, wide enough +for a waggon to pass along, floored with rank herbage, and trending +away, right and left, into obscurity, between the concentric walls of +earth. The towering closeness of these on each hand, their impenetrability, +and their ponderousness, are felt as a physical pressure. The +way is now up the second of them, which stands steeper and higher than +the first. To turn aside, as did Christian’s companion, +from such a Hill Difficulty, is the more natural tendency; but the way +to the interior is upward. There is, of course, an entrance to +the fortress; but that lies far off on the other side. It might +possibly have been the wiser course to seek for easier ingress there.</p> +<p>However, being here, I ascend the second acclivity. The grass +stems—the grey beard of the hill—sway in a mass close to +my stooping face. The dead heads of these various grasses—fescues, +fox-tails, and ryes—bob and twitch as if pulled by a string underground. +From a few thistles a whistling proceeds; and even the moss speaks, +in its humble way, under the stress of the blast.</p> +<p>That the summit of the second line of defence has been gained is +suddenly made known by a contrasting wind from a new quarter, coming +over with the curve of a cascade. These novel gusts raise a sound +from the whole camp or castle, playing upon it bodily as upon a harp. +It is with some difficulty that a foothold can be preserved under their +sweep. Looking aloft for a moment I perceive that the sky is much +more overcast than it has been hitherto, and in a few instants a dead +lull in what is now a gale ensues with almost preternatural abruptness. +I take advantage of this to sidle down the second counterscarp, but +by the time the ditch is reached the lull reveals itself to be but the +precursor of a storm. It begins with a heave of the whole atmosphere, +like the sigh of a weary strong man on turning to re-commence unusual +exertion, just as I stand here in the second fosse. That which +now radiates from the sky upon the scene is not so much light as vaporous +phosphorescence.</p> +<p>The wind, quickening, abandons the natural direction it has pursued +on the open upland, and takes the course of the gorge’s length, +rushing along therein helter-skelter, and carrying thick rain upon its +back. The rain is followed by hailstones which fly through the +defile in battalions—rolling, hopping, ricochetting, snapping, +clattering down the shelving banks in an undefinable haze of confusion. +The earthen sides of the fosse seem to quiver under the drenching onset, +though it is practically no more to them than the blows of Thor upon +the giant of Jotun-land. It is impossible to proceed further till +the storm somewhat abates, and I draw up behind a spur of the inner +scarp, where possibly a barricade stood two thousand years ago; and +thus await events.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The roar of the storm can be heard travelling the complete circuit +of the castle—a measured mile—coming round at intervals +like a circumambulating column of infantry. Doubtless such a column +has passed this way in its time, but the only columns which enter in +these latter days are the columns of sheep and oxen that are sometimes +seen here now; while the only semblance of heroic voices heard are the +utterances of such, and of the many winds which make their passage through +the ravines.</p> +<p>The expected lightning radiates round, and a rumbling as from its +subterranean vaults—if there are any—fills the castle. +The lightning repeats itself, and, coming after the aforesaid thoughts +of martial men, it bears a fanciful resemblance to swords moving in +combat. It has the very brassy hue of the ancient weapons that +here were used. The so sudden entry upon the scene of this metallic +flame is as the entry of a presiding exhibitor who unrolls the maps, +uncurtains the pictures, unlocks the cabinets, and effects a transformation +by merely exposing the materials of his science, unintelligibly cloaked +till then. The abrupt configuration of the bluffs and mounds is +now for the first time clearly revealed—mounds whereon, doubtless, +spears and shields have frequently lain while their owners loosened +their sandals and yawned and stretched their arms in the sun. +For the first time, too, a glimpse is obtainable of the true entrance +used by its occupants of old, some way ahead.</p> +<p>There, where all passage has seemed to be inviolably barred by an +almost vertical façade, the ramparts are found to overlap each +other like loosely clasped fingers, between which a zigzag path may +be followed—a cunning construction that puzzles the uninformed +eye. But its cunning, even where not obscured by dilapidation, +is now wasted on the solitary forms of a few wild badgers, rabbits, +and hares. Men must have often gone out by those gates in the +morning to battle with the Roman legions under Vespasian; some to return +no more, others to come back at evening, bringing with them the noise +of their heroic deeds. But not a page, not a stone, has preserved +their fame.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Acoustic perceptions multiply to-night. We can almost hear +the stream of years that have borne those deeds away from us. +Strange articulations seem to float on the air from that point, the +gateway, where the animation in past times must frequently have concentrated +itself at hours of coming and going, and general excitement. There +arises an ineradicable fancy that they are human voices; if so, they +must be the lingering air-borne vibrations of conversations uttered +at least fifteen hundred years ago. The attention is attracted +from mere nebulous imaginings about yonder spot by a real moving of +something close at hand.</p> +<p>I recognize by the now moderate flashes of lightning, which are sheet-like +and nearly continuous, that it is the gradual elevation of a small mound +of earth. At first no larger than a man’s fist it reaches +the dimensions of a hat, then sinks a little and is still. It +is but the heaving of a mole who chooses such weather as this to work +in from some instinct that there will be nobody abroad to molest him. +As the fine earth lifts and lifts and falls loosely aside fragments +of burnt clay roll out of it—clay that once formed part of cups +or other vessels used by the inhabitants of the fortress.</p> +<p>The violence of the storm has been counterbalanced by its transitoriness. +From being immersed in well-nigh solid media of cloud and hail shot +with lightning, I find myself uncovered of the humid investiture and +left bare to the mild gaze of the moon, which sparkles now on every +wet grass-blade and frond of moss.</p> +<p>But I am not yet inside the fort, and the delayed ascent of the third +and last escarpment is now made. It is steeper than either. +The first was a surface to walk up, the second to stagger up, the third +can only be ascended on the hands and toes. On the summit obtrudes +the first evidence which has been met with in these precincts that the +time is really the nineteenth century; it is in the form of a white +notice-board on a post, and the wording can just be discerned by the +rays of the setting moon:</p> +<p>CAUTION.—Any Person found removing Relics, Skeletons, Stones, +Pottery, Tiles, or other Material from this Earthwork, or cutting up +the Ground, will be Prosecuted as the Law directs.</p> +<p>Here one observes a difference underfoot from what has gone before: +scraps of Roman tile and stone chippings protrude through the grass +in meagre quantity, but sufficient to suggest that masonry stood on +the spot. Before the eye stretches under the moonlight the interior +of the fort. So open and so large is it as to be practically an +upland plateau, and yet its area lies wholly within the walls of what +may be designated as one building. It is a long-violated retreat; +all its corner-stones, plinths, and architraves were carried away to +build neighbouring villages even before mediaeval or modern history +began. Many a block which once may have helped to form a bastion +here rests now in broken and diminished shape as part of the chimney-corner +of some shepherd’s cottage within the distant horizon, and the +corner-stones of this heathen altar may form the base-course of some +adjoining village church.</p> +<p>Yet the very bareness of these inner courts and wards, their condition +of mere pasturage, protects what remains of them as no defences could +do. Nothing is left visible that the hands can seize on or the +weather overturn, and a permanence of general outline at least results, +which no other condition could ensure.</p> +<p>The position of the castle on this isolated hill bespeaks deliberate +and strategic choice exercised by some remote mind capable of prospective +reasoning to a far extent. The natural configuration of the surrounding +country and its bearing upon such a stronghold were obviously long considered +and viewed mentally before its extensive design was carried into execution. +Who was the man that said, ‘Let it be built here!’—not +on that hill yonder, or on that ridge behind, but on this best spot +of all? Whether he were some great one of the Belgae, or of the +Durotriges, or the travelling engineer of Britain’s united tribes, +must for ever remain time’s secret; his form cannot be realized, +nor his countenance, nor the tongue that he spoke, when he set down +his foot with a thud and said, ‘Let it be here!’</p> +<p>Within the innermost enclosure, though it is so wide that at a superficial +glance the beholder has only a sense of standing on a breezy down, the +solitude is rendered yet more solitary by the knowledge that between +the benighted sojourner herein and all kindred humanity are those three +concentric walls of earth which no being would think of scaling on such +a night as this, even were he to hear the most pathetic cries issuing +hence that could be uttered by a spectre-chased soul. I reach +a central mound or platform—the crown and axis of the whole structure. +The view from here by day must be of almost limitless extent. +On this raised floor, dais, or rostrum, harps have probably twanged +more or less tuneful notes in celebration of daring, strength, or cruelty; +of worship, superstition, love, birth, and death; of simple loving-kindness +perhaps never. Many a time must the king or leader have directed +his keen eyes hence across the open lands towards the ancient road, +the Icening Way, still visible in the distance, on the watch for armed +companies approaching either to succour or to attack.</p> +<p>I am startled by a voice pronouncing my name. Past and present +have become so confusedly mingled under the associations of the spot +that for a time it has escaped my memory that this mound was the place +agreed on for the aforesaid appointment. I turn and behold my +friend. He stands with a dark lantern in his hand and a spade +and light pickaxe over his shoulder. He expresses both delight +and surprise that I have come. I tell him I had set out before +the bad weather began.</p> +<p>He, to whom neither weather, darkness, nor difficulty seems to have +any relation or significance, so entirely is his soul wrapped up in +his own deep intentions, asks me to take the lantern and accompany him. +I take it and walk by his side. He is a man about sixty, small +in figure, with grey old-fashioned whiskers cut to the shape of a pair +of crumb-brushes. He is entirely in black broadcloth—or +rather, at present, black and brown, for he is bespattered with mud +from his heels to the crown of his low hat. He has no consciousness +of this—no sense of anything but his purpose, his ardour for which +causes his eyes to shine like those of a lynx, and gives his motions, +all the elasticity of an athlete’s.</p> +<p>‘Nobody to interrupt us at this time of night!’ he chuckles +with fierce enjoyment.</p> +<p>We retreat a little way and find a sort of angle, an elevation in +the sod, a suggested squareness amid the mass of irregularities around. +Here, he tells me, if anywhere, the king’s house stood. +Three months of measurement and calculation have confirmed him in this +conclusion.</p> +<p>He requests me now to open the lantern, which I do, and the light +streams out upon the wet sod. At last divining his proceedings +I say that I had no idea, in keeping the tryst, that he was going to +do more at such an unusual time than meet me for a meditative ramble +through the stronghold. I ask him why, having a practicable object, +he should have minded interruptions and not have chosen the day? +He informs me, quietly pointing to his spade, that it was because his +purpose is to dig, then signifying with a grim nod the gaunt notice-post +against the sky beyond. I inquire why, as a professed and well-known +antiquary with capital letters at the tail of his name, he did not obtain +the necessary authority, considering the stringent penalties for this +sort of thing; and he chuckles fiercely again with suppressed delight, +and says, ‘Because they wouldn’t have given it!’</p> +<p>He at once begins cutting up the sod, and, as he takes the pickaxe +to follow on with, assures me that, penalty or no penalty, honest men +or marauders, he is sure of one thing, that we shall not be disturbed +at our work till after dawn.</p> +<p>I remember to have heard of men who, in their enthusiasm for some +special science, art, or hobby, have quite lost the moral sense which +would restrain them from indulging it illegitimately; and I conjecture +that here, at last, is an instance of such an one. He probably +guesses the way my thoughts travel, for he stands up and solemnly asserts +that he has a distinctly justifiable intention in this matter; namely, +to uncover, to search, to verify a theory or displace it, and to cover +up again. He means to take away nothing—not a grain of sand. +In this he says he sees no such monstrous sin. I inquire if this +is really a promise to me? He repeats that it is a promise, and +resumes digging. My contribution to the labour is that of directing +the light constantly upon the hole. When he has reached something +more than a foot deep he digs more cautiously, saying that, be it much +or little there, it will not lie far below the surface; such things +never are deep. A few minutes later the point of the pickaxe clicks +upon a stony substance. He draws the implement out as feelingly +as if it had entered a man’s body. Taking up the spade he +shovels with care, and a surface, level as an altar, is presently disclosed. +His eyes flash anew; he pulls handfuls of grass and mops the surface +clean, finally rubbing it with his handkerchief. Grasping the +lantern from my hand he holds it close to the ground, when the rays +reveal a complete mosaic—a pavement of minute tesserae of many +colours, of intricate pattern, a work of much art, of much time, and +of much industry. He exclaims in a shout that he knew it always—that +it is not a Celtic stronghold exclusively, but also a Roman; the former +people having probably contributed little more than the original framework +which the latter took and adapted till it became the present imposing +structure.</p> +<p>I ask, What if it is Roman?</p> +<p>A great deal, according to him. That it proves all the world +to be wrong in this great argument, and himself alone to be right! +Can I wait while he digs further?</p> +<p>I agree—reluctantly; but he does not notice my reluctance. +At an adjoining spot he begins flourishing the tools anew with the skill +of a navvy, this venerable scholar with letters after his name. +Sometimes he falls on his knees, burrowing with his hands in the manner +of a hare, and where his old-fashioned broadcloth touches the sides +of the hole it gets plastered with the damp earth. He continually +murmurs to himself how important, how very important, this discovery +is! He draws out an object; we wash it in the same primitive way +by rubbing it with the wet grass, and it proves to be a semi-transparent +bottle of iridescent beauty, the sight of which draws groans of luxurious +sensibility from the digger. Further and further search brings +out a piece of a weapon. It is strange indeed that by merely peeling +off a wrapper of modern accumulations we have lowered ourselves into +an ancient world. Finally a skeleton is uncovered, fairly perfect. +He lays it out on the grass, bone to its bone.</p> +<p>My friend says the man must have fallen fighting here, as this is +no place of burial. He turns again to the trench, scrapes, feels, +till from a corner he draws out a heavy lump—a small image four +or five inches high. We clean it as before. It is a statuette, +apparently of gold, or, more probably, of bronze-gilt—a figure +of Mercury, obviously, its head being surmounted with the petasus or +winged hat, the usual accessory of that deity. Further inspection +reveals the workmanship to be of good finish and detail, and, preserved +by the limy earth, to be as fresh in every line as on the day it left +the hands of its artificer.</p> +<p>We seem to be standing in the Roman Forum and not on a hill in Wessex. +Intent upon this truly valuable relic of the old empire of which even +this remote spot was a component part, we do not notice what is going +on in the present world till reminded of it by the sudden renewal of +the storm. Looking up I perceive that the wide extinguisher of +cloud has again settled down upon the fortress-town, as if resting upon +the edge of the inner rampart, and shutting out the moon. I turn +my back to the tempest, still directing the light across the hole. +My companion digs on unconcernedly; he is living two thousand years +ago, and despises things of the moment as dreams. But at last +he is fairly beaten, and standing up beside me looks round on what he +has done. The rays of the lantern pass over the trench to the +tall skeleton stretched upon the grass on the other side. The +beating rain has washed the bones clean and smooth, and the forehead, +cheek-bones, and two-and-thirty teeth of the skull glisten in the candle-shine +as they lie.</p> +<p>This storm, like the first, is of the nature of a squall, and it +ends as abruptly as the other. We dig no further. My friend +says that it is enough—he has proved his point. He turns +to replace the bones in the trench and covers them. But they fall +to pieces under his touch: the air has disintegrated them, and he can +only sweep in the fragments. The next act of his plan is more +than difficult, but is carried out. The treasures are inhumed +again in their respective holes: they are not ours. Each deposition +seems to cost him a twinge; and at one moment I fancied I saw him slip +his hand into his coat pocket.</p> +<p>‘We must re-bury them <i>all</i>,’ say I.</p> +<p>‘O yes,’ he answers with integrity. ‘I was +wiping my hand.’</p> +<p>The beauties of the tesselated floor of the governor’s house +are once again consigned to darkness; the trench is filled up; the sod +laid smoothly down; he wipes the perspiration from his forehead with +the same handkerchief he had used to mop the skeleton and tesserae clean; +and we make for the eastern gate of the fortress.</p> +<p>Dawn bursts upon us suddenly as we reach the opening. It comes +by the lifting and thinning of the clouds that way till we are bathed +in a pink light. The direction of his homeward journey is not +the same as mine, and we part under the outer slope.</p> +<p>Walking along quickly to restore warmth I muse upon my eccentric +friend, and cannot help asking myself this question: Did he really replace +the gilded image of the god Mercurius with the rest of the treasures? +He seemed to do so; and yet I could not testify to the fact. Probably, +however, he was as good as his word.</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>It was thus I spoke to myself, and so the adventure ended. +But one thing remains to be told, and that is concerned with seven years +after. Among the effects of my friend, at that time just deceased, +was found, carefully preserved, a gilt statuette representing Mercury, +labelled ‘Debased Roman.’ No record was attached to +explain how it came into his possession. The figure was bequeathed +to the Casterbridge Museum.</p> +<p>Detroit Post,</p> +<p>March 1885.</p> +<h2>WHAT THE SHEPHERD SAW: A TALE OF FOUR MOONLIGHT NIGHTS</h2> +<p>The genial Justice of the Peace—now, alas, no more—who +made himself responsible for the facts of this story, used to begin +in the good old-fashioned way with a bright moonlight night and a mysterious +figure, an excellent stroke for an opening, even to this day, if well +followed up.</p> +<p>The Christmas moon (he would say) was showing her cold face to the +upland, the upland reflecting the radiance in frost-sparkles so minute +as only to be discernible by an eye near at hand. This eye, he +said, was the eye of a shepherd lad, young for his occupation, who stood +within a wheeled hut of the kind commonly in use among sheep-keepers +during the early lambing season, and was abstractedly looking through +the loophole at the scene without.</p> +<p>The spot was called Lambing Corner, and it was a sheltered portion +of that wide expanse of rough pastureland known as the Marlbury Downs, +which you directly traverse when following the turnpike-road across +Mid-Wessex from London, through Aldbrickham, in the direction of Bath +and Bristol. Here, where the hut stood, the land was high and +dry, open, except to the north, and commanding an undulating view for +miles. On the north side grew a tall belt of coarse furze, with +enormous stalks, a clump of the same standing detached in front of the +general mass. The clump was hollow, and the interior had been +ingeniously taken advantage of as a position for the before-mentioned +hut, which was thus completely screened from winds, and almost invisible, +except through the narrow approach. But the furze twigs had been +cut away from the two little windows of the hut, that the occupier might +keep his eye on his sheep.</p> +<p>In the rear, the shelter afforded by the belt of furze bushes was +artificially improved by an inclosure of upright stakes, interwoven +with boughs of the same prickly vegetation, and within the inclosure +lay a renowned Marlbury-Down breeding flock of eight hundred ewes.</p> +<p>To the south, in the direction of the young shepherd’s idle +gaze, there rose one conspicuous object above the uniform moonlit plateau, +and only one. It was a Druidical trilithon, consisting of three +oblong stones in the form of a doorway, two on end, and one across as +a lintel. Each stone had been worn, scratched, washed, nibbled, +split, and otherwise attacked by ten thousand different weathers; but +now the blocks looked shapely and little the worse for wear, so beautifully +were they silvered over by the light of the moon. The ruin was +locally called the Devil’s Door.</p> +<p>An old shepherd presently entered the hut from the direction of the +ewes, and looked around in the gloom. ‘Be ye sleepy?’ +he asked in cross accents of the boy.</p> +<p>The lad replied rather timidly in the negative.</p> +<p>‘Then,’ said the shepherd, ‘I’ll get me home-along, +and rest for a few hours. There’s nothing to be done here +now as I can see. The ewes can want no more tending till daybreak—’tis +beyond the bounds of reason that they can. But as the order is +that one of us must bide, I’ll leave ’ee, d’ye hear. +You can sleep by day, and I can’t. And you can be down to +my house in ten minutes if anything should happen. I can’t +afford ’ee candle; but, as ’tis Christmas week, and the +time that folks have hollerdays, you can enjoy yerself by falling asleep +a bit in the chair instead of biding awake all the time. But mind, +not longer at once than while the shade of the Devil’s Door moves +a couple of spans, for you must keep an eye upon the ewes.’</p> +<p>The boy made no definite reply, and the old man, stirring the fire +in the stove with his crook-stem, closed the door upon his companion +and vanished.</p> +<p>As this had been more or less the course of events every night since +the season’s lambing had set in, the boy was not at all surprised +at the charge, and amused himself for some time by lighting straws at +the stove. He then went out to the ewes and new-born lambs, re-entered, +sat down, and finally fell asleep. This was his customary manner +of performing his watch, for though special permission for naps had +this week been accorded, he had, as a matter of fact, done the same +thing on every preceding night, sleeping often till awakened by a smack +on the shoulder at three or four in the morning from the crook-stem +of the old man.</p> +<p>It might have been about eleven o’clock when he awoke. +He was so surprised at awaking without, apparently, being called or +struck, that on second thoughts he assumed that somebody must have called +him in spite of appearances, and looked out of the hut window towards +the sheep. They all lay as quiet as when he had visited them, +very little bleating being audible, and no human soul disturbing the +scene. He next looked from the opposite window, and here the case +was different. The frost-facets glistened under the moon as before; +an occasional furze bush showed as a dark spot on the same; and in the +foreground stood the ghostly form of the trilithon. But in front +of the trilithon stood a man.</p> +<p>That he was not the shepherd or any one of the farm labourers was +apparent in a moment’s observation,—his dress being a dark +suit, and his figure of slender build and graceful carriage. He +walked backwards and forwards in front of the trilithon.</p> +<p>The shepherd lad had hardly done speculating on the strangeness of +the unknown’s presence here at such an hour, when he saw a second +figure crossing the open sward towards the locality of the trilithon +and furze-clump that screened the hut. This second personage was +a woman; and immediately on sight of her the male stranger hastened +forward, meeting her just in front of the hut window. Before she +seemed to be aware of his intention he clasped her in his arms.</p> +<p>The lady released herself and drew back with some dignity.</p> +<p>‘You have come, Harriet—bless you for it!’ he exclaimed, +fervently.</p> +<p>‘But not for this,’ she answered, in offended accents. +And then, more good-naturedly, ‘I have come, Fred, because you +entreated me so! What can have been the object of your writing +such a letter? I feared I might be doing you grievous ill by staying +away. How did you come here?’</p> +<p>‘I walked all the way from my father’s.’</p> +<p>‘Well, what is it? How have you lived since we last met?’</p> +<p>‘But roughly; you might have known that without asking. +I have seen many lands and many faces since I last walked these downs, +but I have only thought of you.’</p> +<p>‘Is it only to tell me this that you have summoned me so strangely?’</p> +<p>A passing breeze blew away the murmur of the reply and several succeeding +sentences, till the man’s voice again became audible in the words, +‘Harriet—truth between us two! I have heard that the +Duke does not treat you too well.’</p> +<p>‘He is warm-tempered, but he is a good husband.’</p> +<p>‘He speaks roughly to you, and sometimes even threatens to +lock you out of doors.’</p> +<p>‘Only once, Fred! On my honour, only once. The +Duke is a fairly good husband, I repeat. But you deserve punishment +for this night’s trick of drawing me out. What does it mean?’</p> +<p>‘Harriet, dearest, is this fair or honest? Is it not +notorious that your life with him is a sad one—that, in spite +of the sweetness of your temper, the sourness of his embitters your +days. I have come to know if I can help you. You are a Duchess, +and I am Fred Ogbourne; but it is not impossible that I may be able +to help you . . . By God! the sweetness of that tongue ought to keep +him civil, especially when there is added to it the sweetness of that +face!’</p> +<p>‘Captain Ogbourne!’ she exclaimed, with an emphasis of +playful fear. ‘How can such a comrade of my youth behave +to me as you do? Don’t speak so, and stare at me so! +Is this really all you have to say? I see I ought not to have +come. ’Twas thoughtlessly done.’</p> +<p>Another breeze broke the thread of discourse for a time.</p> +<p>‘Very well. I perceive you are dead and lost to me,’ +he could next be heard to say, ‘“Captain Ogbourne” +proves that. As I once loved you I love you now, Harriet, without +one jot of abatement; but you are not the woman you were—you once +were honest towards me; and now you conceal your heart in made-up speeches. +Let it be: I can never see you again.’</p> +<p>‘You need not say that in such a tragedy tone, you silly. +You may see me in an ordinary way—why should you not? But, +of course, not in such a way as this. I should not have come now, +if it had not happened that the Duke is away from home, so that there +is nobody to check my erratic impulses.’</p> +<p>‘When does he return?’</p> +<p>‘The day after to-morrow, or the day after that.’</p> +<p>‘Then meet me again to-morrow night.’</p> +<p>‘No, Fred, I cannot.’</p> +<p>‘If you cannot to-morrow night, you can the night after; one +of the two before he comes please bestow on me. Now, your hand +upon it! To-morrow or next night you will see me to bid me farewell!’ +He seized the Duchess’s hand.</p> +<p>‘No, but Fred—let go my hand! What do you mean +by holding me so? If it be love to forget all respect to a woman’s +present position in thinking of her past, then yours may be so, Frederick. +It is not kind and gentle of you to induce me to come to this place +for pity of you, and then to hold me tight here.’</p> +<p>‘But see me once more! I have come two thousand miles +to ask it.’</p> +<p>‘O, I must not! There will be slanders—Heaven knows +what! I cannot meet you. For the sake of old times don’t +ask it.’</p> +<p>‘Then own two things to me; that you did love me once, and +that your husband is unkind to you often enough now to make you think +of the time when you cared for me.’</p> +<p>‘Yes—I own them both,’ she answered faintly. +‘But owning such as that tells against me; and I swear the inference +is not true.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t say that; for you have come—let me think +the reason of your coming what I like to think it. It can do you +no harm. Come once more!’</p> +<p>He still held her hand and waist. ‘Very well, then,’ +she said. ‘Thus far you shall persuade me. I will +meet you to-morrow night or the night after. Now, let me go.’</p> +<p>He released her, and they parted. The Duchess ran rapidly down +the hill towards the outlying mansion of Shakeforest Towers, and when +he had watched her out of sight, he turned and strode off in the opposite +direction. All then was silent and empty as before.</p> +<p>Yet it was only for a moment. When they had quite departed, +another shape appeared upon the scene. He came from behind the +trilithon. He was a man of stouter build than the first, and wore +the boots and spurs of a horseman. Two things were at once obvious +from this phenomenon: that he had watched the interview between the +Captain and the Duchess; and that, though he probably had seen every +movement of the couple, including the embrace, he had been too remote +to hear the reluctant words of the lady’s conversation—or, +indeed, any words at all—so that the meeting must have exhibited +itself to his eye as the assignation of a pair of well-agreed lovers. +But it was necessary that several years should elapse before the shepherd-boy +was old enough to reason out this.</p> +<p>The third individual stood still for a moment, as if deep in meditation. +He crossed over to where the lady and gentleman had stood, and looked +at the ground; then he too turned and went away in a third direction, +as widely divergent as possible from those taken by the two interlocutors. +His course was towards the highway; and a few minutes afterwards the +trot of a horse might have been heard upon its frosty surface, lessening +till it died away upon the ear.</p> +<p>The boy remained in the hut, confronting the trilithon as if he expected +yet more actors on the scene, but nobody else appeared. How long +he stood with his little face against the loophole he hardly knew; but +he was rudely awakened from his reverie by a punch in his back, and +in the feel of it he familiarly recognized the stem of the old shepherd’s +crook.</p> +<p>‘Blame thy young eyes and limbs, Bill Mills—now you have +let the fire out, and you know I want it kept in! I thought something +would go wrong with ’ee up here, and I couldn’t bide in +bed no more than thistledown on the wind, that I could not! Well, +what’s happened, fie upon ’ee?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing.’</p> +<p>‘Ewes all as I left ’em?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘Any lambs want bringing in?’</p> +<p>‘No.’</p> +<p>The shepherd relit the fire, and went out among the sheep with a +lantern, for the moon was getting low. Soon he came in again.</p> +<p>‘Blame it all—thou’st say that nothing have happened; +when one ewe have twinned and is like to go off, and another is dying +for want of half an eye of looking to! I told ’ee, Bill +Mills, if anything went wrong to come down and call me; and this is +how you have done it.’</p> +<p>‘You said I could go to sleep for a hollerday, and I did.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t you speak to your betters like that, young man, +or you’ll come to the gallows-tree! You didn’t sleep +all the time, or you wouldn’t have been peeping out of that there +hole! Now you can go home, and be up here again by breakfast-time. +I be an old man, and there’s old men that deserve well of the +world; but no I—must rest how I can!’</p> +<p>The elder shepherd then lay down inside the hut, and the boy went +down the hill to the hamlet where he dwelt.</p> +<h3>SECOND NIGHT</h3> +<p>When the next night drew on the actions of the boy were almost enough +to show that he was thinking of the meeting he had witnessed, and of +the promise wrung from the lady that she would come there again. +As far as the sheep-tending arrangements were concerned, to-night was +but a repetition of the foregoing one. Between ten and eleven +o’clock the old shepherd withdrew as usual for what sleep at home +he might chance to get without interruption, making up the other necessary +hours of rest at some time during the day; the boy was left alone.</p> +<p>The frost was the same as on the night before, except perhaps that +it was a little more severe. The moon shone as usual, except that +it was three-quarters of an hour later in its course; and the boy’s +condition was much the same, except that he felt no sleepiness whatever. +He felt, too, rather afraid; but upon the whole he preferred witnessing +an assignation of strangers to running the risk of being discovered +absent by the old shepherd.</p> +<p>It was before the distant clock of Shakeforest Towers had struck +eleven that he observed the opening of the second act of this midnight +drama. It consisted in the appearance of neither lover nor Duchess, +but of the third figure—the stout man, booted and spurred—who +came up from the easterly direction in which he had retreated the night +before. He walked once round the trilithon, and next advanced +towards the clump concealing the hut, the moonlight shining full upon +his face and revealing him to be the Duke. Fear seized upon the +shepherd-boy: the Duke was Jove himself to the rural population, whom +to offend was starvation, homelessness, and death, and whom to look +at was to be mentally scathed and dumbfoundered. He closed the +stove, so that not a spark of light appeared, and hastily buried himself +in the straw that lay in a corner.</p> +<p>The Duke came close to the clump of furze and stood by the spot where +his wife and the Captain had held their dialogue; he examined the furze +as if searching for a hiding-place, and in doing so discovered the hut. +The latter he walked round and then looked inside; finding it to all +seeming empty, he entered, closing the door behind him and taking his +place at the little circular window against which the boy’s face +had been pressed just before.</p> +<p>The Duke had not adopted his measures too rapidly, if his object +were concealment. Almost as soon as he had stationed himself there +eleven o’clock struck, and the slender young man who had previously +graced the scene promptly reappeared from the north quarter of the down. +The spot of assignation having, by the accident of his running forward +on the foregoing night, removed itself from the Devil’s Door to +the clump of furze, he instinctively came thither, and waited for the +Duchess where he had met her before.</p> +<p>But a fearful surprise was in store for him to-night, as well as +for the trembling juvenile. At his appearance the Duke breathed +more and more quickly, his breathings being distinctly audible to the +crouching boy. The young man had hardly paused when the alert +nobleman softly opened the door of the hut, and, stepping round the +furze, came full upon Captain Fred.</p> +<p>‘You have dishonoured her, and you shall die the death you +deserve!’ came to the shepherd’s ears, in a harsh, hollow +whisper through the boarding of the hut.</p> +<p>The apathetic and taciturn boy was excited enough to run the risk +of rising and looking from the window, but he could see nothing for +the intervening furze boughs, both the men having gone round to the +side. What took place in the few following moments he never exactly +knew. He discerned portion of a shadow in quick muscular movement; +then there was the fall of something on the grass; then there was stillness.</p> +<p>Two or three minutes later the Duke became visible round the corner +of the hut, dragging by the collar the now inert body of the second +man. The Duke dragged him across the open space towards the trilithon. +Behind this ruin was a hollow, irregular spot, overgrown with furze +and stunted thorns, and riddled by the old holes of badgers, its former +inhabitants, who had now died out or departed. The Duke vanished +into this depression with his burden, reappearing after the lapse of +a few seconds. When he came forth he dragged nothing behind him.</p> +<p>He returned to the side of the hut, cleansed something on the grass, +and again put himself on the watch, though not as before, inside the +hut, but without, on the shady side. ‘Now for the second!’ +he said.</p> +<p>It was plain, even to the unsophisticated boy, that he now awaited +the other person of the appointment—his wife, the Duchess—for +what purpose it was terrible to think. He seemed to be a man of +such determined temper that he would scarcely hesitate in carrying out +a course of revenge to the bitter end. Moreover—though it +was what the shepherd did not perceive—this was all the more probable, +in that the moody Duke was labouring under the exaggerated impression +which the sight of the meeting in dumb show had conveyed.</p> +<p>The jealous watcher waited long, but he waited in vain. From +within the hut the boy could hear his occasional exclamations of surprise, +as if he were almost disappointed at the failure of his assumption that +his guilty Duchess would surely keep the tryst. Sometimes he stepped +from the shade of the furze into the moonlight, and held up his watch +to learn the time.</p> +<p>About half-past eleven he seemed to give up expecting her. +He then went a second time to the hollow behind the trilithon, remaining +there nearly a quarter of an hour. From this place he proceeded +quickly over a shoulder of the declivity, a little to the left, presently +returning on horseback, which proved that his horse had been tethered +in some secret place down there. Crossing anew the down between +the hut and the trilithon, and scanning the precincts as if finally +to assure himself that she had not come, he rode slowly downwards in +the direction of Shakeforest Towers.</p> +<p>The juvenile shepherd thought of what lay in the hollow yonder; and +no fear of the crook-stem of his superior officer was potent enough +to detain him longer on that hill alone. Any live company, even +the most terrible, was better than the company of the dead; so, running +with the speed of a hare in the direction pursued by the horseman, he +overtook the revengeful Duke at the second descent (where the great +western road crossed before you came to the old park entrance on that +side—now closed up and the lodge cleared away, though at the time +it was wondered why, being considered the most convenient gate of all).</p> +<p>Once within the sound of the horse’s footsteps, Bill Mills +felt comparatively comfortable; for, though in awe of the Duke because +of his position, he had no moral repugnance to his companionship on +account of the grisly deed he had committed, considering that powerful +nobleman to have a right to do what he chose on his own lands. +The Duke rode steadily on beneath his ancestral trees, the hoofs of +his horse sending up a smart sound now that he had reached the hard +road of the drive, and soon drew near the front door of his house, surmounted +by parapets with square-cut battlements that cast a notched shade upon +the gravelled terrace. These outlines were quite familiar to little +Bill Mills, though nothing within their boundary had ever been seen +by him.</p> +<p>When the rider approached the mansion a small turret door was quickly +opened and a woman came out. As soon as she saw the horseman’s +outlines she ran forward into the moonlight to meet him.</p> +<p>‘Ah dear—and are you come?’ she said. ‘I +heard Hero’s tread just when you rode over the hill, and I knew +it in a moment. I would have come further if I had been aware—’</p> +<p>‘Glad to see me, eh?’</p> +<p>‘How can you ask that?’</p> +<p>‘Well; it is a lovely night for meetings.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, it is a lovely night.’</p> +<p>The Duke dismounted and stood by her side. ‘Why should +you have been listening at this time of night, and yet not expecting +me?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘Why, indeed! There is a strange story attached to that, +which I must tell you at once. But why did you come a night sooner +than you said you would come? I am rather sorry—I really +am!’ (shaking her head playfully) ‘for as a surprise to +you I had ordered a bonfire to be built, which was to be lighted on +your arrival to-morrow; and now it is wasted. You can see the +outline of it just out there.’</p> +<p>The Duke looked across to a spot of rising glade, and saw the faggots +in a heap. He then bent his eyes with a bland and puzzled air +on the ground, ‘What is this strange story you have to tell me +that kept you awake?’ he murmured.</p> +<p>‘It is this—and it is really rather serious. My +cousin Fred Ogbourne—Captain Ogbourne as he is now—was in +his boyhood a great admirer of mine, as I think I have told you, though +I was six years his senior. In strict truth, he was absurdly fond +of me.’</p> +<p>‘You have never told me of that before.’</p> +<p>‘Then it was your sister I told—yes, it was. Well, +you know I have not seen him for many years, and naturally I had quite +forgotten his admiration of me in old times. But guess my surprise +when the day before yesterday, I received a mysterious note bearing +no address, and found on opening it that it came from him. The +contents frightened me out of my wits. He had returned from Canada +to his father’s house, and conjured me by all he could think of +to meet him at once. But I think I can repeat the exact words, +though I will show it to you when we get indoors.</p> +<blockquote><p>“MY DEAR COUSIN HARRIET,” the note said, +“After this long absence you will be surprised at my sudden reappearance, +and more by what I am going to ask. But if my life and future +are of any concern to you at all, I beg that you will grant my request. +What I require of you, is, dear Harriet, that you meet me about eleven +to-night by the Druid stones on Marlbury Downs, about a mile or more +from your house. I cannot say more, except to entreat you to come. +I will explain all when you are there. The one thing is, I want +to see you. Come alone. Believe me, I would not ask this +if my happiness did not hang upon it—God knows how entirely! +I am too agitated to say more—Yours. FRED.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘That was all of it. Now, of course I ought have gone, +as it turned out, but that I did not think of then. I remembered +his impetuous temper, and feared that something grievous was impending +over his head, while he had not a friend in the world to help him, or +any one except myself to whom he would care to make his trouble known. +So I wrapped myself up and went to Marlbury Downs at the time he had +named. Don’t you think I was courageous?’</p> +<p>‘Very.’</p> +<p>‘When I got there—but shall we not walk on; it is getting +cold?’ The Duke, however, did not move. ‘When +I got there he came, of course, as a full grown man and officer, and +not as the lad that I had known him. When I saw him I was sorry +I had come. I can hardly tell you how he behaved. What he +wanted I don’t know even now; it seemed to be no more than the +mere meeting with me. He held me by the hand and waist—O +so tight—and would not let me go till I had promised to meet him +again. His manner was so strange and passionate that I was afraid +of him in such a lonely place, and I promised to come. Then I +escaped—then I ran home—and that’s all. When +the time drew on this evening for the appointment—which, of course, +I never intended to keep, I felt uneasy, lest when he found I meant +to disappoint him he would come on to the house; and that’s why +I could not sleep. But you are so silent!’</p> +<p>‘I have had a long journey.’</p> +<p>‘Then let us get into the house. Why did you come alone +and unattended like this?’</p> +<p>‘It was my humour.’</p> +<p>After a moment’s silence, during which they moved on, she said, +‘I have thought of something which I hardly like to suggest to +you. He said that if I failed to come to-night he would wait again +to-morrow night. Now, shall we to-morrow night go to the hill +together—just to see if he is there; and if he is, read him a +lesson on his foolishness in nourishing this old passion, and sending +for me so oddly, instead of coming to the house?’</p> +<p>‘Why should we see if he’s there?’ said her husband +moodily.</p> +<p>‘Because I think we ought to do something in it. Poor +Fred! He would listen to you if you reasoned with him, and set +our positions in their true light before him. It would be no more +than Christian kindness to a man who unquestionably is very miserable +from some cause or other. His head seems quite turned.’</p> +<p>By this time they had reached the door, rung the bell, and waited. +All the house seemed to be asleep; but soon a man came to them, the +horse was taken away, and the Duke and Duchess went in.</p> +<h3>THIRD NIGHT</h3> +<p>There was no help for it. Bill Mills was obliged to stay on +duty, in the old shepherd’s absence, this evening as before, or +give up his post and living. He thought as bravely as he could +of what lay behind the Devil’s Door, but with no great success, +and was therefore in a measure relieved, even if awe-stricken, when +he saw the forms of the Duke and Duchess strolling across the frosted +greensward. The Duchess was a few yards in front of her husband +and tripped on lightly.</p> +<p>‘I tell you he has not thought it worth while to come again!’ +the Duke insisted, as he stood still, reluctant to walk further.</p> +<p>‘He is more likely to come and wait all night; and it would +be harsh treatment to let him do it a second time.’</p> +<p>‘He is not here; so turn and come home.’</p> +<p>‘He seems not to be here, certainly; I wonder if anything has +happened to him. If it has, I shall never forgive myself!’</p> +<p>The Duke, uneasily, ‘O, no. He has some other engagement.’</p> +<p>‘That is very unlikely.’</p> +<p>‘Or perhaps he has found the distance too far.’</p> +<p>‘Nor is that probable.’</p> +<p>‘Then he may have thought better of it.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, he may have thought better of it; if, indeed, he is not +here all the time—somewhere in the hollow behind the Devil’s +Door. Let us go and see; it will serve him right to surprise him.’</p> +<p>‘O, he’s not there.’</p> +<p>‘He may be lying very quiet because of you,’ she said +archly.</p> +<p>‘O, no—not because of me!’</p> +<p>‘Come, then. I declare, dearest, you lag like an unwilling +schoolboy to-night, and there’s no responsiveness in you! +You are jealous of that poor lad, and it is quite absurd of you.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll come! I’ll come! Say no more, +Harriet!’ And they crossed over the green.</p> +<p>Wondering what they would do, the young shepherd left the hut, and +doubled behind the belt of furze, intending to stand near the trilithon +unperceived. But, in crossing the few yards of open ground he +was for a moment exposed to view.</p> +<p>‘Ah, I see him at last!’ said the Duchess.</p> +<p>‘See him!’ said the Duke. ‘Where?’</p> +<p>‘By the Devil’s Door; don’t you notice a figure +there? Ah, my poor lover-cousin, won’t you catch it now?’ +And she laughed half-pityingly. ‘But what’s the matter?’ +she asked, turning to her husband.</p> +<p>‘It is not he!’ said the Duke hoarsely. ‘It +can’t be he!’</p> +<p>‘No, it is not he. It is too small for him. It +is a boy.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, I thought so! Boy, come here.’</p> +<p>The youthful shepherd advanced with apprehension.</p> +<p>‘What are you doing here?’</p> +<p>‘Keeping sheep, your Grace.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, you know me! Do you keep sheep here every night?’</p> +<p>‘Off and on, my Lord Duke.’</p> +<p>‘And what have you seen here to-night or last night?’ +inquired the Duchess. ‘Any person waiting or walking about?’</p> +<p>The boy was silent.</p> +<p>‘He has seen nothing,’ interrupted her husband, his eyes +so forbiddingly fixed on the boy that they seemed to shine like points +of fire. ‘Come, let us go. The air is too keen to +stand in long.’</p> +<p>When they were gone the boy retreated to the hut and sheep, less +fearful now than at first—familiarity with the situation having +gradually overpowered his thoughts of the buried man. But he was +not to be left alone long. When an interval had elapsed of about +sufficient length for walking to and from Shakeforest Towers, there +appeared from that direction the heavy form of the Duke. He now +came alone.</p> +<p>The nobleman, on his part, seemed to have eyes no less sharp than +the boy’s, for he instantly recognized the latter among the ewes, +and came straight towards him.</p> +<p>‘Are you the shepherd lad I spoke to a short time ago?’</p> +<p>‘I be, my Lord Duke.’</p> +<p>‘Now listen to me. Her Grace asked you what you had seen +this last night or two up here, and you made no reply. I now ask +the same thing, and you need not be afraid to answer. Have you +seen anything strange these nights you have been watching here?’</p> +<p>‘My Lord Duke, I be a poor heedless boy, and what I see I don’t +bear in mind.’</p> +<p>‘I ask you again,’ said the Duke, coming nearer, ‘have +you seen anything strange these nights you have been watching here?’</p> +<p>‘O, my Lord Duke! I be but the under-shepherd boy, and +my father he was but your humble Grace’s hedger, and my mother +only the cinder-woman in the back-yard! I fall asleep when left +alone, and I see nothing at all!’</p> +<p>The Duke grasped the boy by the shoulder, and, directly impending +over him, stared down into his face, ‘Did you see anything strange +done here last night, I say?’</p> +<p>‘O, my Lord Duke, have mercy, and don’t stab me!’ +cried the shepherd, falling on his knees. ‘I have never +seen you walking here, or riding here, or lying-in-wait for a man, or +dragging a heavy load!’</p> +<p>‘H’m!’ said his interrogator, grimly, relaxing +his hold. ‘It is well to know that you have never seen those +things. Now, which would you rather—<i>see me do those things +now</i>, or keep a secret all your life?’</p> +<p>‘Keep a secret, my Lord Duke!’</p> +<p>‘Sure you are able?’</p> +<p>‘O, your Grace, try me!’</p> +<p>‘Very well. And now, how do you like sheep-keeping?’</p> +<p>‘Not at all. ’Tis lonely work for them that think +of spirits, and I’m badly used.’</p> +<p>‘I believe you. You are too young for it. I must +do something to make you more comfortable. You shall change this +smock-frock for a real cloth jacket, and your thick boots for polished +shoes. And you shall be taught what you have never yet heard of; +and be put to school, and have bats and balls for the holidays, and +be made a man of. But you must never say you have been a shepherd +boy, and watched on the hills at night, for shepherd boys are not liked +in good company.</p> +<p>‘Trust me, my Lord Duke.’</p> +<p>‘The very moment you forget yourself, and speak of your shepherd +days—this year, next year, in school, out of school, or riding +in your carriage twenty years hence—at that moment my help will +be withdrawn, and smash down you come to shepherding forthwith. +You have parents, I think you say?’</p> +<p>‘A widowed mother only, my Lord Duke.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll provide for her, and make a comfortable woman of +her, until you speak of—what?’</p> +<p>‘Of my shepherd days, and what I saw here.’</p> +<p>‘Good. If you do speak of it?’</p> +<p>‘Smash down she comes to widowing forthwith!’</p> +<p>‘That’s well—very well. But it’s not +enough. Come here.’ He took the boy across to the +trilithon, and made him kneel down.</p> +<p>‘Now, this was once a holy place,’ resumed the Duke. +‘An altar stood here, erected to a venerable family of gods, who +were known and talked of long before the God we know now. So that +an oath sworn here is doubly an oath. Say this after me: “May +all the host above—angels and archangels, and principalities and +powers—punish me; may I be tormented wherever I am—in the +house or in the garden, in the fields or in the roads, in church or +in chapel, at home or abroad, on land or at sea; may I be afflicted +in eating and in drinking, in growing up and in growing old, in living +and dying, inwardly and outwardly, and for always, if I ever speak of +my life as a shepherd boy, or of what I have seen done on this Marlbury +Down. So be it, and so let it be. Amen and amen.” +Now kiss the stone.’</p> +<p>The trembling boy repeated the words, and kissed the stone, as desired.</p> +<p>The Duke led him off by the hand. That night the junior shepherd +slept in Shakeforest Towers, and the next day he was sent away for tuition +to a remote village. Thence he went to a preparatory establishment, +and in due course to a public school.</p> +<h3>FOURTH NIGHT</h3> +<p>On a winter evening many years subsequent to the above-mentioned +occurrences, the <i>ci-devant</i> shepherd sat in a well-furnished office +in the north wing of Shakeforest Towers in the guise of an ordinary +educated man of business. He appeared at this time as a person +of thirty-eight or forty, though actually he was several years younger. +A worn and restless glance of the eye now and then, when he lifted his +head to search for some letter or paper which had been mislaid, seemed +to denote that his was not a mind so thoroughly at ease as his surroundings +might have led an observer to expect.</p> +<p>His pallor, too, was remarkable for a countryman. He was professedly +engaged in writing, but he shaped not word. He had sat there only +a few minutes, when, laying down his pen and pushing back his chair, +he rested a hand uneasily on each of the chair-arms and looked on the +floor.</p> +<p>Soon he arose and left the room. His course was along a passage +which ended in a central octagonal hall; crossing this he knocked at +a door. A faint, though deep, voice told him to come in. +The room he entered was the library, and it was tenanted by a single +person only—his patron the Duke.</p> +<p>During this long interval of years the Duke had lost all his heaviness +of build. He was, indeed, almost a skeleton; his white hair was +thin, and his hands were nearly transparent. ‘Oh—Mills?’ +he murmured. ‘Sit down. What is it?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing new, your Grace. Nobody to speak of has written, +and nobody has called.’</p> +<p>‘Ah—what then? You look concerned.’</p> +<p>‘Old times have come to life, owing to something waking them.’</p> +<p>‘Old times be cursed—which old times are they?’</p> +<p>‘That Christmas week twenty-two years ago, when the late Duchess’s +cousin Frederick implored her to meet him on Marlbury Downs. I +saw the meeting—it was just such a night as this—and I, +as you know, saw more. She met him once, but not the second time.’</p> +<p>‘Mills, shall I recall some words to you—the words of +an oath taken on that hill by a shepherd-boy?’</p> +<p>‘It is unnecessary. He has strenuously kept that oath +and promise. Since that night no sound of his shepherd life has +crossed his lips—even to yourself. But do you wish to hear +more, or do you not, your Grace?’</p> +<p>‘I wish to hear no more,’ said the Duke sullenly.</p> +<p>‘Very well; let it be so. But a time seems coming—may +be quite near at hand—when, in spite of my lips, that episode +will allow itself to go undivulged no longer.’</p> +<p>‘I wish to hear no more!’ repeated the Duke.</p> +<p>‘You need be under no fear of treachery from me,’ said +the steward, somewhat bitterly. ‘I am a man to whom you +have been kind—no patron could have been kinder. You have +clothed and educated me; have installed me here; and I am not unmindful. +But what of it—has your Grace gained much by my stanchness? +I think not. There was great excitement about Captain Ogbourne’s +disappearance, but I spoke not a word. And his body has never +been found. For twenty-two years I have wondered what you did +with him. Now I know. A circumstance that occurred this +afternoon recalled the time to me most forcibly. To make it certain +to myself that all was not a dream, I went up there with a spade; I +searched, and saw enough to know that something decays there in a closed +badger’s hole.’</p> +<p>‘Mills, do you think the Duchess guessed?’</p> +<p>‘She never did, I am sure, to the day of her death.’</p> +<p>‘Did you leave all as you found it on the hill?’</p> +<p>‘I did.’</p> +<p>‘What made you think of going up there this particular afternoon?’</p> +<p>‘What your Grace says you don’t wish to be told.’</p> +<p>The Duke was silent; and the stillness of the evening was so marked +that there reached their ears from the outer air the sound of a tolling +bell.</p> +<p>‘What is that bell tolling for?’ asked the nobleman.</p> +<p>‘For what I came to tell you of, your Grace.’</p> +<p>‘You torment me it is your way!’ said the Duke querulously. +‘Who’s dead in the village?’</p> +<p>‘The oldest man—the old shepherd.’</p> +<p>‘Dead at last—how old is he?’</p> +<p>‘Ninety-four.’</p> +<p>‘And I am only seventy. I have four-and-twenty years +to the good!’</p> +<p>‘I served under that old man when I kept sheep on Marlbury +Downs. And he was on the hill that second night, when I first +exchanged words with your Grace. He was on the hill all the time; +but I did not know he was there—nor did you.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said the Duke, starting up. ‘Go on—I +yield the point—you may tell!’</p> +<p>‘I heard this afternoon that he was at the point of death. +It was that which set me thinking of that past time—and induced +me to search on the hill for what I have told you. Coming back +I heard that he wished to see the Vicar to confess to him a secret he +had kept for more than twenty years—“out of respect to my +Lord the Duke”—something that he had seen committed on Marlbury +Downs when returning to the flock on a December night twenty-two years +ago. I have thought it over. He had left me in charge that +evening; but he was in the habit of coming back suddenly, lest I should +have fallen asleep. That night I saw nothing of him, though he +had promised to return. He must have returned, and—found +reason to keep in hiding. It is all plain. The next thing +is that the Vicar went to him two hours ago. Further than that +I have not heard.’</p> +<p>‘It is quite enough. I will see the Vicar at daybreak +to-morrow.’</p> +<p>‘What to do?’</p> +<p>‘Stop his tongue for four-and-twenty years—till I am +dead at ninety-four, like the shepherd.’</p> +<p>‘Your Grace—while you impose silence on me, I will not +speak, even though nay neck should pay the penalty. I promised +to be yours, and I am yours. But is this persistence of any avail?’</p> +<p>‘I’ll stop his tongue, I say!’ cried the Duke with +some of his old rugged force. ‘Now, you go home to bed, +Mills, and leave me to manage him.’</p> +<p>The interview ended, and the steward withdrew. The night, as +he had said, was just such an one as the night of twenty-two years before, +and the events of the evening destroyed in him all regard for the season +as one of cheerfulness and goodwill. He went off to his own house +on the further verge of the park, where he led a lonely life, scarcely +calling any man friend. At eleven he prepared to retire to bed—but +did not retire. He sat down and reflected. Twelve o’clock +struck; he looked out at the colourless moon, and, prompted by he knew +not what, put on his hat and emerged into the air. Here William +Mills strolled on and on, till he reached the top of Marlbury Downs, +a spot he had not visited at this hour of the night during the whole +score-and-odd years.</p> +<p>He placed himself, as nearly as he could guess, on the spot where +the shepherd’s hut had stood. No lambing was in progress +there now, and the old shepherd who had used him so roughly had ceased +from his labours that very day. But the trilithon stood up white +as ever; and, crossing the intervening sward, the steward fancifully +placed his mouth against the stone. Restless and self-reproachful +as he was, he could not resist a smile as he thought of the terrifying +oath of compact, sealed by a kiss upon the stones of a Pagan temple. +But he had kept his word, rather as a promise than as a formal vow, +with much worldly advantage to himself, though not much happiness; till +increase of years had bred reactionary feelings which led him to receive +the news of to-night with emotions akin to relief.</p> +<p>While leaning against the Devil’s Door and thinking on these +things, he became conscious that he was not the only inhabitant of the +down. A figure in white was moving across his front with long, +noiseless strides. Mills stood motionless, and when the form drew +quite near he perceived it to be that of the Duke himself in his nightshirt—apparently +walking in his sleep. Not to alarm the old man, Mills clung close +to the shadow of the stone. The Duke went straight on into the +hollow. There he knelt down, and began scratching the earth with +his hands like a badger. After a few minutes he arose, sighed +heavily, and retraced his steps as he had come.</p> +<p>Fearing that he might harm himself, yet unwilling to arouse him, +the steward followed noiselessly. The Duke kept on his path unerringly, +entered the park, and made for the house, where he let himself in by +a window that stood open—the one probably by which he had come +out. Mills softly closed the window behind his patron, and then +retired homeward to await the revelations of the morning, deeming it +unnecessary to alarm the house.</p> +<p>However, he felt uneasy during the remainder of the night, no less +on account of the Duke’s personal condition than because of that +which was imminent next day. Early in the morning he called at +Shakeforest Towers. The blinds were down, and there was something +singular upon the porter’s face when he opened the door. +The steward inquired for the Duke.</p> +<p>The man’s voice was subdued as he replied: ‘Sir, I am +sorry to say that his Grace is dead! He left his room some time +in the night, and wandered about nobody knows where. On returning +to the upper floor he lost his balance and fell downstairs.’</p> +<p>The steward told the tale of the Down before the Vicar had spoken. +Mills had always intended to do so after the death of the Duke. +The consequences to himself he underwent cheerfully; but his life was +not prolonged. He died, a farmer at the Cape, when still somewhat +under forty-nine years of age.</p> +<p>The splendid Marlbury breeding flock is as renowned as ever, and, +to the eye, seems the same in every particular that it was in earlier +times; but the animals which composed it on the occasion of the events +gathered from the Justice are divided by many ovine generations from +its members now. Lambing Corner has long since ceased to be used +for lambing purposes, though the name still lingers on as the appellation +of the spot. This abandonment of site may be partly owing to the +removal of the high furze bushes which lent such convenient shelter +at that date. Partly, too, it may be due to another circumstance. +For it is said by present shepherds in that district that during the +nights of Christmas week flitting shapes are seen in the open space +around the trilithon, together with the gleam of a weapon, and the shadow +of a man dragging a burden into the hollow. But of these things +there is no certain testimony.</p> +<p><i>Christmas</i> 1881.</p> +<h2>A COMMITTEE-MAN OF ‘THE TERROR’</h2> +<p>We had been talking of the Georgian glories of our old-fashioned +watering-place, which now, with its substantial russet-red and dun brick +buildings in the style of the year eighteen hundred, looks like one +side of a Soho or Bloomsbury Street transported to the shore, and draws +a smile from the modern tourist who has no eye for solidity of build. +The writer, quite a youth, was present merely as a listener. The +conversation proceeded from general subjects to particular, until old +Mrs. H--, whose memory was as perfect at eighty as it had ever been +in her life, interested us all by the obvious fidelity with which she +repeated a story many times related to her by her mother when our aged +friend was a girl—a domestic drama much affecting the life of +an acquaintance of her said parent, one Mademoiselle V--, a teacher +of French. The incidents occurred in the town during the heyday +of its fortunes, at the time of our brief peace with France in 1802-3.</p> +<p>‘I wrote it down in the shape of a story some years ago, just +after my mother’s death,’ said Mrs. H--. ‘It +is locked up in my desk there now.’</p> +<p>‘Read it!’ said we.</p> +<p>‘No,’ said she; ‘the light is bad, and I can remember +it well enough, word for word, flourishes and all.’ We could +not be choosers in the circumstances, and she began.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>‘There are two in it, of course, the man and the woman, and +it was on an evening in September that she first got to know him. +There had not been such a grand gathering on the Esplanade all the season. +His Majesty King George the Third was present, with all the princesses +and royal dukes, while upwards of three hundred of the general nobility +and other persons of distinction were also in the town at the time. +Carriages and other conveyances were arriving every minute from London +and elsewhere; and when among the rest a shabby stage-coach came in +by a by-route along the coast from Havenpool, and drew up at a second-rate +tavern, it attracted comparatively little notice.</p> +<p>‘From this dusty vehicle a man alighted, left his small quantity +of luggage temporarily at the office, and walked along the street as +if to look for lodgings.</p> +<p>‘He was about forty-five—possibly fifty—and wore +a long coat of faded superfine cloth, with a heavy collar, and a hunched-up +neckcloth. He seemed to desire obscurity.</p> +<p>‘But the display appeared presently to strike him, and he asked +of a rustic he met in the street what was going on; his accent being +that of one to whom English pronunciation was difficult.</p> +<p>‘The countryman looked at him with a slight surprise, and said, +“King Jarge is here and his royal Cwort.”</p> +<p>‘The stranger inquired if they were going to stay long.</p> +<p>‘“Don’t know, Sir. Same as they always do, +I suppose.”</p> +<p>‘“How long is that?”</p> +<p>‘“Till some time in October. They’ve come +here every summer since eighty-nine.”</p> +<p>‘The stranger moved onward down St. Thomas Street, and approached +the bridge over the harbour backwater, that then, as now, connected +the old town with the more modern portion. The spot was swept +with the rays of a low sun, which lit up the harbour lengthwise, and +shone under the brim of the man’s hat and into his eyes as he +looked westward. Against the radiance figures were crossing in +the opposite direction to his own; among them this lady of my mother’s +later acquaintance, Mademoiselle V--. She was the daughter of +a good old French family, and at that date a pale woman, twenty-eight +or thirty years of age, tall and elegant in figure, but plainly dressed +and wearing that evening (she said) a small muslin shawl crossed over +the bosom in the fashion of the time, and tied behind.</p> +<p>‘At sight of his face, which, as she used to tell us, was unusually +distinct in the peering sunlight, she could not help giving a little +shriek of horror, for a terrible reason connected with her history, +and after walking a few steps further, she sank down against the parapet +of the bridge in a fainting fit.</p> +<p>‘In his preoccupation the foreign gentleman had hardly noticed +her, but her strange collapse immediately attracted his attention. +He quickly crossed the carriageway, picked her up, and carried her into +the first shop adjoining the bridge, explaining that she was a lady +who had been taken ill outside.</p> +<p>‘She soon revived; but, clearly much puzzled, her helper perceived +that she still had a dread of him which was sufficient to hinder her +complete recovery of self-command. She spoke in a quick and nervous +way to the shopkeeper, asking him to call a coach.</p> +<p>‘This the shopkeeper did, Mademoiselle V--- and the stranger +remaining in constrained silence while he was gone. The coach +came up, and giving the man the address, she entered it and drove away.</p> +<p>‘“Who is that lady?” said the newly arrived gentleman.</p> +<p>‘“She’s of your nation, as I should make bold to +suppose,” said the shopkeeper. And he told the other that +she was Mademoiselle V--, governess at General Newbold’s, in the +same town.</p> +<p>‘“You have many foreigners here?” the stranger +inquired.</p> +<p>‘“Yes, though mostly Hanoverians. But since the +peace they are learning French a good deal in genteel society, and French +instructors are rather in demand.”</p> +<p>‘“Yes, I teach it,” said the visitor. “I +am looking for a tutorship in an academy.”</p> +<p>‘The information given by the burgess to the Frenchman seemed +to explain to the latter nothing of his countrywoman’s conduct—which, +indeed, was the case—and he left the shop, taking his course again +over the bridge and along the south quay to the Old Rooms Inn, where +he engaged a bedchamber.</p> +<p>‘Thoughts of the woman who had betrayed such agitation at sight +of him lingered naturally enough with the newcomer. Though, as +I stated, not much less than thirty years of age, Mademoiselle V--, +one of his own nation, and of highly refined and delicate appearance, +had kindled a singular interest in the middle-aged gentleman’s +breast, and her large dark eyes, as they had opened and shrunk from +him, exhibited a pathetic beauty to which hardly any man could have +been insensible.</p> +<p>‘The next day, having written some letters, he went out and +made known at the office of the town “Guide” and of the +newspaper, that a teacher of French and calligraphy had arrived, leaving +a card at the bookseller’s to the same effect. He then walked +on aimlessly, but at length inquired the way to General Newbold’s. +At the door, without giving his name, he asked to see Mademoiselle V--, +and was shown into a little back parlour, where she came to him with +a gaze of surprise.</p> +<p>‘“My God! Why do you intrude here, Monsieur?” +she gasped in French as soon as she saw his face.</p> +<p>‘“You were taken ill yesterday. I helped you. +You might have been run over if I had not picked you up. It was +an act of simple humanity certainly; but I thought I might come to ask +if you had recovered?”</p> +<p>‘She had turned aside, and had scarcely heard a word of his +speech. “I hate you, infamous man!” she said. +“I cannot bear your helping me. Go away!”</p> +<p>‘“But you are a stranger to me.”</p> +<p>‘“I know you too well!”</p> +<p>‘“You have the advantage then, Mademoiselle. I +am a newcomer here. I never have seen you before to my knowledge; +and I certainly do not, could not, hate you.”</p> +<p>‘“Are you not Monsieur B--?”</p> +<p>‘He flinched. “I am—in Paris,” he said. +“But here I am Monsieur G--.”</p> +<p>‘“That is trivial. You are the man I say you are.”</p> +<p>‘“How did you know my real name, Mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>‘“I saw you in years gone by, when you did not see me. +You were formerly Member of the Committee of Public Safety, under the +Convention.”</p> +<p>“I was.”</p> +<p>‘“You guillotined my father, my brother, my uncle—all +my family, nearly, and broke my mother’s heart. They had +done nothing but keep silence. Their sentiments were only guessed. +Their headless corpses were thrown indiscriminately into the ditch of +the Mousseaux Cemetery, and destroyed with lime.”</p> +<p>‘He nodded.</p> +<p>‘“You left me without a friend, and here I am now, alone +in a foreign land.”</p> +<p>‘“I am sorry for you,” said be. “Sorry +for the consequence, not for the intent. What I did was a matter +of conscience, and, from a point of view indiscernible by you, I did +right. I profited not a farthing. But I shall not argue +this. You have the satisfaction of seeing me here an exile also, +in poverty, betrayed by comrades, as friendless as yourself.”</p> +<p>‘“It is no satisfaction to me, Monsieur.”</p> +<p>‘“Well, things done cannot be altered. Now the +question: are you quite recovered?”</p> +<p>‘“Not from dislike and dread of you—otherwise, +yes.”</p> +<p>‘“Good morning, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>‘“Good morning.”</p> +<p>‘They did not meet again till one evening at the theatre (which +my mother’s friend was with great difficulty induced to frequent, +to perfect herself in English pronunciation, the idea she entertained +at that time being to become a teacher of English in her own country +later on). She found him sitting next to her, and it made her +pale and restless.</p> +<p>‘“You are still afraid of me?”</p> +<p>‘“I am. O cannot you understand!”</p> +<p>‘He signified the affirmative.</p> +<p>‘“I follow the play with difficulty,” he said, +presently.</p> +<p>‘“So do I—<i>now</i>,” said she.</p> +<p>‘He regarded her long, and she was conscious of his look; and +while she kept her eyes on the stage they filled with tears. Still +she would not move, and the tears ran visibly down her cheek, though +the play was a merry one, being no other than Mr. Sheridan’s comedy +of “The Rivals,” with Mr. S. Kemble as Captain Absolute. +He saw her distress, and that her mind was elsewhere; and abruptly rising +from his seat at candle-snuffing time he left the theatre.</p> +<p>‘Though he lived in the old town, and she in the new, they +frequently saw each other at a distance. One of these occasions +was when she was on the north side of the harbour, by the ferry, waiting +for the boat to take her across. He was standing by Cove Row, +on the quay opposite. Instead of entering the boat when it arrived +she stepped back from the quay; but looking to see if he remained she +beheld him pointing with his finger to the ferry-boat.</p> +<p>‘“Enter!” he said, in a voice loud enough to reach +her.</p> +<p>‘Mademoiselle V--- stood still.</p> +<p>‘“Enter!” he said, and, as she did not move, he +repeated the word a third time.</p> +<p>‘She had really been going to cross, and now approached and +stepped down into the boat. Though she did not raise her eyes +she knew that he was watching her over. At the landing steps she +saw from under the brim of her hat a hand stretched down. The +steps were steep and slippery.</p> +<p>‘“No, Monsieur,” she said. “Unless, +indeed, you believe in God, and repent of your evil past!”</p> +<p>‘“I am sorry you were made to suffer. But I only +believe in the god called Reason, and I do not repent. I was the +instrument of a national principle. Your friends were not sacrificed +for any ends of mine.”</p> +<p>‘She thereupon withheld her hand, and clambered up unassisted. +He went on, ascending the Look-out Hill, and disappearing over the brow. +Her way was in the same direction, her errand being to bring home the +two young girls under her charge, who had gone to the cliff for an airing. +When she joined them at the top she saw his solitary figure at the further +edge, standing motionless against the sea. All the while that +she remained with her pupils he stood without turning, as if looking +at the frigates in the roadstead, but more probably in meditation, unconscious +where he was. In leaving the spot one of the children threw away +half a sponge-biscuit that she had been eating. Passing near it +he stooped, picked it up carefully, and put it in his pocket.</p> +<p>‘Mademoiselle V--- came homeward, asking herself, “Can +he be starving?”</p> +<p>‘From that day he was invisible for so long a time that she +thought he had gone away altogether. But one evening a note came +to her, and she opened it trembling.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘“I am here ill,” it said, “and, +as you know, alone. There are one or two little things I want +done, in case my death should occur,—and I should prefer not to +ask the people here, if it could be avoided. Have you enough of +the gift of charity to come and carry out my wishes before it is too +late?”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Now so it was that, since seeing him possess himself of the +broken cake, she had insensibly begun to feel something that was more +than curiosity, though perhaps less than anxiety, about this fellow-countryman +of hers; and it was not in her nervous and sensitive heart to resist +his appeal. She found his lodging (to which he had removed from +the Old Rooms inn for economy) to be a room over a shop, half-way up +the steep and narrow street of the old town, to which the fashionable +visitors seldom penetrated. With some misgiving she entered the +house, and was admitted to the chamber where he lay.</p> +<p>‘“You are too good, too good,” he murmured. +And presently, “You need not shut the door. You will feel +safer, and they will not understand what we say.”</p> +<p>‘“Are you in want, Monsieur? Can I give you—”</p> +<p>‘“No, no. I merely want you to do a trifling thing +or two that I have not strength enough to do myself. Nobody in +the town but you knows who I really am—unless you have told?”</p> +<p>‘“I have not told . . . I thought you <i>might</i> have +acted from principle in those sad days, even—”</p> +<p>‘“You are kind to concede that much. However, to +the present. I was able to destroy my few papers before I became +so weak . . . But in the drawer there you will find some pieces of linen +clothing—only two or three—marked with initials that may +be recognized. Will you rip them out with a penknife?”</p> +<p>‘She searched as bidden, found the garments, cut out the stitches +of the lettering, and replaced the linen as before. A promise +to post, in the event of his death, a letter he put in her hand, completed +all that he required of her.</p> +<p>‘He thanked her. “I think you seem sorry for me,” +he murmured. “And I am surprised. You are sorry?”</p> +<p>‘She evaded the question. “Do you repent and believe?” +she asked.</p> +<p>‘”No.”</p> +<p>‘Contrary to her expectations and his own he recovered, though +very slowly; and her manner grew more distant thenceforward, though +his influence upon her was deeper than she knew. Weeks passed +away, and the month of May arrived. One day at this time she met +him walking slowly along the beach to the northward.</p> +<p>‘“You know the news?” he said.</p> +<p>‘“You mean of the rupture between France and England +again?”</p> +<p>‘“Yes; and the feeling of antagonism is stronger than +it was in the last war, owing to Bonaparte’s high-handed arrest +of the innocent English who were travelling in our country for pleasure. +I feel that the war will be long and bitter; and that my wish to live +unknown in England will be frustrated. See here.”</p> +<p>‘He took from his pocket a piece of the single newspaper which +circulated in the county in those days, and she read—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The magistrates acting under the Alien Act have +been requested to direct a very scrutinizing eye to the Academies in +our towns and other places, in which French tutors are employed, and +to all of that nationality who profess to be teachers in this country. +Many of them are known to be inveterate Enemies and Traitors to the +nation among whose people they have found a livelihood and a home.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘He continued: “I have observed since the declaration +of war a marked difference in the conduct of the rougher class of people +here towards me. If a great battle were to occur—as it soon +will, no doubt—feeling would grow to a pitch that would make it +impossible for me, a disguised man of no known occupation, to stay here. +With you, whose duties and antecedents are known, it may be less difficult, +but still unpleasant. Now I propose this. You have probably +seen how my deep sympathy with you has quickened to a warm feeling; +and what I say is, will you agree to give me a title to protect you +by honouring me with your hand? I am older than you, it is true, +but as husband and wife we can leave England together, and make the +whole world our country. Though I would propose Quebec, in Canada, +as the place which offers the best promise of a home.”</p> +<p>‘“My God! You surprise me!” said she.</p> +<p>‘“But you accept my proposal?”</p> +<p>‘“No, no!”</p> +<p>‘“And yet I think you will, Mademoiselle, some day!”</p> +<p>‘“I think not.”</p> +<p>‘“I won’t distress you further now.”</p> +<p>‘“Much thanks . . . I am glad to see you looking better, +Monsieur; I mean you are looking better.”</p> +<p>‘“Ah, yes. I am improving. I walk in the +sun every day.”</p> +<p>‘And almost every day she saw him—sometimes nodding stiffly +only, sometimes exchanging formal civilities. “You are not +gone yet,” she said on one of these occasions.</p> +<p>‘“No. At present I don’t think of going without +you.”</p> +<p>‘“But you find it uncomfortable here?”</p> +<p>‘“Somewhat. So when will you have pity on me?”</p> +<p>‘She shook her head and went on her way. Yet she was +a little moved. “He did it on principle,” she would +murmur. “He had no animosity towards them, and profited +nothing!”</p> +<p>‘She wondered how he lived. It was evident that he could +not be so poor as she had thought; his pretended poverty might be to +escape notice. She could not tell, but she knew that she was dangerously +interested in him.</p> +<p>‘And he still mended, till his thin, pale face became more +full and firm. As he mended she had to meet that request of his, +advanced with even stronger insistency.</p> +<p>‘The arrival of the King and Court for the season as usual +brought matters to a climax for these two lonely exiles and fellow country-people. +The King’s awkward preference for a part of the coast in such +dangerous proximity to France made it necessary that a strict military +vigilance should be exercised to guard the royal residents. Half-a-dozen +frigates were every night posted in a line across the bay, and two lines +of sentinels, one at the water’s edge and another behind the Esplanade, +occupied the whole sea-front after eight every night. The watering-place +was growing an inconvenient residence even for Mademoiselle V--- herself, +her friendship for this strange French tutor and writing-master who +never had any pupils having been observed by many who slightly knew +her. The General’s wife, whose dependent she was, repeatedly +warned her against the acquaintance; while the Hanoverian and other +soldiers of the Foreign Legion, who had discovered the nationality of +her friend, were more aggressive than the English military gallants +who made it their business to notice her.</p> +<p>‘In this tense state of affairs her answers became more agitated. +“O Heaven, how can I marry you!” she would say.</p> +<p>‘“You will; surely you will!” he answered again. +“I don’t leave without you. And I shall soon be interrogated +before the magistrates if I stay here; probably imprisoned. You +will come?”</p> +<p>‘She felt her defences breaking down. Contrary to all +reason and sense of family honour she was, by some abnormal craving, +inclining to a tenderness for him that was founded on its opposite. +Sometimes her warm sentiments burnt lower than at others, and then the +enormity of her conduct showed itself in more staring hues.</p> +<p>‘Shortly after this he came with a resigned look on his face. +“It is as I expected,” he said. “I have received +a hint to go. In good sooth, I am no Bonapartist—I am no +enemy to England; but the presence of the King made it impossible for +a foreigner with no visible occupation, and who may be a spy, to remain +at large in the town. The authorities are civil, but firm. +They are no more than reasonable. Good. I must go. +You must come also.”</p> +<p>‘She did not speak. But she nodded assent, her eyes drooping.</p> +<p>‘On her way back to the house on the Esplanade she said to +herself, “I am glad, I am glad! I could not do otherwise. +It is rendering good for evil!” But she knew how she mocked +herself in this, and that the moral principle had not operated one jot +in her acceptance of him. In truth she had not realized till now +the full presence of the emotion which had unconsciously grown up in +her for this lonely and severe man, who, in her tradition, was vengeance +and irreligion personified. He seemed to absorb her whole nature, +and, absorbing, to control it.</p> +<p>‘A day or two before the one fixed for the wedding there chanced +to come to her a letter from the only acquaintance of her own sex and +country she possessed in England, one to whom she had sent intelligence +of her approaching marriage, without mentioning with whom. This +friend’s misfortunes had been somewhat similar to her own, which +fact had been one cause of their intimacy; her friend’s sister, +a nun of the Abbey of Montmartre, having perished on the scaffold at +the hands of the same Comité de Salut Public which had numbered +Mademoiselle V--’s affianced among its members. The writer +had felt her position much again of late, since the renewal of the war, +she said; and the letter wound up with a fresh denunciation of the authors +of their mutual bereavement and subsequent troubles.</p> +<p>‘Coming just then, its contents produced upon Mademoiselle +V--- the effect of a pail of water upon a somnambulist. What had +she been doing in betrothing herself to this man! Was she not +making herself a parricide after the event? At this crisis in +her feelings her lover called. He beheld her trembling, and, in +reply to his question, she told him of her scruples with impulsive candour.</p> +<p>‘She had not intended to do this, but his attitude of tender +command coerced her into frankness. Thereupon he exhibited an +agitation never before apparent in him. He said, “But all +that is past. You are the symbol of Charity, and we are pledged +to let bygones be.”</p> +<p>‘His words soothed her for the moment, but she was sadly silent, +and he went away.</p> +<p>‘That night she saw (as she firmly believed to the end of her +life) a divinely sent vision. A procession of her lost relatives—father, +brother, uncle, cousin—seemed to cross her chamber between her +bed and the window, and when she endeavoured to trace their features +she perceived them to be headless, and that she had recognized them +by their familiar clothes only. In the morning she could not shake +off the effects of this appearance on her nerves. All that day +she saw nothing of her wooer, he being occupied in making arrangements +for their departure. It grew towards evening—the marriage +eve; but, in spite of his re-assuring visit, her sense of family duty +waxed stronger now that she was left alone. Yet, she asked herself, +how could she, alone and unprotected, go at this eleventh hour and reassert +to an affianced husband that she could not and would not marry him while +admitting at the same time that she loved him? The situation dismayed +her. She had relinquished her post as governess, and was staying +temporarily in a room near the coach-office, where she expected him +to call in the morning to carry out the business of their union and +departure.</p> +<p>‘Wisely or foolishly, Mademoiselle V--- came to a resolution: +that her only safety lay in flight. His contiguity influenced +her too sensibly; she could not reason. So packing up her few +possessions and placing on the table the small sum she owed, she went +out privately, secured a last available seat in the London coach, and, +almost before she had fully weighed her action, she was rolling out +of the town in the dusk of the September evening.</p> +<p>‘Having taken this startling step she began to reflect upon +her reasons. He had been one of that tragic Committee the sound +of whose name was a horror to the civilized world; yet he had been only +one of several members, and, it seemed, not the most active. He +had marked down names on principle, had felt no personal enmity against +his victims, and had enriched himself not a sou out of the office he +had held. Nothing could change the past. Meanwhile he loved +her, and her heart inclined to as much of him as she could detach from +that past. Why not, as he had suggested, bury memories, and inaugurate +a new era by this union? In other words, why not indulge her tenderness, +since its nullification could do no good.</p> +<p>‘Thus she held self-communion in her seat in the coach, passing +through Casterbridge, and Shottsford, and on to the White Hart at Melchester, +at which place the whole fabric of her recent intentions crumbled down. +Better be staunch having got so far; let things take their course, and +marry boldly the man who had so impressed her. How great he was; +how small was she! And she had presumed to judge him! Abandoning +her place in the coach with the precipitancy that had characterized +her taking it, she waited till the vehicle had driven off, something +in the departing shapes of the outside passengers against the starlit +sky giving her a start, as she afterwards remembered. Presently +the down coach, “The Morning Herald,” entered the city, +and she hastily obtained a place on the top.</p> +<p>‘“I’ll be firm—I’ll be his—if +it cost me my immortal soul!” she said. And with troubled +breathings she journeyed back over the road she had just traced.</p> +<p>‘She reached our royal watering-place by the time the day broke, +and her first aim was to get back to the hired room in which her last +few days had been spent. When the landlady appeared at the door +in response to Mademoiselle V--’s nervous summons, she explained +her sudden departure and return as best she could; and no objection +being offered to her re-engagement of the room for one day longer she +ascended to the chamber and sat down panting. She was back once +more, and her wild tergiversations were a secret from him whom alone +they concerned.</p> +<p>‘A sealed letter was on the mantelpiece. “Yes, +it is directed to you, Mademoiselle,” said the woman who had followed +her. “But we were wondering what to do with it. A +town messenger brought it after you had gone last night.”</p> +<p>‘When the landlady had left, Mademoiselle V--- opened the letter +and read—</p> +<blockquote><p>“MY DEAR AND HONOURED FRIEND.—You have been +throughout our acquaintance absolutely candid concerning your misgivings. +But I have been reserved concerning mine. That is the difference +between us. You probably have not guessed that every qualm you +have felt on the subject of our marriage has been paralleled in my heart +to the full. Thus it happened that your involuntary outburst of +remorse yesterday, though mechanically deprecated by me in your presence, +was a last item in my own doubts on the wisdom of our union, giving +them a force that I could no longer withstand. I came home; and, +on reflection, much as I honour and adore you, I decide to set you free.</p> +<p>“As one whose life has been devoted, and I may say sacrificed, +to the cause of Liberty, I cannot allow your judgment (probably a permanent +one) to be fettered beyond release by a feeling which may be transient +only.</p> +<p>“It would be no less than excruciating to both that I should +announce this decision to you by word of mouth. I have therefore +taken the less painful course of writing. Before you receive this +I shall have left the town by the evening coach for London, on reaching +which city my movements will be revealed to none.</p> +<p>“Regard me, Mademoiselle, as dead, and accept my renewed assurances +of respect, remembrance, and affection.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘When she had recovered from her shock of surprise and grief, +she remembered that at the starting of the coach out of Melchester before +dawn, the shape of a figure among the outside passengers against the +starlit sky had caused her a momentary start, from its resemblance to +that of her friend. Knowing nothing of each other’s intentions, +and screened from each other by the darkness, they had left the town +by the same conveyance. “He, the greater, persevered; I, +the smaller, returned!” she said.</p> +<p>‘Recovering from her stupor, Mademoiselle V--- bethought herself +again of her employer, Mrs. Newbold, whom recent events had estranged. +To that lady she went with a full heart, and explained everything. +Mrs. Newbold kept to herself her opinion of the episode, and reinstalled +the deserted bride in her old position as governess to the family.</p> +<p>‘A governess she remained to the end of her days. After +the final peace with France she became acquainted with my mother, to +whom by degrees she imparted these experiences of hers. As her +hair grew white, and her features pinched, Mademoiselle V--- would wonder +what nook of the world contained her lover, if he lived, and if by any +chance she might see him again. But when, some time in the ’twenties, +death came to her, at no great age, that outline against the stars of +the morning remained as the last glimpse she ever obtained of her family’s +foe and her once affianced husband.’</p> +<p>1895.</p> +<h2>MASTER JOHN HORSELEIGH, KNIGHT</h2> +<p>In the earliest and mustiest volume of the Havenpool marriage registers +(said the thin-faced gentleman) this entry may still be read by any +one curious enough to decipher the crabbed handwriting of the date. +I took a copy of it when I was last there; and it runs thus (he had +opened his pocket-book, and now read aloud the extract; afterwards handing +round the book to us, wherein we saw transcribed the following)—</p> +<blockquote><p>Mastr John Horseleigh, Knyght, of the p’ysshe of +Clyffton was maryd to Edith the wyffe late off John Stocker, m’chawnte +of Havenpool the xiiij daje of December be p’vylegge gevyn by +our sup’me hedd of the chyrche of Ingelonde Kynge Henry the viii +th 1539.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now, if you turn to the long and elaborate pedigree of the ancient +family of the Horseleighs of Clyfton Horseleigh, you will find no mention +whatever of this alliance, notwithstanding the privilege given by the +Sovereign and head of the Church; the said Sir John being therein chronicled +as marrying, at a date apparently earlier than the above, the daughter +and heiress of Richard Phelipson, of Montislope, in Nether Wessex, a +lady who outlived him, of which marriage there were issue two daughters +and a son, who succeeded him in his estates. How are we to account +for these, as it would seem, contemporaneous wives? A strange +local tradition only can help us, and this can be briefly told.</p> +<p>One evening in the autumn of the year 1540 or 1541, a young sailor, +whose Christian name was Roger, but whose surname is not known, landed +at his native place of Havenpool, on the South Wessex coast, after a +voyage in the Newfoundland trade, then newly sprung into existence. +He returned in the ship <i>Primrose</i> with a cargo of ‘trayne +oyle brought home from the New Founde Lande,’ to quote from the +town records of the date. During his absence of two summers and +a winter, which made up the term of a Newfoundland ‘spell,’ +many unlooked-for changes had occurred within the quiet little seaport, +some of which closely affected Roger the sailor. At the time of +his departure his only sister Edith had become the bride of one Stocker, +a respectable townsman, and part owner of the brig in which Roger had +sailed; and it was to the house of this couple, his only relatives, +that the young man directed his steps. On trying the door in Quay +Street he found it locked, and then observed that the windows were boarded +up. Inquiring of a bystander, he learnt for the first time of +the death of his brother-in-law, though that event had taken place nearly +eighteen months before.</p> +<p>‘And my sister Edith?’ asked Roger.</p> +<p>‘She’s married again—as they do say, and hath been +so these twelve months. I don’t vouch for the truth o’t, +though if she isn’t she ought to be.’</p> +<p>Roger’s face grew dark. He was a man with a considerable +reserve of strong passion, and he asked his informant what he meant +by speaking thus.</p> +<p>The man explained that shortly after the young woman’s bereavement +a stranger had come to the port. He had seen her moping on the +quay, had been attracted by her youth and loneliness, and in an extraordinarily +brief wooing had completely fascinated her—had carried her off, +and, as was reported, had married her. Though he had come by water, +he was supposed to live no very great distance off by land. They +were last heard of at Oozewood, in Upper Wessex, at the house of one +Wall, a timber-merchant, where, he believed, she still had a lodging, +though her husband, if he were lawfully that much, was but an occasional +visitor to the place.</p> +<p>‘The stranger?’ asked Roger. ‘Did you see +him? What manner of man was he?’</p> +<p>‘I liked him not,’ said the other. ‘He seemed +of that kind that hath something to conceal, and as he walked with her +he ever and anon turned his head and gazed behind him, as if he much +feared an unwelcome pursuer. But, faith,’ continued he, +‘it may have been the man’s anxiety only. Yet did +I not like him.’</p> +<p>‘Was he older than my sister?’ Roger asked.</p> +<p>‘Ay—much older; from a dozen to a score of years older. +A man of some position, maybe, playing an amorous game for the pleasure +of the hour. Who knoweth but that he have a wife already? +Many have done the thing hereabouts of late.’</p> +<p>Having paid a visit to the graves of his relatives, the sailor next +day went along the straight road which, then a lane, now a highway, +conducted to the curious little inland town named by the Havenpool man. +It is unnecessary to describe Oozewood on the South-Avon. It has +a railway at the present day; but thirty years of steam traffic past +its precincts have hardly modified its original features. Surrounded +by a sort of fresh-water lagoon, dividing it from meadows and coppice, +its ancient thatch and timber houses have barely made way even in the +front street for the ubiquitous modern brick and slate. It neither +increases nor diminishes in size; it is difficult to say what the inhabitants +find to do, for, though trades in woodware are still carried on, there +cannot be enough of this class of work nowadays to maintain all the +householders, the forests around having been so greatly thinned and +curtailed. At the time of this tradition the forests were dense, +artificers in wood abounded, and the timber trade was brisk. Every +house in the town, without exception, was of oak framework, filled in +with plaster, and covered with thatch, the chimney being the only brick +portion of the structure. Inquiry soon brought Roger the sailor +to the door of Wall, the timber-dealer referred to, but it was some +time before he was able to gain admission to the lodging of his sister, +the people having plainly received directions not to welcome strangers.</p> +<p>She was sitting in an upper room on one of the lath-backed, willow-bottomed +‘shepherd’s’ chairs, made on the spot then as to this +day, and as they were probably made there in the days of the Heptarchy. +In her lap was an infant, which she had been suckling, though now it +had fallen asleep; so had the young mother herself for a few minutes, +under the drowsing effects of solitude. Hearing footsteps on the +stairs, she awoke, started up with a glad cry, and ran to the door, +opening which she met her brother on the threshold.</p> +<p>‘O, this is merry; I didn’t expect ’ee!’ +she said. ‘Ah, Roger—I thought it was John.’ +Her tones fell to disappointment.</p> +<p>The sailor kissed her, looked at her sternly for a few moments, and +pointing to the infant, said, ‘You mean the father of this?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, my husband,’ said Edith.</p> +<p>‘I hope so,’ he answered.</p> +<p>‘Why, Roger, I’m married—of a truth am I!’ +she cried.</p> +<p>‘Shame upon ’ee, if true! If not true, worse. +Master Stocker was an honest man, and ye should have respected his memory +longer. Where is thy husband?’</p> +<p>‘He comes often. I thought it was he now. Our marriage +has to be kept secret for a while—it was done privily for certain +reasons; but we was married at church like honest folk—afore God +we were, Roger, six months after poor Stocker’s death.’</p> +<p>‘’Twas too soon,’ said Roger.</p> +<p>‘I was living in a house alone; I had nowhere to go to. +You were far over sea in the New Found Land, and John took me and brought +me here.’</p> +<p>‘How often doth he come?’ says Roger again.</p> +<p>‘Once or twice weekly,’ says she.</p> +<p>‘I wish th’ ‘dst waited till I returned, dear Edy,’ +he said. ‘It mid be you are a wife—I hope so. +But, if so, why this mystery? Why this mean and cramped lodging +in this lonely copse-circled town? Of what standing is your husband, +and of where?’</p> +<p>‘He is of gentle breeding—his name is John. I am +not free to tell his family-name. He is said to be of London, +for safety’ sake; but he really lives in the county next adjoining +this.’</p> +<p>‘Where in the next county?’</p> +<p>‘I do not know. He has preferred not to tell me, that +I may not have the secret forced from me, to his and my hurt, by bringing +the marriage to the ears of his kinsfolk and friends.’</p> +<p>Her brother’s face flushed. ‘Our people have been +honest townsmen, well-reputed for long; why should you readily take +such humbling from a sojourner of whom th’ ‘st know nothing?’</p> +<p>They remained in constrained converse till her quick ear caught a +sound, for which she might have been waiting—a horse’s footfall. +‘It is John!’ said she. ‘This is his night—Saturday.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t be frightened lest he should find me here!’ +said Roger. ‘I am on the point of leaving. I wish +not to be a third party. Say nothing at all about my visit, if +it will incommode you so to do. I will see thee before I go afloat +again.’</p> +<p>Speaking thus he left the room, and descending the staircase let +himself out by the front door, thinking he might obtain a glimpse of +the approaching horseman. But that traveller had in the meantime +gone stealthily round to the back of the homestead, and peering along +the pinion-end of the house Roger discerned him unbridling and haltering +his horse with his own hands in the shed there.</p> +<p>Roger retired to the neighbouring inn called the Black Lamb, and +meditated. This mysterious method of approach determined him, +after all, not to leave the place till he had ascertained more definite +facts of his sister’s position—whether she were the deluded +victim of the stranger or the wife she obviously believed herself to +be. Having eaten some supper, he left the inn, it being now about +eleven o’clock. He first looked into the shed, and, finding +the horse still standing there, waited irresolutely near the door of +his sister’s lodging. Half an hour elapsed, and, while thinking +he would climb into a loft hard by for a night’s rest, there seemed +to be a movement within the shutters of the sitting-room that his sister +occupied. Roger hid himself behind a faggot-stack near the back +door, rightly divining that his sister’s visitor would emerge +by the way he had entered. The door opened, and the candle she +held in her hand lighted for a moment the stranger’s form, showing +it to be that of a tall and handsome personage, about forty years of +age, and apparently of a superior position in life. Edith was +assisting him to cloak himself, which being done he took leave of her +with a kiss and left the house. From the door she watched him +bridle and saddle his horse, and having mounted and waved an adieu to +her as she stood candle in hand, he turned out of the yard and rode +away.</p> +<p>The horse which bore him was, or seemed to be, a little lame, and +Roger fancied from this that the rider’s journey was not likely +to be a long one. Being light of foot he followed apace, having +no great difficulty on such a still night in keeping within earshot +some few miles, the horseman pausing more than once. In this pursuit +Roger discovered the rider to choose bridle-tracks and open commons +in preference to any high road. The distance soon began to prove +a more trying one than he had bargained for; and when out of breath +and in some despair of being able to ascertain the man’s identity, +he perceived an ass standing in the starlight under a hayrick, from +which the animal was helping itself to periodic mouthfuls.</p> +<p>The story goes that Roger caught the ass, mounted, and again resumed +the trail of the unconscious horseman, which feat may have been possible +to a nautical young fellow, though one can hardly understand how a sailor +would ride such an animal without bridle or saddle, and strange to his +hands, unless the creature were extraordinarily docile. This question, +however, is immaterial. Suffice it to say that at dawn the following +morning Roger beheld his sister’s lover or husband entering the +gates of a large and well-timbered park on the south-western verge of +the White Hart Forest (as it was then called), now known to everybody +as the Vale of Blackmoor. Thereupon the sailor discarded his steed, +and finding for himself an obscurer entrance to the same park a little +further on, he crossed the grass to reconnoitre.</p> +<p>He presently perceived amid the trees before him a mansion which, +new to himself, was one of the best known in the county at that time. +Of this fine manorial residence hardly a trace now remains; but a manuscript +dated some years later than the events we are regarding describes it +in terms from which the imagination may construct a singularly clear +and vivid picture. This record presents it as consisting of ‘a +faire yellow freestone building, partly two and partly three storeys; +a faire halle and parlour, both waynscotted; a faire dyning roome and +withdrawing roome, and many good lodgings; a kitchen adjoyninge backwarde +to one end of the dwelling-house, with a faire passage from it into +the halle, parlour, and dyninge roome, and sellars adjoyninge.</p> +<p>‘In the front of the house a square greene court, and a curious +gatehouse with lodgings in it, standing with the front of the house +to the south; in a large outer court three stables, a coach-house, a +large barne, and a stable for oxen and kyne, and all houses necessary.</p> +<p>‘Without the gatehouse, paled in, a large square greene, in +which standeth a faire chappell; of the south-east side of the greene +court, towards the river, a large garden.</p> +<p>‘Of the south-west side of the greene court is a large bowling +greene, with fower mounted walks about it, all walled about with a batteled +wall, and sett with all sorts of fruit; and out of it into the feildes +there are large walks under many tall elmes orderly planted.’</p> +<p>Then follows a description of the orchards and gardens; the servants’ +offices, brewhouse, bakehouse, dairy, pigeon-houses, and corn-mill; +the river and its abundance of fish; the warren, the coppices, the walks; +ending thus—</p> +<p>‘And all the country north of the house, open champaign, sandy +feildes, very dry and pleasant for all kindes of recreation, huntinge, +and hawkinge, and profitble for tillage . . . The house hath a large +prospect east, south, and west, over a very large and pleasant vale +. . . is seated from the good markett towns of Sherton Abbas three miles, +and Ivel a mile, that plentifully yield all manner of provision; and +within twelve miles of the south sea.’</p> +<p>It was on the grass before this seductive and picturesque structure +that the sailor stood at gaze under the elms in the dim dawn of Sunday +morning, and saw to his surprise his sister’s lover and horse +vanish within the court of the building.</p> +<p>Perplexed and weary, Roger slowly retreated, more than ever convinced +that something was wrong in his sister’s position. He crossed +the bowling green to the avenue of elms, and, bent on further research, +was about to climb into one of these, when, looking below, he saw a +heap of hay apparently for horses or deer. Into this he crept, +and, having eaten a crust of bread which he had hastily thrust into +his pocket at the inn, he curled up and fell asleep, the hay forming +a comfortable bed, and quite covering him over.</p> +<p>He slept soundly and long, and was awakened by the sound of a bell. +On peering from the hay he found the time had advanced to full day; +the sun was shining brightly. The bell was that of the ‘faire +chappell’ on the green outside the gatehouse, and it was calling +to matins. Presently the priest crossed the green to a little +side-door in the chancel, and then from the gateway of the mansion emerged +the household, the tall man whom Roger had seen with his sister on the +previous night, on his arm being a portly dame, and, running beside +the pair, two little girls and a boy. These all entered the chapel, +and the bell having ceased and the environs become clear, the sailor +crept out from his hiding.</p> +<p>He sauntered towards the chapel, the opening words of the service +being audible within. While standing by the porch he saw a belated +servitor approaching from the kitchen-court to attend the service also. +Roger carelessly accosted him, and asked, as an idle wanderer, the name +of the family he had just seen cross over from the mansion.</p> +<p>‘Od zounds! if ye modden be a stranger here in very truth, +goodman. That wer Sir John and his dame, and his children Elizabeth, +Mary, and John.’</p> +<p>‘I be from foreign parts. Sir John what d’ye call’n?’</p> +<p>‘Master John Horseleigh, Knight, who had a’most as much +lond by inheritance of his mother as ‘a had by his father, and +likewise some by his wife. Why, bain’t his arms dree goolden +horses’ heads, and idden his lady the daughter of Master Richard +Phelipson, of Montislope, in Nether Wessex, known to us all?’</p> +<p>‘It mid be so, and yet it mid not. However, th’ +‘lt miss thy prayers for such an honest knight’s welfare, +and I have to traipse seaward many miles.’</p> +<p>He went onward, and as he walked continued saying to himself, ‘Now +to that poor wronged fool Edy. The fond thing! I thought +it; ’twas too quick—she was ever amorous. What’s +to become of her! God wot! How be I going to face her with +the news, and how be I to hold it from her? To bring this disgrace +on my father’s honoured name, a double-tongued knave!’ +He turned and shook his fist at the chapel and all in it, and resumed +his way.</p> +<p>Perhaps it was owing to the perplexity of his mind that, instead +of returning by the direct road towards his sister’s obscure lodging +in the next county, he followed the highway to Casterbridge, some fifteen +miles off, where he remained drinking hard all that afternoon and evening, +and where he lay that and two or three succeeding nights, wandering +thence along the Anglebury road to some village that way, and lying +the Friday night after at his native place of Havenpool. The sight +of the familiar objects there seems to have stirred him anew to action, +and the next morning he was observed pursuing the way to Oozewood that +he had followed on the Saturday previous, reckoning, no doubt, that +Saturday night would, as before, be a time for finding Sir John with +his sister again.</p> +<p>He delayed to reach the place till just before sunset. His +sister was walking in the meadows at the foot of the garden, with a +nursemaid who carried the baby, and she looked up pensively when he +approached. Anxiety as to her position had already told upon her +once rosy cheeks and lucid eyes. But concern for herself and child +was displaced for the moment by her regard of Roger’s worn and +haggard face.</p> +<p>‘Why—you are sick, Roger—you are tired! Where +have you been these many days? Why not keep me company a bit—my +husband is much away? And we have hardly spoke at all of dear +father and of your voyage to the New Land. Why did you go away +so suddenly? There is a spare chamber at my lodging.’</p> +<p>‘Come indoors,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk +now—talk a good deal. As for him [nodding to the child], +better heave him into the river; better for him and you!’</p> +<p>She forced a laugh, as if she tried to see a good joke in the remark, +and they went silently indoors.</p> +<p>‘A miserable hole!’ said Roger, looking round the room.</p> +<p>‘Nay, but ’tis very pretty!’</p> +<p>‘Not after what I’ve seen. Did he marry ’ee +at church in orderly fashion?’</p> +<p>‘He did sure—at our church at Havenpool.’</p> +<p>‘But in a privy way?’</p> +<p>‘Ay—because of his friends—it was at night-time.’</p> +<p>‘Ede, ye fond one—for all that he’s not thy husband! +Th’ ‘rt not his wife; and the child is a bastard. +He hath a wife and children of his own rank, and bearing his name; and +that’s Sir John Horseleigh, of Clyfton Horseleigh, and not plain +Jack, as you think him, and your lawful husband. The sacrament +of marriage is no safeguard nowadays. The King’s new-made +headship of the Church hath led men to practise these tricks lightly.’</p> +<p>She had turned white. ‘That’s not true, Roger!’ +she said. ‘You are in liquor, my brother, and you know not +what you say! Your seafaring years have taught ’ee bad things!’</p> +<p>‘Edith—I’ve seen them; wife and family—all. +How canst—’</p> +<p>They were sitting in the gathered darkness, and at that moment steps +were heard without. ‘Go out this way,’ she said. +‘It is my husband. He must not see thee in this mood. +Get away till to-morrow, Roger, as you care for me.’</p> +<p>She pushed her brother through a door leading to the back stairs, +and almost as soon as it was closed her visitor entered. Roger, +however, did not retreat down the stairs; he stood and looked through +the bobbin-hole. If the visitor turned out to be Sir John, he +had determined to confront him.</p> +<p>It was the knight. She had struck a light on his entry, and +he kissed the child, and took Edith tenderly by the shoulders, looking +into her face.</p> +<p>‘Something’s gone awry wi’ my dear!’ he said. +‘What is it? What’s the matter?’</p> +<p>‘O, Jack!’ she cried. ‘I have heard such +a fearsome rumour—what doth it mean? He who told me is my +best friend. He must be deceived! But who deceived him, +and why? Jack, I was just told that you had a wife living when +you married me, and have her still!’</p> +<p>‘A wife?—H’m.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, and children. Say no, say no!’</p> +<p>‘By God! I have no lawful wife but you; and as for children, +many or few, they are all bastards, save this one alone!’</p> +<p>‘And that you be Sir John Horseleigh of Clyfton?’</p> +<p>‘I mid be. I have never said so to ’ee.’</p> +<p>‘But Sir John is known to have a lady, and issue of her!’</p> +<p>The knight looked down. ‘How did thy mind get filled +with such as this?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘One of my kindred came.’</p> +<p>‘A traitor! Why should he mar our life? Ah! you +said you had a brother at sea—where is he now?’</p> +<p>‘Here!’ came from close behind him. And flinging +open the door, Roger faced the intruder. ‘Liar!’ he +said, ‘to call thyself her husband!’</p> +<p>Sir John fired up, and made a rush at the sailor, who seized him +by the collar, and in the wrestle they both fell, Roger under. +But in a few seconds he contrived to extricate his right arm, and drawing +from his belt a knife which he wore attached to a cord round his neck +he opened it with his teeth, and struck it into the breast of Sir John +stretched above him. Edith had during these moments run into the +next room to place the child in safety, and when she came back the knight +was relaxing his hold on Roger’s throat. He rolled over +upon his back and groaned.</p> +<p>The only witness of the scene save the three concerned was the nursemaid, +who had brought in the child on its father’s arrival. She +stated afterwards that nobody suspected Sir John had received his death +wound; yet it was so, though he did not die for a long while, meaning +thereby an hour or two; that Mistress Edith continually endeavoured +to staunch the blood, calling her brother Roger a wretch, and ordering +him to get himself gone; on which order he acted, after a gloomy pause, +by opening the window, and letting himself down by the sill to the ground.</p> +<p>It was then that Sir John, in difficult accents, made his dying declaration +to the nurse and Edith, and, later, the apothecary; which was to this +purport, that the Dame Horseleigh who passed as his wife at Clyfton, +and who had borne him three children, was in truth and deed, though +unconsciously, the wife of another man. Sir John had married her +several years before, in the face of the whole county, as the widow +of one Decimus Strong, who had disappeared shortly after her union with +him, having adventured to the North to join the revolt of the Nobles, +and on that revolt being quelled retreated across the sea. Two +years ago, having discovered this man to be still living in France, +and not wishing to disturb the mind and happiness of her who believed +herself his wife, yet wishing for legitimate issue, Sir John had informed +the King of the facts, who had encouraged him to wed honestly, though +secretly, the young merchant’s widow at Havenpool; she being, +therefore, his lawful wife, and she only. That to avoid all scandal +and hubbub he had purposed to let things remain as they were till fair +opportunity should arise of making the true case known with least pain +to all parties concerned, but that, having been thus suspected and attacked +by his own brother-in-law, his zest for such schemes and for all things +had died out in him, and he only wished to commend his soul to God.</p> +<p>That night, while the owls were hooting from the forest that encircled +the sleeping townlet, and the South-Avon was gurgling through the wooden +piles of the bridge, Sir John died there in the arms of his wife. +She concealed nothing of the cause of her husband’s death save +the subject of the quarrel, which she felt it would be premature to +announce just then, and until proof of her status should be forthcoming. +But before a month had passed, it happened, to her inexpressible sorrow, +that the child of this clandestine union fell sick and died. From +that hour all interest in the name and fame of the Horseleighs forsook +the younger of the twain who called themselves wives of Sir John, and, +being careless about her own fame, she took no steps to assert her claims, +her legal position having, indeed, grown hateful to her in her horror +at the tragedy. And Sir William Byrt, the curate who had married +her to her husband, being an old man and feeble, was not disinclined +to leave the embers unstirred of such a fiery matter as this, and to +assist her in letting established things stand. Therefore, Edith +retired with the nurse, her only companion and friend, to her native +town, where she lived in absolute obscurity till her death in middle +age. Her brother was never seen again in England.</p> +<p>A strangely corroborative sequel to the story remains to be told. +Shortly after the death of Sir John Horseleigh, a soldier of fortune +returned from the Continent, called on Dame Horseleigh the fictitious, +living in widowed state at Clyfton Horseleigh, and, after a singularly +brief courtship, married her. The tradition at Havenpool and elsewhere +has ever been that this man was already her husband, Decimus Strong, +who remarried her for appearance’ sake only.</p> +<p>The illegitimate son of this lady by Sir John succeeded to the estates +and honours, and his son after him, there being nobody on the alert +to investigate their pretensions. Little difference would it have +made to the present generation, however, had there been such a one, +for the family in all its branches, lawful and unlawful, has been extinct +these many score years, the last representative but one being killed +at the siege of Sherton Castle, while attacking in the service of the +Parliament, and the other being outlawed later in the same century for +a debt of ten pounds, and dying in the county jail. The mansion +house and its appurtenances were, as I have previously stated, destroyed, +excepting one small wing, which now forms part of a farmhouse, and is +visible as you pass along the railway from Casterbridge to Ivel. +The outline of the old bowling-green is also distinctly to be seen.</p> +<p>This, then, is the reason why the only lawful marriage of Sir John, +as recorded in the obscure register at Havenpool, does not appear in +the pedigree of the house of Horseleigh.</p> +<p><i>Spring</i> 1893.</p> +<h2>THE DUKE’S REAPPEARANCE—A FAMILY TRADITION</h2> +<p>According to the kinsman who told me the story, Christopher Swetman’s +house, on the outskirts of King’s-Hintock village, was in those +days larger and better kept than when, many years later, it was sold +to the lord of the manor adjoining; after having been in the Swetman +family, as one may say, since the Conquest.</p> +<p>Some people would have it to be that the thing happened at the house +opposite, belonging to one Childs, with whose family the Swetmans afterwards +intermarried. But that it was at the original homestead of the +Swetmans can be shown in various ways; chiefly by the unbroken traditions +of the family, and indirectly by the evidence of the walls themselves, +which are the only ones thereabout with windows mullioned in the Elizabethan +manner, and plainly of a date anterior to the event; while those of +the other house might well have been erected fifty or eighty years later, +and probably were; since the choice of Swetman’s house by the +fugitive was doubtless dictated by no other circumstance than its then +suitable loneliness.</p> +<p>It was a cloudy July morning just before dawn, the hour of two having +been struck by Swetman’s one-handed clock on the stairs, that +is still preserved in the family. Christopher heard the strokes +from his chamber, immediately at the top of the staircase, and overlooking +the front of the house. He did not wonder that he was sleepless. +The rumours and excitements which had latterly stirred the neighbourhood, +to the effect that the rightful King of England had landed from Holland, +at a port only eighteen miles to the south-west of Swetman’s house, +were enough to make wakeful and anxious even a contented yeoman like +him. Some of the villagers, intoxicated by the news, had thrown +down their scythes, and rushed to the ranks of the invader. Christopher +Swetman had weighed both sides of the question, and had remained at +home.</p> +<p>Now as he lay thinking of these and other things he fancied that +he could hear the footfall of a man on the road leading up to his house—a +byway, which led scarce anywhere else; and therefore a tread was at +any time more apt to startle the inmates of the homestead than if it +had stood in a thoroughfare. The footfall came opposite the gate, +and stopped there. One minute, two minutes passed, and the pedestrian +did not proceed. Christopher Swetman got out of bed, and opened +the casement. ‘Hoi! who’s there?’ cries he.</p> +<p>‘A friend,’ came from the darkness.</p> +<p>‘And what mid ye want at this time o’ night?’ says +Swetman.</p> +<p>‘Shelter. I’ve lost my way.’</p> +<p>‘What’s thy name?’</p> +<p>There came no answer.</p> +<p>‘Be ye one of King Monmouth’s men?’</p> +<p>‘He that asks no questions will hear no lies from me. +I am a stranger; and I am spent, and hungered. Can you let me +lie with you to-night?’</p> +<p>Swetman was generous to people in trouble, and his house was roomy. +‘Wait a bit,’ he said, ‘and I’ll come down and +have a look at thee, anyhow.’</p> +<p>He struck a light, put on his clothes, and descended, taking his +horn-lantern from a nail in the passage, and lighting it before opening +the door. The rays fell on the form of a tall, dark man in cavalry +accoutrements and wearing a sword. He was pale with fatigue and +covered with mud, though the weather was dry.</p> +<p>‘Prithee take no heed of my appearance,’ said the stranger. +‘But let me in.’</p> +<p>That his visitor was in sore distress admitted of no doubt, and the +yeoman’s natural humanity assisted the other’s sad importunity +and gentle voice. Swetman took him in, not without a suspicion +that this man represented in some way Monmouth’s cause, to which +he was not unfriendly in his secret heart. At his earnest request +the new-comer was given a suit of the yeoman’s old clothes in +exchange for his own, which, with his sword, were hidden in a closet +in Swetman’s chamber; food was then put before him and a lodging +provided for him in a room at the back.</p> +<p>Here he slept till quite late in the morning, which was Sunday, the +sixth of July, and when he came down in the garments that he had borrowed +he met the household with a melancholy smile. Besides Swetman +himself, there were only his two daughters, Grace and Leonard (the latter +was, oddly enough, a woman’s name here), and both had been enjoined +to secrecy. They asked no questions and received no information; +though the stranger regarded their fair countenances with an interest +almost too deep. Having partaken of their usual breakfast of ham +and cider he professed weariness and retired to the chamber whence he +had come.</p> +<p>In a couple of hours or thereabout he came down again, the two young +women having now gone off to morning service. Seeing Christopher +bustling about the house without assistance, he asked if he could do +anything to aid his host.</p> +<p>As he seemed anxious to hide all differences and appear as one of +themselves, Swetman set him to get vegetables from the garden and fetch +water from Buttock’s Spring in the dip near the house (though +the spring was not called by that name till years after, by the way).</p> +<p>‘And what can I do next?’ says the stranger when these +services had been performed.</p> +<p>His meekness and docility struck Christopher much, and won upon him. +‘Since you be minded to,’ says the latter, ‘you can +take down the dishes and spread the table for dinner. Take a pewter +plate for thyself, but the trenchers will do for we.’</p> +<p>But the other would not, and took a trencher likewise, in doing which +he spoke of the two girls and remarked how comely they were.</p> +<p>This quietude was put an end to by a stir out of doors, which was +sufficient to draw Swetman’s attention to it, and he went out. +Farm hands who had gone off and joined the Duke on his arrival had begun +to come in with news that a midnight battle had been fought on the moors +to the north, the Duke’s men, who had attacked, being entirely +worsted; the Duke himself, with one or two lords and other friends, +had fled, no one knew whither.</p> +<p>‘There has been a battle,’ says Swetman, on coming indoors +after these tidings, and looking earnestly at the stranger.</p> +<p>‘May the victory be to the rightful in the end, whatever the +issue now,’ says the other, with a sorrowful sigh.</p> +<p>‘Dost really know nothing about it?’ said Christopher. +‘I could have sworn you was one from that very battle!’</p> +<p>‘I was here before three o’ the clock this morning; and +these men have only arrived now.’</p> +<p>‘True,’ said the yeoman. ‘But still, I think—’</p> +<p>‘Do not press your question,’ the stranger urged. +‘I am in a strait, and can refuse a helper nothing; such inquiry +is, therefore, unfair.’</p> +<p>‘True again,’ said Swetman, and held his tongue.</p> +<p>The daughters of the house returned from church, where the service +had been hurried by reason of the excitement. To their father’s +questioning if they had spoken of him who sojourned there they replied +that they had said never a word; which, indeed, was true, as events +proved.</p> +<p>He bade them serve the dinner; and, as the visitor had withdrawn +since the news of the battle, prepared to take a platter to him upstairs. +But he preferred to come down and dine with the family.</p> +<p>During the afternoon more fugitives passed through the village, but +Christopher Swetman, his visitor, and his family kept indoors. +In the evening, however, Swetman came out from his gate, and, harkening +in silence to these tidings and more, wondered what might be in store +for him for his last night’s work.</p> +<p>He returned homeward by a path across the mead that skirted his own +orchard. Passing here, he heard the voice of his daughter Leonard +expostulating inside the hedge, her words being: ‘Don’t +ye, sir; don’t! I prithee let me go!’</p> +<p>‘Why, sweetheart?’</p> +<p>‘Because I’ve a-promised another!’</p> +<p>Peeping through, as he could not help doing, he saw the girl struggling +in the arms of the stranger, who was attempting to kiss her; but finding +her resistance to be genuine, and her distress unfeigned, he reluctantly +let her go.</p> +<p>Swetman’s face grew dark, for his girls were more to him than +himself. He hastened on, meditating moodily all the way. +He entered the gate, and made straight for the orchard. When he +reached it his daughter had disappeared, but the stranger was still +standing there.</p> +<p>‘Sir!’ said the yeoman, his anger having in no wise abated, +‘I’ve seen what has happened! I have taken ’ee +into my house, at some jeopardy to myself; and, whoever you be, the +least I expected of ’ee was to treat the maidens with a seemly +respect. You have not done it, and I no longer trust you. +I am the more watchful over them in that they are motherless; and I +must ask ’ee to go after dark this night!’</p> +<p>The stranger seemed dazed at discovering what his impulse had brought +down upon his head, and his pale face grew paler. He did not reply +for a time. When he did speak his soft voice was thick with feeling.</p> +<p>‘Sir,’ says he, ‘I own that I am in the wrong, +if you take the matter gravely. We do not what we would but what +we must. Though I have not injured your daughter as a woman, I +have been treacherous to her as a hostess and friend in need. +I’ll go, as you say; I can do no less. I shall doubtless +find a refuge elsewhere.’</p> +<p>They walked towards the house in silence, where Swetman insisted +that his guest should have supper before departing. By the time +this was eaten it was dusk and the stranger announced that he was ready.</p> +<p>They went upstairs to where the garments and sword lay hidden, till +the departing one said that on further thought he would ask another +favour: that he should be allowed to retain the clothes he wore, and +that his host would keep the others and the sword till he, the speaker, +should come or send for them.</p> +<p>‘As you will,’ said Swetman. ‘The gain is +on my side; for those clouts were but kept to dress a scarecrow next +fall.’</p> +<p>‘They suit my case,’ said the stranger sadly. ‘However +much they may misfit me, they do not misfit my sorry fortune now!’</p> +<p>‘Nay, then,’ said Christopher relenting, ‘I was +too hasty. Sh’lt bide!’</p> +<p>But the other would not, saying that it was better that things should +take their course. Notwithstanding that Swetman importuned him, +he only added, ‘If I never come again, do with my belongings as +you list. In the pocket you will find a gold snuff-box, and in +the snuff-box fifty gold pieces.’</p> +<p>‘But keep ’em for thy use, man!’ said the yeoman.</p> +<p>‘No,’ says the parting guest; ‘they are foreign +pieces and would harm me if I were taken. Do as I bid thee. +Put away these things again and take especial charge of the sword. +It belonged to my father’s father and I value it much. But +something more common becomes me now.’</p> +<p>Saying which, he took, as he went downstairs, one of the ash sticks +used by Swetman himself for walking with. The yeoman lighted him +out to the garden hatch, where he disappeared through Clammers Gate +by the road that crosses King’s-Hintock Park to Evershead.</p> +<p>Christopher returned to the upstairs chamber, and sat down on his +bed reflecting. Then he examined the things left behind, and surely +enough in one of the pockets the gold snuff-box was revealed, containing +the fifty gold pieces as stated by the fugitive. The yeoman next +looked at the sword which its owner had stated to have belonged to his +grandfather. It was two-edged, so that he almost feared to handle +it. On the blade was inscribed the words ‘ANDREA FERARA,’ +and among the many fine chasings were a rose and crown, the plume of +the Prince of Wales, and two portraits; portraits of a man and a woman, +the man’s having the face of the first King Charles, and the woman’s, +apparently, that of his Queen.</p> +<p>Swetman, much awed and surprised, returned the articles to the closet, +and went downstairs pondering. Of his surmise he said nothing +to his daughters, merely declaring to them that the gentleman was gone; +and never revealing that he had been an eye-witness of the unpleasant +scene in the orchard that was the immediate cause of the departure.</p> +<p>Nothing occurred in Hintock during the week that followed, beyond +the fitful arrival of more decided tidings concerning the utter defeat +of the Duke’s army and his own disappearance at an early stage +of the battle. Then it was told that Monmouth was taken, not in +his own clothes but in the disguise of a countryman. He had been +sent to London, and was confined in the Tower.</p> +<p>The possibility that his guest had been no other than the Duke made +Swetman unspeakably sorry now; his heart smote him at the thought that, +acting so harshly for such a small breach of good faith, he might have +been the means of forwarding the unhappy fugitive’s capture. +On the girls coming up to him he said, ‘Get away with ye, wenches: +I fear you have been the ruin of an unfortunate man!’</p> +<p>On the Tuesday night following, when the yeoman was sleeping as usual +in his chamber, he was, he said, conscious of the entry of some one. +Opening his eyes, he beheld by the light of the moon, which shone upon +the front of his house, the figure of a man who seemed to be the stranger +moving from the door towards the closet. He was dressed somewhat +differently now, but the face was quite that of his late guest in its +tragical pensiveness, as was also the tallness of his figure. +He neared the closet; and, feeling his visitor to be within his rights, +Christopher refrained from stirring. The personage turned his +large haggard eyes upon the bed where Swetman lay, and then withdrew +from their hiding the articles that belonged to him, again giving a +hard gaze at Christopher as he went noiselessly out of the chamber with +his properties on his arm. His retreat down the stairs was just +audible, and also his departure by the side door, through which entrance +or exit was easy to those who knew the place.</p> +<p>Nothing further happened, and towards morning Swetman slept. +To avoid all risk he said not a word to the girls of the visit of the +night, and certainly not to any one outside the house; for it was dangerous +at that time to avow anything.</p> +<p>Among the killed in opposing the recent rising had been a younger +brother of the lord of the manor, who lived at King’s-Hintock +Court hard by. Seeing the latter ride past in mourning clothes +next day, Swetman ventured to condole with him.</p> +<p>‘He’d no business there!’ answered the other. +His words and manner showed the bitterness that was mingled with his +regret. ‘But say no more of him. You know what has +happened since, I suppose?’</p> +<p>‘I know that they say Monmouth is taken, Sir Thomas, but I +can’t think it true,’ answered Swetman.</p> +<p>‘O zounds! ’tis true enough,’ cried the knight, +‘and that’s not all. The Duke was executed on Tower +Hill two days ago.’</p> +<p>‘D’ye say it verily?’ says Swetman.</p> +<p>‘And a very hard death he had, worse luck for ‘n,’ +said Sir Thomas. ‘Well, ’tis over for him and over +for my brother. But not for the rest. There’ll be +searchings and siftings down here anon; and happy is the man who has +had nothing to do with this matter!’</p> +<p>Now Swetman had hardly heard the latter words, so much was he confounded +by the strangeness of the tidings that the Duke had come to his death +on the previous Tuesday. For it had been only the night before +this present day of Friday that he had seen his former guest, whom he +had ceased to doubt could be other than the Duke, come into his chamber +and fetch away his accoutrements as he had promised.</p> +<p>‘It couldn’t have been a vision,’ said Christopher +to himself when the knight had ridden on. ‘But I’ll +go straight and see if the things be in the closet still; and thus I +shall surely learn if ’twere a vision or no.’</p> +<p>To the closet he went, which he had not looked into since the stranger’s +departure. And searching behind the articles placed to conceal +the things hidden, he found that, as he had never doubted, they were +gone.</p> +<p>When the rumour spread abroad in the West that the man beheaded in +the Tower was not indeed the Duke, but one of his officers taken after +the battle, and that the Duke had been assisted to escape out of the +country, Swetman found in it an explanation of what so deeply mystified +him. That his visitor might have been a friend of the Duke’s, +whom the Duke had asked to fetch the things in a last request, Swetman +would never admit. His belief in the rumour that Monmouth lived, +like that of thousands of others, continued to the end of his days.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Such, briefly, concluded my kinsman, is the tradition which has been +handed down in Christopher Swetman’s family for the last two hundred +years.</p> +<h2>A MERE INTERLUDE</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +<p>The traveller in school-books, who vouched in dryest tones for the +fidelity to fact of the following narrative, used to add a ring of truth +to it by opening with a nicety of criticism on the heroine’s personality. +People were wrong, he declared, when they surmised that Baptista Trewthen +was a young woman with scarcely emotions or character. There was +nothing in her to love, and nothing to hate—so ran the general +opinion. That she showed few positive qualities was true. +The colours and tones which changing events paint on the faces of active +womankind were looked for in vain upon hers. But still waters +run deep; and no crisis had come in the years of her early maidenhood +to demonstrate what lay hidden within her, like metal in a mine.</p> +<p>She was the daughter of a small farmer in St. Maria’s, one +of the Isles of Lyonesse beyond Off-Wessex, who had spent a large sum, +as there understood, on her education, by sending her to the mainland +for two years. At nineteen she was entered at the Training College +for Teachers, and at twenty-one nominated to a school in the country, +near Tor-upon-Sea, whither she proceeded after the Christmas examination +and holidays.</p> +<p>The months passed by from winter to spring and summer, and Baptista +applied herself to her new duties as best she could, till an uneventful +year had elapsed. Then an air of abstraction pervaded her bearing +as she walked to and fro, twice a day, and she showed the traits of +a person who had something on her mind. A widow, by name Mrs. +Wace, in whose house Baptista Trewthen had been provided with a sitting-room +and bedroom till the school-house should be built, noticed this change +in her youthful tenant’s manner, and at last ventured to press +her with a few questions.</p> +<p>‘It has nothing to do with the place, nor with you,’ +said Miss Trewthen.</p> +<p>‘Then it is the salary?’</p> +<p>‘No, nor the salary.’</p> +<p>‘Then it is something you have heard from home, my dear.’</p> +<p>Baptista was silent for a few moments. ‘It is Mr. Heddegan,’ +she murmured. ‘Him they used to call David Heddegan before +he got his money.’</p> +<p>‘And who is the Mr. Heddegan they used to call David?’</p> +<p>‘An old bachelor at Giant’s Town, St. Maria’s, +with no relations whatever, who lives about a stone’s throw from +father’s. When I was a child he used to take me on his knee +and say he’d marry me some day. Now I am a woman the jest +has turned earnest, and he is anxious to do it. And father and +mother says I can’t do better than have him.’</p> +<p>‘He’s well off?’</p> +<p>‘Yes—he’s the richest man we know—as a friend +and neighbour.’</p> +<p>‘How much older did you say he was than yourself?’</p> +<p>‘I didn’t say. Twenty years at least.’</p> +<p>‘And an unpleasant man in the bargain perhaps?’</p> +<p>‘No—he’s not unpleasant.’</p> +<p>‘Well, child, all I can say is that I’d resist any such +engagement if it’s not palatable to ’ee. You are comfortable +here, in my little house, I hope. All the parish like ’ee: +and I’ve never been so cheerful, since my poor husband left me +to wear his wings, as I’ve been with ’ee as my lodger.’</p> +<p>The schoolmistress assured her landlady that she could return the +sentiment. ‘But here comes my perplexity,’ she said. +‘I don’t like keeping school. Ah, you are surprised—you +didn’t suspect it. That’s because I’ve concealed +my feeling. Well, I simply hate school. I don’t care +for children—they are unpleasant, troublesome little things, whom +nothing would delight so much as to hear that you had fallen down dead. +Yet I would even put up with them if it was not for the inspector. +For three months before his visit I didn’t sleep soundly. +And the Committee of Council are always changing the Code, so that you +don’t know what to teach, and what to leave untaught. I +think father and mother are right. They say I shall never excel +as a schoolmistress if I dislike the work so, and that therefore I ought +to get settled by marrying Mr. Heddegan. Between us two, I like +him better than school; but I don’t like him quite so much as +to wish to marry him.’</p> +<p>These conversations, once begun, were continued from day to day; +till at length the young girl’s elderly friend and landlady threw +in her opinion on the side of Miss Trewthen’s parents. All +things considered, she declared, the uncertainty of the school, the +labour, Baptista’s natural dislike for teaching, it would be as +well to take what fate offered, and make the best of matters by wedding +her father’s old neighbour and prosperous friend.</p> +<p>The Easter holidays came round, and Baptista went to spend them as +usual in her native isle, going by train into Off-Wessex and crossing +by packet from Pen-zephyr. When she returned in the middle of +April her face wore a more settled aspect.</p> +<p>‘Well?’ said the expectant Mrs. Wace.</p> +<p>‘I have agreed to have him as my husband,’ said Baptista, +in an off-hand way. ‘Heaven knows if it will be for the +best or not. But I have agreed to do it, and so the matter is +settled.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Wace commended her; but Baptista did not care to dwell on the +subject; so that allusion to it was very infrequent between them. +Nevertheless, among other things, she repeated to the widow from time +to time in monosyllabic remarks that the wedding was really impending; +that it was arranged for the summer, and that she had given notice of +leaving the school at the August holidays. Later on she announced +more specifically that her marriage was to take place immediately after +her return home at the beginning of the month aforesaid.</p> +<p>She now corresponded regularly with Mr. Heddegan. Her letters +from him were seen, at least on the outside, and in part within, by +Mrs. Wace. Had she read more of their interiors than the occasional +sentences shown her by Baptista she would have perceived that the scratchy, +rusty handwriting of Miss Trewthen’s betrothed conveyed little +more matter than details of their future housekeeping, and his preparations +for the same, with innumerable ‘my dears’ sprinkled in disconnectedly, +to show the depth of his affection without the inconveniences of syntax.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> +<p>It was the end of July—dry, too dry, even for the season, the +delicate green herbs and vegetables that grew in this favoured end of +the kingdom tasting rather of the watering-pot than of the pure fresh +moisture from the skies. Baptista’s boxes were packed, and +one Saturday morning she departed by a waggonette to the station, and +thence by train to Pen-zephyr, from which port she was, as usual, to +cross the water immediately to her home, and become Mr. Heddegan’s +wife on the Wednesday of the week following.</p> +<p>She might have returned a week sooner. But though the wedding +day had loomed so near, and the banns were out, she delayed her departure +till this last moment, saying it was not necessary for her to be at +home long beforehand. As Mr. Heddegan was older than herself, +she said, she was to be married in her ordinary summer bonnet and grey +silk frock, and there were no preparations to make that had not been +amply made by her parents and intended husband.</p> +<p>In due time, after a hot and tedious journey, she reached Pen-zephyr. +She here obtained some refreshment, and then went towards the pier, +where she learnt to her surprise that the little steamboat plying between +the town and the islands had left at eleven o’clock; the usual +hour of departure in the afternoon having been forestalled in consequence +of the fogs which had for a few days prevailed towards evening, making +twilight navigation dangerous.</p> +<p>This being Saturday, there was now no other boat till Tuesday, and +it became obvious that here she would have to remain for the three days, +unless her friends should think fit to rig out one of the island’ +sailing-boats and come to fetch her—a not very likely contingency, +the sea distance being nearly forty miles.</p> +<p>Baptista, however, had been detained in Pen-zephyr on more than one +occasion before, either on account of bad weather or some such reason +as the present, and she was therefore not in any personal alarm. +But, as she was to be married on the following Wednesday, the delay +was certainly inconvenient to a more than ordinary degree, since it +would leave less than a day’s interval between her arrival and +the wedding ceremony.</p> +<p>Apart from this awkwardness she did not much mind the accident. +It was indeed curious to see how little she minded. Perhaps it +would not be too much to say that, although she was going to do the +critical deed of her life quite willingly, she experienced an indefinable +relief at the postponement of her meeting with Heddegan. But her +manner after making discovery of the hindrance was quiet and subdued, +even to passivity itself; as was instanced by her having, at the moment +of receiving information that the steamer had sailed, replied ‘Oh,’ +so coolly to the porter with her luggage, that he was almost disappointed +at her lack of disappointment.</p> +<p>The question now was, should she return again to Mrs. Wace, in the +village of Lower Wessex, or wait in the town at which she had arrived. +She would have preferred to go back, but the distance was too great; +moreover, having left the place for good, and somewhat dramatically, +to become a bride, a return, even for so short a space, would have been +a trifle humiliating.</p> +<p>Leaving, then, her boxes at the station, her next anxiety was to +secure a respectable, or rather genteel, lodging in the popular seaside +resort confronting her. To this end she looked about the town, +in which, though she had passed through it half-a-dozen times, she was +practically a stranger.</p> +<p>Baptista found a room to suit her over a fruiterer’s shop; +where she made herself at home, and set herself in order after her journey. +An early cup of tea having revived her spirits she walked out to reconnoitre.</p> +<p>Being a schoolmistress she avoided looking at the schools, and having +a sort of trade connection with books, she avoided looking at the booksellers; +but wearying of the other shops she inspected the churches; not that +for her own part she cared much about ecclesiastical edifices; but tourists +looked at them, and so would she—a proceeding for which no one +would have credited her with any great originality, such, for instance, +as that she subsequently showed herself to possess. The churches +soon oppressed her. She tried the Museum, but came out because +it seemed lonely and tedious.</p> +<p>Yet the town and the walks in this land of strawberries, these headquarters +of early English flowers and fruit, were then, as always, attractive. +From the more picturesque streets she went to the town gardens, and +the Pier, and the Harbour, and looked at the men at work there, loading +and unloading as in the time of the Phoenicians.</p> +<p>‘Not Baptista? Yes, Baptista it is!’</p> +<p>The words were uttered behind her. Turning round she gave a +start, and became confused, even agitated, for a moment. Then +she said in her usual undemonstrative manner, ‘O—is it really +you, Charles?’</p> +<p>Without speaking again at once, and with a half-smile, the new-comer +glanced her over. There was much criticism, and some resentment—even +temper—in his eye.</p> +<p>‘I am going home,’ continued she. ‘But I +have missed the boat.’</p> +<p>He scarcely seemed to take in the meaning of this explanation, in +the intensity of his critical survey. ‘Teaching still? +What a fine schoolmistress you make, Baptista, I warrant!’ he +said with a slight flavour of sarcasm, which was not lost upon her.</p> +<p>‘I know I am nothing to brag of,’ she replied. +‘That’s why I have given up.’</p> +<p>‘O—given up? You astonish me.’</p> +<p>‘I hate the profession.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps that’s because I am in it.’</p> +<p>‘O no, it isn’t. But I am going to enter on another +life altogether. I am going to be married next week to Mr. David +Heddegan.’</p> +<p>The young man—fortified as he was by a natural cynical pride +and passionateness—winced at this unexpected reply, notwithstanding.</p> +<p>‘Who is Mr. David Heddegan?’ he asked, as indifferently +as lay in his power.</p> +<p>She informed him the bearer of the name was a general merchant of +Giant’s Town, St. Maria’s island—her father’s +nearest neighbour and oldest friend.</p> +<p>‘Then we shan’t see anything more of you on the mainland?’ +inquired the schoolmaster.</p> +<p>‘O, I don’t know about that,’ said Miss Trewthen.</p> +<p>‘Here endeth the career of the belle of the boarding-school +your father was foolish enough to send you to. A “general +merchant’s” wife in the Lyonesse Isles. Will you sell +pounds of soap and pennyworths of tin tacks, or whole bars of saponaceous +matter, and great tenpenny nails?’</p> +<p>‘He’s not in such a small way as that!’ she almost +pleaded. ‘He owns ships, though they are rather little ones!’</p> +<p>‘O, well, it is much the same. Come, let us walk on; +it is tedious to stand still. I thought you would be a failure +in education,’ he continued, when she obeyed him and strolled +ahead. ‘You never showed power that way. You remind +me much of some of those women who think they are sure to be great actresses +if they go on the stage, because they have a pretty face, and forget +that what we require is acting. But you found your mistake, didn’t +you?’</p> +<p>‘Don’t taunt me, Charles.’ It was noticeable +that the young schoolmaster’s tone caused her no anger or retaliatory +passion; far otherwise: there was a tear in her eye. ‘How +is it you are at Pen-zephyr?’ she inquired.</p> +<p>‘I don’t taunt you. I speak the truth, purely in +a friendly way, as I should to any one I wished well. Though for +that matter I might have some excuse even for taunting you. Such +a terrible hurry as you’ve been in. I hate a woman who is +in such a hurry.’</p> +<p>‘How do you mean that?’</p> +<p>‘Why—to be somebody’s wife or other—anything’s +wife rather than nobody’s. You couldn’t wait for me, +O, no. Well, thank God, I’m cured of all that!’</p> +<p>‘How merciless you are!’ she said bitterly. ‘Wait +for you? What does that mean, Charley? You never showed—anything +to wait for—anything special towards me.’</p> +<p>‘O come, Baptista dear; come!’</p> +<p>‘What I mean is, nothing definite,’ she expostulated. +‘I suppose you liked me a little; but it seemed to me to be only +a pastime on your part, and that you never meant to make an honourable +engagement of it.’</p> +<p>‘There, that’s just it! You girls expect a man +to mean business at the first look. No man when he first becomes +interested in a woman has any definite scheme of engagement to marry +her in his mind, unless he is meaning a vulgar mercenary marriage. +However, I <i>did</i> at last mean an honourable engagement, as you +call it, come to that.’</p> +<p>‘But you never said so, and an indefinite courtship soon injures +a woman’s position and credit, sooner than you think.’</p> +<p>‘Baptista, I solemnly declare that in six months I should have +asked you to marry me.’</p> +<p>She walked along in silence, looking on the ground, and appearing +very uncomfortable. Presently he said, ‘Would you have waited +for me if you had known?’ To this she whispered in a sorrowful +whisper, ‘Yes!’</p> +<p>They went still farther in silence—passing along one of the +beautiful walks on the outskirts of the town, yet not observant of scene +or situation. Her shoulder and his were close together, and he +clasped his fingers round the small of her arm—quite lightly, +and without any attempt at impetus; yet the act seemed to say, ‘Now +I hold you, and my will must be yours.’</p> +<p>Recurring to a previous question of hers he said, ‘I have merely +run down here for a day or two from school near Trufal, before going +off to the north for the rest of my holiday. I have seen my relations +at Redrutin quite lately, so I am not going there this time. How +little I thought of meeting you! How very different the circumstances +would have been if, instead of parting again as we must in half-an-hour +or so, possibly for ever, you had been now just going off with me, as +my wife, on our honeymoon trip. Ha—ha—well—so +humorous is life!’</p> +<p>She stopped suddenly. ‘I must go back now—this +is altogether too painful, Charley! It is not at all a kind mood +you are in to-day.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t want to pain you—you know I do not,’ +he said more gently. ‘Only it just exasperates me—this +you are going to do. I wish you would not.’</p> +<p>‘What?’</p> +<p>‘Marry him. There, now I have showed you my true sentiments.’</p> +<p>‘I must do it now,’ said she.</p> +<p>‘Why?’ he asked, dropping the off-hand masterful tone +he had hitherto spoken in, and becoming earnest; still holding her arm, +however, as if she were his chattel to be taken up or put down at will. +‘It is never too late to break off a marriage that’s distasteful +to you. Now I’ll say one thing; and it is truth: I wish +you would marry me instead of him, even now, at the last moment, though +you have served me so badly.’</p> +<p>‘O, it is not possible to think of that!’ she answered +hastily, shaking her head. ‘When I get home all will be +prepared—it is ready even now—the things for the party, +the furniture, Mr. Heddegan’s new suit, and everything. +I should require the courage of a tropical lion to go home there and +say I wouldn’t carry out my promise!’</p> +<p>‘Then go, in Heaven’s name! But there would be +no necessity for you to go home and face them in that way. If +we were to marry, it would have to be at once, instantly; or not at +all. I should think your affection not worth the having unless +you agreed to come back with me to Trufal this evening, where we could +be married by licence on Monday morning. And then no Mr. David +Heddegan or anybody else could get you away from me.’</p> +<p>‘I must go home by the Tuesday boat,’ she faltered. +‘What would they think if I did not come?’</p> +<p>‘You could go home by that boat just the same. All the +difference would be that I should go with you. You could leave +me on the quay, where I’d have a smoke, while you went and saw +your father and mother privately; you could then tell them what you +had done, and that I was waiting not far off; that I was a school-master +in a fairly good position, and a young man you had known when you were +at the Training College. Then I would come boldly forward; and +they would see that it could not be altered, and so you wouldn’t +suffer a lifelong misery by being the wife of a wretched old gaffer +you don’t like at all. Now, honestly; you do like me best, +don’t you, Baptista?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘Then we will do as I say.’</p> +<p>She did not pronounce a clear affirmative. But that she consented +to the novel proposition at some moment or other of that walk was apparent +by what occurred a little later.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> +<p>An enterprise of such pith required, indeed, less talking than consideration. +The first thing they did in carrying it out was to return to the railway +station, where Baptista took from her luggage a small trunk of immediate +necessaries which she would in any case have required after missing +the boat. That same afternoon they travelled up the line to Trufal.</p> +<p>Charles Stow (as his name was), despite his disdainful indifference +to things, was very careful of appearances, and made the journey independently +of her though in the same train. He told her where she could get +board and lodgings in the city; and with merely a distant nod to her +of a provisional kind, went off to his own quarters, and to see about +the licence.</p> +<p>On Sunday she saw him in the morning across the nave of the pro-cathedral. +In the afternoon they walked together in the fields, where he told her +that the licence would be ready next day, and would be available the +day after, when the ceremony could be performed as early after eight +o’clock as they should choose.</p> +<p>His courtship, thus renewed after an interval of two years, was as +impetuous, violent even, as it was short. The next day came and +passed, and the final arrangements were made. Their agreement +was to get the ceremony over as soon as they possibly could the next +morning, so as to go on to Pen-zephyr at once, and reach that place +in time for the boat’s departure the same day. It was in +obedience to Baptista’s earnest request that Stow consented thus +to make the whole journey to Lyonesse by land and water at one heat, +and not break it at Pen-zephyr; she seemed to be oppressed with a dread +of lingering anywhere, this great first act of disobedience to her parents +once accomplished, with the weight on her mind that her home had to +be convulsed by the disclosure of it. To face her difficulties +over the water immediately she had created them was, however, a course +more desired by Baptista than by her lover; though for once he gave +way.</p> +<p>The next morning was bright and warm as those which had preceded +it. By six o’clock it seemed nearly noon, as is often the +case in that part of England in the summer season. By nine they +were husband and wife. They packed up and departed by the earliest +train after the service; and on the way discussed at length what she +should say on meeting her parents, Charley dictating the turn of each +phrase. In her anxiety they had travelled so early that when they +reached Pen-zephyr they found there were nearly two hours on their hands +before the steamer’s time of sailing.</p> +<p>Baptista was extremely reluctant to be seen promenading the streets +of the watering-place with her husband till, as above stated, the household +at Giant’s Town should know the unexpected course of events from +her own lips; and it was just possible, if not likely, that some Lyonessian +might be prowling about there, or even have come across the sea to look +for her. To meet any one to whom she was known, and to have to +reply to awkward questions about the strange young man at her side before +her well-framed announcement had been delivered at proper time and place, +was a thing she could not contemplate with equanimity. So, instead +of looking at the shops and harbour, they went along the coast a little +way.</p> +<p>The heat of the morning was by this time intense. They clambered +up on some cliffs, and while sitting there, looking around at St. Michael’s +Mount and other objects, Charles said to her that he thought he would +run down to the beach at their feet, and take just one plunge into the +sea.</p> +<p>Baptista did not much like the idea of being left alone; it was gloomy, +she said. But he assured her he would not be gone more than a +quarter of an hour at the outside, and she passively assented.</p> +<p>Down he went, disappeared, appeared again, and looked back. +Then he again proceeded, and vanished, till, as a small waxen object, +she saw him emerge from the nook that had screened him, cross the white +fringe of foam, and walk into the undulating mass of blue. Once +in the water he seemed less inclined to hurry than before; he remained +a long time; and, unable either to appreciate his skill or criticize +his want of it at that distance, she withdrew her eyes from the spot, +and gazed at the still outline of St. Michael’s—now beautifully +toned in grey.</p> +<p>Her anxiety for the hour of departure, and to cope at once with the +approaching incidents that she would have to manipulate as best she +could, sent her into a reverie. It was now Tuesday; she would +reach home in the evening—a very late time they would say; but, +as the delay was a pure accident, they would deem her marriage to Mr. +Heddegan to-morrow still practicable. Then Charles would have +to be produced from the background. It was a terrible undertaking +to think of, and she almost regretted her temerity in wedding so hastily +that morning. The rage of her father would be so crushing; the +reproaches of her mother so bitter; and perhaps Charles would answer +hotly, and perhaps cause estrangement till death. There had obviously +been no alarm about her at St. Maria’s, or somebody would have +sailed across to inquire for her. She had, in a letter written +at the beginning of the week, spoken of the hour at which she intended +to leave her country schoolhouse; and from this her friends had probably +perceived that by such timing she would run a risk of losing the Saturday +boat. She had missed it, and as a consequence sat here on the +shore as Mrs. Charles Stow.</p> +<p>This brought her to the present, and she turned from the outline +of St. Michael’s Mount to look about for her husband’s form. +He was, as far as she could discover, no longer in the sea. Then +he was dressing. By moving a few steps she could see where his +clothes lay. But Charles was not beside them.</p> +<p>Baptista looked back again at the water in bewilderment, as if her +senses were the victim of some sleight of hand. Not a speck or +spot resembling a man’s head or face showed anywhere. By +this time she was alarmed, and her alarm intensified when she perceived +a little beyond the scene of her husband’s bathing a small area +of water, the quality of whose surface differed from that of the surrounding +expanse as the coarse vegetation of some foul patch in a mead differs +from the fine green of the remainder. Elsewhere it looked flexuous, +here it looked vermiculated and lumpy, and her marine experiences suggested +to her in a moment that two currents met and caused a turmoil at this +place.</p> +<p>She descended as hastily as her trembling limbs would allow. +The way down was terribly long, and before reaching the heap of clothes +it occurred to her that, after all, it would be best to run first for +help. Hastening along in a lateral direction she proceeded inland +till she met a man, and soon afterwards two others. To them she +exclaimed, ‘I think a gentleman who was bathing is in some danger. +I cannot see him as I could. Will you please run and help him, +at once, if you will be so kind?’</p> +<p>She did not think of turning to show them the exact spot, indicating +it vaguely by the direction of her hand, and still going on her way +with the idea of gaining more assistance. When she deemed, in +her faintness, that she had carried the alarm far enough, she faced +about and dragged herself back again. Before reaching the now +dreaded spot she met one of the men.</p> +<p>‘We can see nothing at all, Miss,’ he declared.</p> +<p>Having gained the beach, she found the tide in, and no sign of Charley’s +clothes. The other men whom she had besought to come had disappeared, +it must have been in some other direction, for she had not met them +going away. They, finding nothing, had probably thought her alarm +a mere conjecture, and given up the quest.</p> +<p>Baptista sank down upon the stones near at hand. Where Charley +had undressed was now sea. There could not be the least doubt +that he was drowned, and his body sucked under by the current; while +his clothes, lying within high-water mark, had probably been carried +away by the rising tide.</p> +<p>She remained in a stupor for some minutes, till a strange sensation +succeeded the aforesaid perceptions, mystifying her intelligence, and +leaving her physically almost inert. With his personal disappearance, +the last three days of her life with him seemed to be swallowed up, +also his image, in her mind’s eye, waned curiously, receded far +away, grew stranger and stranger, less and less real. Their meeting +and marriage had been so sudden, unpremeditated, adventurous, that she +could hardly believe that she had played her part in such a reckless +drama. Of all the few hours of her life with Charles, the portion +that most insisted in coming back to memory was their fortuitous encounter +on the previous Saturday, and those bitter reprimands with which he +had begun the attack, as it might be called, which had piqued her to +an unexpected consummation.</p> +<p>A sort of cruelty, an imperiousness, even in his warmth, had characterized +Charles Stow. As a lover he had ever been a bit of a tyrant; and +it might pretty truly have been said that he had stung her into marriage +with him at last. Still more alien from her life did these reflections +operate to make him; and then they would be chased away by an interval +of passionate weeping and mad regret. Finally, there returned +upon the confused mind of the young wife the recollection that she was +on her way homeward, and that the packet would sail in three-quarters +of an hour.</p> +<p>Except the parasol in her hand, all she possessed was at the station +awaiting her onward journey.</p> +<p>She looked in that direction; and, entering one of those undemonstrative +phases so common with her, walked quietly on.</p> +<p>At first she made straight for the railway; but suddenly turning +she went to a shop and wrote an anonymous line announcing his death +by drowning to the only person she had ever heard Charles mention as +a relative. Posting this stealthily, and with a fearful look around +her, she seemed to acquire a terror of the late events, pursuing her +way to the station as if followed by a spectre.</p> +<p>When she got to the office she asked for the luggage that she had +left there on the Saturday as well as the trunk left on the morning +just lapsed. All were put in the boat, and she herself followed. +Quickly as these things had been done, the whole proceeding, nevertheless, +had been almost automatic on Baptista’s part, ere she had come +to any definite conclusion on her course.</p> +<p>Just before the bell rang she heard a conversation on the pier, which +removed the last shade of doubt from her mind, if any had existed, that +she was Charles Stow’s widow. The sentences were but fragmentary, +but she could easily piece them out.</p> +<p>‘A man drowned—swam out too far—was a stranger +to the place—people in boat—saw him go down—couldn’t +get there in time.’</p> +<p>The news was little more definite than this as yet; though it may +as well be stated once for all that the statement was true. Charley, +with the over-confidence of his nature, had ventured out too far for +his strength, and succumbed in the absence of assistance, his lifeless +body being at that moment suspended in the transparent mid-depths of +the bay. His clothes, however, had merely been gently lifted by +the rising tide, and floated into a nook hard by, where they lay out +of sight of the passers-by till a day or two after.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<p>In ten minutes they were steaming out of the harbour for their voyage +of four or five hours, at whose ending she would have to tell her strange +story.</p> +<p>As Pen-zephyr and all its environing scenes disappeared behind Mousehole +and St. Clement’s Isle, Baptista’s ephemeral, meteor-like +husband impressed her yet more as a fantasy. She was still in +such a trance-like state that she had been an hour on the little packet-boat +before she became aware of the agitating fact that Mr. Heddegan was +on board with her. Involuntarily she slipped from her left hand +the symbol of her wifehood.</p> +<p>‘Hee-hee! Well, the truth is, I wouldn’t interrupt +’ee. “I reckon she don’t see me, or won’t +see me,” I said, “and what’s the hurry? She’ll +see enough o’ me soon!” I hope ye be well, mee deer?’</p> +<p>He was a hale, well-conditioned man of about five and fifty, of the +complexion common to those whose lives are passed on the bluffs and +beaches of an ocean isle. He extended the four quarters of his +face in a genial smile, and his hand for a grasp of the same magnitude. +She gave her own in surprised docility, and he continued: ‘I couldn’t +help coming across to meet ’ee. What an unfortunate thing +you missing the boat and not coming Saturday! They meant to have +warned ’ee that the time was changed, but forgot it at the last +moment. The truth is that I should have informed ’ee myself; +but I was that busy finishing up a job last week, so as to have this +week free, that I trusted to your father for attending to these little +things. However, so plain and quiet as it is all to be, it really +do not matter so much as it might otherwise have done, and I hope ye +haven’t been greatly put out. Now, if you’d sooner +that I should not be seen talking to ’ee—if ’ee feel +shy at all before strangers—just say. I’ll leave ’ee +to yourself till we get home.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you much. I am indeed a little tired, Mr. Heddegan.’</p> +<p>He nodded urbane acquiescence, strolled away immediately, and minutely +inspected the surface of the funnel, till some female passengers of +Giant’s Town tittered at what they must have thought a rebuff—for +the approaching wedding was known to many on St. Maria’s Island, +though to nobody elsewhere. Baptista coloured at their satire, +and called him back, and forced herself to commune with him in at least +a mechanically friendly manner.</p> +<p>The opening event had been thus different from her expectation, and +she had adumbrated no act to meet it. Taken aback she passively +allowed circumstances to pilot her along; and so the voyage was made.</p> +<p>It was near dusk when they touched the pier of Giant’s Town, +where several friends and neighbours stood awaiting them. Her +father had a lantern in his hand. Her mother, too, was there, +reproachfully glad that the delay had at last ended so simply. +Mrs. Trewthen and her daughter went together along the Giant’s +Walk, or promenade, to the house, rather in advance of her husband and +Mr. Heddegan, who talked in loud tones which reached the women over +their shoulders.</p> +<p>Some would have called Mrs. Trewthen a good mother; but though well +meaning she was maladroit, and her intentions missed their mark. +This might have been partly attributable to the slight deafness from +which she suffered. Now, as usual, the chief utterances came from +her lips.</p> +<p>‘Ah, yes, I’m so glad, my child, that you’ve got +over safe. It is all ready, and everything so well arranged, that +nothing but misfortune could hinder you settling as, with God’s +grace, becomes ’ee. Close to your mother’s door a’most, +’twill be a great blessing, I’m sure; and I was very glad +to find from your letters that you’d held your word sacred. +That’s right—make your word your bond always. Mrs. +Wace seems to be a sensible woman. I hope the Lord will do for +her as he’s doing for you no long time hence. And how did +’ee get over the terrible journey from Tor-upon-Sea to Pen-zephyr? +Once you’d done with the railway, of course, you seemed quite +at home. Well, Baptista, conduct yourself seemly, and all will +be well.’</p> +<p>Thus admonished, Baptista entered the house, her father and Mr. Heddegan +immediately at her back. Her mother had been so didactic that +she had felt herself absolutely unable to broach the subjects in the +centre of her mind.</p> +<p>The familiar room, with the dark ceiling, the well-spread table, +the old chairs, had never before spoken so eloquently of the times ere +she knew or had heard of Charley Stow. She went upstairs to take +off her things, her mother remaining below to complete the disposition +of the supper, and attend to the preparation of to-morrow’s meal, +altogether composing such an array of pies, from pies of fish to pies +of turnips, as was never heard of outside the Western Duchy. Baptista, +once alone, sat down and did nothing; and was called before she had +taken off her bonnet.</p> +<p>‘I’m coming,’ she cried, jumping up, and speedily +disapparelling herself, brushed her hair with a few touches and went +down.</p> +<p>Two or three of Mr. Heddegan’s and her father’s friends +had dropped in, and expressed their sympathy for the delay she had been +subjected to. The meal was a most merry one except to Baptista. +She had desired privacy, and there was none; and to break the news was +already a greater difficulty than it had been at first. Everything +around her, animate and inanimate, great and small, insisted that she +had come home to be married; and she could not get a chance to say nay.</p> +<p>One or two people sang songs, as overtures to the melody of the morrow, +till at length bedtime came, and they all withdrew, her mother having +retired a little earlier. When Baptista found herself again alone +in her bedroom the case stood as before: she had come home with much +to say, and she had said nothing.</p> +<p>It was now growing clear even to herself that Charles being dead, +she had not determination sufficient within her to break tidings which, +had he been alive, would have imperatively announced themselves. +And thus with the stroke of midnight came the turning of the scale; +her story should remain untold. It was not that upon the whole +she thought it best not to attempt to tell it; but that she could not +undertake so explosive a matter. To stop the wedding now would +cause a convulsion in Giant’s Town little short of volcanic. +Weakened, tired, and terrified as she had been by the day’s adventures, +she could not make herself the author of such a catastrophe. But +how refuse Heddegan without telling? It really seemed to her as +if her marriage with Mr. Heddegan were about to take place as if nothing +had intervened.</p> +<p>Morning came. The events of the previous days were cut off +from her present existence by scene and sentiment more completely than +ever. Charles Stow had grown to be a special being of whom, owing +to his character, she entertained rather fearful than loving memory. +Baptista could hear when she awoke that her parents were already moving +about downstairs. But she did not rise till her mother’s +rather rough voice resounded up the staircase as it had done on the +preceding evening.</p> +<p>‘Baptista! Come, time to be stirring! The man will +be here, by heaven’s blessing, in three-quarters of an hour. +He has looked in already for a minute or two—and says he’s +going to the church to see if things be well forward.’</p> +<p>Baptista arose, looked out of the window, and took the easy course. +When she emerged from the regions above she was arrayed in her new silk +frock and best stockings, wearing a linen jacket over the former for +breakfasting, and her common slippers over the latter, not to spoil +the new ones on the rough precincts of the dwelling.</p> +<p>It is unnecessary to dwell at any great length on this part of the +morning’s proceedings. She revealed nothing; and married +Heddegan, as she had given her word to do, on that appointed August +day.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> +<p>Mr. Heddegan forgave the coldness of his bride’s manner during +and after the wedding ceremony, full well aware that there had been +considerable reluctance on her part to acquiesce in this neighbourly +arrangement, and, as a philosopher of long standing, holding that whatever +Baptista’s attitude now, the conditions would probably be much +the same six months hence as those which ruled among other married couples.</p> +<p>An absolutely unexpected shock was given to Baptista’s listless +mind about an hour after the wedding service. They had nearly +finished the mid-day dinner when the now husband said to her father, +‘We think of starting about two. And the breeze being so +fair we shall bring up inside Pen-zephyr new pier about six at least.’</p> +<p>‘What—are we going to Pen-zephyr?’ said Baptista. +‘I don’t know anything of it.’</p> +<p>‘Didn’t you tell her?’ asked her father of Heddegan.</p> +<p>It transpired that, owing to the delay in her arrival, this proposal +too, among other things, had in the hurry not been mentioned to her, +except some time ago as a general suggestion that they would go somewhere. +Heddegan had imagined that any trip would be pleasant, and one to the +mainland the pleasantest of all.</p> +<p>She looked so distressed at the announcement that her husband willingly +offered to give it up, though he had not had a holiday off the island +for a whole year. Then she pondered on the inconvenience of staying +at Giant’s Town, where all the inhabitants were bonded, by the +circumstances of their situation, into a sort of family party, which +permitted and encouraged on such occasions as these oral criticism that +was apt to disturb the equanimity of newly married girls, and would +especially worry Baptista in her strange situation. Hence, unexpectedly, +she agreed not to disorganize her husband’s plans for the wedding +jaunt, and it was settled that, as originally intended, they should +proceed in a neighbour’s sailing boat to the metropolis of the +district.</p> +<p>In this way they arrived at Pen-zephyr without difficulty or mishap. +Bidding adieu to Jenkin and his man, who had sailed them over, they +strolled arm in arm off the pier, Baptista silent, cold, and obedient. +Heddegan had arranged to take her as far as Plymouth before their return, +but to go no further than where they had landed that day. Their +first business was to find an inn; and in this they had unexpected difficulty, +since for some reason or other—possibly the fine weather—many +of the nearest at hand were full of tourists and commercial travellers. +He led her on till he reached a tavern which, though comparatively unpretending, +stood in as attractive a spot as any in the town; and this, somewhat +to their surprise after their previous experience, they found apparently +empty. The considerate old man, thinking that Baptista was educated +to artistic notions, though he himself was deficient in them, had decided +that it was most desirable to have, on such an occasion as the present, +an apartment with ‘a good view’ (the expression being one +he had often heard in use among tourists); and he therefore asked for +a favourite room on the first floor, from which a bow-window protruded, +for the express purpose of affording such an outlook.</p> +<p>The landlady, after some hesitation, said she was sorry that particular +apartment was engaged; the next one, however, or any other in the house, +was unoccupied.</p> +<p>‘The gentleman who has the best one will give it up to-morrow, +and then you can change into it,’ she added, as Mr. Heddegan hesitated +about taking the adjoining and less commanding one.</p> +<p>‘We shall be gone to-morrow, and shan’t want it,’ +he said.</p> +<p>Wishing not to lose customers, the landlady earnestly continued that +since he was bent on having the best room, perhaps the other gentleman +would not object to move at once into the one they despised, since, +though nothing could be seen from the window, the room was equally large.</p> +<p>‘Well, if he doesn’t care for a view,’ said Mr. +Heddegan, with the air of a highly artistic man who did.</p> +<p>‘O no—I am sure he doesn’t,’ she said. +‘I can promise that you shall have the room you want. If +you would not object to go for a walk for half an hour, I could have +it ready, and your things in it, and a nice tea laid in the bow-window +by the time you come back?’</p> +<p>This proposal was deemed satisfactory by the fussy old tradesman, +and they went out. Baptista nervously conducted him in an opposite +direction to her walk of the former day in other company, showing on +her wan face, had he observed it, how much she was beginning to regret +her sacrificial step for mending matters that morning.</p> +<p>She took advantage of a moment when her husband’s back was +turned to inquire casually in a shop if anything had been heard of the +gentleman who was sucked down in the eddy while bathing.</p> +<p>The shopman said, ‘Yes, his body has been washed ashore,’ +and had just handed Baptista a newspaper on which she discerned the +heading, ‘A Schoolmaster drowned while bathing,’ when her +husband turned to join her. She might have pursued the subject +without raising suspicion; but it was more than flesh and blood could +do, and completing a small purchase almost ran out of the shop.</p> +<p>‘What is your terrible hurry, mee deer?’ said Heddegan, +hastening after.</p> +<p>‘I don’t know—I don’t want to stay in shops,’ +she gasped.</p> +<p>‘And we won’t,’ he said. ‘They are +suffocating this weather. Let’s go back and have some tay!’</p> +<p>They found the much desired apartment awaiting their entry. +It was a sort of combination bed and sitting-room, and the table was +prettily spread with high tea in the bow-window, a bunch of flowers +in the midst, and a best-parlour chair on each side. Here they +shared the meal by the ruddy light of the vanishing sun. But though +the view had been engaged, regardless of expense, exclusively for Baptista’s +pleasure, she did not direct any keen attention out of the window. +Her gaze as often fell on the floor and walls of the room as elsewhere, +and on the table as much as on either, beholding nothing at all.</p> +<p>But there was a change. Opposite her seat was the door, upon +which her eyes presently became riveted like those of a little bird +upon a snake. For, on a peg at the back of the door, there hung +a hat; such a hat—surely, from its peculiar make, the actual hat—that +had been worn by Charles. Conviction grew to certainty when she +saw a railway ticket sticking up from the band. Charles had put +the ticket there—she had noticed the act.</p> +<p>Her teeth almost chattered; she murmured something incoherent. +Her husband jumped up and said, ‘You are not well! What +is it? What shall I get ’ee?’</p> +<p>‘Smelling salts!’ she said, quickly and desperately; +‘at that chemist’s shop you were in just now.’</p> +<p>He jumped up like the anxious old man that he was, caught up his +own hat from a back table, and without observing the other hastened +out and downstairs.</p> +<p>Left alone she gazed and gazed at the back of the door, then spasmodically +rang the bell. An honest-looking country maid-servant appeared +in response.</p> +<p>‘A hat!’ murmured Baptista, pointing with her finger. +‘It does not belong to us.’</p> +<p>‘O yes, I’ll take it away,’ said the young woman +with some hurry. ‘It belongs to the other gentleman.’</p> +<p>She spoke with a certain awkwardness, and took the hat out of the +room. Baptista had recovered her outward composure. ‘The +other gentleman?’ she said. ‘Where is the other gentleman?’</p> +<p>‘He’s in the next room, ma’am. He removed +out of this to oblige ’ee.’</p> +<p>‘How can you say so? I should hear him if he were there,’ +said Baptista, sufficiently recovered to argue down an apparent untruth.</p> +<p>‘He’s there,’ said the girl, hardily.</p> +<p>‘Then it is strange that he makes no noise,’ said Mrs. +Heddegan, convicting the girl of falsity by a look.</p> +<p>‘He makes no noise; but it is not strange,’ said the +servant.</p> +<p>All at once a dread took possession of the bride’s heart, like +a cold hand laid thereon; for it flashed upon her that there was a possibility +of reconciling the girl’s statement with her own knowledge of +facts.</p> +<p>‘Why does he make no noise?’ she weakly said.</p> +<p>The waiting-maid was silent, and looked at her questioner. +‘If I tell you, ma’am, you won’t tell missis?’ +she whispered.</p> +<p>Baptista promised.</p> +<p>‘Because he’s a-lying dead!’ said the girl. +‘He’s the schoolmaster that was drownded yesterday.’</p> +<p>‘O!’ said the bride, covering her eyes. ‘Then +he was in this room till just now?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the maid, thinking the young lady’s +agitation natural enough. ‘And I told missis that I thought +she oughtn’t to have done it, because I don’t hold it right +to keep visitors so much in the dark where death’s concerned; +but she said the gentleman didn’t die of anything infectious; +she was a poor, honest, innkeeper’s wife, she says, who had to +get her living by making hay while the sun sheened. And owing +to the drownded gentleman being brought here, she said, it kept so many +people away that we were empty, though all the other houses were full. +So when your good man set his mind upon the room, and she would have +lost good paying folk if he’d not had it, it wasn’t to be +supposed, she said, that she’d let anything stand in the way. +Ye won’t say that I’ve told ye, please, m’m? +All the linen has been changed, and as the inquest won’t be till +to-morrow, after you are gone, she thought you wouldn’t know a +word of it, being strangers here.’</p> +<p>The returning footsteps of her husband broke off further narration. +Baptista waved her hand, for she could not speak. The waiting-maid +quickly withdrew, and Mr. Heddegan entered with the smelling salts and +other nostrums.</p> +<p>‘Any better?’ he questioned.</p> +<p>‘I don’t like the hotel,’ she exclaimed, almost +simultaneously. ‘I can’t bear it—it doesn’t +suit me!’</p> +<p>‘Is that all that’s the matter?’ he returned pettishly +(this being the first time of his showing such a mood). ‘Upon +my heart and life such trifling is trying to any man’s temper, +Baptista! Sending me about from here to yond, and then when I +come back saying ’ee don’t like the place that I have sunk +so much money and words to get for ’ee. ‘Od dang it +all, ’tis enough to—But I won’t say any more at present, +mee deer, though it is just too much to expect to turn out of the house +now. We shan’t get another quiet place at this time of the +evening—every other inn in the town is bustling with rackety folk +of one sort and t’other, while here ’tis as quiet as the +grave—the country, I would say. So bide still, d’ye +hear, and to-morrow we shall be out of the town altogether—as +early as you like.’</p> +<p>The obstinacy of age had, in short, overmastered its complaisance, +and the young woman said no more. The simple course of telling +him that in the adjoining room lay a corpse which had lately occupied +their own might, it would have seemed, have been an effectual one without +further disclosure, but to allude to that subject, however it was disguised, +was more than Heddegan’s young wife had strength for. Horror +broke her down. In the contingency one thing only presented itself +to her paralyzed regard—that here she was doomed to abide, in +a hideous contiguity to the dead husband and the living, and her conjecture +did, in fact, bear itself out. That night she lay between the +two men she had married—Heddegan on the one hand, and on the other +through the partition against which the bed stood, Charles Stow.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> +<p>Kindly time had withdrawn the foregoing event three days from the +present of Baptista Heddegan. It was ten o’clock in the +morning; she had been ill, not in an ordinary or definite sense, but +in a state of cold stupefaction, from which it was difficult to arouse +her so much as to say a few sentences. When questioned she had +replied that she was pretty well.</p> +<p>Their trip, as such, had been something of a failure. They +had gone on as far as Falmouth, but here he had given way to her entreaties +to return home. This they could not very well do without repassing +through Pen-zephyr, at which place they had now again arrived.</p> +<p>In the train she had seen a weekly local paper, and read there a +paragraph detailing the inquest on Charles. It was added that +the funeral was to take place at his native town of Redrutin on Friday.</p> +<p>After reading this she had shown no reluctance to enter the fatal +neighbourhood of the tragedy, only stipulating that they should take +their rest at a different lodging from the first; and now comparatively +braced up and calm—indeed a cooler creature altogether than when +last in the town, she said to David that she wanted to walk out for +a while, as they had plenty of time on their hands.</p> +<p>‘To a shop as usual, I suppose, mee deer?’</p> +<p>‘Partly for shopping,’ she said. ‘And it +will be best for you, dear, to stay in after trotting about so much, +and have a good rest while I am gone.’</p> +<p>He assented; and Baptista sallied forth. As she had stated, +her first visit was made to a shop, a draper’s. Without +the exercise of much choice she purchased a black bonnet and veil, also +a black stuff gown; a black mantle she already wore. These articles +were made up into a parcel which, in spite of the saleswoman’s +offers, her customer said she would take with her. Bearing it +on her arm she turned to the railway, and at the station got a ticket +for Redrutin.</p> +<p>Thus it appeared that, on her recovery from the paralyzed mood of +the former day, while she had resolved not to blast utterly the happiness +of her present husband by revealing the history of the departed one, +she had also determined to indulge a certain odd, inconsequent, feminine +sentiment of decency, to the small extent to which it could do no harm +to any person. At Redrutin she emerged from the railway carriage +in the black attire purchased at the shop, having during the transit +made the change in the empty compartment she had chosen. The other +clothes were now in the bandbox and parcel. Leaving these at the +cloak-room she proceeded onward, and after a wary survey reached the +side of a hill whence a view of the burial ground could be obtained.</p> +<p>It was now a little before two o’clock. While Baptista +waited a funeral procession ascended the road. Baptista hastened +across, and by the time the procession entered the cemetery gates she +had unobtrusively joined it.</p> +<p>In addition to the schoolmaster’s own relatives (not a few), +the paragraph in the newspapers of his death by drowning had drawn together +many neighbours, acquaintances, and onlookers. Among them she +passed unnoticed, and with a quiet step pursued the winding path to +the chapel, and afterwards thence to the grave. When all was over, +and the relatives and idlers had withdrawn, she stepped to the edge +of the chasm. From beneath her mantle she drew a little bunch +of forget-me-nots, and dropped them in upon the coffin. In a few +minutes she also turned and went away from the cemetery. By five +o’clock she was again in Pen-zephyr.</p> +<p>‘You have been a mortal long time!’ said her husband, +crossly. ‘I allowed you an hour at most, mee deer.’</p> +<p>‘It occupied me longer,’ said she.</p> +<p>‘Well—I reckon it is wasting words to complain. +Hang it, ye look so tired and wisht that I can’t find heart to +say what I would!’</p> +<p>‘I am—weary and wisht, David; I am. We can get +home to-morrow for certain, I hope?’</p> +<p>‘We can. And please God we will!’ said Mr. Heddegan +heartily, as if he too were weary of his brief honeymoon. ‘I +must be into business again on Monday morning at latest.’</p> +<p>They left by the next morning steamer, and in the afternoon took +up their residence in their own house at Giant’s Town.</p> +<p>The hour that she reached the island it was as if a material weight +had been removed from Baptista’s shoulders. Her husband +attributed the change to the influence of the local breezes after the +hot-house atmosphere of the mainland. However that might be, settled +here, a few doors from her mother’s dwelling, she recovered in +no very long time much of her customary bearing, which was never very +demonstrative. She accepted her position calmly, and faintly smiled +when her neighbours learned to call her Mrs. Heddegan, and said she +seemed likely to become the leader of fashion in Giant’s Town.</p> +<p>Her husband was a man who had made considerably more money by trade +than her father had done: and perhaps the greater profusion of surroundings +at her command than she had heretofore been mistress of, was not without +an effect upon her. One week, two weeks, three weeks passed; and, +being pre-eminently a young woman who allowed things to drift, she did +nothing whatever either to disclose or conceal traces of her first marriage; +or to learn if there existed possibilities—which there undoubtedly +did—by which that hasty contract might become revealed to those +about her at any unexpected moment.</p> +<p>While yet within the first month of her marriage, and on an evening +just before sunset, Baptista was standing within her garden adjoining +the house, when she saw passing along the road a personage clad in a +greasy black coat and battered tall hat, which, common enough in the +slums of a city, had an odd appearance in St. Maria’s. The +tramp, as he seemed to be, marked her at once—bonnetless and unwrapped +as she was her features were plainly recognizable—and with an +air of friendly surprise came and leant over the wall.</p> +<p>‘What! don’t you know me?’ said he.</p> +<p>She had some dim recollection of his face, but said that she was +not acquainted with him.</p> +<p>‘Why, your witness to be sure, ma’am. Don’t +you mind the man that was mending the church-window when you and your +intended husband walked up to be made one; and the clerk called me down +from the ladder, and I came and did my part by writing my name and occupation?’</p> +<p>Baptista glanced quickly around; her husband was out of earshot. +That would have been of less importance but for the fact that the wedding +witnessed by this personage had not been the wedding with Mr. Heddegan, +but the one on the day previous.</p> +<p>‘I’ve had a misfortune since then, that’s pulled +me under,’ continued her friend. ‘But don’t +let me damp yer wedded joy by naming the particulars. Yes, I’ve +seen changes since; though ’tis but a short time ago—let +me see, only a month next week, I think; for ’twere the first +or second day in August.’</p> +<p>‘Yes—that’s when it was,’ said another man, +a sailor, who had come up with a pipe in his mouth, and felt it necessary +to join in (Baptista having receded to escape further speech). +‘For that was the first time I set foot in Giant’s Town; +and her husband took her to him the same day.’</p> +<p>A dialogue then proceeded between the two men outside the wall, which +Baptista could not help hearing.</p> +<p>‘Ay, I signed the book that made her one flesh,’ repeated +the decayed glazier. ‘Where’s her goodman?’</p> +<p>‘About the premises somewhere; but you don’t see ’em +together much,’ replied the sailor in an undertone. ‘You +see, he’s older than she.’</p> +<p>‘Older? I should never have thought it from my own observation,’ +said the glazier. ‘He was a remarkably handsome man.’</p> +<p>‘Handsome? Well, there he is—we can see for ourselves.’</p> +<p>David Heddegan had, indeed, just shown himself at the upper end of +the garden; and the glazier, looking in bewilderment from the husband +to the wife, saw the latter turn pale.</p> +<p>Now that decayed glazier was a far-seeing and cunning man—too +far-seeing and cunning to allow himself to thrive by simple and straightforward +means—and he held his peace, till he could read more plainly the +meaning of this riddle, merely adding carelessly, ‘Well—marriage +do alter a man, ’tis true. I should never ha’ knowed +him!’</p> +<p>He then stared oddly at the disconcerted Baptista, and moving on +to where he could again address her, asked her to do him a good turn, +since he once had done the same for her. Understanding that he +meant money, she handed him some, at which he thanked her, and instantly +went away.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> +<p>She had escaped exposure on this occasion; but the incident had been +an awkward one, and should have suggested to Baptista that sooner or +later the secret must leak out. As it was, she suspected that +at any rate she had not heard the last of the glazier.</p> +<p>In a day or two, when her husband had gone to the old town on the +other side of the island, there came a gentle tap at the door, and the +worthy witness of her first marriage made his appearance a second time.</p> +<p>‘It took me hours to get to the bottom of the mystery—hours!’ +he said with a gaze of deep confederacy which offended her pride very +deeply. ‘But thanks to a good intellect I’ve done +it. Now, ma’am, I’m not a man to tell tales, even +when a tale would be so good as this. But I’m going back +to the mainland again, and a little assistance would be as rain on thirsty +ground.’</p> +<p>‘I helped you two days ago,’ began Baptista.</p> +<p>‘Yes—but what was that, my good lady? Not enough +to pay my passage to Pen-zephyr. I came over on your account, +for I thought there was a mystery somewhere. Now I must go back +on my own. Mind this—’twould be very awkward for you +if your old man were to know. He’s a queer temper, though +he may be fond.’</p> +<p>She knew as well as her visitor how awkward it would be; and the +hush-money she paid was heavy that day. She had, however, the +satisfaction of watching the man to the steamer, and seeing him diminish +out of sight. But Baptista perceived that the system into which +she had been led of purchasing silence thus was one fatal to her peace +of mind, particularly if it had to be continued.</p> +<p>Hearing no more from the glazier she hoped the difficulty was past. +But another week only had gone by, when, as she was pacing the Giant’s +Walk (the name given to the promenade), she met the same personage in +the company of a fat woman carrying a bundle.</p> +<p>‘This is the lady, my dear,’ he said to his companion. +‘This, ma’am, is my wife. We’ve come to settle +in the town for a time, if so be we can find room.’</p> +<p>‘That you won’t do,’ said she. ‘Nobody +can live here who is not privileged.’</p> +<p>‘I am privileged,’ said the glazier, ‘by my trade.’</p> +<p>Baptista went on, but in the afternoon she received a visit from +the man’s wife. This honest woman began to depict, in forcible +colours, the necessity for keeping up the concealment.</p> +<p>‘I will intercede with my husband, ma’am,’ she +said. ‘He’s a true man if rightly managed; and I’ll +beg him to consider your position. ’Tis a very nice house +you’ve got here,’ she added, glancing round, ‘and +well worth a little sacrifice to keep it.’</p> +<p>The unlucky Baptista staved off the danger on this third occasion +as she had done on the previous two. But she formed a resolve +that, if the attack were once more to be repeated she would face a revelation—worse +though that must now be than before she had attempted to purchase silence +by bribes. Her tormentors, never believing her capable of acting +upon such an intention, came again; but she shut the door in their faces. +They retreated, muttering something; but she went to the back of the +house, where David Heddegan was.</p> +<p>She looked at him, unconscious of all. The case was serious; +she knew that well; and all the more serious in that she liked him better +now than she had done at first. Yet, as she herself began to see, +the secret was one that was sure to disclose itself. Her name +and Charles’s stood indelibly written in the registers; and though +a month only had passed as yet it was a wonder that his clandestine +union with her had not already been discovered by his friends. +Thus spurring herself to the inevitable, she spoke to Heddegan.</p> +<p>‘David, come indoors. I have something to tell you.’</p> +<p>He hardly regarded her at first. She had discerned that during +the last week or two he had seemed preoccupied, as if some private business +harassed him. She repeated her request. He replied with +a sigh, ‘Yes, certainly, mee deer.’</p> +<p>When they had reached the sitting-room and shut the door she repeated, +faintly, ‘David, I have something to tell you—a sort of +tragedy I have concealed. You will hate me for having so far deceived +you; but perhaps my telling you voluntarily will make you think a little +better of me than you would do otherwise.’</p> +<p>‘Tragedy?’ he said, awakening to interest. ‘Much +you can know about tragedies, mee deer, that have been in the world +so short a time!’</p> +<p>She saw that he suspected nothing, and it made her task the harder. +But on she went steadily. ‘It is about something that happened +before we were married,’ she said.</p> +<p>‘Indeed!’</p> +<p>‘Not a very long time before—a short time. And +it is about a lover,’ she faltered.</p> +<p>‘I don’t much mind that,’ he said mildly. +‘In truth, I was in hopes ’twas more.’</p> +<p>‘In hopes!’</p> +<p>‘Well, yes.’</p> +<p>This screwed her up to the necessary effort. ‘I met my +old sweetheart. He scorned me, chid me, dared me, and I went and +married him. We were coming straight here to tell you all what +we had done; but he was drowned; and I thought I would say nothing about +him: and I married you, David, for the sake of peace and quietness. +I’ve tried to keep it from you, but have found I cannot. +There—that’s the substance of it, and you can never, never +forgive me, I am sure!’</p> +<p>She spoke desperately. But the old man, instead of turning +black or blue, or slaying her in his indignation, jumped up from his +chair, and began to caper around the room in quite an ecstatic emotion.</p> +<p>‘O, happy thing! How well it falls out!’ he exclaimed, +snapping his, fingers over his head. ‘Ha-ha—the knot +is cut—I see a way out of my trouble—ha-ha!’ +She looked at him without uttering a sound, till, as he still continued +smiling joyfully, she said, ‘O—what do you mean! Is +it done to torment me?’</p> +<p>‘No—no! O, mee deer, your story helps me out of +the most heart-aching quandary a poor man ever found himself in! +You see, it is this—<i>I’ve</i> got a tragedy, too; and +unless you had had one to tell, I could never have seen my way to tell +mine!’</p> +<p>‘What is yours—what is it?’ she asked, with altogether +a new view of things.</p> +<p>‘Well—it is a bouncer; mine is a bouncer!’ said +he, looking on the ground and wiping his eyes.</p> +<p>‘Not worse than mine?’</p> +<p>‘Well—that depends upon how you look at it. Yours +had to do with the past alone; and I don’t mind it. You +see, we’ve been married a month, and it don’t jar upon me +as it would if we’d only been married a day or two. Now +mine refers to past, present, and future; so that—’</p> +<p>‘Past, present, and future!’ she murmured. ‘It +never occurred to me that <i>you</i> had a tragedy, too.’</p> +<p>‘But I have!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘In +fact, four.’</p> +<p>‘Then tell ’em!’ cried the young woman.</p> +<p>‘I will—I will. But be considerate, I beg ’ee, +mee deer. Well—I wasn’t a bachelor when I married +’ee, any more than you were a spinster. Just as you was +a widow-woman, I was a widow-man.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said she, with some surprise. ‘But +is that all?—then we are nicely balanced,’ she added, relieved.</p> +<p>‘No—it is not all. There’s the point. +I am not only a widower.’</p> +<p>‘O, David!’</p> +<p>‘I am a widower with four tragedies—that is to say, four +strapping girls—the eldest taller than you. Don’t +’ee look so struck—dumb-like! It fell out in this +way. I knew the poor woman, their mother, in Pen-zephyr for some +years; and—to cut a long story short—I privately married +her at last, just before she died. I kept the matter secret, but +it is getting known among the people here by degrees. I’ve +long felt for the children—that it is my duty to have them here, +and do something for them. I have not had courage to break it +to ’ee, but I’ve seen lately that it would soon come to +your ears, and that hev worried me.’</p> +<p>‘Are they educated?’ said the ex-schoolmistress.</p> +<p>‘No. I am sorry to say they have been much neglected; +in truth, they can hardly read. And so I thought that by marrying +a young schoolmistress I should get some one in the house who could +teach ’em, and bring ’em into genteel condition, all for +nothing. You see, they are growed up too tall to be sent to school.’</p> +<p>‘O, mercy!’ she almost moaned. ‘Four great +girls to teach the rudiments to, and have always in the house with me +spelling over their books; and I hate teaching, it kills me. I +am bitterly punished—I am, I am!’</p> +<p>‘You’ll get used to ’em, mee deer, and the balance +of secrets—mine against yours—will comfort your heart with +a sense of justice. I could send for ’em this week very +well—and I will! In faith, I could send this very day. +Baptista, you have relieved me of all my difficulty!’</p> +<p>Thus the interview ended, so far as this matter was concerned. +Baptista was too stupefied to say more, and when she went away to her +room she wept from very mortification at Mr. Heddegan’s duplicity. +Education, the one thing she abhorred; the shame of it to delude a young +wife so!</p> +<p>The next meal came round. As they sat, Baptista would not suffer +her eyes to turn towards him. He did not attempt to intrude upon +her reserve, but every now and then looked under the table and chuckled +with satisfaction at the aspect of affairs. ‘How very well +matched we be!’ he said, comfortably.</p> +<p>Next day, when the steamer came in, Baptista saw her husband rush +down to meet it; and soon after there appeared at her door four tall, +hipless, shoulderless girls, dwindling in height and size from the eldest +to the youngest, like a row of Pan pipes; at the head of them standing +Heddegan. He smiled pleasantly through the grey fringe of his +whiskers and beard, and turning to the girls said, ‘Now come forrard, +and shake hands properly with your stepmother.’</p> +<p>Thus she made their acquaintance, and he went out, leaving them together. +On examination the poor girls turned out to be not only plain-looking, +which she could have forgiven, but to have such a lamentably meagre +intellectual equipment as to be hopelessly inadequate as companions. +Even the eldest, almost her own age, could only read with difficulty +words of two syllables; and taste in dress was beyond their comprehension. +In the long vista of future years she saw nothing but dreary drudgery +at her detested old trade without prospect of reward.</p> +<p>She went about quite despairing during the next few days—an +unpromising, unfortunate mood for a woman who had not been married six +weeks. From her parents she concealed everything. They had +been amongst the few acquaintances of Heddegan who knew nothing of his +secret, and were indignant enough when they saw such a ready-made household +foisted upon their only child. But she would not support them +in their remonstrances.</p> +<p>‘No, you don’t yet know all,’ she said.</p> +<p>Thus Baptista had sense enough to see the retributive fairness of +this issue. For some time, whenever conversation arose between +her and Heddegan, which was not often, she always said, ‘I am +miserable, and you know it. Yet I don’t wish things to be +otherwise.’</p> +<p>But one day when he asked, ‘How do you like ’em now?’ +her answer was unexpected. ‘Much better than I did,’ +she said, quietly. ‘I may like them very much some day.’</p> +<p>This was the beginning of a serener season for the chastened spirit +of Baptista Heddegan. She had, in truth, discovered, underneath +the crust of uncouthness and meagre articulation which was due to their +Troglodytean existence, that her unwelcomed daughters had natures that +were unselfish almost to sublimity. The harsh discipline accorded +to their young lives before their mother’s wrong had been righted, +had operated less to crush them than to lift them above all personal +ambition. They considered the world and its contents in a purely +objective way, and their own lot seemed only to affect them as that +of certain human beings among the rest, whose troubles they knew rather +than suffered.</p> +<p>This was such an entirely new way of regarding life to a woman of +Baptista’s nature, that her attention, from being first arrested +by it, became deeply interested. By imperceptible pulses her heart +expanded in sympathy with theirs. The sentences of her tragi-comedy, +her life, confused till now, became clearer daily. That in humanity, +as exemplified by these girls, there was nothing to dislike, but infinitely +much to pity, she learnt with the lapse of each week in their company. +She grew to like the girls of unpromising exterior, and from liking +she got to love them; till they formed an unexpected point of junction +between her own and her husband’s interests, generating a sterling +friendship at least, between a pair in whose existence there had threatened +to be neither friendship nor love.</p> +<p><i>October</i>, 1885.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHANGED MAN AND OTHER TALES***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 3058-h.htm or 3058-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/0/5/3058 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: A Changed Man and Other Tales + +Author: Thomas Hardy + +Release Date: November 2, 2004 [eBook #3058] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHANGED MAN AND OTHER TALES*** + + + +Transcribed from the 1920 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +A CHANGED MAN AND OTHER TALES + + +Contents: + +Prefatory Note +A Changed Man +The Waiting Supper +Alicia's Diary +The Grave by the Handpost +Enter a Dragoon +A Tryst at an Ancient Earthwork +What the Shepherd Saw +A Committee Man of 'The Terror' +Master John Horseleigh, Knight +The Duke's Reappearance +A Mere Interlude + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + + +I reprint in this volume, for what they may be worth, a dozen minor +novels that have been published in the periodical press at various dates +in the past, in order to render them accessible to readers who desire to +have them in the complete series issued by my publishers. For aid in +reclaiming some of the narratives I express my thanks to the proprietors +and editors of the newspapers and magazines in whose pages they first +appeared. + +T. H. +August 1913. + + + + +A CHANGED MAN + + +CHAPTER I + + +The person who, next to the actors themselves, chanced to know most of +their story, lived just below 'Top o' Town' (as the spot was called) in +an old substantially-built house, distinguished among its neighbours by +having an oriel window on the first floor, whence could be obtained a +raking view of the High Street, west and east, the former including +Laura's dwelling, the end of the Town Avenue hard by (in which were +played the odd pranks hereafter to be mentioned), the Port-Bredy road +rising westwards, and the turning that led to the cavalry barracks where +the Captain was quartered. Looking eastward down the town from the same +favoured gazebo, the long perspective of houses declined and dwindled +till they merged in the highway across the moor. The white riband of +road disappeared over Grey's Bridge a quarter of a mile off, to plunge +into innumerable rustic windings, shy shades, and solitary undulations up +hill and down dale for one hundred and twenty miles till it exhibited +itself at Hyde Park Corner as a smooth bland surface in touch with a busy +and fashionable world. + +To the barracks aforesaid had recently arrived the ---th Hussars, a +regiment new to the locality. Almost before any acquaintance with its +members had been made by the townspeople, a report spread that they were +a 'crack' body of men, and had brought a splendid band. For some reason +or other the town had not been used as the headquarters of cavalry for +many years, the various troops stationed there having consisted of casual +detachments only; so that it was with a sense of honour that +everybody--even the small furniture-broker from whom the married troopers +hired tables and chairs--received the news of their crack quality. + +In those days the Hussar regiments still wore over the left shoulder that +attractive attachment, or frilled half-coat, hanging loosely behind like +the wounded wing of a bird, which was called the pelisse, though it was +known among the troopers themselves as a 'sling-jacket.' It added +amazingly to their picturesqueness in women's eyes, and, indeed, in the +eyes of men also. + +The burgher who lived in the house with the oriel window sat during a +great many hours of the day in that projection, for he was an invalid, +and time hung heavily on his hands unless he maintained a constant +interest in proceedings without. Not more than a week after the arrival +of the Hussars his ears were assailed by the shout of one schoolboy to +another in the street below. + +'Have 'ee heard this about the Hussars? They are haunted! Yes--a ghost +troubles 'em; he has followed 'em about the world for years.' + +A haunted regiment: that was a new idea for either invalid or stalwart. +The listener in the oriel came to the conclusion that there were some +lively characters among the ---th Hussars. + +He made Captain Maumbry's acquaintance in an informal manner at an +afternoon tea to which he went in a wheeled chair--one of the very rare +outings that the state of his health permitted. Maumbry showed himself +to be a handsome man of twenty-eight or thirty, with an attractive hint +of wickedness in his manner that was sure to make him adorable with good +young women. The large dark eyes that lit his pale face expressed this +wickedness strongly, though such was the adaptability of their rays that +one could think they might have expressed sadness or seriousness just as +readily, if he had had a mind for such. + +An old and deaf lady who was present asked Captain Maumbry bluntly: +'What's this we hear about you? They say your regiment is haunted.' + +The Captain's face assumed an aspect of grave, even sad, concern. 'Yes,' +he replied, 'it is too true.' + +Some younger ladies smiled till they saw how serious he looked, when they +looked serious likewise. + +'Really?' said the old lady. + +'Yes. We naturally don't wish to say much about it.' + +'No, no; of course not. But--how haunted?' + +'Well; the--thing, as I'll call it, follows us. In country quarters or +town, abroad or at home, it's just the same.' + +'How do you account for it?' + +'H'm.' Maumbry lowered his voice. 'Some crime committed by certain of +our regiment in past years, we suppose.' + +'Dear me . . . How very horrid, and singular!' + +'But, as I said, we don't speak of it much.' + +'No . . . no.' + +When the Hussar was gone, a young lady, disclosing a long-suppressed +interest, asked if the ghost had been seen by any of the town. + +The lawyer's son, who always had the latest borough news, said that, +though it was seldom seen by any one but the Hussars themselves, more +than one townsman and woman had already set eyes on it, to his or her +terror. The phantom mostly appeared very late at night, under the dense +trees of the town-avenue nearest the barracks. It was about ten feet +high; its teeth chattered with a dry naked sound, as if they were those +of a skeleton; and its hip-bones could be heard grating in their sockets. + +During the darkest weeks of winter several timid persons were seriously +frightened by the object answering to this cheerful description, and the +police began to look into the matter. Whereupon the appearances grew +less frequent, and some of the Boys of the regiment thankfully stated +that they had not been so free from ghostly visitation for years as they +had become since their arrival in Casterbridge. + +This playing at ghosts was the most innocent of the amusements indulged +in by the choice young spirits who inhabited the lichened, red-brick +building at the top of the town bearing 'W.D.' and a broad arrow on its +quoins. Far more serious escapades--levities relating to love, wine, +cards, betting--were talked of, with no doubt more or less of +exaggeration. That the Hussars, Captain Maumbry included, were the cause +of bitter tears to several young women of the town and country is +unquestionably true, despite the fact that the gaieties of the young men +wore a more staring colour in this old-fashioned place than they would +have done in a large and modern city. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Regularly once a week they rode out in marching order. + +Returning up the town on one of these occasions, the romantic pelisse +flapping behind each horseman's shoulder in the soft south-west wind, +Captain Maumbry glanced up at the oriel. A mutual nod was exchanged +between him and the person who sat there reading. The reader and a +friend in the room with him followed the troop with their eyes all the +way up the street, till, when the soldiers were opposite the house in +which Laura lived, that young lady became discernible in the balcony. + +'They are engaged to be married, I hear,' said the friend. + +'Who--Maumbry and Laura? Never--so soon?' + +'Yes.' + +'He'll never marry. Several girls have been mentioned in connection with +his name. I am sorry for Laura.' + +'Oh, but you needn't be. They are excellently matched.' + +'She's only one more.' + +'She's one more, and more still. She has regularly caught him. She is a +born player of the game of hearts, and she knew how to beat him in his +own practices. If there is one woman in the town who has any chance of +holding her own and marrying him, she is that woman.' + +This was true, as it turned out. By natural proclivity Laura had from +the first entered heart and soul into military romance as exhibited in +the plots and characters of those living exponents of it who came under +her notice. From her earliest young womanhood civilians, however +promising, had no chance of winning her interest if the meanest warrior +were within the horizon. It may be that the position of her uncle's +house (which was her home) at the corner of West Street nearest the +barracks, the daily passing of the troops, the constant blowing of +trumpet-calls a furlong from her windows, coupled with the fact that she +knew nothing of the inner realities of military life, and hence idealized +it, had also helped her mind's original bias for thinking men-at-arms the +only ones worthy of a woman's heart. + +Captain Maumbry was a typical prize; one whom all surrounding maidens had +coveted, ached for, angled for, wept for, had by her judicious management +become subdued to her purpose; and in addition to the pleasure of +marrying the man she loved, Laura had the joy of feeling herself hated by +the mothers of all the marriageable girls of the neighbourhood. + +The man in the oriel went to the wedding; not as a guest, for at this +time he was but slightly acquainted with the parties; but mainly because +the church was close to his house; partly, too, for a reason which moved +many others to be spectators of the ceremony; a subconsciousness that, +though the couple might be happy in their experiences, there was +sufficient possibility of their being otherwise to colour the musings of +an onlooker with a pleasing pathos of conjecture. He could on occasion +do a pretty stroke of rhyming in those days, and he beguiled the time of +waiting by pencilling on a blank page of his prayer-book a few lines +which, though kept private then, may be given here:- + + AT A HASTY WEDDING + + (Triolet) + + If hours be years the twain are blest, + For now they solace swift desire + By lifelong ties that tether zest + If hours be years. The twain are blest + Do eastern suns slope never west, + Nor pallid ashes follow fire. + If hours be years the twain are blest + For now they solace swift desire. + +As if, however, to falsify all prophecies, the couple seemed to find in +marriage the secret of perpetuating the intoxication of a courtship +which, on Maumbry's side at least, had opened without serious intent. +During the winter following they were the most popular pair in and about +Casterbridge--nay in South Wessex itself. No smart dinner in the country +houses of the younger and gayer families within driving distance of the +borough was complete without their lively presence; Mrs. Maumbry was the +blithest of the whirling figures at the county ball; and when followed +that inevitable incident of garrison-town life, an amateur dramatic +entertainment, it was just the same. The acting was for the benefit of +such and such an excellent charity--nobody cared what, provided the play +were played--and both Captain Maumbry and his wife were in the piece, +having been in fact, by mutual consent, the originators of the +performance. And so with laughter, and thoughtlessness, and movement, +all went merrily. There was a little backwardness in the bill-paying of +the couple; but in justice to them it must be added that sooner or later +all owings were paid. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +At the chapel-of-ease attended by the troops there arose above the edge +of the pulpit one Sunday an unknown face. This was the face of a new +curate. He placed upon the desk, not the familiar sermon book, but +merely a Bible. The person who tells these things was not present at +that service, but he soon learnt that the young curate was nothing less +than a great surprise to his congregation; a mixed one always, for though +the Hussars occupied the body of the building, its nooks and corners were +crammed with civilians, whom, up to the present, even the least +uncharitable would have described as being attracted thither less by the +services than by the soldiery. + +Now there arose a second reason for squeezing into an already overcrowded +church. The persuasive and gentle eloquence of Mr. Sainway operated like +a charm upon those accustomed only to the higher and dryer styles of +preaching, and for a time the other churches of the town were thinned of +their sitters. + +At this point in the nineteenth century the sermon was the sole reason +for churchgoing amongst a vast body of religious people. The liturgy was +a formal preliminary, which, like the Royal proclamation in a court of +assize, had to be got through before the real interest began; and on +reaching home the question was simply: Who preached, and how did he +handle his subject? Even had an archbishop officiated in the service +proper nobody would have cared much about what was said or sung. People +who had formerly attended in the morning only began to go in the evening, +and even to the special addresses in the afternoon. + +One day when Captain Maumbry entered his wife's drawing-room, filled with +hired furniture, she thought he was somebody else, for he had not come +upstairs humming the most catching air afloat in musical circles or in +his usual careless way. + +'What's the matter, Jack?' she said without looking up from a note she +was writing. + +'Well--not much, that I know.' + +'O, but there is,' she murmured as she wrote. + +'Why--this cursed new lath in a sheet--I mean the new parson! He wants +us to stop the band-playing on Sunday afternoons.' + +Laura looked up aghast. + +'Why, it is the one thing that enables the few rational beings hereabouts +to keep alive from Saturday to Monday!' + +'He says all the town flock to the music and don't come to the service, +and that the pieces played are profane, or mundane, or inane, or +something--not what ought to be played on Sunday. Of course 'tis +Lautmann who settles those things.' + +Lautmann was the bandmaster. + +The barrack-green on Sunday afternoons had, indeed, become the promenade +of a great many townspeople cheerfully inclined, many even of those who +attended in the morning at Mr. Sainway's service; and little boys who +ought to have been listening to the curate's afternoon lecture were too +often seen rolling upon the grass and making faces behind the more +dignified listeners. + +Laura heard no more about the matter, however, for two or three weeks, +when suddenly remembering it she asked her husband if any further +objections had been raised. + +'O--Mr. Sainway. I forgot to tell you. I've made his acquaintance. He +is not a bad sort of man.' + +Laura asked if either Maumbry or some others of the officers did not give +the presumptuous curate a good setting down for his interference. + +'O well--we've forgotten that. He's a stunning preacher, they tell me.' + +The acquaintance developed apparently, for the Captain said to her a +little later on, 'There's a good deal in Sainway's argument about having +no band on Sunday afternoons. After all, it is close to his church. But +he doesn't press his objections unduly.' + +'I am surprised to hear you defend him!' + +'It was only a passing thought of mine. We naturally don't wish to +offend the inhabitants of the town if they don't like it.' + +'But they do.' + +The invalid in the oriel never clearly gathered the details of progress +in this conflict of lay and clerical opinion; but so it was that, to the +disappointment of musicians, the grief of out-walking lovers, and the +regret of the junior population of the town and country round, the band- +playing on Sunday afternoons ceased in Casterbridge barrack-square. + +By this time the Maumbrys had frequently listened to the preaching of the +gentle if narrow-minded curate; for these light-natured, hit-or-miss, +rackety people went to church like others for respectability's sake. None +so orthodox as your unmitigated worldling. A more remarkable event was +the sight to the man in the window of Captain Maumbry and Mr. Sainway +walking down the High Street in earnest conversation. On his mentioning +this fact to a caller he was assured that it was a matter of common talk +that they were always together. + +The observer would soon have learnt this with his own eyes if he had not +been told. They began to pass together nearly every day. Hitherto Mrs. +Maumbry, in fashionable walking clothes, had usually been her husband's +companion; but this was less frequent now. The close and singular +friendship between the two men went on for nearly a year, when Mr. +Sainway was presented to a living in a densely-populated town in the +midland counties. He bade the parishioners of his old place a reluctant +farewell and departed, the touching sermon he preached on the occasion +being published by the local printer. Everybody was sorry to lose him; +and it was with genuine grief that his Casterbridge congregation learnt +later on that soon after his induction to his benefice, during some +bitter weather, he had fallen seriously ill of inflammation of the lungs, +of which he eventually died. + +We now get below the surface of things. Of all who had known the dead +curate, none grieved for him like the man who on his first arrival had +called him a 'lath in a sheet.' Mrs. Maumbry had never greatly +sympathized with the impressive parson; indeed, she had been secretly +glad that he had gone away to better himself. He had considerably +diminished the pleasures of a woman by whom the joys of earth and good +company had been appreciated to the full. Sorry for her husband in his +loss of a friend who had been none of hers, she was yet quite unprepared +for the sequel. + +'There is something that I have wanted to tell you lately, dear,' he said +one morning at breakfast with hesitation. 'Have you guessed what it is?' + +She had guessed nothing. + +'That I think of retiring from the army.' + +'What!' + +'I have thought more and more of Sainway since his death, and of what he +used to say to me so earnestly. And I feel certain I shall be right in +obeying a call within me to give up this fighting trade and enter the +Church.' + +'What--be a parson?' + +'Yes.' + +'But what should I do?' + +'Be a parson's wife.' + +'Never!' she affirmed. + +'But how can you help it?' + +'I'll run away rather!' she said vehemently; + +'No, you mustn't,' Maumbry replied, in the tone he used when his mind was +made up. 'You'll get accustomed to the idea, for I am constrained to +carry it out, though it is against my worldly interests. I am forced on +by a Hand outside me to tread in the steps of Sainway.' + +'Jack,' she asked, with calm pallor and round eyes; 'do you mean to say +seriously that you are arranging to be a curate instead of a soldier?' + +'I might say a curate is a soldier--of the church militant; but I don't +want to offend you with doctrine. I distinctly say, yes.' + +Late one evening, a little time onward, he caught her sitting by the dim +firelight in her room. She did not know he had entered; and he found her +weeping. 'What are you crying about, poor dearest?' he said. + +She started. 'Because of what you have told me!' The Captain grew very +unhappy; but he was undeterred. + +In due time the town learnt, to its intense surprise, that Captain +Maumbry had retired from the ---th Hussars and gone to Fountall +Theological College to prepare for the ministry. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +'O, the pity of it! Such a dashing soldier--so popular--such an +acquisition to the town--the soul of social life here! And now! . . . +One should not speak ill of the dead, but that dreadful Mr. Sainway--it +was too cruel of him!' + +This is a summary of what was said when Captain, now the Reverend, John +Maumbry was enabled by circumstances to indulge his heart's desire of +returning to the scene of his former exploits in the capacity of a +minister of the Gospel. A low-lying district of the town, which at that +date was crowded with impoverished cottagers, was crying for a curate, +and Mr. Maumbry generously offered himself as one willing to undertake +labours that were certain to produce little result, and no thanks, +credit, or emolument. + +Let the truth be told about him as a clergyman; he proved to be anything +but a brilliant success. Painstaking, single-minded, deeply in earnest +as all could see, his delivery was laboured, his sermons were dull to +listen to, and alas, too, too long. Even the dispassionate judges who +sat by the hour in the bar-parlour of the White Hart--an inn standing at +the dividing line between the poor quarter aforesaid and the fashionable +quarter of Maumbry's former triumphs, and hence affording a position of +strict impartiality--agreed in substance with the young ladies to the +westward, though their views were somewhat more tersely expressed: +'Surely, God A'mighty spwiled a good sojer to make a bad pa'son when He +shifted Cap'n Ma'mbry into a sarpless!' + +The latter knew that such things were said, but he pursued his daily' +labours in and out of the hovels with serene unconcern. + +It was about this time that the invalid in the oriel became more than a +mere bowing acquaintance of Mrs. Maumbry's. She had returned to the town +with her husband, and was living with him in a little house in the centre +of his circle of ministration, when by some means she became one of the +invalid's visitors. After a general conversation while sitting in his +room with a friend of both, an incident led up to the matter that still +rankled deeply in her soul. Her face was now paler and thinner than it +had been; even more attractive, her disappointments having inscribed +themselves as meek thoughtfulness on a look that was once a little +frivolous. The two ladies had called to be allowed to use the window for +observing the departure of the Hussars, who were leaving for barracks +much nearer to London. + +The troopers turned the corner of Barrack Road into the top of High +Street, headed by their band playing 'The girl I left behind me' (which +was formerly always the tune for such times, though it is now nearly +disused). They came and passed the oriel, where an officer or two, +looking up and discovering Mrs. Maumbry, saluted her, whose eyes filled +with tears as the notes of the band waned away. Before the little group +had recovered from that sense of the romantic which such spectacles +impart, Mr. Maumbry came along the pavement. He probably had bidden his +former brethren-in-arms a farewell at the top of the street, for he +walked from that direction in his rather shabby clerical clothes, and +with a basket on his arm which seemed to hold some purchases he had been +making for his poorer parishioners. Unlike the soldiers he went along +quite unconscious of his appearance or of the scene around. + +The contrast was too much for Laura. With lips that now quivered, she +asked the invalid what he thought of the change that had come to her. + +It was difficult to answer, and with a wilfulness that was too strong in +her she repeated the question. + +'Do you think,' she added, 'that a woman's husband has a right to do such +a thing, even if he does feel a certain call to it?' + +Her listener sympathized too largely with both of them to be anything but +unsatisfactory in his reply. Laura gazed longingly out of the window +towards the thin dusty line of Hussars, now smalling towards the +Mellstock Ridge. 'I,' she said, 'who should have been in their van on +the way to London, am doomed to fester in a hole in Durnover Lane!' + +Many events had passed and many rumours had been current concerning her +before the invalid saw her again after her leave-taking that day. + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Casterbridge had known many military and civil episodes; many happy +times, and times less happy; and now came the time of her visitation. The +scourge of cholera had been laid on the suffering country, and the low- +lying purlieus of this ancient borough had more than their share of the +infliction. Mixen Lane, in the Durnover quarter, and in Maumbry's +parish, was where the blow fell most heavily. Yet there was a certain +mercy in its choice of a date, for Maumbry was the man for such an hour. + +The spread of the epidemic was so rapid that many left the town and took +lodgings in the villages and farms. Mr. Maumbry's house was close to the +most infected street, and he himself was occupied morn, noon, and night +in endeavours to stamp out the plague and in alleviating the sufferings +of the victims. So, as a matter of ordinary precaution, he decided to +isolate his wife somewhere away from him for a while. + +She suggested a village by the sea, near Budmouth Regis, and lodgings +were obtained for her at Creston, a spot divided from the Casterbridge +valley by a high ridge that gave it quite another atmosphere, though it +lay no more than six miles off. + +Thither she went. While she was rusticating in this place of safety, and +her husband was slaving in the slums, she struck up an acquaintance with +a lieutenant in the ---st Foot, a Mr. Vannicock, who was stationed with +his regiment at the Budmouth infantry barracks. As Laura frequently sat +on the shelving beach, watching each thin wave slide up to her, and +hearing, without heeding, its gnaw at the pebbles in its retreat, he +often took a walk that way. + +The acquaintance grew and ripened. Her situation, her history, her +beauty, her age--a year or two above his own--all tended to make an +impression on the young man's heart, and a reckless flirtation was soon +in blithe progress upon that lonely shore. + +It was said by her detractors afterwards that she had chosen her lodging +to be near this gentleman, but there is reason to believe that she had +never seen him till her arrival there. Just now Casterbridge was so +deeply occupied with its own sad affairs--a daily burying of the dead and +destruction of contaminated clothes and bedding--that it had little +inclination to promulgate such gossip as may have reached its ears on the +pair. Nobody long considered Laura in the tragic cloud which overhung +all. + +Meanwhile, on the Budmouth side of the hill the very mood of men was in +contrast. The visitation there had been slight and much earlier, and +normal occupations and pastimes had been resumed. Mr. Maumbry had +arranged to see Laura twice a week in the open air, that she might run no +risk from him; and, having heard nothing of the faint rumour, he met her +as usual one dry and windy afternoon on the summit of the dividing hill, +near where the high road from town to town crosses the old Ridge-way at +right angles. + +He waved his hand, and smiled as she approached, shouting to her: 'We +will keep this wall between us, dear.' (Walls formed the field-fences +here.) 'You mustn't be endangered. It won't be for long, with God's +help!' + +'I will do as you tell me, Jack. But you are running too much risk +yourself, aren't you? I get little news of you; but I fancy you are.' + +'Not more than others.' + +Thus somewhat formally they talked, an insulating wind beating the wall +between them like a mill-weir. + +'But you wanted to ask me something?' he added. + +'Yes. You know we are trying in Budmouth to raise some money for your +sufferers; and the way we have thought of is by a dramatic performance. +They want me to take a part.' + +His face saddened. 'I have known so much of that sort of thing, and all +that accompanies it! I wish you had thought of some other way.' + +She said lightly that she was afraid it was all settled. 'You object to +my taking a part, then? Of course--' + +He told her that he did not like to say he positively objected. He +wished they had chosen an oratorio, or lecture, or anything more in +keeping with the necessity it was to relieve. + +'But,' said she impatiently, 'people won't come to oratorios or lectures! +They will crowd to comedies and farces.' + +'Well, I cannot dictate to Budmouth how it shall earn the money it is +going to give us. Who is getting up this performance?' + +'The boys of the ---st.' + +'Ah, yes; our old game!' replied Mr. Maumbry. 'The grief of Casterbridge +is the excuse for their frivolity. Candidly, dear Laura, I wish you +wouldn't play in it. But I don't forbid you to. I leave the whole to +your judgment.' + +The interview ended, and they went their ways northward and southward. +Time disclosed to all concerned that Mrs. Maumbry played in the comedy as +the heroine, the lover's part being taken by Mr. Vannicock. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Thus was helped on an event which the conduct of the mutually-attracted +ones had been generating for some time. + +It is unnecessary to give details. The ---st Foot left for Bristol, and +this precipitated their action. After a week of hesitation she agreed to +leave her home at Creston and meet Vannicock on the ridge hard by, and to +accompany him to Bath, where he had secured lodgings for her, so that she +would be only about a dozen miles from his quarters. + +Accordingly, on the evening chosen, she laid on her dressing-table a note +for her husband, running thus:- + + DEAR JACK--I am unable to endure this life any longer, and I have + resolved to put an end to it. I told you I should run away if you + persisted in being a clergyman, and now I am doing it. One cannot + help one's nature. I have resolved to throw in my lot with Mr. + Vannicock, and I hope rather than expect you will forgive me.--L. + +Then, with hardly a scrap of luggage, she went, ascending to the ridge in +the dusk of early evening. Almost on the very spot where her husband had +stood at their last tryst she beheld the outline of Vannicock, who had +come all the way from Bristol to fetch her. + +'I don't like meeting here--it is so unlucky!' she cried to him. 'For +God's sake let us have a place of our own. Go back to the milestone, and +I'll come on.' + +He went back to the milestone that stands on the north slope of the +ridge, where the old and new roads diverge, and she joined him there. + +She was taciturn and sorrowful when he asked her why she would not meet +him on the top. At last she inquired how they were going to travel. + +He explained that he proposed to walk to Mellstock Hill, on the other +side of Casterbridge, where a fly was waiting to take them by a cross-cut +into the Ivell Road, and onward to that town. The Bristol railway was +open to Ivell. + +This plan they followed, and walked briskly through the dull gloom till +they neared Casterbridge, which place they avoided by turning to the +right at the Roman Amphitheatre and bearing round to Durnover Cross. +Thence the way was solitary and open across the moor to the hill whereon +the Ivell fly awaited them. + +'I have noticed for some time,' she said, 'a lurid glare over the +Durnover end of the town. It seems to come from somewhere about Mixen +Lane.' + +'The lamps,' he suggested. + +'There's not a lamp as big as a rushlight in the whole lane. It is where +the cholera is worst.' + +By Standfast Corner, a little beyond the Cross, they suddenly obtained an +end view of the lane. Large bonfires were burning in the middle of the +way, with a view to purifying the air; and from the wretched tenements +with which the lane was lined in those days persons were bringing out +bedding and clothing. Some was thrown into the fires, the rest placed in +wheel-barrows and wheeled into the moor directly in the track of the +fugitives. + +They followed on, and came up to where a vast copper was set in the open +air. Here the linen was boiled and disinfected. By the light of the +lanterns Laura discovered that her husband was standing by the copper, +and that it was he who unloaded the barrow and immersed its contents. The +night was so calm and muggy that the conversation by the copper reached +her ears. + +'Are there many more loads to-night?' + +'There's the clothes o' they that died this afternoon, sir. But that +might bide till to-morrow, for you must be tired out.' + +'We'll do it at once, for I can't ask anybody else to undertake it. +Overturn that load on the grass and fetch the rest.' + +The man did so and went off with the barrow. Maumbry paused for a moment +to wipe his face, and resumed his homely drudgery amid this squalid and +reeking scene, pressing down and stirring the contents of the copper with +what looked like an old rolling-pin. The steam therefrom, laden with +death, travelled in a low trail across the meadow. + +Laura spoke suddenly: 'I won't go to-night after all. He is so tired, +and I must help him. I didn't know things were so bad as this!' + +Vannicock's arm dropped from her waist, where it had been resting as they +walked. 'Will you leave?' she asked. + +'I will if you say I must. But I'd rather help too.' There was no +expostulation in his tone. + +Laura had gone forward. 'Jack,' she said, 'I am come to help!' + +The weary curate turned and held up the lantern. 'O--what, is it you, +Laura?' he asked in surprise. 'Why did you come into this? You had +better go back--the risk is great.' + +'But I want to help you, Jack. Please let me help! I didn't come by +myself--Mr. Vannicock kept me company. He will make himself useful too, +if he's not gone on. Mr. Vannicock!' + +The young lieutenant came forward reluctantly. Mr. Maumbry spoke +formally to him, adding as he resumed his labour, 'I thought the ---st +Foot had gone to Bristol.' + +'We have. But I have run down again for a few things.' + +The two newcomers began to assist, Vannicock placing on the ground the +small bag containing Laura's toilet articles that he had been carrying. +The barrowman soon returned with another load, and all continued work for +nearly a half-hour, when a coachman came out from the shadows to the +north. + +'Beg pardon, sir,' he whispered to Vannicock, 'but I've waited so long on +Mellstock hill that at last I drove down to the turnpike; and seeing the +light here, I ran on to find out what had happened.' + +Lieutenant Vannicock told him to wait a few minutes, and the last barrow- +load was got through. Mr. Maumbry stretched himself and breathed +heavily, saying, 'There; we can do no more.' + +As if from the relaxation of effort he seemed to be seized with violent +pain. He pressed his hands to his sides and bent forward. + +'Ah! I think it has got hold of me at last,' he said with difficulty. 'I +must try to get home. Let Mr. Vannicock take you back, Laura.' + +He walked a few steps, they helping him, but was obliged to sink down on +the grass. + +'I am--afraid--you'll have to send for a hurdle, or shutter, or +something,' he went on feebly, 'or try to get me into the barrow.' + +But Vannicock had called to the driver of the fly, and they waited until +it was brought on from the turnpike hard by. Mr. Maumbry was placed +therein. Laura entered with him, and they drove to his humble residence +near the Cross, where he was got upstairs. + +Vannicock stood outside by the empty fly awhile, but Laura did not +reappear. He thereupon entered the fly and told the driver to take him +back to Ivell. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Mr. Maumbry had over-exerted himself in the relief of the suffering poor, +and fell a victim--one of the last--to the pestilence which had carried +off so many. Two days later he lay in his coffin. + +Laura was in the room below. A servant brought in some letters, and she +glanced them over. One was the note from herself to Maumbry, informing +him that she was unable to endure life with him any longer and was about +to elope with Vannicock. Having read the letter she took it upstairs to +where the dead man was, and slipped it into his coffin. The next day she +buried him. + +She was now free. + +She shut up his house at Durnover Cross and returned to her lodgings at +Creston. Soon she had a letter from Vannicock, and six weeks after her +husband's death her lover came to see her. + +'I forgot to give you back this--that night,' he said presently, handing +her the little bag she had taken as her whole luggage when leaving. + +Laura received it and absently shook it out. There fell upon the carpet +her brush, comb, slippers, nightdress, and other simple necessaries for a +journey. They had an intolerably ghastly look now, and she tried to +cover them. + +'I can now,' he said, 'ask you to belong to me legally--when a proper +interval has gone--instead of as we meant.' + +There was languor in his utterance, hinting at a possibility that it was +perfunctorily made. Laura picked up her articles, answering that he +certainly could so ask her--she was free. Yet not her expression either +could be called an ardent response. Then she blinked more and more +quickly and put her handkerchief to her face. She was weeping violently. + +He did not move or try to comfort her in any way. What had come between +them? No living person. They had been lovers. There was now no +material obstacle whatever to their union. But there was the insistent +shadow of that unconscious one; the thin figure of him, moving to and fro +in front of the ghastly furnace in the gloom of Durnover Moor. + +Yet Vannicock called upon Laura when he was in the neighbourhood, which +was not often; but in two years, as if on purpose to further the marriage +which everybody was expecting, the ---st Foot returned to Budmouth Regis. + +Thereupon the two could not help encountering each other at times. But +whether because the obstacle had been the source of the love, or from a +sense of error, and because Mrs. Maumbry bore a less attractive look as a +widow than before, their feelings seemed to decline from their former +incandescence to a mere tepid civility. What domestic issues supervened +in Vannicock's further story the man in the oriel never knew; but Mrs. +Maumbry lived and died a widow. + +1900. + + + + +THE WAITING SUPPER + + +CHAPTER I + + +Whoever had perceived the yeoman standing on Squire Everard's lawn in the +dusk of that October evening fifty years ago, might have said at first +sight that he was loitering there from idle curiosity. For a large five- +light window of the manor-house in front of him was unshuttered and +uncurtained, so that the illuminated room within could be scanned almost +to its four corners. Obviously nobody was ever expected to be in this +part of the grounds after nightfall. + +The apartment thus swept by an eye from without was occupied by two +persons; they were sitting over dessert, the tablecloth having been +removed in the old-fashioned way. The fruits were local, consisting of +apples, pears, nuts, and such other products of the summer as might be +presumed to grow on the estate. There was strong ale and rum on the +table, and but little wine. Moreover, the appointments of the dining- +room were simple and homely even for the date, betokening a countrified +household of the smaller gentry, without much wealth or ambition--formerly +a numerous class, but now in great part ousted by the territorial +landlords. + +One of the two sitters was a young lady in white muslin, who listened +somewhat impatiently to the remarks of her companion, an elderly, +rubicund personage, whom the merest stranger could have pronounced to be +her father. The watcher evinced no signs of moving, and it became +evident that affairs were not so simple as they first had seemed. The +tall farmer was in fact no accidental spectator, and he stood by +premeditation close to the trunk of a tree, so that had any traveller +passed along the road without the park gate, or even round the lawn to +the door, that person would scarce have noticed the other, +notwithstanding that the gate was quite near at hand, and the park little +larger than a paddock. There was still light enough in the western +heaven to brighten faintly one side of the man's face, and to show +against the trunk of the tree behind the admirable cut of his profile; +also to reveal that the front of the manor-house, small though it seemed, +was solidly built of stone in that never-to-be-surpassed style for the +English country residence--the mullioned and transomed Elizabethan. + +The lawn, although neglected, was still as level as a bowling-green--which +indeed it might once have served for; and the blades of grass before the +window were raked by the candle-shine, which stretched over them so far +as to touch the yeoman's face in front. + +Within the dining-room there were also, with one of the twain, the same +signs of a hidden purpose that marked the farmer. The young lady's mind +was straying as clearly into the shadows as that of the loiterer was +fixed upon the room--nay, it could be said that she was quite conscious +of his presence outside. Impatience caused her foot to beat silently on +the carpet, and she more than once rose to leave the table. This +proceeding was checked by her father, who would put his hand upon her +shoulder and unceremoniously press her down into her chair, till he +should have concluded his observations. Her replies were brief enough, +and there was factitiousness in her smiles of assent to his views. A +small iron casement between two of the mullions was open, and some +occasional words of the dialogue were audible without. + +'As for drains--how can I put in drains? The pipes don't cost much, +that's true; but the labour in sinking the trenches is ruination. And +then the gates--they should be hung to stone posts, otherwise there's no +keeping them up through harvest.' The Squire's voice was strongly toned +with the local accent, so that he said 'drains' and 'geats' like the +rustics on his estate. + +The landscape without grew darker, and the young man's figure seemed to +be absorbed into the trunk of the tree. The small stars filled in +between the larger, the nebulae between the small stars, the trees quite +lost their voice; and if there was still a sound, it was from the cascade +of a stream which stretched along under the trees that bounded the lawn +on its northern side. + +At last the young girl did get to her feet and secure her retreat. 'I +have something to do, papa,' she said. 'I shall not be in the drawing- +room just yet.' + +'Very well,' replied he. 'Then I won't hurry.' And closing the door +behind her, he drew his decanters together and settled down in his chair. + +Three minutes after that a woman's shape emerged from the drawing-room +window, and passing through a wall-door to the entrance front, came +across the grass. She kept well clear of the dining-room window, but +enough of its light fell on her to show, escaping from the dark-hooded +cloak that she wore, stray verges of the same light dress which had +figured but recently at the dinner-table. The hood was contracted tight +about her face with a drawing-string, making her countenance small and +baby-like, and lovelier even than before. + +Without hesitation she brushed across the grass to the tree under which +the young man stood concealed. The moment she had reached him he +enclosed her form with his arm. The meeting and embrace, though by no +means formal, were yet not passionate; the whole proceeding was that of +persons who had repeated the act so often as to be unconscious of its +performance. She turned within his arm, and faced in the same direction +with himself, which was towards the window; and thus they stood without +speaking, the back of her head leaning against his shoulder. For a while +each seemed to be thinking his and her diverse thoughts. + +'You have kept me waiting a long time, dear Christine,' he said at last. +'I wanted to speak to you particularly, or I should not have stayed. How +came you to be dining at this time o' night?' + +'Father has been out all day, and dinner was put back till six. I know I +have kept you; but Nicholas, how can I help it sometimes, if I am not to +run any risk? My poor father insists upon my listening to all he has to +say; since my brother left he has had nobody else to listen to him; and +to-night he was particularly tedious on his usual topics--draining, and +tenant-farmers, and the village people. I must take daddy to London; he +gets so narrow always staying here.' + +'And what did you say to it all?' + +'Well, I took the part of the tenant-farmers, of course, as the beloved +of one should in duty do.' There followed a little break or gasp, +implying a strangled sigh. + +'You are sorry you have encouraged that beloving one?' + +'O no, Nicholas . . . What is it you want to see me for particularly?' + +'I know you are sorry, as time goes on, and everything is at a dead-lock, +with no prospect of change, and your rural swain loses his freshness! +Only think, this secret understanding between us has lasted near three +year, ever since you was a little over sixteen.' + +'Yes; it has been a long time.' + +'And I an untamed, uncultivated man, who has never seen London, and knows +nothing about society at all.' + +'Not uncultivated, dear Nicholas. Untravelled, socially unpractised, if +you will,' she said, smiling. 'Well, I did sigh; but not because I +regret being your promised one. What I do sometimes regret is that the +scheme, which my meetings with you are but a part of, has not been +carried out completely. You said, Nicholas, that if I consented to swear +to keep faith with you, you would go away and travel, and see nations, +and peoples, and cities, and take a professor with you, and study books +and art, simultaneously with your study of men and manners; and then come +back at the end of two years, when I should find that my father would by +no means be indisposed to accept you as a son-in-law. You said your +reason for wishing to get my promise before starting was that your mind +would then be more at rest when you were far away, and so could give +itself more completely to knowledge than if you went as my unaccepted +lover only, fuming with anxiety as to how I should be when you came back. +I saw how reasonable that was; and solemnly swore myself to you in +consequence. But instead of going to see the world you stay on and on +here to see me.' + +'And you don't want me to see you?' + +'Yes--no--it is not that. It is that I have latterly felt frightened at +what I am doing when not in your actual presence. It seems so wicked not +to tell my father that I have a lover close at hand, within touch and +view of both of us; whereas if you were absent my conduct would not seem +quite so treacherous. The realities would not stare at one so. You +would be a pleasant dream to me, which I should be free to indulge in +without reproach of my conscience; I should live in hopeful expectation +of your returning fully qualified to boldly claim me of my father. There, +I have been terribly frank, I know.' + +He in his turn had lapsed into gloomy breathings now. 'I did plan it as +you state,' he answered. 'I did mean to go away the moment I had your +promise. But, dear Christine, I did not foresee two or three things. I +did not know what a lot of pain it would cost to tear myself from you. +And I did not know that my stingy uncle--heaven forgive me calling him +so!--would so flatly refuse to advance me money for my purpose--the +scheme of travelling with a first-rate tutor costing a formidable sum o' +money. You have no idea what it would cost!' + +'But I have said that I'll find the money.' + +'Ah, there,' he returned, 'you have hit a sore place. To speak truly, +dear, I would rather stay unpolished a hundred years than take your +money.' + +'But why? Men continually use the money of the women they marry.' + +'Yes; but not till afterwards. No man would like to touch your money at +present, and I should feel very mean if I were to do so in present +circumstances. That brings me to what I was going to propose. But +no--upon the whole I will not propose it now.' + +'Ah! I would guarantee expenses, and you won't let me! The money is my +personal possession: it comes to me from my late grandfather, and not +from my father at all.' + +He laughed forcedly and pressed her hand. 'There are more reasons why I +cannot tear myself away,' he added. 'What would become of my uncle's +farming? Six hundred acres in this parish, and five hundred in the +next--a constant traipsing from one farm to the other; he can't be in two +places at once. Still, that might be got over if it were not for the +other matters. Besides, dear, I still should be a little uneasy, even +though I have your promise, lest somebody should snap you up away from +me.' + +'Ah, you should have thought of that before. Otherwise I have committed +myself for nothing.' + +'I should have thought of it,' he answered gravely. 'But I did not. +There lies my fault, I admit it freely. Ah, if you would only commit +yourself a little more, I might at least get over that difficulty! But I +won't ask you. You have no idea how much you are to me still; you could +not argue so coolly if you had. What property belongs to you I hate the +very sound of; it is you I care for. I wish you hadn't a farthing in the +world but what I could earn for you!' + +'I don't altogether wish that,' she murmured. + +'I wish it, because it would have made what I was going to propose much +easier to do than it is now. Indeed I will not propose it, although I +came on purpose, after what you have said in your frankness.' + +'Nonsense, Nic. Come, tell me. How can you be so touchy?' + +'Look at this then, Christine dear.' He drew from his breast-pocket a +sheet of paper and unfolded it, when it was observable that a seal +dangled from the bottom. + +'What is it?' She held the paper sideways, so that what there was of +window-light fell on its surface. 'I can only read the Old English +letters--why--our names! Surely it is not a marriage-licence?' + +'It is.' + +She trembled. 'O Nic! how could you do this--and without telling me!' + +'Why should I have thought I must tell you? You had not spoken "frankly" +then as you have now. We have been all to each other more than these two +years, and I thought I would propose that we marry privately, and that I +then leave you on the instant. I would have taken my travelling-bag to +church, and you would have gone home alone. I should not have started on +my adventures in the brilliant manner of our original plan, but should +have roughed it a little at first; my great gain would have been that the +absolute possession of you would have enabled me to work with spirit and +purpose, such as nothing else could do. But I dare not ask you now--so +frank as you have been.' + +She did not answer. The document he had produced gave such unexpected +substantiality to the venture with which she had so long toyed as a vague +dream merely, that she was, in truth, frightened a little. 'I--don't +know about it!' she said. + +'Perhaps not. Ah, my little lady, you are wearying of me!' + +'No, Nic,' responded she, creeping closer. 'I am not. Upon my word, and +truth, and honour, I am not, Nic.' + +'A mere tiller of the soil, as I should be called,' he continued, without +heeding her. 'And you--well, a daughter of one of the--I won't say +oldest families, because that's absurd, all families are the same age--one +of the longest chronicled families about here, whose name is actually the +name of the place.' + +'That's not much, I am sorry to say! My poor brother--but I won't speak +of that . . . Well,' she murmured mischievously, after a pause, 'you +certainly would not need to be uneasy if I were to do this that you want +me to do. You would have me safe enough in your trap then; I couldn't +get away!' + +'That's just it!' he said vehemently. 'It is a trap--you feel it so, and +that though you wouldn't be able to get away from me you might +particularly wish to! Ah, if I had asked you two years ago you would +have agreed instantly. But I thought I was bound to wait for the +proposal to come from you as the superior!' + +'Now you are angry, and take seriously what I meant purely in fun. You +don't know me even yet! To show you that you have not been mistaken in +me, I do propose to carry out this licence. I'll marry you, dear +Nicholas, to-morrow morning.' + +'Ah, Christine! I am afraid I have stung you on to this, so that I +cannot--' + +'No, no, no!' she hastily rejoined; and there was something in her tone +which suggested that she had been put upon her mettle and would not +flinch. 'Take me whilst I am in the humour. What church is the licence +for?' + +'That I've not looked to see--why our parish church here, of course. Ah, +then we cannot use it! We dare not be married here.' + +'We do dare,' said she. 'And we will too, if you'll be there.' + +'If I'll be there!' + +They speedily came to an agreement that he should be in the church-porch +at ten minutes to eight on the following morning, awaiting her; and that, +immediately after the conclusion of the service which would make them +one, Nicholas should set out on his long-deferred educational tour, +towards the cost of which she was resolving to bring a substantial +subscription with her to church. Then, slipping from him, she went +indoors by the way she had come, and Nicholas bent his steps homewards. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Instead of leaving the spot by the gate, he flung himself over the fence, +and pursued a direction towards the river under the trees. And it was +now, in his lonely progress, that he showed for the first time outwardly +that he was not altogether unworthy of her. He wore long water-boots +reaching above his knees, and, instead of making a circuit to find a +bridge by which he might cross the Froom--the river aforesaid--he made +straight for the point whence proceeded the low roar that was at this +hour the only evidence of the stream's existence. He speedily stood on +the verge of the waterfall which caused the noise, and stepping into the +water at the top of the fall, waded through with the sure tread of one +who knew every inch of his footing, even though the canopy of trees +rendered the darkness almost absolute, and a false step would have +precipitated him into the pool beneath. Soon reaching the boundary of +the grounds, he continued in the same direct line to traverse the +alluvial valley, full of brooks and tributaries to the main stream--in +former times quite impassable, and impassable in winter now. Sometimes +he would cross a deep gully on a plank not wider than the hand; at +another time he ploughed his way through beds of spear-grass, where at a +few feet to the right or left he might have been sucked down into a +morass. At last he reached firm land on the other side of this watery +tract, and came to his house on the rise behind--Elsenford--an ordinary +farmstead, from the back of which rose indistinct breathings, belchings, +and snortings, the rattle of halters, and other familiar features of an +agriculturist's home. + +While Nicholas Long was packing his bag in an upper room of this +dwelling, Miss Christine Everard sat at a desk in her own chamber at +Froom-Everard manor-house, looking with pale fixed countenance at the +candles. + +'I ought--I must now!' she whispered to herself. 'I should not have +begun it if I had not meant to carry it through! It runs in the blood of +us, I suppose.' She alluded to a fact unknown to her lover, the +clandestine marriage of an aunt under circumstances somewhat similar to +the present. In a few minutes she had penned the following note:- + + October 13, 183-. + + DEAR MR. BEALAND--Can you make it convenient to yourself to meet me at + the Church to-morrow morning at eight? I name the early hour because + it would suit me better than later on in the day. You will find me in + the chancel, if you can come. An answer yes or no by the bearer of + this will be sufficient. + + CHRISTINE EVERARD. + +She sent the note to the rector immediately, waiting at a small side-door +of the house till she heard the servant's footsteps returning along the +lane, when she went round and met him in the passage. The rector had +taken the trouble to write a line, and answered that he would meet her +with pleasure. + +A dripping fog which ushered in the next morning was highly favourable to +the scheme of the pair. At that time of the century Froom-Everard House +had not been altered and enlarged; the public lane passed close under its +walls; and there was a door opening directly from one of the old +parlours--the south parlour, as it was called--into the lane which led to +the village. Christine came out this way, and after following the lane +for a short distance entered upon a path within a belt of plantation, by +which the church could be reached privately. She even avoided the +churchyard gate, walking along to a place where the turf without the low +wall rose into a mound, enabling her to mount upon the coping and spring +down inside. She crossed the wet graves, and so glided round to the +door. He was there, with his bag in his hand. He kissed her with a sort +of surprise, as if he had expected that at the last moment her heart +would fail her. + +Though it had not failed her, there was, nevertheless, no great ardour in +Christine's bearing--merely the momentum of an antecedent impulse. They +went up the aisle together, the bottle-green glass of the old lead +quarries admitting but little light at that hour, and under such an +atmosphere. They stood by the altar-rail in silence, Christine's skirt +visibly quivering at each beat of her heart. + +Presently a quick step ground upon the gravel, and Mr. Bealand came round +by the front. He was a quiet bachelor, courteous towards Christine, and +not at first recognizing in Nicholas a neighbouring yeoman (for he lived +aloofly in the next parish), advanced to her without revealing any +surprise at her unusual request. But in truth he was surprised, the +keen interest taken by many country young women at the present day in +church decoration and festivals being then unknown. + +'Good morning,' he said; and repeated the same words to Nicholas more +mechanically. + +'Good morning,' she replied gravely. 'Mr. Bealand, I have a serious +reason for asking you to meet me--us, I may say. We wish you to marry +us.' + +The rector's gaze hardened to fixity, rather between than upon either of +them, and he neither moved nor replied for some time. + +'Ah!' he said at last. + +'And we are quite ready.' + +'I had no idea--' + +'It has been kept rather private,' she said calmly. + +'Where are your witnesses?' + +'They are outside in the meadow, sir. I can call them in a moment,' said +Nicholas. + +'Oh--I see it is--Mr. Nicholas Long,' said Mr. Bealand, and turning again +to Christine, 'Does your father know of this?' + +'Is it necessary that I should answer that question, Mr. Bealand?' + +'I am afraid it is--highly necessary.' + +Christine began to look concerned. + +'Where is the licence?' the rector asked; 'since there have been no +banns.' + +Nicholas produced it, Mr. Bealand read it, an operation which occupied +him several minutes--or at least he made it appear so; till Christine +said impatiently, 'We are quite ready, Mr. Bealand. Will you proceed? +Mr. Long has to take a journey of a great many miles to-day.' + +'And you?' + +'No. I remain.' + +Mr. Bealand assumed firmness. 'There is something wrong in this,' he +said. 'I cannot marry you without your father's presence.' + +'But have you a right to refuse us?' interposed Nicholas. 'I believe we +are in a position to demand your fulfilment of our request.' + +'No, you are not! Is Miss Everard of age? I think not. I think she is +months from being so. Eh, Miss Everard?' + +'Am I bound to tell that?' + +'Certainly. At any rate you are bound to write it. Meanwhile I refuse +to solemnize the service. And let me entreat you two young people to do +nothing so rash as this, even if by going to some strange church, you may +do so without discovery. The tragedy of marriage--' + +'Tragedy?' + +'Certainly. It is full of crises and catastrophes, and ends with the +death of one of the actors. The tragedy of marriage, as I was saying, is +one I shall not be a party to your beginning with such light hearts, and +I shall feel bound to put your father on his guard, Miss Everard. Think +better of it, I entreat you! Remember the proverb, "Marry in haste and +repent at leisure."' + +Christine, spurred by opposition, almost stormed at him. Nicholas +implored; but nothing would turn that obstinate rector. She sat down and +reflected. By-and-by she confronted Mr. Bealand. + +'Our marriage is not to be this morning, I see,' she said. 'Now grant me +one favour, and in return I'll promise you to do nothing rashly. Do not +tell my father a word of what has happened here.' + +'I agree--if you undertake not to elope.' + +She looked at Nicholas, and he looked at her. 'Do you wish me to elope, +Nic?' she asked. + +'No,' he said. + +So the compact was made, and they left the church singly, Nicholas +remaining till the last, and closing the door. On his way home, carrying +the well-packed bag which was just now to go no further, the two men who +were mending water-carriers in the meadows approached the hedge, as if +they had been on the alert all the time. + +'You said you mid want us for zummat, sir?' + +'All right--never mind,' he answered through the hedge. 'I did not +require you after all.' + + + +CHAPTER III + + +At a manor not far away there lived a queer and primitive couple who had +lately been blessed with a son and heir. The christening took place +during the week under notice, and this had been followed by a feast to +the parishioners. Christine's father, one of the same generation and +kind, had been asked to drive over and assist in the entertainment, and +Christine, as a matter of course, accompanied him. + +When they reached Athelhall, as the house was called, they found the +usually quiet nook a lively spectacle. Tables had been spread in the +apartment which lent its name to the whole building--the hall +proper--covered with a fine open-timbered roof, whose braces, purlins, +and rafters made a brown thicket of oak overhead. Here tenantry of all +ages sat with their wives and families, and the servants were assisted in +their ministrations by the sons and daughters of the owner's friends and +neighbours. Christine lent a hand among the rest. + +She was holding a plate in each hand towards a huge brown platter of +baked rice-pudding, from which a footman was scooping a large spoonful, +when a voice reached her ear over her shoulder: 'Allow me to hold them +for you.' + +Christine turned, and recognized in the speaker the nephew of the +entertainer, a young man from London, whom she had already met on two or +three occasions. + +She accepted the proffered help, and from that moment, whenever he passed +her in their marchings to and fro during the remainder of the serving, he +smiled acquaintance. When their work was done, he improved the few words +into a conversation. He plainly had been attracted by her fairness. + +Bellston was a self-assured young man, not particularly good-looking, +with more colour in his skin than even Nicholas had. He had flushed a +little in attracting her notice, though the flush had nothing of +nervousness in it--the air with which it was accompanied making it +curiously suggestive of a flush of anger; and even when he laughed it was +difficult to banish that fancy. + +The late autumn sunlight streamed in through the window panes upon the +heads and shoulders of the venerable patriarchs of the hamlet, and upon +the middle-aged, and upon the young; upon men and women who had played +out, or were to play, tragedies or tragi-comedies in that nook of +civilization not less great, essentially, than those which, enacted on +more central arenas, fix the attention of the world. One of the party +was a cousin of Nicholas Long's, who sat with her husband and children. + +To make himself as locally harmonious as possible, Mr. Bellston remarked +to his companion on the scene--'It does one's heart good,' he said, 'to +see these simple peasants enjoying themselves.' + +'O Mr. Bellston!' exclaimed Christine; 'don't be too sure about that word +"simple"! You little think what they see and meditate! Their reasonings +and emotions are as complicated as ours.' + +She spoke with a vehemence which would have been hardly present in her +words but for her own relation to Nicholas. The sense of that produced +in her a nameless depression thenceforward. The young man, however, +still followed her up. + +'I am glad to hear you say it,' he returned warmly. 'I was merely +attuning myself to your mood, as I thought. The real truth is that I +know more of the Parthians, and Medes, and dwellers in Mesopotamia--almost +of any people, indeed--than of the English rustics. Travel and +exploration are my profession, not the study of the British peasantry.' + +Travel. There was sufficient coincidence between his declaration and the +course she had urged upon her lover, to lend Bellston's account of +himself a certain interest in Christine's ears. He might perhaps be able +to tell her something that would be useful to Nicholas, if their dream +were carried out. A door opened from the hall into the garden, and she +somehow found herself outside, chatting with Mr. Bellston on this topic, +till she thought that upon the whole she liked the young man. The garden +being his uncle's, he took her round it with an air of proprietorship; +and they went on amongst the Michaelmas daisies and chrysanthemums, and +through a door to the fruit-garden. A green-house was open, and he went +in and cut her a bunch of grapes. + +'How daring of you! They are your uncle's.' + +'O, he don't mind--I do anything here. A rough old buffer, isn't he?' + +She was thinking of her Nic, and felt that, by comparison with her +present acquaintance, the farmer more than held his own as a fine and +intelligent fellow; but the harmony with her own existence in little +things, which she found here, imparted an alien tinge to Nicholas just +now. The latter, idealized by moonlight, or a thousand miles of +distance, was altogether a more romantic object for a woman's dream than +this smart new-lacquered man; but in the sun of afternoon, and amid a +surrounding company, Mr. Bellston was a very tolerable companion. + +When they re-entered the hall, Bellston entreated her to come with him up +a spiral stair in the thickness of the wall, leading to a passage and +gallery whence they could look down upon the scene below. The people had +finished their feast, the newly-christened baby had been exhibited, and a +few words having been spoken to them they began, amid a racketing of +forms, to make for the greensward without, Nicholas's cousin and cousin's +wife and cousin's children among the rest. While they were filing out, a +voice was heard calling--'Hullo!--here, Jim; where are you?' said +Bellston's uncle. The young man descended, Christine following at +leisure. + +'Now will ye be a good fellow,' the Squire continued, 'and set them going +outside in some dance or other that they know? I'm dog-tired, and I want +to have a yew words with Mr. Everard before we join 'em--hey, Everard? +They are shy till somebody starts 'em; afterwards they'll keep gwine +brisk enough.' + +'Ay, that they wool,' said Squire Everard. + +They followed to the lawn; and here it proved that James Bellston was as +shy, or rather as averse, as any of the tenantry themselves, to acting +the part of fugleman. Only the parish people had been at the feast, but +outlying neighbours had now strolled in for a dance. + +'They want "Speed the Plough,"' said Bellston, coming up breathless. 'It +must be a country dance, I suppose? Now, Miss Everard, do have pity upon +me. I am supposed to lead off; but really I know no more about speeding +the plough than a child just born! Would you take one of the +villagers?--just to start them, my uncle says. Suppose you take that +handsome young farmer over there--I don't know his name, but I dare say +you do--and I'll come on with one of the dairyman's daughters as a second +couple.' + +Christine turned in the direction signified, and changed colour--though +in the shade nobody noticed it, 'Oh, yes--I know him,' she said coolly. +'He is from near our own place--Mr. Nicholas Long.' + +'That's capital--then you can easily make him stand as first couple with +you. Now I must pick up mine.' + +'I--I think I'll dance with you, Mr. Bellston,' she said with some +trepidation. 'Because, you see,' she explained eagerly, 'I know the +figure and you don't--so that I can help you; while Nicholas Long, I +know, is familiar with the figure, and that will make two couples who +know it--which is necessary, at least.' + +Bellston showed his gratification by one of his angry-pleasant flushes--he +had hardly dared to ask for what she proffered freely; and having +requested Nicholas to take the dairyman's daughter, led Christine to her +place, Long promptly stepping up second with his charge. There were grim +silent depths in Nic's character; a small deedy spark in his eye, as it +caught Christine's, was all that showed his consciousness of her. Then +the fiddlers began--the celebrated Mellstock fiddlers who, given free +stripping, could play from sunset to dawn without turning a hair. The +couples wheeled and swung, Nicholas taking Christine's hand in the course +of business with the figure, when she waited for him to give it a little +squeeze; but he did not. + +Christine had the greatest difficulty in steering her partner through the +maze, on account of his self-will, and when at last they reached the +bottom of the long line, she was breathless with her hard labour.. +Resting here, she watched Nic and his lady; and, though she had decidedly +cooled off in these later months, began to admire him anew. Nobody knew +these dances like him, after all, or could do anything of this sort so +well. His performance with the dairyman's daughter so won upon her, that +when 'Speed the Plough' was over she contrived to speak to him. + +'Nic, you are to dance with me next time.' + +He said he would, and presently asked her in a formal public manner, +lifting his hat gallantly. She showed a little backwardness, which he +quite understood, and allowed him to lead her to the top, a row of +enormous length appearing below them as if by magic as soon as they had +taken their places. Truly the Squire was right when he said that they +only wanted starting. + +'What is it to be?' whispered Nicholas. + +She turned to the band. 'The Honeymoon,' she said. + +And then they trod the delightful last-century measure of that name, +which if it had been ever danced better, was never danced with more zest. +The perfect responsiveness which their tender acquaintance threw into the +motions of Nicholas and his partner lent to their gyrations the fine +adjustment of two interacting parts of a single machine. The excitement +of the movement carried Christine back to the time--the unreflecting +passionate time, about two years before--when she and Nic had been +incipient lovers only; and it made her forget the carking anxieties, the +vision of social breakers ahead, that had begun to take the gilding off +her position now. Nicholas, on his part, had never ceased to be a lover; +no personal worries had as yet made him conscious of any staleness, +flatness, or unprofitableness in his admiration of Christine. + +'Not quite so wildly, Nic,' she whispered. 'I don't object personally; +but they'll notice us. How came you here?' + +'I heard that you had driven over; and I set out--on purpose for this.' + +'What--you have walked?' + +'Yes. If I had waited for one of uncle's horses I should have been too +late.' + +'Five miles here and five back--ten miles on foot--merely to dance!' + +'With you. What made you think of this old "Honeymoon" thing?' + +'O! it came into my head when I saw you, as what would have been a +reality with us if you had not been stupid about that licence, and had +got it for a distant church.' + +'Shall we try again?' + +'No--I don't know. I'll think it over.' + +The villagers admired their grace and skill, as the dancers themselves +perceived; but they did not know what accompanied that admiration in one +spot, at least. + +'People who wonder they can foot it so featly together should know what +some others think,' a waterman was saying to his neighbour. 'Then their +wonder would be less.' + +His comrade asked for information. + +'Well--really I hardly believe it--but 'tis said they be man and wife. +Yes, sure--went to church and did the job a'most afore 'twas light one +morning. But mind, not a word of this; for 'twould be the loss of a +winter's work to me if I had spread such a report and it were not true.' + +When the dance had ended she rejoined her own section of the company. Her +father and Mr. Bellston the elder had now come out from the house, and +were smoking in the background. Presently she found that her father was +at her elbow. + +'Christine, don't dance too often with young Long--as a mere matter of +prudence, I mean, as volk might think it odd, he being one of our own +neighbouring farmers. I should not mention this to 'ee if he were an +ordinary young fellow; but being superior to the rest it behoves you to +be careful.' + +'Exactly, papa,' said Christine. + +But the revived sense that she was deceiving him threw a damp over her +spirits. 'But, after all,' she said to herself, 'he is a young man of +Elsenford, handsome, able, and the soul of honour; and I am a young woman +of the adjoining parish, who have been constantly thrown into +communication with him. Is it not, by nature's rule, the most proper +thing in the world that I should marry him, and is it not an absurd +conventional regulation which says that such a union would be wrong?' + +It may be concluded that the strength of Christine's large-minded +argument was rather an evidence of weakness than of strength in the +passion it concerned, which had required neither argument nor reasoning +of any kind for its maintenance when full and flush in its early days. + +When driving home in the dark with her father she sank into pensive +silence. She was thinking of Nicholas having to trudge on foot all those +miles back after his exertions on the sward. Mr. Everard, arousing +himself from a nap, said suddenly, 'I have something to mention to 'ee, +by George--so I have, Chris! You probably know what it is?' + +She expressed ignorance, wondering if her father had discovered anything +of her secret. + +'Well, according to him you know it. But I will tell 'ee. Perhaps you +noticed young Jim Bellston walking me off down the lawn with him?--whether +or no, we walked together a good while; and he informed me that he wanted +to pay his addresses to 'ee. I naturally said that it depended upon +yourself; and he replied that you were willing enough; you had given him +particular encouragement--showing your preference for him by specially +choosing him for your partner--hey? "In that case," says I, "go on and +conquer--settle it with her--I have no objection." The poor fellow was +very grateful, and in short, there we left the matter. He'll propose to- +morrow.' + +She saw now to her dismay what James Bellston had read as encouragement. +'He has mistaken me altogether,' she said. 'I had no idea of such a +thing.' + +'What, you won't have him?' + +'Indeed, I cannot!' + +'Chrissy,' said Mr. Everard with emphasis, 'there's noobody whom I should +so like you to marry as that young man. He's a thoroughly clever fellow, +and fairly well provided for. He's travelled all over the temperate +zone; but he says that directly he marries he's going to give up all +that, and be a regular stay-at-home. You would be nowhere safer than in +his hands.' + +'It is true,' she answered. 'He is a highly desirable match, and I +should be well provided for, and probably very safe in his hands.' + +'Then don't be skittish, and stand-to.' + +She had spoken from her conscience and understanding, and not to please +her father. As a reflecting woman she believed that such a marriage +would be a wise one. In great things Nicholas was closest to her nature; +in little things Bellston seemed immeasurably nearer than Nic; and life +was made up of little things. + +Altogether the firmament looked black for Nicholas Long, notwithstanding +her half-hour's ardour for him when she saw him dancing with the +dairyman's daughter. Most great passions, movements, and +beliefs--individual and national--burst during their decline into a +temporary irradiation, which rivals their original splendour; and then +they speedily become extinct. Perhaps the dance had given the last flare- +up to Christine's love. It seemed to have improvidently consumed for its +immediate purpose all her ardour forwards, so that for the future there +was nothing left but frigidity. + +Nicholas had certainly been very foolish about that licence! + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +This laxity of emotional tone was further increased by an incident, when, +two days later, she kept an appointment with Nicholas in the Sallows. The +Sallows was an extension of shrubberies and plantations along the banks +of the Froom, accessible from the lawn of Froom-Everard House only, +except by wading through the river at the waterfall or elsewhere. Near +the brink was a thicket of box in which a trunk lay prostrate; this had +been once or twice their trysting-place, though it was by no means a safe +one; and it was here she sat awaiting him now. + +The noise of the stream muffled any sound of footsteps, and it was before +she was aware of his approach that she looked up and saw him wading +across at the top of the waterfall. + +Noontide lights and dwarfed shadows always banished the romantic aspect +of her love for Nicholas. Moreover, something new had occurred to +disturb her; and if ever she had regretted giving way to a tenderness for +him--which perhaps she had not done with any distinctness--she regretted +it now. Yet in the bottom of their hearts those two were excellently +paired, the very twin halves of a perfect whole; and their love was pure. +But at this hour surfaces showed garishly, and obscured the depths. +Probably her regret appeared in her face. + +He walked up to her without speaking, the water running from his boots; +and, taking one of her hands in each of his own, looked narrowly into her +eyes. + +'Have you thought it over?' + +'What?' + +'Whether we shall try again; you remember saying you would at the dance?' + +'Oh, I had forgotten that!' + +'You are sorry we tried at all!' he said accusingly. + +'I am not so sorry for the fact as for the rumours,' she said. + +'Ah! rumours?' + +'They say we are already married.' + +'Who?' + +'I cannot tell exactly. I heard some whispering to that effect. Somebody +in the village told one of the servants, I believe. This man said that +he was crossing the churchyard early on that unfortunate foggy morning, +and heard voices in the chancel, and peeped through the window as well as +the dim panes would let him; and there he saw you and me and Mr. Bealand, +and so on; but thinking his surmises would be dangerous knowledge, he +hastened on. And so the story got afloat. Then your aunt, too--' + +'Good Lord!--what has she done?' + +The story was, told her, and she said proudly, "O yes, it is true enough. +I have seen the licence. But it is not to be known yet."' + +'Seen the licence? How the--' + +'Accidentally, I believe, when your coat was hanging somewhere.' + +The information, coupled with the infelicitous word 'proudly,' caused +Nicholas to flush with mortification. He knew that it was in his aunt's +nature to make a brag of that sort; but worse than the brag was the fact +that this was the first occasion on which Christine had deigned to show +her consciousness that such a marriage would be a source of pride to his +relatives--the only two he had in the world. + +'You are sorry, then, even to be thought my wife, much less to be it.' He +dropped her hand, which fell lifelessly. + +'It is not sorry exactly, dear Nic. But I feel uncomfortable and vexed, +that after screwing up my courage, my fidelity, to the point of going to +church, you should have so muddled--managed the matter that it has ended +in neither one thing nor the other. How can I meet acquaintances, when I +don't know what they are thinking of me?' + +'Then, dear Christine, let us mend the muddle. I'll go away for a few +days and get another licence, and you can come to me.' + +She shrank from this perceptibly. 'I cannot screw myself up to it a +second time,' she said. 'I am sure I cannot! Besides, I promised Mr. +Bealand. And yet how can I continue to see you after such a rumour? We +shall be watched now, for certain.' + +'Then don't see me.' + +'I fear I must not for the present. Altogether--' + +'What?' + +'I am very depressed.' + +These views were not very inspiriting to Nicholas, as he construed them. +It may indeed have been possible that he construed them wrongly, and +should have insisted upon her making the rumour true. Unfortunately, +too, he had come to her in a hurry through brambles and briars, water and +weed, and the shaggy wildness which hung about his appearance at this +fine and correct time of day lent an impracticability to the look of him. + +'You blame me--you repent your courses--you repent that you ever, ever +owned anything to me!' + +'No, Nicholas, I do not repent that,' she returned gently, though with +firmness. 'But I think that you ought not to have got that licence +without asking me first; and I also think that you ought to have known +how it would be if you lived on here in your present position, and made +no effort to better it. I can bear whatever comes, for social ruin is +not personal ruin or even personal disgrace. But as a sensible, +new-risen poet says, whom I have been reading this morning:- + + The world and its ways have a certain worth: + And to press a point while these oppose + Were simple policy. Better wait. + +As soon as you had got my promise, Nic, you should have gone away--yes--and +made a name, and come back to claim me. That was my silly girlish dream +about my hero.' + +'Perhaps I can do as much yet! And would you have indeed liked better to +live away from me for family reasons, than to run a risk in seeing me for +affection's sake? O what a cold heart it has grown! If I had been a +prince, and you a dairymaid, I'd have stood by you in the face of the +world!' + +She shook her head. 'Ah--you don't know what society is--you don't +know.' + +'Perhaps not. Who was that strange gentleman of about seven-and-twenty I +saw at Mr. Bellston's christening feast?' + +'Oh--that was his nephew James. Now he is a man who has seen an unusual +extent of the world for his age. He is a great traveller, you know.' + +'Indeed.' + +'In fact an explorer. He is very entertaining.' + +'No doubt.' + +Nicholas received no shock of jealousy from her announcement. He knew +her so well that he could see she was not in the least in love with +Bellston. But he asked if Bellston were going to continue his +explorations. + +'Not if he settles in life. Otherwise he will, I suppose.' + +'Perhaps I could be a great explorer, too, if I tried.' + +'You could, I am sure.' + +They sat apart, and not together; each looking afar off at vague objects, +and not in each other's eyes. Thus the sad autumn afternoon waned, while +the waterfall hissed sarcastically of the inevitableness of the +unpleasant. Very different this from the time when they had first met +there. + +The nook was most picturesque; but it looked horridly common and stupid +now. Their sentiment had set a colour hardly less visible than a +material one on surrounding objects, as sentiment must where life is but +thought. Nicholas was as devoted as ever to the fair Christine; but +unhappily he too had moods and humours, and the division between them was +not closed. + +She had no sooner got indoors and sat down to her work-table than her +father entered the drawing-room. + +She handed him his newspaper; he took it without a word, went and stood +on the hearthrug, and flung the paper on the floor. + +'Christine, what's the meaning of this terrible story? I was just on my +way to look at the register.' + +She looked at him without speech. + +'You have married--Nicholas Long?' + +'No, father.' + +'No? Can you say no in the face of such facts as I have been put in +possession of?' + +'Yes.' + +'But--the note you wrote to the rector--and the going to church?' + +She briefly explained that their attempt had failed. + +'Ah! Then this is what that dancing meant, was it? By ---, it makes me +---. How long has this been going on, may I ask?' + +'This what?' + +'What, indeed! Why, making him your beau. Now listen to me. All's well +that ends well; from this day, madam, this moment, he is to be nothing +more to you. You are not to see him. Cut him adrift instantly! I only +wish his volk were on my farm--out they should go, or I would know the +reason why. However, you are to write him a letter to this effect at +once.' + +'How can I cut him adrift?' + +'Why not? You must, my good maid!' + +'Well, though I have not actually married him, I have solemnly sworn to +be his wife when he comes home from abroad to claim me. It would be +gross perjury not to fulfil my promise. Besides, no woman can go to +church with a man to deliberately solemnize matrimony, and refuse him +afterwards, if he does nothing wrong meanwhile.' + +The uttered sound of her strong conviction seemed to kindle in Christine +a livelier perception of all its bearings than she had known while it had +lain unformulated in her mind. For when she had done speaking she fell +down on her knees before her father, covered her face, and said, 'Please, +please forgive me, papa! How could I do it without letting you know! I +don't know, I don't know!' + +When she looked up she found that, in the turmoil of his mind, her father +was moving about the room. 'You are within an ace of ruining yourself, +ruining me, ruining us all!' he said. 'You are nearly as bad as your +brother, begad!' + +'Perhaps I am--yes--perhaps I am!' + +'That I should father such a harum-scarum brood!' + +'It is very bad; but Nicholas--' + +'He's a scoundrel!' + +'He is not a scoundrel!' cried she, turning quickly. 'He's as good and +worthy as you or I, or anybody bearing our name, or any nobleman in the +kingdom, if you come to that! Only--only'--she could not continue the +argument on those lines. 'Now, father, listen!' she sobbed; 'if you +taunt me I'll go off and join him at his farm this very day, and marry +him to-morrow, that's what I'll do!' + +'I don't taant ye!' + +'I wish to avoid unseemliness as much as you.' + +She went away. When she came back a quarter of an hour later, thinking +to find the room empty, he was standing there as before, never having +apparently moved. His manner had quite changed. He seemed to take a +resigned and entirely different view of circumstances. + +'Christine, here's a paragraph in the paper hinting at a secret wedding, +and I'm blazed if it don't point to you. Well, since this was to happen, +I'll bear it, and not complain. All volk have crosses, and this is one +of mine. Now, this is what I've got to say--I feel that you must carry +out this attempt at marrying Nicholas Long. Faith, you must! The rumour +will become a scandal if you don't--that's my view. I have tried to look +at the brightest side of the case. Nicholas Long is a young man superior +to most of his class, and fairly presentable. And he's not poor--at +least his uncle is not. I believe the old muddler could buy me up any +day. However, a farmer's wife you must be, as far as I can see. As +you've made your bed, so ye must lie. Parents propose, and ungrateful +children dispose. You shall marry him, and immediately.' + +Christine hardly knew what to make of this. 'He is quite willing to +wait, and so am I. We can wait for two or three years, and then he will +be as worthy as--' + +'You must marry him. And the sooner the better, if 'tis to be done at +all . . . And yet I did wish you could have been Jim Bellston's wife. I +did wish it! But no.' + +'I, too, wished it and do still, in one sense,' she returned gently. His +moderation had won her out of her defiant mood, and she was willing to +reason with him. + +'You do?' he said surprised. + +'I see that in a worldly sense my conduct with Mr. Long may be considered +a mistake.' + +'H'm--I am glad to hear that--after my death you may see it more clearly +still; and you won't have long to wait, to my reckoning.' + +She fell into bitter repentance, and kissed him in her anguish. 'Don't +say that!' she cried. 'Tell me what to do?' + +'If you'll leave me for an hour or two I'll think. Drive to the market +and back--the carriage is at the door--and I'll try to collect my senses. +Dinner can be put back till you return.' + +In a few minutes she was dressed, and the carriage bore her up the hill +which divided the village and manor from the market-town. + + + +CHAPTER V + + +A quarter of an hour brought her into the High Street, and for want of a +more important errand she called at the harness-maker's for a dog-collar +that she required. + +It happened to be market-day, and Nicholas, having postponed the +engagements which called him thither to keep the appointment with her in +the Sallows, rushed off at the end of the afternoon to attend to them as +well as he could. Arriving thus in a great hurry on account of the +lateness of the hour, he still retained the wild, amphibious appearance +which had marked him when he came up from the meadows to her side--an +exceptional condition of things which had scarcely ever before occurred. +When she crossed the pavement from the shop door, the shopman bowing and +escorting her to the carriage, Nicholas chanced to be standing at the +road-waggon office, talking to the master of the waggons. There were a +good many people about, and those near paused and looked at her transit, +in the full stroke of the level October sun, which went under the brims +of their hats, and pierced through their button-holes. From the group +she heard murmured the words: 'Mrs. Nicholas Long.' + +The unexpected remark, not without distinct satire in its tone, took her +so greatly by surprise that she was confounded. Nicholas was by this +time nearer, though coming against the sun he had not yet perceived her. +Influenced by her father's lecture, she felt angry with him for being +there and causing this awkwardness. Her notice of him was therefore +slight, supercilious perhaps, slurred over; and her vexation at his +presence showed distinctly in her face as she sat down in her seat. +Instead of catching his waiting eye, she positively turned her head away. + +A moment after she was sorry she had treated him so; but he was gone. + +Reaching home she found on her dressing-table a note from her father. The +statement was brief: + + I have considered and am of the same opinion. You must marry him. He + can leave home at once and travel as proposed. I have written to him + to this effect. I don't want any victuals, so don't wait dinner for + me. + +Nicholas was the wrong kind of man to be blind to his Christine's +mortification, though he did not know its entire cause. He had lately +foreseen something of this sort as possible. + +'It serves me right,' he thought, as he trotted homeward. 'It was +absurd--wicked of me to lead her on so. The sacrifice would have been +too great--too cruel!' And yet, though he thus took her part, he flushed +with indignation every time he said to himself, 'She is ashamed of me!' + +On the ridge which overlooked Froom-Everard he met a neighbour of his--a +stock-dealer--in his gig, and they drew rein and exchanged a few words. A +part of the dealer's conversation had much meaning for Nicholas. + +'I've had occasion to call on Squire Everard,' the former said; 'but he +couldn't see me on account of being quite knocked up at some bad news he +has heard.' + +Nicholas rode on past Froom-Everard to Elsenford Farm, pondering. He had +new and startling matter for thought as soon as he got there. The +Squire's note had arrived. At first he could not credit its import; then +he saw further, took in the tone of the letter, saw the writer's contempt +behind the words, and understood that the letter was written as by a man +hemmed into a corner. Christine was defiantly--insultingly--hurled at +his head. He was accepted because he was so despised. + +And yet with what respect he had treated her and hers! Now he was +reminded of what an agricultural friend had said years ago, seeing the +eyes of Nicholas fixed on Christine as on an angel when she passed: +'Better a little fire to warm 'ee than a great one to burn 'ee. No good +can come of throwing your heart there.' He went into the mead, sat down, +and asked himself four questions: + +1. How could she live near her acquaintance as his wife, even in his +absence, without suffering martyrdom from the stings of their contempt? + +2. Would not this entail total estrangement between Christine and her +family also, and her own consequent misery? + +3. Must not such isolation extinguish her affection for him? + +4. Supposing that her father rigged them out as colonists and sent them +off to America, was not the effect of such exile upon one of her gentle +nurture likely to be as the last? + +In short, whatever they should embark in together would be cruelty to +her, and his death would be a relief. It would, indeed, in one aspect be +a relief to her now, if she were so ashamed of him as she had appeared to +be that day. Were he dead, this little episode with him would fade away +like a dream. + +Mr. Everard was a good-hearted man at bottom, but to take his enraged +offer seriously was impossible. Obviously it was hotly made in his first +bitterness at what he had heard. The least thing that he could do would +be to go away and never trouble her more. To travel and learn and come +back in two years, as mapped out in their first sanguine scheme, required +a staunch heart on her side, if the necessary expenditure of time and +money were to be afterwards justified; and it were folly to calculate on +that when he had seen to-day that her heart was failing her already. To +travel and disappear and not be heard of for many years would be a far +more independent stroke, and it would leave her entirely unfettered. +Perhaps he might rival in this kind the accomplished Mr. Bellston, of +whose journeyings he had heard so much. + +He sat and sat, and the fog rose out of the river, enveloping him like a +fleece; first his feet and knees, then his arms and body, and finally +submerging his head. When he had come to a decision he went up again +into the homestead. He would be independent, if he died for it, and he +would free Christine. Exile was the only course. The first step was to +inform his uncle of his determination. + +Two days later Nicholas was on the same spot in the mead, at almost the +same hour of eve. But there was no fog now; a blusterous autumn wind had +ousted the still, golden days and misty nights; and he was going, full of +purpose, in the opposite direction. When he had last entered the mead he +was an inhabitant of the Froom valley; in forty-eight hours he had +severed himself from that spot as completely as if he had never belonged +to it. All that appertained to him in the Froom valley now was +circumscribed by the portmanteau in his hand. + +In making his preparations for departure he had unconsciously held a +faint, foolish hope that she would communicate with him and make up their +estrangement in some soft womanly way. But she had given no signal, and +it was too evident to him that her latest mood had grown to be her fixed +one, proving how well founded had been his impulse to set her free. + +He entered the Sallows, found his way in the dark to the garden-door of +the house, slipped under it a note to tell her of his departure, and +explaining its true reason to be a consciousness of her growing feeling +that he was an encumbrance and a humiliation. Of the direction of his +journey and of the date of his return he said nothing. + +His course now took him into the high road, which he pursued for some +miles in a north-easterly direction, still spinning the thread of sad +inferences, and asking himself why he should ever return. At daybreak he +stood on the hill above Shottsford-Forum, and awaited a coach which +passed about this time along that highway towards Melchester and London. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Some fifteen years after the date of the foregoing incidents, a man who +had dwelt in far countries, and viewed many cities, arrived at Roy-Town, +a roadside hamlet on the old western turnpike road, not five miles from +Froom-Everard, and put up at the Buck's Head, an isolated inn at that +spot. He was still barely of middle age, but it could be seen that a +haze of grey was settling upon the locks of his hair, and that his face +had lost colour and curve, as if by exposure to bleaching climates and +strange atmospheres, or from ailments incidental thereto. He seemed to +observe little around him, by reason of the intrusion of his musings upon +the scene. In truth Nicholas Long was just now the creature of old hopes +and fears consequent upon his arrival--this man who once had not cared if +his name were blotted out from that district. The evening light showed +wistful lines which he could not smooth away by the worldling's gloss of +nonchalance that he had learnt to fling over his face. + +The Buck's Head was a somewhat unusual place for a man of this sort to +choose as a house of sojourn in preference to some Casterbridge inn four +miles further on. Before he left home it had been a lively old tavern at +which High-flyers, and Heralds, and Tally-hoes had changed horses on +their stages up and down the country; but now the house was rather +cavernous and chilly, the stable-roofs were hollow-backed, the landlord +was asthmatic, and the traffic gone. + +He arrived in the afternoon, and when he had sent back the fly and was +having a nondescript meal, he put a question to the waiting-maid with a +mien of indifference. + +'Squire Everard, of Froom-Everard Manor, has been dead some years, I +believe?' + +She replied in the affirmative. + +'And are any of the family left there still?' + +'O no, bless you, sir! They sold the place years ago--Squire Everard's +son did--and went away. I've never heard where they went to. They came +quite to nothing.' + +'Never heard anything of the young lady--the Squire's daughter?' + +'No. You see 'twas before I came to these parts.' + +When the waitress left the room, Nicholas pushed aside his plate and +gazed out of the window. He was not going over into the Froom Valley +altogether on Christine's account, but she had greatly animated his +motive in coming that way. Anyhow he would push on there now that he was +so near, and not ask questions here where he was liable to be wrongly +informed. The fundamental inquiry he had not ventured to make--whether +Christine had married before the family went away. He had abstained +because of an absurd dread of extinguishing hopeful surmise. That the +Everards had left their old home was bad enough intelligence for one day. + +Rising from the table he put on his hat and went out, ascending towards +the upland which divided this district from his native vale. The first +familiar feature that met his eye was a little spot on the distant sky--a +clump of trees standing on a barrow which surmounted a yet more remote +upland--a point where, in his childhood, he had believed people could +stand and see America. He reached the further verge of the plateau on +which he had entered. Ah, there was the valley--a greenish-grey stretch +of colour--still looking placid and serene, as though it had not much +missed him. If Christine was no longer there, why should he pause over +it this evening? His uncle and aunt were dead, and to-morrow would be +soon enough to inquire for remoter relatives. Thus, disinclined to go +further, he turned to retrace his way to the inn. + +In the backward path he now perceived the figure of a woman, who had been +walking at a distance behind him; and as she drew nearer he began to be +startled. Surely, despite the variations introduced into that figure by +changing years, its ground-lines were those of Christine? + +Nicholas had been sentimental enough to write to Christine immediately on +landing at Southampton a day or two before this, addressing his letter at +a venture to the old house, and merely telling her that he planned to +reach the Roy-Town inn on the present afternoon. The news of the +scattering of the Everards had dissipated his hope of hearing of her; but +here she was. + +So they met--there, alone, on the open down by a pond, just as if the +meeting had been carefully arranged. + +She threw up her veil. She was still beautiful, though the years had +touched her; a little more matronly--much more homely. Or was it only +that he was much less homely now--a man of the world--the sense of +homeliness being relative? Her face had grown to be pre-eminently of the +sort that would be called interesting. Her habiliments were of a demure +and sober cast, though she was one who had used to dress so airily and so +gaily. Years had laid on a few shadows too in this. + +'I received your letter,' she said, when the momentary embarrassment of +their first approach had passed. 'And I thought I would walk across the +hills to-day, as it was fine. I have just called at the inn, and they +told me you were out. I was now on my way homeward.' + +He hardly listened to this, though he intently gazed at her. 'Christine,' +he said, 'one word. Are you free?' + +'I--I am in a certain sense,' she replied, colouring. + +The announcement had a magical effect. The intervening time between past +and present closed up for him, and moved by an impulse which he had +combated for fifteen years, he seized her two hands and drew her towards +him. + +She started back, and became almost a mere acquaintance. 'I have to tell +you,' she gasped, 'that I have--been married.' + +Nicholas's rose-coloured dream was immediately toned down to a greyish +tinge. + +'I did not marry till many years after you had left,' she continued in +the humble tones of one confessing to a crime. 'Oh Nic,' she cried +reproachfully, 'how could you stay away so long?' + +'Whom did you marry?' + +'Mr. Bellston.' + +'I--ought to have expected it.' He was going to add, 'And is he dead?' +but he checked himself. Her dress unmistakably suggested widowhood; and +she had said she was free. + +'I must now hasten home,' said she. 'I felt that, considering my +shortcomings at our parting so many years ago, I owed you the initiative +now.' + +'There is some of your old generosity in that. I'll walk with you, if I +may. Where are you living, Christine?' + +'In the same house, but not on the old conditions. I have part of it on +lease; the farmer now tenanting the premises found the whole more than he +wanted, and the owner allowed me to keep what rooms I chose. I am poor +now, you know, Nicholas, and almost friendless. My brother sold the +Froom-Everard estate when it came to him, and the person who bought it +turned our home into a farmhouse. Till my father's death my husband and +I lived in the manor-house with him, so that I have never lived away from +the spot.' + +She was poor. That, and the change of name, sufficiently accounted for +the inn-servant's ignorance of her continued existence within the walls +of her old home. + +It was growing dusk, and he still walked with her. A woman's head arose +from the declivity before them, and as she drew nearer, Christine asked +him to go back. + +'This is the wife of the farmer who shares the house,' she said. 'She is +accustomed to come out and meet me whenever I walk far and am benighted. +I am obliged to walk everywhere now.' + +The farmer's wife, seeing that Christine was not alone, paused in her +advance, and Nicholas said, 'Dear Christine, if you are obliged to do +these things, I am not, and what wealth I can command you may command +likewise. They say rolling stones gather no moss; but they gather dross +sometimes. I was one of the pioneers to the gold-fields, you know, and +made a sufficient fortune there for my wants. What is more, I kept it. +When I had done this I was coming home, but hearing of my uncle's death I +changed my plan, travelled, speculated, and increased my fortune. Now, +before we part: you remember you stood with me at the altar once, and +therefore I speak with less preparation than I should otherwise use. +Before we part then I ask, shall another again intrude between us? Or +shall we complete the union we began?' + +She trembled--just as she had done at that very minute of standing with +him in the church, to which he had recalled her mind. 'I will not enter +into that now, dear Nicholas,' she replied. 'There will be more to talk +of and consider first--more to explain, which it would have spoiled this +meeting to have entered into now.' + +'Yes, yes; but--' + +'Further than the brief answer I first gave, Nic, don't press me +to-night. I still have the old affection for you, or I should not have +sought you. Let that suffice for the moment.' + +'Very well, dear one. And when shall I call to see you?' + +'I will write and fix an hour. I will tell you everything of my history +then.' + +And thus they parted, Nicholas feeling that he had not come here +fruitlessly. When she and her companion were out of sight he retraced +his steps to Roy-Town, where he made himself as comfortable as he could +in the deserted old inn of his boyhood's days. He missed her +companionship this evening more than he had done at any time during the +whole fifteen years; and it was as though instead of separation there had +been constant communion with her throughout that period. The tones of +her voice had stirred his heart in a nook which had lain stagnant ever +since he last heard them. They recalled the woman to whom he had once +lifted his eyes as to a goddess. Her announcement that she had been +another's came as a little shock to him, and he did not now lift his eyes +to her in precisely the same way as he had lifted them at first. But he +forgave her for marrying Bellston; what could he expect after fifteen +years? + +He slept at Roy-Town that night, and in the morning there was a short +note from her, repeating more emphatically her statement of the previous +evening--that she wished to inform him clearly of her circumstances, and +to calmly consider with him the position in which she was placed. Would +he call upon her on Sunday afternoon, when she was sure to be alone? + +'Nic,' she wrote on, 'what a cosmopolite you are! I expected to find my +old yeoman still; but I was quite awed in the presence of such a citizen +of the world. Did I seem rusty and unpractised? Ah--you seemed so once +to me!' + +Tender playful words; the old Christine was in them. She said Sunday +afternoon, and it was now only Saturday morning. He wished she had said +to-day; that short revival of her image had vitalized to sudden heat +feelings that had almost been stilled. Whatever she might have to +explain as to her position--and it was awkwardly narrowed, no doubt--he +could not give her up. Miss Everard or Mrs. Bellston, what mattered +it?--she was the same Christine. + +He did not go outside the inn all Saturday. He had no wish to see or do +anything but to await the coming interview. So he smoked, and read the +local newspaper of the previous week, and stowed himself in the chimney- +corner. In the evening he felt that he could remain indoors no longer, +and the moon being near the full, he started from the inn on foot in the +same direction as that of yesterday, with the view of contemplating the +old village and its precincts, and hovering round her house under the +cloak of night. + +With a stout stick in his hand he climbed over the five miles of upland +in a comparatively short space of time. Nicholas had seen many strange +lands and trodden many strange ways since he last walked that path, but +as he trudged he seemed wonderfully like his old self, and had not the +slightest difficulty in finding the way. In descending to the meads the +streams perplexed him a little, some of the old foot-bridges having been +removed; but he ultimately got across the larger water-courses, and +pushed on to the village, avoiding her residence for the moment, lest she +should encounter him, and think he had not respected the time of her +appointment. + +He found his way to the churchyard, and first ascertained where lay the +two relations he had left alive at his departure; then he observed the +gravestones of other inhabitants with whom he had been well acquainted, +till by degrees he seemed to be in the society of all the elder Froom- +Everard population, as he had known the place. Side by side as they had +lived in his day here were they now. They had moved house in mass. + +But no tomb of Mr. Bellston was visible, though, as he had lived at the +manor-house, it would have been natural to find it here. In truth +Nicholas was more anxious to discover that than anything, being curious +to know how long he had been dead. Seeing from the glimmer of a light in +the church that somebody was there cleaning for Sunday he entered, and +looked round upon the walls as well as he could. But there was no +monument to her husband, though one had been erected to the Squire. + +Nicholas addressed the young man who was sweeping. 'I don't see any +monument or tomb to the late Mr. Bellston?' + +'O no, sir; you won't see that,' said the young man drily. + +'Why, pray?' + +'Because he's not buried here. He's not Christian-buried anywhere, as +far as we know. In short, perhaps he's not buried at all; and between +ourselves, perhaps he's alive.' + +Nicholas sank an inch shorter. 'Ah,' he answered. + +'Then you don't know the peculiar circumstances, sir?' + +'I am a stranger here--as to late years.' + +'Mr. Bellston was a traveller--an explorer--it was his calling; you may +have heard his name as such?' + +'I remember.' Nicholas recalled the fact that this very bent of Mr. +Bellston's was the incentive to his own roaming. + +'Well, when he married he came and lived here with his wife and his +wife's father, and said he would travel no more. But after a time he got +weary of biding quiet here, and weary of her--he was not a good husband +to the young lady by any means--and he betook himself again to his old +trick of roving--with her money. Away he went, quite out of the realm of +human foot, into the bowels of Asia, and never was heard of more. He was +murdered, it is said, but nobody knows; though as that was nine years ago +he's dead enough in principle, if not in corporation. His widow lives +quite humble, for between her husband and her brother she's left in very +lean pasturage.' + +Nicholas went back to the Buck's Head without hovering round her +dwelling. This then was the explanation which she had wanted to make. +Not dead, but missing. How could he have expected that the first fair +promise of happiness held out to him would remain untarnished? She had +said that she was free; and legally she was free, no doubt. Moreover, +from her tone and manner he felt himself justified in concluding that she +would be willing to run the risk of a union with him, in the +improbability of her husband's existence. Even if that husband lived, +his return was not a likely event, to judge from his character. A man +who could spend her money on his own personal adventures would not be +anxious to disturb her poverty after such a lapse of time. + +Well, the prospect was not so unclouded as it had seemed. But could he, +even now, give up Christine? + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Two months more brought the year nearly to a close, and found Nicholas +Long tenant of a spacious house in the market-town nearest to +Froom-Everard. A man of means, genial character, and a bachelor, he was +an object of great interest to his neighbours, and to his neighbours' +wives and daughters. But he took little note of this, and had made it +his business to go twice a week, no matter what the weather, to the now +farmhouse at Froom-Everard, a wing of which had been retained as the +refuge of Christine. He always walked, to give no trouble in putting up +a horse to a housekeeper whose staff was limited. + +The two had put their heads together on the situation, had gone to a +solicitor, had balanced possibilities, and had resolved to make the +plunge of matrimony. 'Nothing venture, nothing have,' Christine had +said, with some of her old audacity. + +With almost gratuitous honesty they had let their intentions be widely +known. Christine, it is true, had rather shrunk from publicity at first; +but Nicholas argued that their boldness in this respect would have good +results. With his friends he held that there was not the slightest +probability of her being other than a widow, and a challenge to the +missing man now, followed by no response, would stultify any unpleasant +remarks which might be thrown at her after their union. To this end a +paragraph was inserted in the Wessex papers, announcing that their +marriage was proposed to be celebrated on such and such a day in +December. + +His periodic walks along the south side of the valley to visit her were +among the happiest experiences of his life. The yellow leaves falling +around him in the foreground, the well-watered meads on the left hand, +and the woman he loved awaiting him at the back of the scene, promised a +future of much serenity, as far as human judgment could foresee. On +arriving, he would sit with her in the 'parlour' of the wing she +retained, her general sitting-room, where the only relics of her early +surroundings were an old clock from the other end of the house, and her +own piano. Before it was quite dark they would stand, hand in hand, +looking out of the window across the flat turf to the dark clump of trees +which hid further view from their eyes. + +'Do you wish you were still mistress here, dear?' he once said. + +'Not at all,' said she cheerfully. 'I have a good enough room, and a +good enough fire, and a good enough friend. Besides, my latter days as +mistress of the house were not happy ones, and they spoilt the place for +me. It was a punishment for my faithlessness. Nic, you do forgive me? +Really you do?' + +The twenty-third of December, the eve of the wedding-day, had arrived at +last in the train of such uneventful ones as these. Nicholas had +arranged to visit her that day a little later than usual, and see that +everything was ready with her for the morrow's event and her removal to +his house; for he had begun to look after her domestic affairs, and to +lighten as much as possible the duties of her housekeeping. + +He was to come to an early supper, which she had arranged to take the +place of a wedding-breakfast next day--the latter not being feasible in +her present situation. An hour or so after dark the wife of the farmer +who lived in the other part of the house entered Christine's parlour to +lay the cloth. + +'What with getting the ham skinned, and the black-puddings hotted up,' +she said, 'it will take me all my time before he's here, if I begin this +minute.' + +'I'll lay the table myself,' said Christine, jumping up. 'Do you attend +to the cooking.' + +'Thank you, ma'am. And perhaps 'tis no matter, seeing that it is the +last night you'll have to do such work. I knew this sort of life +wouldn't last long for 'ee, being born to better things.' + +'It has lasted rather long, Mrs. Wake. And if he had not found me out it +would have lasted all my days.' + +'But he did find you out.' + +'He did. And I'll lay the cloth immediately.' + +Mrs. Wake went back to the kitchen, and Christine began to bustle about. +She greatly enjoyed preparing this table for Nicholas and herself with +her own hands. She took artistic pleasure in adjusting each article to +its position, as if half an inch error were a point of high importance. +Finally she placed the two candles where they were to stand, and sat down +by the fire. + +Mrs. Wake re-entered and regarded the effect. 'Why not have another +candle or two, ma'am?' she said. ''Twould make it livelier. Say four.' + +'Very well,' said Christine, and four candles were lighted. 'Really,' +she added, surveying them, 'I have been now so long accustomed to little +economies that they look quite extravagant.' + +'Ah, you'll soon think nothing of forty in his grand new house! Shall I +bring in supper directly he comes, ma'am?' + +'No, not for half an hour; and, Mrs. Wake, you and Betsy are busy in the +kitchen, I know; so when he knocks don't disturb yourselves; I can let +him in.' + +She was again left alone, and, as it still wanted some time to Nicholas's +appointment, she stood by the fire, looking at herself in the glass over +the mantel. Reflectively raising a lock of her hair just above her +temple she uncovered a small scar. That scar had a history. The +terrible temper of her late husband--those sudden moods of irascibility +which had made even his friendly excitements look like anger--had once +caused him to set that mark upon her with the bezel of a ring he wore. He +declared that the whole thing was an accident. She was a woman, and kept +her own opinion. + +Christine then turned her back to the glass and scanned the table and the +candles, shining one at each corner like types of the four Evangelists, +and thought they looked too assuming--too confident. She glanced up at +the clock, which stood also in this room, there not being space enough +for it in the passage. It was nearly seven, and she expected Nicholas at +half-past. She liked the company of this venerable article in her lonely +life: its tickings and whizzings were a sort of conversation. It now +began to strike the hour. At the end something grated slightly. Then, +without any warning, the clock slowly inclined forward and fell at full +length upon the floor. + +The crash brought the farmer's wife rushing into the room. Christine had +well-nigh sprung out of her shoes. Mrs. Wake's enquiry what had happened +was answered by the evidence of her own eyes. + +'How did it occur?' she said. + +'I cannot say; it was not firmly fixed, I suppose. Dear me, how sorry I +am! My dear father's hall-clock! And now I suppose it is ruined.' + +Assisted by Mrs. Wake, she lifted the clock. Every inch of glass was, of +course, shattered, but very little harm besides appeared to be done. They +propped it up temporarily, though it would not go again. + +Christine had soon recovered her composure, but she saw that Mrs. Wake +was gloomy. 'What does it mean, Mrs. Wake?' she said. 'Is it ominous?' + +'It is a sign of a violent death in the family.' + +'Don't talk of it. I don't believe such things; and don't mention it to +Mr. Long when he comes. He's not in the family yet, you know.' + +'O no, it cannot refer to him,' said Mrs. Wake musingly. + +'Some remote cousin, perhaps,' observed Christine, no less willing to +humour her than to get rid of a shapeless dread which the incident had +caused in her own mind. 'And--supper is almost ready, Mrs. Wake?' + +'In three-quarters of an hour.' + +Mrs. Wake left the room, and Christine sat on. Though it still wanted +fifteen minutes to the hour at which Nicholas had promised to be there, +she began to grow impatient. After the accustomed ticking the dead +silence was oppressive. But she had not to wait so long as she had +expected; steps were heard approaching the door, and there was a knock. + +Christine was already there to open it. The entrance had no lamp, but it +was not particularly dark out of doors. She could see the outline of a +man, and cried cheerfully, 'You are early; it is very good of you.' + +'I beg pardon. It is not Mr. Bellston himself--only a messenger with his +bag and great-coat. But he will be here soon.' + +The voice was not the voice of Nicholas, and the intelligence was +strange. 'I--I don't understand. Mr. Bellston?' she faintly replied. + +'Yes, ma'am. A gentleman--a stranger to me--gave me these things at +Casterbridge station to bring on here, and told me to say that Mr. +Bellston had arrived there, and is detained for half-an-hour, but will be +here in the course of the evening.' + +She sank into a chair. The porter put a small battered portmanteau on +the floor, the coat on a chair, and looking into the room at the spread +table said, 'If you are disappointed, ma'am, that your husband (as I +s'pose he is) is not come, I can assure you he'll soon be here. He's +stopped to get a shave, to my thinking, seeing he wanted it. What he +said was that I could tell you he had heard the news in Ireland, and +would have come sooner, his hand being forced; but was hindered crossing +by the weather, having took passage in a sailing vessel. What news he +meant he didn't say.' + +'Ah, yes,' she faltered. It was plain that the man knew nothing of her +intended re-marriage. + +Mechanically rising and giving him a shilling, she answered to his 'good- +night,' and he withdrew, the beat of his footsteps lessening in the +distance. She was alone; but in what a solitude. + +Christine stood in the middle of the hall, just as the man had left her, +in the gloomy silence of the stopped clock within the adjoining room, +till she aroused herself, and turning to the portmanteau and great-coat +brought them to the light of the candles, and examined them. The +portmanteau bore painted upon it the initials 'J. B.' in white +letters--the well-known initials of her husband. + +She examined the great-coat. In the breast-pocket was an empty spirit +flask, which she firmly fancied she recognized as the one she had filled +many times for him when he was living at home with her. + +She turned desultorily hither and thither, until she heard another tread +without, and there came a second knocking at the door. She did not +respond to it; and Nicholas--for it was he--thinking that he was not +heard by reason of a concentration on to-morrow's proceedings, opened the +door softly, and came on to the door of her room, which stood unclosed, +just as it had been left by the Casterbridge porter. + +Nicholas uttered a blithe greeting, cast his eye round the parlour, which +with its tall candles, blazing fire, snow-white cloth, and +prettily-spread table, formed a cheerful spectacle enough for a man who +had been walking in the dark for an hour. + +'My bride--almost, at last!' he cried, encircling her with his arms. + +Instead of responding, her figure became limp, frigid, heavy; her head +fell back, and he found that she had fainted. + +It was natural, he thought. She had had many little worrying matters to +attend to, and but slight assistance. He ought to have seen more +effectually to her affairs; the closeness of the event had over-excited +her. Nicholas kissed her unconscious face--more than once, little +thinking what news it was that had changed its aspect. Loth to call Mrs. +Wake, he carried Christine to a couch and laid her down. This had the +effect of reviving her. Nicholas bent and whispered in her ear, 'Lie +quiet, dearest, no hurry; and dream, dream, dream of happy days. It is +only I. You will soon be better.' He held her by the hand. + +'No, no, no!' she said, with a stare. 'O, how can this be?' + +Nicholas was alarmed and perplexed, but the disclosure was not long +delayed. When she had sat up, and by degrees made the stunning event +known to him, he stood as if transfixed. + +'Ah--is it so?' said he. Then, becoming quite meek, 'And why was he so +cruel as to--delay his return till now?' + +She dutifully recited the explanation her husband had given her through +the messenger; but her mechanical manner of telling it showed how much +she doubted its truth. It was too unlikely that his arrival at such a +dramatic moment should not be a contrived surprise, quite of a piece with +his previous dealings towards her. + +'But perhaps it may be true--and he may have become kind now--not as he +used to be,' she faltered. 'Yes, perhaps, Nicholas, he is an altered +man--we'll hope he is. I suppose I ought not to have listened to my +legal advisers, and assumed his death so surely! Anyhow, I am roughly +received back into--the right way!' + +Nicholas burst out bitterly: 'O what too, too honest fools we were!--to +so court daylight upon our intention by putting that announcement in the +papers! Why could we not have married privately, and gone away, so that +he would never have known what had become of you, even if he had +returned? Christine, he has done it to . . . But I'll say no more. Of +course we--might fly now.' + +'No, no; we might not,' said she hastily. + +'Very well. But this is hard to bear! "When I looked for good then evil +came unto me, and when I waited for light there came darkness." So once +said a sorely tried man in the land of Uz, and so say I now! . . . I +wonder if he is almost here at this moment?' + +She told him she supposed Bellston was approaching by the path across the +fields, having sent on his great-coat, which he would not want walking. + +'And is this meal laid for him, or for me?' + +'It was laid for you.' + +'And it will be eaten by him?' + +'Yes.' + +'Christine, are you sure that he is come, or have you been sleeping over +the fire and dreaming it?' + +She pointed anew to the portmanteau with the initials 'J. B.,' and to the +coat beside it. + +'Well, good-bye--good-bye! Curse that parson for not marrying us fifteen +years ago!' + +It is unnecessary to dwell further upon that parting. There are scenes +wherein the words spoken do not even approximate to the level of the +mental communion between the actors. Suffice it to say that part they +did, and quickly; and Nicholas, more dead than alive, went out of the +house homewards. + +Why had he ever come back? During his absence he had not cared for +Christine as he cared now. If he had been younger he might have felt +tempted to descend into the meads instead of keeping along their edge. +The Froom was down there, and he knew of quiet pools in that stream to +which death would come easily. But he was too old to put an end to +himself for such a reason as love; and another thought, too, kept him +from seriously contemplating any desperate act. His affection for her +was strongly protective, and in the event of her requiring a friend's +support in future troubles there was none but himself left in the world +to afford it. So he walked on. + +Meanwhile Christine had resigned herself to circumstances. A resolve to +continue worthy of her history and of her family lent her heroism and +dignity. She called Mrs. Wake, and explained to that worthy woman as +much of what had occurred as she deemed necessary. Mrs. Wake was too +amazed to reply; she retreated slowly, her lips parted; till at the door +she said with a dry mouth, 'And the beautiful supper, ma'am?' + +'Serve it when he comes.' + +'When Mr. Bellston--yes, ma'am, I will.' She still stood gazing, as if +she could hardly take in the order. + +'That will do, Mrs. Wake. I am much obliged to you for all your +kindness.' And Christine was left alone again, and then she wept. + +She sat down and waited. That awful silence of the stopped clock began +anew, but she did not mind it now. She was listening for a footfall in a +state of mental tensity which almost took away from her the power of +motion. It seemed to her that the natural interval for her husband's +journey thither must have expired; but she was not sure, and waited on. + +Mrs. Wake again came in. 'You have not rung for supper--' + +'He is not yet come, Mrs. Wake. If you want to go to bed, bring in the +supper and set it on the table. It will be nearly as good cold. Leave +the door unbarred.' + +Mrs. Wake did as was suggested, made up the fire, and went away. Shortly +afterwards Christine heard her retire to her chamber. But Christine +still sat on, and still her husband postponed his entry. + +She aroused herself once or twice to freshen the fire, but was ignorant +how the night was going. Her watch was upstairs and she did not make the +effort to go up to consult it. In her seat she continued; and still the +supper waited, and still he did not come. + +At length she was so nearly persuaded that the arrival of his things must +have been a dream after all, that she again went over to them, felt them, +and examined them. His they unquestionably were; and their forwarding by +the porter had been quite natural. She sighed and sat down again. + +Presently she fell into a doze, and when she again became conscious she +found that the four candles had burnt into their sockets and gone out. +The fire still emitted a feeble shine. Christine did not take the +trouble to get more candles, but stirred the fire and sat on. + +After a long period she heard a creaking of the chamber floor and stairs +at the other end of the house, and knew that the farmer's family were +getting up. By-and-by Mrs. Wake entered the room, candle in hand, +bouncing open the door in her morning manner, obviously without any +expectation of finding a person there. + +'Lord-a-mercy! What, sitting here again, ma'am?' + +'Yes, I am sitting here still.' + +'You've been there ever since last night?' + +'Yes.' + +'Then--' + +'He's not come.' + +'Well, he won't come at this time o' morning,' said the farmer's wife. +'Do 'ee get on to bed, ma'am. You must be shrammed to death!' + +It occurred to Christine now that possibly her husband had thought better +of obtruding himself upon her company within an hour of revealing his +existence to her, and had decided to pay a more formal visit next day. +She therefore adopted Mrs. Wake's suggestion and retired. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Nicholas had gone straight home, neither speaking to nor seeing a soul. +From that hour a change seemed to come over him. He had ever possessed a +full share of self-consciousness; he had been readily piqued, had shown +an unusual dread of being personally obtrusive. But now his sense of +self, as an individual provoking opinion, appeared to leave him. When, +therefore, after a day or two of seclusion, he came forth again, and the +few acquaintances he had formed in the town condoled with him on what had +happened, and pitied his haggard looks, he did not shrink from their +regard as he would have done formerly, but took their sympathy as it +would have been accepted by a child. + +It reached his ears that Bellston had not appeared on the evening of his +arrival at any hotel in the town or neighbourhood, or entered his wife's +house at all. 'That's a part of his cruelty,' thought Nicholas. And +when two or three days had passed, and still no account came to him of +Bellston having joined her, he ventured to set out for Froom-Everard. + +Christine was so shaken that she was obliged to receive him as she lay on +a sofa, beside the square table which was to have borne their evening +feast. She fixed her eyes wistfully upon him, and smiled a sad smile. + +'He has not come?' said Nicholas under his breath. + +'He has not.' + +Then Nicholas sat beside her, and they talked on general topics merely +like saddened old friends. But they could not keep away the subject of +Bellston, their voices dropping as it forced its way in. Christine, no +less than Nicholas, knowing her husband's character, inferred that, +having stopped her game, as he would have phrased it, he was taking +things leisurely, and, finding nothing very attractive in her limited +mode of living, was meaning to return to her only when he had nothing +better to do. + +The bolt which laid low their hopes had struck so recently that they +could hardly look each other in the face when speaking that day. But +when a week or two had passed, and all the horizon still remained as +vacant of Bellston as before, Nicholas and she could talk of the event +with calm wonderment. Why had he come, to go again like this? + +And then there set in a period of resigned surmise, during which + + So like, so very like, was day to day, + +that to tell of one of them is to tell of all. Nicholas would arrive +between three and four in the afternoon, a faint trepidation influencing +his walk as he neared her door. He would knock; she would always reply +in person, having watched for him from the window. Then he would +whisper--'He has not come?' + +'He has not,' she would say. + +Nicholas would enter then, and she being ready bonneted, they would walk +into the Sallows together as far as to the spot which they had frequently +made their place of appointment in their youthful days. A plank bridge, +which Bellston had caused to be thrown over the stream during his +residence with her in the manor-house, was now again removed, and all was +just the same as in Nicholas's time, when he had been accustomed to wade +across on the edge of the cascade and come up to her like a merman from +the deep. Here on the felled trunk, which still lay rotting in its old +place, they would now sit, gazing at the descending sheet of water, with +its never-ending sarcastic hiss at their baffled attempts to make +themselves one flesh. Returning to the house they would sit down +together to tea, after which, and the confidential chat that accompanied +it, he walked home by the declining light. This proceeding became as +periodic as an astronomical recurrence. Twice a week he came--all +through that winter, all through the spring following, through the +summer, through the autumn, the next winter, the next year, and the next, +till an appreciable span of human life had passed by. Bellston still +tarried. + +Years and years Nic walked that way, at this interval of three days, from +his house in the neighbouring town; and in every instance the aforesaid +order of things was customary; and still on his arrival the form of words +went on--'He has not come?' + +'He has not.' + +So they grew older. The dim shape of that third one stood continually +between them; they could not displace it; neither, on the other hand, +could it effectually part them. They were in close communion, yet not +indissolubly united; lovers, yet never growing cured of love. By the +time that the fifth year of Nic's visiting had arrived, on about the five- +hundredth occasion of his presence at her tea-table, he noticed that the +bleaching process which had begun upon his own locks was also spreading +to hers. He told her so, and they laughed. Yet she was in good health: +a condition of suspense, which would have half-killed a man, had been +endured by her without complaint, and even with composure. + +One day, when these years of abeyance had numbered seven, they had +strolled as usual as far as the waterfall, whose faint roar formed a sort +of calling voice sufficient in the circumstances to direct their +listlessness. Pausing there, he looked up at her face and said, 'Why +should we not try again, Christine? We are legally at liberty to do so +now. Nothing venture nothing have.' + +But she would not. Perhaps a little primness of idea was by this time +ousting the native daring of Christine. 'What he has done once he can do +twice,' she said. 'He is not dead, and if we were to marry he would say +we had "forced his hand," as he said before, and duly reappear.' + +Some years after, when Christine was about fifty, and Nicholas +fifty-three, a new trouble of a minor kind arrived. He found an +inconvenience in traversing the distance between their two houses, +particularly in damp weather, the years he had spent in trying climates +abroad having sown the seeds of rheumatism, which made a journey +undesirable on inclement days, even in a carriage. He told her of this +new difficulty, as he did of everything. + +'If you could live nearer,' suggested she. + +Unluckily there was no house near. But Nicholas, though not a +millionaire, was a man of means; he obtained a small piece of ground on +lease at the nearest spot to her home that it could be so obtained, which +was on the opposite brink of the Froom, this river forming the boundary +of the Froom-Everard manor; and here he built a cottage large enough for +his wants. This took time, and when he got into it he found its +situation a great comfort to him. He was not more than five hundred +yards from her now, and gained a new pleasure in feeling that all sounds +which greeted his ears, in the day or in the night, also fell upon +hers--the caw of a particular rook, the voice of a neighbouring +nightingale, the whistle of a local breeze, or the purl of the fall in +the meadows, whose rush was a material rendering of Time's ceaseless +scour over themselves, wearing them away without uniting them. + +Christine's missing husband was taking shape as a myth among the +surrounding residents; but he was still believed in as corporeally +imminent by Christine herself, and also, in a milder degree, by Nicholas. +For a curious unconsciousness of the long lapse of time since his +revelation of himself seemed to affect the pair. There had been no +passing events to serve as chronological milestones, and the evening on +which she had kept supper waiting for him still loomed out with startling +nearness in their retrospects. + +In the seventeenth pensive year of this their parallel march towards the +common bourne, a labourer came in a hurry one day to Nicholas's house and +brought strange tidings. The present owner of Froom-Everard--a +non-resident--had been improving his property in sundry ways, and one of +these was by dredging the stream which, in the course of years, had +become choked with mud and weeds in its passage through the Sallows. The +process necessitated a reconstruction of the waterfall. When the river +had been pumped dry for this purpose, the skeleton of a man had been +found jammed among the piles supporting the edge of the fall. Every +particle of his flesh and clothing had been eaten by fishes or abraded to +nothing by the water, but the relics of a gold watch remained, and on the +inside of the case was engraved the name of the maker of her husband's +watch, which she well remembered. + +Nicholas, deeply agitated, hastened down to the place and examined the +remains attentively, afterwards going across to Christine, and breaking +the discovery to her. She would not come to view the skeleton, which lay +extended on the grass, not a finger or toe-bone missing, so neatly had +the aquatic operators done their work. Conjecture was directed to the +question how Bellston had got there; and conjecture alone could give an +explanation. + +It was supposed that, on his way to call upon her, he had taken a short +cut through the grounds, with which he was naturally very familiar, and +coming to the fall under the trees had expected to find there the plank +which, during his occupancy of the premises with Christine and her +father, he had placed there for crossing into the meads on the other side +instead of wading across as Nicholas had done. Before discovering its +removal he had probably overbalanced himself, and was thus precipitated +into the cascade, the piles beneath the descending current wedging him +between them like the prongs of a pitchfork, and effectually preventing +the rising of his body, over which the weeds grew. Such was the +reasonable supposition concerning the discovery; but proof was never +forthcoming. + +'To think,' said Nicholas, when the remains had been decently interred, +and he was again sitting with Christine--though not beside the +waterfall--'to think how we visited him! How we sat over him, hours and +hours, gazing at him, bewailing our fate, when all the time he was +ironically hissing at us from the spot, in an unknown tongue, that we +could marry if we chose!' + +She echoed the sentiment with a sigh. + +'I have strange fancies,' she said. 'I suppose it must have been my +husband who came back, and not some other man.' + +Nicholas felt that there was little doubt. 'Besides--the skeleton,' he +said. + +'Yes . . . If it could not have been another person's--but no, of course +it was he.' + +'You might have married me on the day we had fixed, and there would have +been no impediment. You would now have been seventeen years my wife, and +we might have had tall sons and daughters.' + +'It might have been so,' she murmured. + +'Well--is it still better late than never?' + +The question was one which had become complicated by the increasing years +of each. Their wills were somewhat enfeebled now, their hearts sickened +of tender enterprise by hope too long deferred. Having postponed the +consideration of their course till a year after the interment of +Bellston, each seemed less disposed than formerly to take it up again. + +'Is it worth while, after so many years?' she said to him. 'We are +fairly happy as we are--perhaps happier than we should be in any other +relation, seeing what old people we have grown. The weight is gone from +our lives; the shadow no longer divides us: then let us be joyful +together as we are, dearest Nic, in the days of our vanity; and + + With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.' + +He fell in with these views of hers to some extent. But occasionally he +ventured to urge her to reconsider the case, though he spoke not with the +fervour of his earlier years. + +Autumn, 1887. + + + + +ALICIA'S DIARY + + +CHAPTER I.--SHE MISSES HER SISTER + + +July 7.--I wander about the house in a mood of unutterable sadness, for +my dear sister Caroline has left home to-day with my mother, and I shall +not see them again for several weeks. They have accepted a long-standing +invitation to visit some old friends of ours, the Marlets, who live at +Versailles for cheapness--my mother thinking that it will be for the good +of Caroline to see a little of France and Paris. But I don't quite like +her going. I fear she may lose some of that childlike simplicity and +gentleness which so characterize her, and have been nourished by the +seclusion of our life here. Her solicitude about her pony before +starting was quite touching, and she made me promise to visit it daily, +and see that it came to no harm. + +Caroline gone abroad, and I left here! It is the reverse of an ordinary +situation, for good or ill-luck has mostly ordained that I should be the +absent one. Mother will be quite tired out by the young enthusiasm of +Caroline. She will demand to be taken everywhere--to Paris continually, +of course; to all the stock shrines of history's devotees; to palaces and +prisons; to kings' tombs and queens' tombs; to cemeteries and picture- +galleries, and royal hunting forests. My poor mother, having gone over +most of this ground many times before, will perhaps not find the +perambulation so exhilarating as will Caroline herself. I wish I could +have gone with them. I would not have minded having my legs walked off +to please Caroline. But this regret is absurd: I could not, of course, +leave my father with not a soul in the house to attend to the calls of +the parishioners or to pour out his tea. + +July 15.--A letter from Caroline to-day. It is very strange that she +tells me nothing which I expected her to tell--only trivial details. She +seems dazzled by the brilliancy of Paris--which no doubt appears still +more brilliant to her from the fact of her only being able to obtain +occasional glimpses of it. She would see that Paris, too, has a seamy +side if you live there. I was not aware that the Marlets knew so many +people. If, as mother has said, they went to reside at Versailles for +reasons of economy, they will not effect much in that direction while +they make a practice of entertaining all the acquaintances who happen to +be in their neighbourhood. They do not confine their hospitalities to +English people, either. I wonder who this M. de la Feste is, in whom +Caroline says my mother is so much interested. + +July 18.--Another letter from Caroline. I have learnt from this epistle, +that M. Charles de la Feste is 'only one of the many friends of the +Marlets'; that though a Frenchman by birth, and now again temporarily at +Versailles, he has lived in England many many years; that he is a +talented landscape and marine painter, and has exhibited at the Salon, +and I think in London. His style and subjects are considered somewhat +peculiar in Paris--rather English than Continental. I have not as yet +learnt his age, or his condition, married or single. From the tone and +nature of her remarks about him he sometimes seems to be a middle-aged +family man, sometimes quite the reverse. From his nomadic habits I +should say the latter is the most likely. He has travelled and seen a +great deal, she tells me, and knows more about English literature than +she knows herself. + +July 21.--Letter from Caroline. Query: Is 'a friend of ours and the +Marlets,' of whom she now anonymously and mysteriously speaks, the same +personage as the 'M. de la Feste' of her former letters? He must be the +same, I think, from his pursuits. If so, whence this sudden change of +tone? . . . I have been lost in thought for at least a quarter of an hour +since writing the preceding sentence. Suppose my dear sister is falling +in love with this young man--there is no longer any doubt about his age; +what a very awkward, risky thing for her! I do hope that my mother has +an eye on these proceedings. But, then, poor mother never sees the drift +of anything: she is in truth less of a mother to Caroline than I am. If +I were there, how jealously I would watch him, and ascertain his designs! + +I am of a stronger nature than Caroline. How I have supported her in the +past through her little troubles and great griefs! Is she agitated at +the presence of this, to her, new and strange feeling? But I am assuming +her to be desperately in love, when I have no proof of anything of the +kind. He may be merely a casual friend, of whom I shall hear no more. + +July 24.--Then he is a bachelor, as I suspected. 'If M. de la Feste ever +marries he will,' etc. So she writes. They are getting into close +quarters, obviously. Also, 'Something to keep my hair smooth, which M. +de la Feste told me he had found useful for the tips of his moustache.' +Very naively related this; and with how much unconsciousness of the +intimacy between them that the remark reveals! But my mother--what can +she be doing? Does she know of this? And if so, why does she not allude +to it in her letters to my father? . . . I have been to look at +Caroline's pony, in obedience to her reiterated request that I would not +miss a day in seeing that she was well cared for. Anxious as Caroline +was about this pony of hers before starting, she now never mentioned the +poor animal once in her letters. The image of her pet suffers from +displacement. + +August 3.--Caroline's forgetfulness of her pony has naturally enough +extended to me, her sister. It is ten days since she last wrote, and but +for a note from my mother I should not know if she were dead or alive. + + + +CHAPTER II.--NEWS INTERESTING AND SERIOUS + + +August 5.--A cloud of letters. A letter from Caroline, another from +mother; also one from each to my father. + +The probability to which all the intelligence from my sister has pointed +of late turns out to be a fact. There is an engagement, or almost an +engagement, announced between my dear Caroline and M. de la Feste--to +Caroline's sublime happiness, and my mother's entire satisfaction; as +well as to that of the Marlets. They and my mother seem to know all +about the young man--which is more than I do, though a little extended +information about him, considering that I am Caroline's elder sister, +would not have been amiss. I half feel with my father, who is much +surprised, and, I am sure, not altogether satisfied, that he should not +have been consulted at all before matters reached such a definite stage, +though he is too amiable to say so openly. I don't quite say that a good +thing should have been hindered for the sake of our opinion, if it is a +good thing; but the announcement comes very suddenly. It must have been +foreseen by my mother for some time that this upshot was probable, and +Caroline might have told me more distinctly that M. de la Feste was her +lover, instead of alluding so mysteriously to him as only a friend of the +Marlets, and lately dropping his name altogether. My father, without +exactly objecting to him as a Frenchman, 'wishes he were of English or +some other reasonable nationality for one's son-in-law,' but I tell him +that the demarcations of races, kingdoms, and creeds, are wearing down +every day, that patriotism is a sort of vice, and that the character of +the individual is all we need think about in this case. I wonder if, in +the event of their marriage, he will continue to live at Versailles, or +if he will come to England. + +August 7.--A supplemental letter from Caroline, answering, by +anticipation, some of the aforesaid queries. She tells me that +'Charles,' though he makes Versailles his present home, is by no means +bound by his profession to continue there; that he will live just where +she wishes, provided it be not too far from some centre of thought, art, +and civilization. My mother and herself both think that the marriage +should not take place till next year. He exhibits landscapes and canal +scenery every year, she says; so I suppose he is popular, and that his +income is sufficient to keep them in comfort. If not, I do not see why +my father could not settle something more on them than he had intended, +and diminish by a little what he had proposed for me, whilst it was +imagined that I should be the first to stand in need of such. + +'Of engaging manner, attractive appearance, and virtuous character,' is +the reply I receive from her in answer to my request for a personal +description. That is vague enough, and I would rather have had one +definite fact of complexion, voice, deed, or opinion. But of course she +has no eye now for material qualities; she cannot see him as he is. She +sees him irradiated with glories such as never appertained and never will +appertain to any man, foreign, English, or Colonial. To think that +Caroline, two years my junior, and so childlike as to be five years my +junior in nature, should be engaged to be married before me. But that is +what happens in families more often than we are apt to remember. + +August 16.--Interesting news to-day. Charles, she says, has pleaded that +their marriage may just as well be this year as next; and he seems to +have nearly converted my mother to the same way of thinking. I do not +myself see any reason for delay, beyond the standing one of my father +having as yet had no opportunity of forming an opinion upon the man, the +time, or anything. However, he takes his lot very quietly, and they are +coming home to talk the question over with us; Caroline having decided +not to make any positive arrangements for this change of state till she +has seen me. Subject to my own and my father's approval, she says, they +are inclined to settle the date of the wedding for November, three months +from the present time, that it shall take place here in the village, that +I, of course, shall be bridesmaid, and many other particulars. She draws +an artless picture of the probable effect upon the minds of the villagers +of this romantic performance in the chancel of our old church, in which +she is to be chief actor--the foreign gentleman dropping down like a god +from the skies, picking her up, and triumphantly carrying her off. Her +only grief will be separation from me, but this is to be assuaged by my +going and staying with her for long months at a time. This simple +prattle is very sweet to me, my dear sister, but I cannot help feeling +sad at the occasion of it. In the nature of things it is obvious that I +shall never be to you again what I hitherto have been: your guide, +counsellor, and most familiar friend. + +M. de la Feste does certainly seem to be all that one could desire as +protector to a sensitive fragile child like Caroline, and for that I am +thankful. Still, I must remember that I see him as yet only through her +eyes. For her sake I am intensely anxious to meet him, and scrutinise +him through and through, and learn what the man is really made of who is +to have such a treasure in his keeping. The engagement has certainly +been formed a little precipitately; I quite agree with my father in that: +still, good and happy marriages have been made in a hurry before now, and +mother seems well satisfied. + +August 20.--A terrible announcement came this morning; and we are in deep +trouble. I have been quite unable to steady my thoughts on anything to- +day till now--half-past eleven at night--and I only attempt writing these +notes because I am too restless to remain idle, and there is nothing but +waiting and waiting left for me to do. Mother has been taken dangerously +ill at Versailles: they were within a day or two of starting; but all +thought of leaving must now be postponed, for she cannot possibly be +moved in her present state. I don't like the sound of haemorrhage at all +in a woman of her full habit, and Caroline and the Marlets have not +exaggerated their accounts I am certain. On the receipt of the letter my +father instantly decided to go to her, and I have been occupied all day +in getting him off, for as he calculates on being absent several days, +there have been many matters for him to arrange before setting out--the +chief being to find some one who will do duty for him next Sunday--a +quest of no small difficulty at such short notice; but at last poor old +feeble Mr. Dugdale has agreed to attempt it, with Mr. Highman, the +Scripture reader, to assist him in the lessons. + +I fain would have gone with my father to escape the irksome anxiety of +awaiting her; but somebody had to stay, and I could best be spared. +George has driven him to the station to meet the last train by which he +will catch the midnight boat, and reach Havre some time in the morning. +He hates the sea, and a night passage in particular. I hope he will get +there without mishap of any kind; but I feel anxious for him, stay-at- +home as he is, and unable to cope with any difficulty. Such an errand, +too; the journey will be sad enough at best. I almost think I ought to +have been the one to go to her. + +August 21.--I nearly fell asleep of heaviness of spirit last night over +my writing. My father must have reached Paris by this time; and now here +comes a letter . . . + +Later.--The letter was to express an earnest hope that my father had set +out. My poor mother is sinking, they fear. What will become of +Caroline? O, how I wish I could see mother; why could not both have +gone? + +Later.--I get up from my chair, and walk from window to window, and then +come and write a line. I cannot even divine how poor Caroline's marriage +is to be carried out if mother dies. I pray that father may have got +there in time to talk to her and receive some directions from her about +Caroline and M. de la Feste--a man whom neither my father nor I have +seen. I, who might be useful in this emergency, am doomed to stay here, +waiting in suspense. + +August 23.--A letter from my father containing the sad news that my +mother's spirit has flown. Poor little Caroline is heart-broken--she was +always more my mother's pet than I was. It is some comfort to know that +my father arrived in time to hear from her own lips her strongly +expressed wish that Caroline's marriage should be solemnized as soon as +possible. M. de la Feste seems to have been a great favourite of my dear +mother's; and I suppose it now becomes almost a sacred duty of my father +to accept him as a son-in-law without criticism. + + + +CHAPTER III.--HER GLOOM LIGHTENS A LITTLE + + +September 10.--I have inserted nothing in my diary for more than a +fortnight. Events have been altogether too sad for me to have the spirit +to put them on paper. And yet there comes a time when the act of +recording one's trouble is recognized as a welcome method of dwelling +upon it . . . + +My dear mother has been brought home and buried here in the parish. It +was not so much her own wish that this should be done as my father's, who +particularly desired that she should lie in the family vault beside his +first wife. I saw them side by side before the vault was closed--two +women beloved by one man. As I stood, and Caroline by my side, I fell +into a sort of dream, and had an odd fancy that Caroline and I might be +also beloved of one, and lie like these together--an impossibility, of +course, being sisters. When I awoke from my reverie Caroline took my +hand and said it was time to leave. + +September 14.--The wedding is indefinitely postponed. Caroline is like a +girl awakening in the middle of a somnambulistic experience, and does not +realize where she is, or how she stands. She walks about silently, and I +cannot tell her thoughts, as I used to do. It was her own doing to write +to M. de la Feste and tell him that the wedding could not possibly take +place this autumn as originally planned. There is something depressing +in this long postponement if she is to marry him at all; and yet I do not +see how it could be avoided. + +October 20.--I have had so much to occupy me in consoling Caroline that I +have been continually overlooking my diary. Her life was much nearer to +my mother's than mine was. She has never, as I, lived away from home +long enough to become self-dependent, and hence in her first loss, and +all that it involved, she drooped like a rain-beaten lily. But she is of +a nature whose wounds soon heal, even though they may be deep, and the +supreme poignancy of her sorrow has already passed. + +My father is of opinion that the wedding should not be delayed too long. +While at Versailles he made the acquaintance of M. de la Feste, and +though they had but a short and hurried communion with each other, he was +much impressed by M. de la Feste's disposition and conduct, and is +strongly in favour of his suit. It is odd that Caroline's betrothed +should influence in his favour all who come near him. His portrait, +which dear Caroline has shown me, exhibits him to be of a physique that +partly accounts for this: but there must be something more than mere +appearance, and it is probably some sort of glamour or fascinating +power--the quality which prevented Caroline from describing him to me +with any accuracy of detail. At the same time, I see from the photograph +that his face and head are remarkably well formed; and though the +contours of his mouth are hidden by his moustache, his arched brows show +well the romantic disposition of a true lover and painter of Nature. I +think that the owner of such a face as this must be tender and +sympathetic and true. + +October 30.--As my sister's grief for her mother becomes more and more +calmed, her love for M. de la Feste begins to reassume its former +absorbing command of her. She thinks of him incessantly, and writes +whole treatises to him by way of letters. Her blank disappointment at +his announcement of his inability to pay us a visit quite so soon as he +had promised, was quite tragic. I, too, am disappointed, for I wanted to +see and estimate him. But having arranged to go to Holland to seize some +aerial effects for his pictures, which are only to be obtained at this +time of the autumn, he is obliged to postpone his journey this way, which +is now to be made early in the new year. I think myself that he ought to +have come at all sacrifices, considering Caroline's recent loss, the sad +postponement of what she was looking forward to, and her single-minded +affection for him. Still, who knows; his professional success is +important. Moreover, she is cheerful, and hopeful, and the delay will +soon be overpast. + + + +CHAPTER IV.--SHE BEHOLDS THE ATTRACTIVE STRANGER + + +February 16.--We have had such a dull life here all the winter that I +have found nothing important enough to set down, and broke off my journal +accordingly. I resume it now to make an entry on the subject of dear +Caroline's future. It seems that she was too grieved, immediately after +the loss of our mother, to answer definitely the question of M. de la +Feste how long the postponement was to be; then, afterwards, it was +agreed that the matter should be discussed on his autumn visit; but as he +did not come, it has remained in abeyance till this week, when Caroline, +with the greatest simplicity and confidence, has written to him without +any further pressure on his part, and told him that she is quite ready to +fix the time, and will do so as soon as he arrives to see her. She is a +little frightened now, lest it should seem forward in her to have revived +the subject of her own accord; but she may assume that his question has +been waiting on for an answer ever since, and that she has, therefore, +acted only within her promise. In truth, the secret at the bottom of it +all is that she is somewhat saddened because he has not latterly reminded +her of the pause in their affairs--that, in short, his original +impatience to possess her is not now found to animate him so obviously. I +suppose that he loves her as much as ever; indeed, I am sure he must do +so, seeing how lovable she is. It is mostly thus with all men when women +are out of their sight; they grow negligent. Caroline must have +patience, and remember that a man of his genius has many and important +calls upon his time. In justice to her I must add that she does remember +it fairly well, and has as much patience as any girl ever had in the +circumstances. He hopes to come at the beginning of April at latest. +Well, when he comes we shall see him. + +April 5.--I think that what M. de la Feste writes is reasonable enough, +though Caroline looks heart-sick about it. It is hardly worth while for +him to cross all the way to England and back just now, while the sea is +so turbulent, seeing that he will be obliged, in any event, to come in +May, when he has to be in London for professional purposes, at which time +he can take us easily on his way both coming and going. When Caroline +becomes his wife she will be more practical, no doubt; but she is such a +child as yet that there is no contenting her with reasons. However, the +time will pass quickly, there being so much to do in preparing a +trousseau for her, which must now be put in hand in order that we may +have plenty of leisure to get it ready. On no account must Caroline be +married in half-mourning; I am sure that mother, could she know, would +not wish it, and it is odd that Caroline should be so intractably +persistent on this point, when she is usually so yielding. + +April 30.--This month has flown on swallow's wings. We are in a great +state of excitement--I as much as she--I cannot quite tell why. He is +really coming in ten days, he says. + +May 9. Four p.m.--I am so agitated I can scarcely write, and yet am +particularly impelled to do so before leaving my room. It is the +unexpected shape of an expected event which has caused my absurd +excitement, which proves me almost as much a school-girl as Caroline. + +M. de la Feste was not, as we understood, to have come till to-morrow; +but he is here--just arrived. All household directions have devolved +upon me, for my father, not thinking M. de la Feste would appear before +us for another four-and-twenty hours, left home before post time to +attend a distant consecration; and hence Caroline and I were in no small +excitement when Charles's letter was opened, and we read that he had been +unexpectedly favoured in the dispatch of his studio work, and would +follow his letter in a few hours. We sent the covered carriage to meet +the train indicated, and waited like two newly strung harps for the first +sound of the returning wheels. At last we heard them on the gravel; and +the question arose who was to receive him. It was, strictly speaking, my +duty; but I felt timid; I could not help shirking it, and insisted that +Caroline should go down. She did not, however, go near the door as she +usually does when anybody is expected, but waited palpitating in the +drawing-room. He little thought when he saw the silent hall, and the +apparently deserted house, how that house was at the very same moment +alive and throbbing with interest under the surface. I stood at the back +of the upper landing, where nobody could see me from downstairs, and +heard him walk across the hall--a lighter step than my father's--and +heard him then go into the drawing-room, and the servant shut the door +behind him and go away. + +What a pretty lover's meeting they must have had in there all to +themselves! Caroline's sweet face looking up from her black gown--how it +must have touched him. I know she wept very much, for I heard her; and +her eyes will be red afterwards, and no wonder, poor dear, though she is +no doubt happy. I can imagine what she is telling him while I write +this--her fears lest anything should have happened to prevent his coming +after all--gentle, smiling reproaches for his long delay; and things of +that sort. His two portmanteaus are at this moment crossing the landing +on the way to his room. I wonder if I ought to go down. + +A little later.--I have seen him! It was not at all in the way that I +intended to encounter him, and I am vexed. Just after his portmanteaus +were brought up I went out from my room to descend, when, at the moment +of stepping towards the first stair, my eyes were caught by an object in +the hall below, and I paused for an instant, till I saw that it was a +bundle of canvas and sticks, composing a sketching tent and easel. At +the same nick of time the drawing-room door opened and the affianced pair +came out. They were saying they would go into the garden; and he waited +a moment while she put on her hat. My idea was to let them pass on +without seeing me, since they seemed not to want my company, but I had +got too far on the landing to retreat; he looked up, and stood staring at +me--engrossed to a dream-like fixity. Thereupon I, too, instead of +advancing as I ought to have done, stood moonstruck and awkward, and +before I could gather my weak senses sufficiently to descend, she had +called him, and they went out by the garden door together. I then +thought of following them, but have changed my mind, and come here to jot +down these few lines. It is all I am fit for . . . + +He is even more handsome than I expected. I was right in feeling he must +have an attraction beyond that of form: it appeared even in that +momentary glance. How happy Caroline ought to be. But I must, of +course, go down to be ready with tea in the drawing-room by the time they +come indoors. + +11 p.m.--I have made the acquaintance of M. de la Feste; and I seem to be +another woman from the effect of it. I cannot describe why this should +be so, but conversation with him seems to expand the view, and open the +heart, and raise one as upon stilts to wider prospects. He has a good +intellectual forehead, perfect eyebrows, dark hair and eyes, an animated +manner, and a persuasive voice. His voice is soft in quality--too soft +for a man, perhaps; and yet on second thoughts I would not have it less +so. We have been talking of his art: I had no notion that art demanded +such sacrifices or such tender devotion; or that there were two roads for +choice within its precincts, the road of vulgar money-making, and the +road of high aims and consequent inappreciation for many long years by +the public. That he has adopted the latter need not be said to those who +understand him. It is a blessing for Caroline that she has been chosen +by such a man, and she ought not to lament at postponements and delays, +since they have arisen unavoidably. Whether he finds hers a sufficiently +rich nature, intellectually and emotionally, for his own, I know not, but +he seems occasionally to be disappointed at her simple views of things. +Does he really feel such love for her at this moment as he no doubt +believes himself to be feeling, and as he no doubt hopes to feel for the +remainder of his life towards her? + +It was a curious thing he told me when we were left for a few minutes +alone; that Caroline had alluded so slightly to me in her conversation +and letters that he had not realized my presence in the house here at +all. But, of course, it was only natural that she should write and talk +most about herself. I suppose it was on account of the fact of his being +taken in some measure unawares, that I caught him on two or three +occasions regarding me fixedly in a way that disquieted me somewhat, +having been lately in so little society; till my glance aroused him from +his reverie, and he looked elsewhere in some confusion. It was fortunate +that he did so, and thus failed to notice my own. It shows that he, too, +is not particularly a society person. + +May 10.--Have had another interesting conversation with M. de la Feste on +schools of landscape painting in the drawing-room after dinner this +evening--my father having fallen asleep, and left nobody but Caroline and +myself for Charles to talk to. I did not mean to say so much to him, and +had taken a volume of Modern Painters from the bookcase to occupy myself +with, while leaving the two lovers to themselves; but he would include me +in his audience, and I was obliged to lay the book aside. However, I +insisted on keeping Caroline in the conversation, though her views on +pictorial art were only too charmingly crude and primitive. + +To-morrow, if fine, we are all three going to Wherryborne Wood, where +Charles will give us practical illustrations of the principles of +coloring that he has enumerated to-night. I am determined not to occupy +his attention to the exclusion of Caroline, and my plan is that when we +are in the dense part of the wood I will lag behind, and slip away, and +leave them to return by themselves. I suppose the reason of his +attentiveness to me lies in his simply wishing to win the good opinion of +one who is so closely united to Caroline, and so likely to influence her +good opinion of him. + +May 11. Late.--I cannot sleep, and in desperation have lit my candle and +taken up my pen. My restlessness is occasioned by what has occurred to- +day, which at first I did not mean to write down, or trust to any heart +but my own. We went to Wherryborne Wood--Caroline, Charles and I, as we +had intended--and walked all three along the green track through the +midst, Charles in the middle between Caroline and myself. Presently I +found that, as usual, he and I were the only talkers, Caroline amusing +herself by observing birds and squirrels as she walked docilely alongside +her betrothed. Having noticed this I dropped behind at the first +opportunity and slipped among the trees, in a direction in which I knew I +should find another path that would take me home. Upon this track I by +and by emerged, and walked along it in silent thought till, at a bend, I +suddenly encountered M. de la Feste standing stock still and smiling +thoughtfully at me. + +'Where is Caroline?' said I. + +'Only a little way off,' says he. 'When we missed you from behind us we +thought you might have mistaken the direction we had followed, so she has +gone one way to find you and I have come this way.' + +We then went back to find Caroline, but could not discover her anywhere, +and the upshot was that he and I were wandering about the woods alone for +more than an hour. On reaching home we found she had given us up after +searching a little while, and arrived there some time before. I should +not be so disturbed by the incident if I had not perceived that, during +her absence from us, he did not make any earnest effort to rediscover +her; and in answer to my repeated expressions of wonder as to whither she +could have wandered he only said, 'Oh, she's quite safe; she told me she +knew the way home from any part of this wood. Let us go on with our +talk. I assure you I value this privilege of being with one I so much +admire more than you imagine;' and other things of that kind. I was so +foolish as to show a little perturbation--I cannot tell why I did not +control myself; and I think he noticed that I was not cool. Caroline +has, with her simple good faith, thought nothing of the occurrence; yet +altogether I am not satisfied. + + + +CHAPTER V.--HER SITUATION IS A TRYING ONE + + +May 15.--The more I think of it day after day, the more convinced I am +that my suspicions are true. He is too interested in me--well, in plain +words, loves me; or, not to degrade that phrase, has a wild passion for +me; and his affection for Caroline is that towards a sister only. That +is the distressing truth; how it has come about I cannot tell, and it +wears upon me. + +A hundred little circumstances have revealed this to me, and the longer I +dwell upon it the more agitating does the consideration become. Heaven +only can help me out of the terrible difficulty in which this places me. +I have done nothing to encourage him to be faithless to her. I have +studiously kept out of his way; have persistently refused to be a third +in their interviews. Yet all to no purpose. Some fatality has seemed to +rule, ever since he came to the house, that this disastrous inversion of +things should arise. If I had only foreseen the possibility of it before +he arrived, how gladly would I have departed on some visit or other to +the meanest friend to hinder such an apparent treachery. But I blindly +welcomed him--indeed, made myself particularly agreeable to him for her +sake. + +There is no possibility of my suspicions being wrong; not until they have +reached absolute certainty have I dared even to admit the truth to +myself. His conduct to-day would have proved them true had I entertained +no previous apprehensions. Some photographs of myself came for me by +post, and they were handed round at the breakfast table and criticised. I +put them temporarily on a side table, and did not remember them until an +hour afterwards when I was in my own room. On going to fetch them I +discovered him standing at the table with his back towards the door +bending over the photographs, one of which he raised to his lips. + +The witnessing this act so frightened me that I crept away to escape +observation. It was the climax to a series of slight and significant +actions all tending to the same conclusion. The question for me now is, +what am I to do? To go away is what first occurs to me, but what reason +can I give Caroline and my father for such a step; besides, it might +precipitate some sort of catastrophe by driving Charles to desperation. +For the present, therefore, I have decided that I can only wait, though +his contiguity is strangely disturbing to me now, and I hardly retain +strength of mind to encounter him. How will the distressing complication +end? + +May 19.--And so it has come! My mere avoidance of him has precipitated +the worst issue--a declaration. I had occasion to go into the kitchen +garden to gather some of the double ragged-robins which grew in a corner +there. Almost as soon as I had entered I heard footsteps without. The +door opened and shut, and I turned to behold him just inside it. As the +garden is closed by four walls and the gardener was absent, the spot +ensured absolute privacy. He came along the path by the asparagus-bed, +and overtook me. + +'You know why I come, Alicia?' said he, in a tremulous voice. + +I said nothing, and hung my head, for by his tone I did know. + +'Yes,' he went on, 'it is you I love; my sentiment towards your sister is +one of affection too, but protective, tutelary affection--no more. Say +what you will I cannot help it. I mistook my feeling for her, and I know +how much I am to blame for my want of self-knowledge. I have fought +against this discovery night and day; but it cannot be concealed. Why +did I ever see you, since I could not see you till I had committed +myself? At the moment my eyes beheld you on that day of my arrival, I +said, "This is the woman for whom my manhood has waited." Ever since an +unaccountable fascination has riveted my heart to you. Answer one word!' + +'O, M. de la Feste!' I burst out. What I said more I cannot remember, +but I suppose that the misery I was in showed pretty plainly, for he +said, 'Something must be done to let her know; perhaps I have mistaken +her affection, too; but all depends upon what you feel.' + +'I cannot tell what I feel,' said I, 'except that this seems terrible +treachery; and every moment that I stay with you here makes it worse! . . +. Try to keep faith with her--her young heart is tender; believe me +there is no mistake in the quality of her love for you. Would there +were! This would kill her if she knew it!' + +He sighed heavily. 'She ought never to be my wife,' he said. 'Leaving +my own happiness out of the question, it would be a cruelty to her to +unite her to me.' + +I said I could not hear such words from him, and begged him in tears to +go away; he obeyed, and I heard the garden door shut behind him. What is +to be the end of the announcement, and the fate of Caroline? + +May 20.--I put a good deal on paper yesterday, and yet not all. I was, +in truth, hoping against hope, against conviction, against too conscious +self-judgment. I scarcely dare own the truth now, yet it relieves my +aching heart to set it down. Yes, I love him--that is the dreadful fact, +and I can no longer parry, evade, or deny it to myself though to the rest +of the world it can never be owned. I love Caroline's betrothed, and he +loves me. It is no yesterday's passion, cultivated by our converse; it +came at first sight, independently of my will; and my talk with him +yesterday made rather against it than for it, but, alas, did not quench +it. God forgive us both for this terrible treachery. + +May 25.--All is vague; our courses shapeless. He comes and goes, being +occupied, ostensibly at least, with sketching in his tent in the wood. +Whether he and she see each other privately I cannot tell, but I rather +think they do not; that she sadly awaits him, and he does not appear. Not +a sign from him that my repulse has done him any good, or that he will +endeavour to keep faith with her. O, if I only had the compulsion of a +god, and the self-sacrifice of a martyr! + +May 31.--It has all ended--or rather this act of the sad drama has +ended--in nothing. He has left us. No day for the fulfilment of the +engagement with Caroline is named, my father not being the man to press +any one on such a matter, or, indeed, to interfere in any way. We two +girls are, in fact, quite defenceless in a case of this kind; lovers may +come when they choose, and desert when they choose; poor father is too +urbane to utter a word of remonstrance or inquiry. Moreover, as the +approved of my dead mother, M. de la Feste has a sort of autocratic power +with my father, who holds it unkind to her memory to have an opinion +about him. I, feeling it my duty, asked M. de la Feste at the last +moment about the engagement, in a voice I could not keep firm. + +'Since the death of your mother all has been indefinite--all!' he said +gloomily. That was the whole. Possibly, Wherryborne Rectory may see him +no more. + +June 7 .--M. de la Feste has written--one letter to her, one to me. Hers +could not have been very warm, for she did not brighten on reading it. +Mine was an ordinary note of friendship, filling an ordinary sheet of +paper, which I handed over to Caroline when I had finished looking it +through. But there was a scrap of paper in the bottom of the envelope, +which I dared not show any one. This scrap is his real letter: I scanned +it alone in my room, trembling, hot and cold by turns. He tells me he is +very wretched; that he deplores what has happened, but was helpless. Why +did I let him see me, if only to make him faithless. Alas, alas! + +June 21 .--My dear Caroline has lost appetite, spirits, health. Hope +deferred maketh the heart sick. His letters to her grow colder--if +indeed he has written more than one. He has refrained from writing again +to me--he knows it is no use. Altogether the situation that he and she +and I are in is melancholy in the extreme. Why are human hearts so +perverse? + + + +CHAPTER VI.--HER INGENUITY INSTIGATES HER + + +September 19.--Three months of anxious care--till at length I have taken +the extreme step of writing to him. Our chief distress has been caused +by the state of poor Caroline, who, after sinking by degrees into such +extreme weakness as to make it doubtful if she can ever recover full +vigour, has to-day been taken much worse. Her position is very critical. +The doctor says plainly that she is dying of a broken heart--and that +even the removal of the cause may not now restore her. Ought I to have +written to Charles sooner? But how could I when she forbade me? It was +her pride only which instigated her, and I should not have obeyed. + +Sept. 26.--Charles has arrived and has seen her. He is shocked, +conscience-stricken, remorseful. I have told him that he can do no good +beyond cheering her by his presence. I do not know what he thinks of +proposing to her if she gets better, but he says little to her at +present: indeed he dares not: his words agitate her dangerously. + +Sept. 28.--After a struggle between duty and selfishness, such as I pray +to Heaven I may never have to undergo again, I have asked him for pity's +sake to make her his wife, here and now, as she lies. I said to him that +the poor child would not trouble him long; and such a solemnization would +soothe her last hours as nothing else could do. He said that he would +willingly do so, and had thought of it himself; but for one forbidding +reason: in the event of her death as his wife he can never marry me, her +sister, according to our laws. I started at his words. He went on: 'On +the other hand, if I were sure that immediate marriage with me would save +her life, I would not refuse, for possibly I might after a while, and out +of sight of you, make myself fairly content with one of so sweet a +disposition as hers; but if, as is probable, neither my marrying her nor +any other act can avail to save her life, by so doing I lose both her and +you.' I could not answer him. + +Sept. 29.--He continued firm in his reasons for refusal till this +morning, and then I became possessed with an idea, which I at once +propounded to him. It was that he should at least consent to a form of +marriage with Caroline, in consideration of her love; a form which need +not be a legal union, but one which would satisfy her sick and enfeebled +soul. Such things have been done, and the sentiment of feeling herself +his would inexpressibly comfort her mind, I am sure. Then, if she is +taken from us, I should not have lost the power of becoming his lawful +wife at some future day, if it indeed should be deemed expedient; if, on +the other hand, she lives, he can on her recovery inform her of the +incompleteness of their marriage contract, the ceremony can be repeated, +and I can, and I am sure willingly would, avoid troubling them with my +presence till grey hairs and wrinkles make his unfortunate passion for me +a thing of the past. I put all this before him; but he demurred. + +Sept. 30.--I have urged him again. He says he will consider. It is no +time to mince matters, and as a further inducement I have offered to +enter into a solemn engagement to marry him myself a year after her +death. + +Sept. 30. Later.--An agitating interview. He says he will agree to +whatever I propose, the three possibilities and our contingent acts being +recorded as follows: First, in the event of dear Caroline being taken +from us, I marry him on the expiration of a year: Second, in the forlorn +chance of her recovery I take upon myself the responsibility of +explaining to Caroline the true nature of the ceremony he has gone +through with her, that it was done at my suggestion to make her happy at +once, before a special licence could be obtained, and that a public +ceremony at church is awaiting her: Third, in the unlikely event of her +cooling, and refusing to repeat the ceremony with him, I leave England, +join him abroad, and there wed him, agreeing not to live in England again +till Caroline has either married another or regards her attachment to +Charles as a bygone matter. I have thought over these conditions, and +have agreed to them all as they stand. + +11 p.m.--I do not much like this scheme, after all. For one thing, I +have just sounded my father on it before parting with him for the night, +my impression having been that he would see no objection. But he says he +could on no account countenance any such unreal proceeding; however good +our intentions, and even though the poor girl were dying, it would not be +right. So I sadly seek my pillow. + +October 1.--I am sure my father is wrong in his view. Why is it not +right, if it would be balm to Caroline's wounded soul, and if a real +ceremony is absolutely refused by Charles--moreover is hardly practicable +in the difficulty of getting a special licence, if he were agreed? My +father does not know, or will not believe, that Caroline's attachment has +been the cause of her hopeless condition. But that it is so, and that +the form of words would give her inexpressible happiness, I know well; +for I whispered tentatively in her ear on such marriages, and the effect +was great. Henceforth my father cannot be taken into confidence on the +subject of Caroline. He does not understand her. + +12 o'clock noon.--I have taken advantage of my father's absence to-day to +confide my secret notion to a thoughtful young man, who called here this +morning to speak to my father. He is the Mr. Theophilus Higham, of whom +I have already had occasion to speak--a Scripture reader in the next +town, and is soon going to be ordained. I told him the pitiable case, +and my remedy. He says ardently that he will assist me--would do +anything for me (he is, in truth, an admirer of mine); he sees no wrong +in such an act of charity. He is coming again to the house this +afternoon before my father returns, to carry out the idea. I have spoken +to Charles, who promises to be ready. I must now break the news to +Caroline. + +11 o'clock p.m.--I have been in too much excitement till now to set down +the result. We have accomplished our plan; and though I feel like a +guilty sinner, I am glad. My father, of course, is not to be informed as +yet. Caroline has had a seraphic expression upon her wasted, transparent +face ever since. I should hardly be surprised if it really saved her +life even now, and rendered a legitimate union necessary between them. In +that case my father can be informed of the whole proceeding, and in the +face of such wonderful success cannot disapprove. Meanwhile poor Charles +has not lost the possibility of taking unworthy me to fill her place +should she--. But I cannot contemplate that alternative unmoved, and +will not write it. Charles left for the South of Europe immediately +after the ceremony. He was in a high-strung, throbbing, almost wild +state of mind at first, but grew calmer under my exhortations. I had to +pay the penalty of receiving a farewell kiss from him, which I much +regret, considering its meaning; but he took me so unexpectedly, and in a +moment was gone. + +Oct. 6.--She certainly is better, and even when she found that Charles +had been suddenly obliged to leave, she received the news quite +cheerfully. The doctor says that her apparent improvement may be +delusive; but I think our impressing upon her the necessity of keeping +what has occurred a secret from papa, and everybody, helps to give her a +zest for life. + +Oct. 8.--She is still mending. I am glad to have saved her--my only +sister--if I have done so; though I shall now never become Charles's +wife. + + + +CHAPTER VII.--A SURPRISE AWAITS HER + + +Feb. 5.--Writing has been absolutely impossible for a long while; but I +now reach a stage at which it seems possible to jot down a line. +Caroline's recovery, extending over four months, has been very +engrossing; at first slow, latterly rapid. But a fearful complication of +affairs attends it! + + O what a tangled web we weave + When first we practise to deceive! + +Charles has written reproachfully to me from Venice, where he is. He +says how can he fulfil in the real what he has enacted in the +counterfeit, while he still loves me? Yet how, on the other hand, can he +leave it unfulfilled? All this time I have not told her, and up to this +minute she believes that he has indeed taken her for better, for worse, +till death them do part. It is a harassing position for me, and all +three. In the awful approach of death, one's judgment loses its balance, +and we do anything to meet the exigencies of the moment, with a single +eye to the one who excites our sympathy, and from whom we seem on the +brink of being separated for ever. + +Had he really married her at that time all would be settled now. But he +took too much thought; she might have died, and then he had his reason. +If indeed it had turned out so, I should now be perhaps a sad woman; but +not a tempest-tossed one . . . The possibility of his claiming me after +all is what lies at the root of my agitation. Everything hangs by a +thread. Suppose I tell her the marriage was a mockery; suppose she is +indignant with me and with him for the deception--and then? Otherwise, +suppose she is not indignant but forgives all; he is bound to marry her; +and honour constrains me to urge him thereto, in spite of what he +protests, and to smooth the way to this issue by my method of informing +her. I have meant to tell her the last month--ever since she has been +strong enough to bear such tidings; but I have been without the power--the +moral force. Surely I must write, and get him to come and assist me. + +March 14.--She continually wonders why he does not come, the five months +of his enforced absence having expired; and still more she wonders why he +does not write oftener. His last letter was cold, she says, and she +fears he regrets his marriage, which he may only have celebrated with her +for pity's sake, thinking she was sure to die. It makes one's heart +bleed to hear her hovering thus so near the truth, and yet never +discerning its actual shape. + +A minor trouble besets me, too, in the person of the young Scripture +reader, whose conscience pricks him for the part he played. Surely I am +punished, if ever woman were, for a too ingenious perversion of her +better judgment! + +April 2.--She is practically well. The faint pink revives in her cheek, +though it is not quite so full as heretofore. But she still wonders what +she can have done to offend 'her dear husband,' and I have been obliged +to tell the smallest part of the truth--an unimportant fragment of the +whole, in fact, I said that I feared for the moment he might regret the +precipitancy of the act, which her illness caused, his affairs not having +been quite sufficiently advanced for marriage just then, though he will +doubtless come to her as soon as he has a home ready. Meanwhile I have +written to him, peremptorily, to come and relieve me in this awful +dilemma. He will find no note of love in that. + +April 10.--To my alarm the letter I lately addressed to him at Venice, +where he is staying, as well as the last one she sent him, have received +no reply. She thinks he is ill. I do not quite think that, but I wish +we could hear from him. Perhaps the peremptoriness of my words had +offended him; it grieves me to think it possible. I offend him! But too +much of this. I must tell her the truth, or she may in her ignorance +commit herself to some course or other that may be ruinously +compromising. She said plaintively just now that if he could see her, +and know how occupied with him and him alone is her every waking hour, +she is sure he would forgive her the wicked presumption of becoming his +wife. Very sweet all that, and touching. I could not conceal my tears. + +April 15.--The house is in confusion; my father is angry and distressed, +and I am distracted. Caroline has disappeared--gone away secretly. I +cannot help thinking that I know where she is gone to. How guilty I +seem, and how innocent she! O that I had told her before now! + +1 o'clock.--No trace of her as yet. We find also that the little waiting- +maid we have here in training has disappeared with Caroline, and there is +not much doubt that Caroline, fearing to travel alone, has induced this +girl to go with her as companion. I am almost sure she has started in +desperation to find him, and that Venice is her goal. Why should she run +away, if not to join her husband, as she thinks him? Now that I +consider, there have been indications of this wish in her for days, as in +birds of passage there lurk signs of their incipient intention; and yet I +did not think she would have taken such an extreme step, unaided, and +without consulting me. I can only jot down the bare facts--I have no +time for reflections. But fancy Caroline travelling across the continent +of Europe with a chit of a girl, who will be more of a charge than an +assistance! They will be a mark for every marauder who encounters them. + +Evening: 8 o'clock.--Yes, it is as I surmised. She has gone to join him. +A note posted by her in Budmouth Regis at daybreak has reached me this +afternoon--thanks to the fortunate chance of one of the servants calling +for letters in town to-day, or I should not have got it until to-morrow. +She merely asserts her determination of going to him, and has started +privately, that nothing may hinder her; stating nothing about her route. +That such a gentle thing should suddenly become so calmly resolute quite +surprises me. Alas, he may have left Venice--she may not find him for +weeks--may not at all. + +My father, on learning the facts, bade me at once have everything ready +by nine this evening, in time to drive to the train that meets the night +steam-boat. This I have done, and there being an hour to spare before we +start, I relieve the suspense of waiting by taking up my pen. He says +overtake her we must, and calls Charles the hardest of names. He +believes, of course, that she is merely an infatuated girl rushing off to +meet her lover; and how can the wretched I tell him that she is more, and +in a sense better than that--yet not sufficiently more and better to make +this flight to Charles anything but a still greater danger to her than a +mere lover's impulse. We shall go by way of Paris, and we think we may +overtake her there. I hear my father walking restlessly up and down the +hall, and can write no more. + + + +CHAPTER VIII.--SHE TRAVELS IN PURSUIT + + +April 16. Evening, Paris, Hotel ---.--There is no overtaking her at this +place; but she has been here, as I thought, no other hotel in Paris being +known to her. We go on to-morrow morning. + +April 18. Venice.--A morning of adventures and emotions which leave me +sick and weary, and yet unable to sleep, though I have lain down on the +sofa of my room for more than an hour in the attempt. I therefore make +up my diary to date in a hurried fashion, for the sake of the riddance it +affords to ideas which otherwise remain suspended hotly in the brain. + +We arrived here this morning in broad sunlight, which lit up the sea-girt +buildings as we approached so that they seemed like a city of cork +floating raft-like on the smooth, blue deep. But I only glanced from the +carriage window at the lovely scene, and we were soon across the +intervening water and inside the railway station. When we got to the +front steps the row of black gondolas and the shouts of the gondoliers so +bewildered my father that he was understood to require two gondolas +instead of one with two oars, and so I found him in one and myself in +another. We got this righted after a while, and were rowed at once to +the hotel on the Riva degli Schiavoni where M. de la Feste had been +staying when we last heard from him, the way being down the Grand Canal +for some distance, under the Rialto, and then by narrow canals which +eventually brought us under the Bridge of Sighs--harmonious to our +moods!--and out again into open water. The scene was purity itself as to +colour, but it was cruel that I should behold it for the first time under +such circumstances. + +As soon as I entered the hotel, which is an old-fashioned place, like +most places here, where people are taken en pension as well as the +ordinary way, I rushed to the framed list of visitors hanging in the +hall, and in a moment I saw Charles's name upon it among the rest. But +she was our chief thought. I turned to the hall porter, and--knowing +that she would have travelled as 'Madame de la Feste'--I asked for her +under that name, without my father hearing. (He, poor soul, was making +confused inquiries outside the door about 'an English lady,' as if there +were not a score of English ladies at hand.) + +'She has just come,' said the porter. 'Madame came by the very early +train this morning, when Monsieur was asleep, and she requested us not to +disturb him. She is now in her room.' + +Whether Caroline had seen us from the window, or overheard me, I do not +know, but at that moment I heard footsteps on the bare marble stairs, and +she appeared in person descending. + +'Caroline!' I exclaimed, 'why have you done this?' and rushed up to her. + +She did not answer; but looked down to hide her emotion, which she +conquered after the lapse of a few seconds, putting on a practical tone +that belied her. + +'I am just going to my husband,' she said. 'I have not yet seen him. I +have not been here long.' She condescended to give no further reason for +her movements, and made as if to move on. I implored her to come into a +private room where I could speak to her in confidence, but she objected. +However, the dining-room, close at hand, was quite empty at this hour, +and I got her inside and closed the door. I do not know how I began my +explanation, or how I ended it, but I told her briefly and brokenly +enough that the marriage was not real. + +'Not real?' she said vacantly. + +'It is not,' said I. 'You will find that it is all as I say.' + +She could not believe my meaning even then. 'Not his wife?' she cried. +'It is impossible. What am I, then?' + +I added more details, and reiterated the reason for my conduct as well as +I could; but Heaven knows how very difficult I found it to feel a jot +more justification for it in my own mind than she did in hers. + +The revulsion of feeling, as soon as she really comprehended all, was +most distressing. After her grief had in some measure spent itself she +turned against both him and me. + +'Why should have I been deceived like this?' she demanded, with a bitter +haughtiness of which I had not deemed such a tractable creature capable. +'Do you suppose that anything could justify such an imposition? What, O +what a snare you have spread for me!' + +I murmured, 'Your life seemed to require it,' but she did not hear me. +She sank down in a chair, covered her face, and then my father came in. +'O, here you are!' he said. 'I could not find you. And Caroline!' + +'And were you, papa, a party to this strange deed of kindness?' + +'To what?' said he. + +Then out it all came, and for the first time he was made acquainted with +the fact that the scheme for soothing her illness, which I had sounded +him upon, had been really carried out. In a moment he sided with +Caroline. My repeated assurance that my motive was good availed less +than nothing. In a minute or two Caroline arose and went abruptly out of +the room, and my father followed her, leaving me alone to my reflections. + +I was so bent upon finding Charles immediately that I did not notice +whither they went. The servants told me that M. de la Feste was just +outside smoking, and one of them went to look for him, I following; but +before we had gone many steps he came out of the hotel behind me. I +expected him to be amazed; but he showed no surprise at seeing me, though +he showed another kind of feeling to an extent which dismayed me. I may +have revealed something similar; but I struggled hard against all +emotion, and as soon as I could I told him she had come. He simply said +'Yes' in a low voice. + +'You know it, Charles?' said I. + +'I have just learnt it,' he said. + +'O, Charles,' I went on, 'having delayed completing your marriage with +her till now, I fear--it has become a serious position for us. Why did +you not reply to our letters?' + +'I was purposing to reply in person: I did not know how to address her on +the point--how to address you. But what has become of her?' + +'She has gone off with my father,' said I; 'indignant with you, and +scorning me.' + +He was silent: and I suggested that we should follow them, pointing out +the direction which I fancied their gondola had taken. As the one we got +into was doubly manned we soon came in view of their two figures ahead of +us, while they were not likely to observe us, our boat having the 'felze' +on, while theirs was uncovered. They shot into a narrow canal just +beyond the Giardino Reale, and by the time we were floating up between +its slimy walls we saw them getting out of their gondola at the steps +which lead up near the end of the Via 22 Marzo. When we reached the same +spot they were walking up and down the Via in consultation. Getting out +he stood on the lower steps watching them. I watched him. He seemed to +fall into a reverie. + +'Will you not go and speak to her?' said I at length. + +He assented, and went forward. Still he did not hasten to join them, +but, screened by a projecting window, observed their musing converse. At +last he looked back at me; whereupon I pointed forward, and he in +obedience stepped out, and met them face to face. Caroline flushed hot, +bowed haughtily to him, turned away, and taking my father's arm +violently, led him off before he had had time to use his own judgment. +They disappeared into a narrow calle, or alley, leading to the back of +the buildings on the Grand Canal. + +M. de la Feste came slowly back; as he stepped in beside me I realized my +position so vividly that my heart might almost have been heard to beat. +The third condition had arisen--the least expected by either of us. She +had refused him; he was free to claim me. + +We returned in the boat together. He seemed quite absorbed till we had +turned the angle into the Grand Canal, when he broke the silence. 'She +spoke very bitterly to you in the salle-a-manger,' he said. 'I do not +think she was quite warranted in speaking so to you, who had nursed her +so tenderly.' + +'O, but I think she was,' I answered. 'It was there I told her what had +been done; she did not know till then.' + +'She was very dignified--very striking,' he murmured. 'You were more.' + +'But how do you know what passed between us,' said I. He then told me +that he had seen and heard all. The dining-room was divided by folding- +doors from an inner portion, and he had been sitting in the latter part +when we entered the outer, so that our words were distinctly audible. + +'But, dear Alicia,' he went on, 'I was more impressed by the affection of +your apology to her than by anything else. And do you know that now the +conditions have arisen which give me liberty to consider you my +affianced?' I had been expecting this, but yet was not prepared. I +stammered out that we would not discuss it then. + +'Why not?' said he. 'Do you know that we may marry here and now? She +has cast off both you and me.' + +'It cannot be,' said I, firmly. 'She has not been fairly asked to be +your wife in fact--to repeat the service lawfully; and until that has +been done it would be grievous sin in me to accept you.' + +I had not noticed where the gondoliers were rowing us. I suppose he had +given them some direction unheard by me, for as I resigned myself in +despairing indolence to the motion of the gondola, I perceived that it +was taking us up the Canal, and, turning into a side opening near the +Palazzo Grimani, drew up at some steps near the end of a large church. + +'Where are we?' said I. + +'It is the Church of the Frari,' he replied. 'We might be married there. +At any rate, let us go inside, and grow calm, and decide what to do.' + +When we had entered I found that whether a place to marry in or not, it +was one to depress. The word which Venice speaks most +constantly--decay--was in a sense accentuated here. The whole large +fabric itself seemed sinking into an earth which was not solid enough to +bear it. Cobwebbed cracks zigzagged the walls, and similar webs clouded +the window-panes. A sickly-sweet smell pervaded the aisles. After +walking about with him a little while in embarrassing silences, divided +only by his cursory explanations of the monuments and other objects, and +almost fearing he might produce a marriage licence, I went to a door in +the south transept which opened into the sacristy. + +I glanced through it, towards the small altar at the upper end. The +place was empty save of one figure; and she was kneeling here in front of +the beautiful altarpiece by Bellini. Beautiful though it was she seemed +not to see it. She was weeping and praying as though her heart was +broken. She was my sister Caroline. I beckoned to Charles, and he came +to my side, and looked through the door with me. + +'Speak to her,' said I. 'She will forgive you.' + +I gently pushed him through the doorway, and went back into the transept, +down the nave, and onward to the west door. There I saw my father, to +whom I spoke. He answered severely that, having first obtained +comfortable quarters in a pension on the Grand Canal, he had gone back to +the hotel on the Riva degli Schiavoni to find me; but that I was not +there. He was now waiting for Caroline, to accompany her back to the +pension, at which she had requested to be left to herself as much as +possible till she could regain some composure. + +I told him that it was useless to dwell on what was past, that I no doubt +had erred, that the remedy lay in the future and their marriage. In this +he quite agreed with me, and on my informing him that M. de la Feste was +at that moment with Caroline in the sacristy, he assented to my proposal +that we should leave them to themselves, and return together to await +them at the pension, where he had also engaged a room for me. This we +did, and going up to the chamber he had chosen for me, which overlooked +the Canal, I leant from the window to watch for the gondola that should +contain Charles and my sister. + +They were not long in coming. I recognized them by the colour of her +sunshade as soon as they turned the bend on my right hand. They were +side by side of necessity, but there was no conversation between them, +and I thought that she looked flushed and he pale. When they were rowed +in to the steps of our house he handed her up. I fancied she might have +refused his assistance, but she did not. Soon I heard her pass my door, +and wishing to know the result of their interview I went downstairs, +seeing that the gondola had not put off with him. He was turning from +the door, but not towards the water, intending apparently to walk home by +way of the calle which led into the Via 22 Marzo. + +'Has she forgiven you?' said I. + +'I have not asked her,' he said. + +'But you are bound to do so,' I told him. + +He paused, and then said, 'Alicia, let us understand each other. Do you +mean to tell me, once for all, that if your sister is willing to become +my wife you absolutely make way for her, and will not entertain any +thought of what I suggested to you any more?' + +'I do tell you so,' said I with dry lips. 'You belong to her--how can I +do otherwise?' + +'Yes; it is so; it is purely a question of honour,' he returned. 'Very +well then, honour shall be my word, and not my love. I will put the +question to her frankly; if she says yes, the marriage shall be. But not +here. It shall be at your own house in England.' + +'When?' said I. + +'I will accompany her there,' he replied, 'and it shall be within a week +of her return. I have nothing to gain by delay. But I will not answer +for the consequences.' + +'What do you mean?' said I. He made no reply, went away, and I came back +to my room. + + + +CHAPTER IX.--SHE WITNESSES THE END + + +April 20. Milan, 10.30 p.m.--We are thus far on our way homeward. I, +being decidedly de trop, travel apart from the rest as much as I can. +Having dined at the hotel here, I went out by myself; regardless of the +proprieties, for I could not stay in. I walked at a leisurely pace along +the Via Allesandro Manzoni till my eye was caught by the grand Galleria +Vittorio Emanuele, and I entered under the high glass arcades till I +reached the central octagon, where I sat down on one of a group of chairs +placed there. Becoming accustomed to the stream of promenaders, I soon +observed, seated on the chairs opposite, Caroline and Charles. This was +the first occasion on which I had seen them en tete-a-tete since my +conversation with him. She soon caught sight of me; averted her eyes; +then, apparently abandoning herself to an impulse, she jumped up from her +seat and came across to me. We had not spoken to each other since the +meeting in Venice. + +'Alicia,' she said, sitting down by my side, 'Charles asks me to forgive +you, and I do forgive you.' + +I pressed her hand, with tears in my eyes, and said, 'And do you forgive +him?' + +'Yes,' said she, shyly. + +'And what's the result?' said I. + +'We are to be married directly we reach home.' + +This was almost the whole of our conversation; she walked home with me, +Charles following a little way behind, though she kept turning her head, +as if anxious that he should overtake us. 'Honour and not love' seemed +to ring in my ears. So matters stand. Caroline is again happy. + +April 25.--We have reached home, Charles with us. Events are now moving +in silent speed, almost with velocity, indeed; and I sometimes feel +oppressed by the strange and preternatural ease which seems to accompany +their flow. Charles is staying at the neighbouring town; he is only +waiting for the marriage licence; when obtained he is to come here, be +quietly married to her, and carry her off. It is rather resignation than +content which sits on his face; but he has not spoken a word more to me +on the burning subject, or deviated one hair's breadth from the course he +laid down. They may be happy in time to come: I hope so. But I cannot +shake off depression. + +May 6.--Eve of the wedding. Caroline is serenely happy, though not +blithe. But there is nothing to excite anxiety about her. I wish I +could say the same of him. He comes and goes like a ghost, and yet +nobody seems to observe this strangeness in his mien. + +I could not help being here for the ceremony; but my absence would have +resulted in less disquiet on his part, I believe. However, I may be +wrong in attributing causes: my father simply says that Charles and +Caroline have as good a chance of being happy as other people. Well, to- +morrow settles all. + +May 7.--They are married: we have just returned from church. Charles +looked so pale this morning that my father asked him if he was ill. He +said, 'No: only a slight headache;' and we started for the church. + +There was no hitch or hindrance; and the thing is done. + +4 p.m.--They ought to have set out on their journey by this time; but +there is an unaccountable delay. Charles went out half-an-hour ago, and +has not yet returned. Caroline is waiting in the hall; but I am +dreadfully afraid they will miss the train. I suppose the trifling +hindrance is of no account; and yet I am full of misgivings . . . + +Sept. 14.--Four months have passed; only four months! It seems like +years. Can it be that only seventeen weeks ago I set on this paper the +fact of their marriage? I am now an aged woman by comparison! + +On that never to be forgotten day we waited and waited, and Charles did +not return. At six o'clock, when poor little Caroline had gone back to +her room in a state of suspense impossible to describe, a man who worked +in the water-meadows came to the house and asked for my father. He had +an interview with him in the study. My father then rang his bell, and +sent for me. I went down; and I then learnt the fatal news. Charles was +no more. The waterman had been going to shut down the hatches of a weir +in the meads when he saw a hat on the edge of the pool below, floating +round and round in the eddy, and looking into the pool saw something +strange at the bottom. He knew what it meant, and lowering the hatches +so that the water was still, could distinctly see the body. It is +needless to write particulars that were in the newspapers at the time. +Charles was brought to the house, but he was dead. + +We all feared for Caroline; and she suffered much; but strange to say, +her suffering was purely of the nature of deep grief which found relief +in sobbing and tears. It came out at the inquest that Charles had been +accustomed to cross the meads to give an occasional half-crown to an old +man who lived on the opposite hill, who had once been a landscape painter +in an humble way till he lost his eyesight; and it was assumed that he +had gone thither for the same purpose to-day, and to bid him farewell. On +this information the coroner's jury found that his death had been caused +by misadventure; and everybody believes to this hour that he was drowned +while crossing the weir to relieve the old man. Except one: she believes +in no accident. After the stunning effect of the first news, I thought +it strange that he should have chosen to go on such an errand at the last +moment, and to go personally, when there was so little time to spare, +since any gift could have been so easily sent by another hand. Further +reflection has convinced me that this step out of life was as much a part +of the day's plan as was the wedding in the church hard by. They were +the two halves of his complete intention when he gave me on the Grand +Canal that assurance which I shall never forget: 'Very well, then; honour +shall be my word, not love. If she says "Yes," the marriage shall be.' + +I do not know why I should have made this entry at this particular time; +but it has occurred to me to do it--to complete, in a measure, that part +of my desultory chronicle which relates to the love-story of my sister +and Charles. She lives on meekly in her grief; and will probably outlive +it; while I--but never mind me. + + + +CHAPTER X.--SHE ADDS A NOTE LONG AFTER + + +Five-years later.--I have lighted upon this old diary, which it has +interested me to look over, containing, as it does, records of the time +when life shone more warmly in my eye than it does now. I am impelled to +add one sentence to round off its record of the past. About a year ago +my sister Caroline, after a persistent wooing, accepted the hand and +heart of Theophilus Higham, once the blushing young Scripture reader who +assisted at the substitute for a marriage I planned, and now the fully- +ordained curate of the next parish. His penitence for the part he played +ended in love. We have all now made atonement for our sins against her: +may she be deceived no more. + +1887. + + + + +THE GRAVE BY THE HANDPOST + + +I never pass through Chalk-Newton without turning to regard the +neighbouring upland, at a point where a lane crosses the lone straight +highway dividing this from the next parish; a sight which does not fail +to recall the event that once happened there; and, though it may seem +superfluous, at this date, to disinter more memories of village history, +the whispers of that spot may claim to be preserved. + +It was on a dark, yet mild and exceptionally dry evening at Christmas- +time (according to the testimony of William Dewy of Mellstock, Michael +Mail, and others), that the choir of Chalk-Newton--a large parish situate +about half-way between the towns of Ivel and Casterbridge, and now a +railway station--left their homes just before midnight to repeat their +annual harmonies under the windows of the local population. The band of +instrumentalists and singers was one of the largest in the county; and, +unlike the smaller and finer Mellstock string-band, which eschewed all +but the catgut, it included brass and reed performers at full Sunday +services, and reached all across the west gallery. + +On this night there were two or three violins, two 'cellos, a tenor viol, +double bass, hautboy, clarionets, serpent, and seven singers. It was, +however, not the choir's labours, but what its members chanced to +witness, that particularly marked the occasion. + +They had pursued their rounds for many years without meeting with any +incident of an unusual kind, but to-night, according to the assertions of +several, there prevailed, to begin with, an exceptionally solemn and +thoughtful mood among two or three of the oldest in the band, as if they +were thinking they might be joined by the phantoms of dead friends who +had been of their number in earlier years, and now were mute in the +churchyard under flattening mounds--friends who had shown greater zest +for melody in their time than was shown in this; or that some past voice +of a semi-transparent figure might quaver from some bedroom-window its +acknowledgment of their nocturnal greeting, instead of a familiar living +neighbour. Whether this were fact or fancy, the younger members of the +choir met together with their customary thoughtlessness and buoyancy. +When they had gathered by the stone stump of the cross in the middle of +the village, near the White Horse Inn, which they made their starting +point, some one observed that they were full early, that it was not yet +twelve o'clock. The local waits of those days mostly refrained from +sounding a note before Christmas morning had astronomically arrived, and +not caring to return to their beer, they decided to begin with some +outlying cottages in Sidlinch Lane, where the people had no clocks, and +would not know whether it were night or morning. In that direction they +accordingly went; and as they ascended to higher ground their attention +was attracted by a light beyond the houses, quite at the top of the lane. + +The road from Chalk-Newton to Broad Sidlinch is about two miles long and +in the middle of its course, where it passes over the ridge dividing the +two villages, it crosses at right angles, as has been stated, the lonely +monotonous old highway known as Long Ash Lane, which runs, straight as a +surveyor's line, many miles north and south of this spot, on the +foundation of a Roman road, and has often been mentioned in these +narratives. Though now quite deserted and grass-grown, at the beginning +of the century it was well kept and frequented by traffic. The +glimmering light appeared to come from the precise point where the roads +intersected. + +'I think I know what that mid mean!' one of the group remarked. + +They stood a few moments, discussing the probability of the light having +origin in an event of which rumours had reached them, and resolved to go +up the hill. + +Approaching the high land their conjectures were strengthened. Long Ash +Lane cut athwart them, right and left; and they saw that at the junction +of the four ways, under the hand-post, a grave was dug, into which, as +the choir drew nigh, a corpse had just been thrown by the four Sidlinch +men employed for the purpose. The cart and horse which had brought the +body thither stood silently by. + +The singers and musicians from Chalk-Newton halted, and looked on while +the gravediggers shovelled in and trod down the earth, till, the hole +being filled, the latter threw their spades into the cart, and prepared +to depart. + +'Who mid ye be a-burying there?' asked Lot Swanhills in a raised voice. +'Not the sergeant?' + +The Sidlinch men had been so deeply engrossed in their task that they had +not noticed the lanterns of the Chalk-Newton choir till now. + +'What--be you the Newton carol-singers?' returned the representatives of +Sidlinch. + +'Ay, sure. Can it be that it is old Sergeant Holway you've a-buried +there?' + +''Tis so. You've heard about it, then?' + +The choir knew no particulars--only that he had shot himself in his apple- +closet on the previous Sunday. 'Nobody seem'th to know what 'a did it +for, 'a b'lieve? Leastwise, we don't know at Chalk-Newton,' continued +Lot. + +'O yes. It all came out at the inquest.' + +The singers drew close, and the Sidlinch men, pausing to rest after their +labours, told the story. 'It was all owing to that son of his, poor old +man. It broke his heart.' + +'But the son is a soldier, surely; now with his regiment in the East +Indies?' + +'Ay. And it have been rough with the army over there lately. 'Twas a +pity his father persuaded him to go. But Luke shouldn't have twyted the +sergeant o't, since 'a did it for the best.' + +The circumstances, in brief, were these: The sergeant who had come to +this lamentable end, father of the young soldier who had gone with his +regiment to the East, had been singularly comfortable in his military +experiences, these having ended long before the outbreak of the great war +with France. On his discharge, after duly serving his time, he had +returned to his native village, and married, and taken kindly to domestic +life. But the war in which England next involved herself had cost him +many frettings that age and infirmity prevented him from being ever again +an active unit of the army. When his only son grew to young manhood, and +the question arose of his going out in life, the lad expressed his wish +to be a mechanic. But his father advised enthusiastically for the army. + +'Trade is coming to nothing in these days,' he said. 'And if the war +with the French lasts, as it will, trade will be still worse. The army, +Luke--that's the thing for 'ee. 'Twas the making of me, and 'twill be +the making of you. I hadn't half such a chance as you'll have in these +splendid hotter times.' + +Luke demurred, for he was a home-keeping, peace-loving youth. But, +putting respectful trust in his father's judgment, he at length gave way, +and enlisted in the ---d Foot. In the course of a few weeks he was sent +out to India to his regiment, which had distinguished itself in the East +under General Wellesley. + +But Luke was unlucky. News came home indirectly that he lay sick out +there; and then on one recent day when his father was out walking, the +old man had received tidings that a letter awaited him at Casterbridge. +The sergeant sent a special messenger the whole nine miles, and the +letter was paid for and brought home; but though, as he had guessed, it +came from Luke, its contents were of an unexpected tenor. + +The letter had been written during a time of deep depression. Luke said +that his life was a burden and a slavery, and bitterly reproached his +father for advising him to embark on a career for which he felt unsuited. +He found himself suffering fatigues and illnesses without gaining glory, +and engaged in a cause which he did not understand or appreciate. If it +had not been for his father's bad advice he, Luke, would now have been +working comfortably at a trade in the village that he had never wished to +leave. + +After reading the letter the sergeant advanced a few steps till he was +quite out of sight of everybody, and then sat down on the bank by the +wayside. + +When he arose half-an-hour later he looked withered and broken, and from +that day his natural spirits left him. Wounded to the quick by his son's +sarcastic stings, he indulged in liquor more and more frequently. His +wife had died some years before this date, and the sergeant lived alone +in the house which had been hers. One morning in the December under +notice the report of a gun had been heard on his premises, and on +entering the neighbours found him in a dying state. He had shot himself +with an old firelock that he used for scaring birds; and from what he had +said the day before, and the arrangements he had made for his decease, +there was no doubt that his end had been deliberately planned, as a +consequence of the despondency into which he had been thrown by his son's +letter. The coroner's jury returned a verdict of felo de se. + +'Here's his son's letter,' said one of the Sidlinch men. ''Twas found in +his father's pocket. You can see by the state o't how many times he read +it over. Howsomever, the Lord's will be done, since it must, whether or +no.' + +The grave was filled up and levelled, no mound being shaped over it. The +Sidlinch men then bade the Chalk-Newton choir good-night, and departed +with the cart in which they had brought the sergeant's body to the hill. +When their tread had died away from the ear, and the wind swept over the +isolated grave with its customary siffle of indifference, Lot Swanhills +turned and spoke to old Richard Toller, the hautboy player. + +''Tis hard upon a man, and he a wold sojer, to serve en so, Richard. Not +that the sergeant was ever in a battle bigger than would go into a half- +acre paddock, that's true. Still, his soul ought to hae as good a chance +as another man's, all the same, hey?' + +Richard replied that he was quite of the same opinion. 'What d'ye say to +lifting up a carrel over his grave, as 'tis Christmas, and no hurry to +begin down in parish, and 'twouldn't take up ten minutes, and not a soul +up here to say us nay, or know anything about it?' + +Lot nodded assent. 'The man ought to hae his chances,' he repeated. + +'Ye may as well spet upon his grave, for all the good we shall do en by +what we lift up, now he's got so far,' said Notton, the clarionet man and +professed sceptic of the choir. 'But I'm agreed if the rest be.' + +They thereupon placed themselves in a semicircle by the newly stirred +earth, and roused the dull air with the well-known Number Sixteen of +their collection, which Lot gave out as being the one he thought best +suited to the occasion and the mood + + He comes' the pri'-soners to' re-lease', + In Sa'-tan's bon'-dage held'. + +'Jown it--we've never played to a dead man afore,' said Ezra Cattstock, +when, having concluded the last verse, they stood reflecting for a breath +or two. 'But it do seem more merciful than to go away and leave en, as +they t'other fellers have done.' + +'Now backalong to Newton, and by the time we get overright the pa'son's +'twill be half after twelve,' said the leader. + +They had not, however, done more than gather up their instruments when +the wind brought to their notice the noise of a vehicle rapidly driven up +the same lane from Sidlinch which the gravediggers had lately retraced. +To avoid being run over when moving on, they waited till the benighted +traveller, whoever he might be, should pass them where they stood in the +wider area of the Cross. + +In half a minute the light of the lanterns fell upon a hired fly, drawn +by a steaming and jaded horse. It reached the hand-post, when a voice +from the inside cried, 'Stop here!' The driver pulled rein. The +carriage door was opened from within, and there leapt out a private +soldier in the uniform of some line regiment. He looked around, and was +apparently surprised to see the musicians standing there. + +'Have you buried a man here?' he asked. + +'No. We bain't Sidlinch folk, thank God; we be Newton choir. Though a +man is just buried here, that's true; and we've raised a carrel over the +poor mortal's natomy. What--do my eyes see before me young Luke Holway, +that went wi' his regiment to the East Indies, or do I see his spirit +straight from the battlefield? Be you the son that wrote the letter--' + +'Don't--don't ask me. The funeral is over, then?' + +'There wer no funeral, in a Christen manner of speaking. But's buried, +sure enough. You must have met the men going back in the empty cart.' + +'Like a dog in a ditch, and all through me!' + +He remained silent, looking at the grave, and they could not help pitying +him. 'My friends,' he said, 'I understand better now. You have, I +suppose, in neighbourly charity, sung peace to his soul? I thank you, +from my heart, for your kind pity. Yes; I am Sergeant Holway's miserable +son--I'm the son who has brought about his father's death, as truly as if +I had done it with my own hand!' + +'No, no. Don't ye take on so, young man. He'd been naturally low for a +good while, off and on, so we hear.' + +'We were out in the East when I wrote to him. Everything had seemed to +go wrong with me. Just after my letter had gone we were ordered home. +That's how it is you see me here. As soon as we got into barracks at +Casterbridge I heard o' this . . . Damn me! I'll dare to follow my +father, and make away with myself, too. It is the only thing left to +do!' + +'Don't ye be rash, Luke Holway, I say again; but try to make amends by +your future life. And maybe your father will smile a smile down from +heaven upon 'ee for 't.' + +He shook his head. 'I don't know about that!' he answered bitterly. + +'Try and be worthy of your father at his best. 'Tis not too late.' + +'D'ye think not? I fancy it is! . . . Well, I'll turn it over. Thank +you for your good counsel. I'll live for one thing, at any rate. I'll +move father's body to a decent Christian churchyard, if I do it with my +own hands. I can't save his life, but I can give him an honourable +grave. He shan't lie in this accursed place!' + +'Ay, as our pa'son says, 'tis a barbarous custom they keep up at +Sidlinch, and ought to be done away wi'. The man a' old soldier, too. +You see, our pa'son is not like yours at Sidlinch.' + +'He says it is barbarous, does he? So it is!' cried the soldier. 'Now +hearken, my friends.' Then he proceeded to inquire if they would +increase his indebtedness to them by undertaking the removal, privately, +of the body of the suicide to the churchyard, not of Sidlinch, a parish +he now hated, but of Chalk-Newton. He would give them all he possessed +to do it. + +Lot asked Ezra Cattstock what he thought of it. + +Cattstock, the 'cello player, who was also the sexton, demurred, and +advised the young soldier to sound the rector about it first. 'Mid be he +would object, and yet 'a mid'nt. The pa'son o' Sidlinch is a hard man, I +own ye, and 'a said if folk will kill theirselves in hot blood they must +take the consequences. But ours don't think like that at all, and might +allow it.' + +'What's his name?' + +'The honourable and reverent Mr. Oldham, brother to Lord Wessex. But you +needn't be afeard o' en on that account. He'll talk to 'ee like a common +man, if so be you haven't had enough drink to gie 'ee bad breath.' + +'O, the same as formerly. I'll ask him. Thank you. And that duty +done--' + +'What then?' + +'There's war in Spain. I hear our next move is there. I'll try to show +myself to be what my father wished me. I don't suppose I shall--but I'll +try in my feeble way. That much I swear--here over his body. So help me +God.' + +Luke smacked his palm against the white hand-post with such force that it +shook. 'Yes, there's war in Spain; and another chance for me to be +worthy of father.' + +So the matter ended that night. That the private acted in one thing as +he had vowed to do soon became apparent, for during the Christmas week +the rector came into the churchyard when Cattstock was there, and asked +him to find a spot that would be suitable for the purpose of such an +interment, adding that he had slightly known the late sergeant, and was +not aware of any law which forbade him to assent to the removal, the +letter of the rule having been observed. But as he did not wish to seem +moved by opposition to his neighbour at Sidlinch, he had stipulated that +the act of charity should be carried out at night, and as privately as +possible, and that the grave should be in an obscure part of the +enclosure. 'You had better see the young man about it at once,' added +the rector. + +But before Ezra had done anything Luke came down to his house. His +furlough had been cut short, owing to new developments of the war in the +Peninsula, and being obliged to go back to his regiment immediately, he +was compelled to leave the exhumation and reinterment to his friends. +Everything was paid for, and he implored them all to see it carried out +forthwith. + +With this the soldier left. The next day Ezra, on thinking the matter +over, again went across to the rectory, struck with sudden misgiving. He +had remembered that the sergeant had been buried without a coffin, and he +was not sure that a stake had not been driven through him. The business +would be more troublesome than they had at first supposed. + +'Yes, indeed!' murmured the rector. 'I am afraid it is not feasible +after all.' + +The next event was the arrival of a headstone by carrier from the nearest +town; to be left at Mr. Ezra Cattstock's; all expenses paid. The sexton +and the carrier deposited the stone in the former's outhouse; and Ezra, +left alone, put on his spectacles and read the brief and simple +inscription:- + + HERE LYETH THE BODY OF SAMUEL HOLWAY, LATE SERGEANT IN HIS MAJESTY'S + ---D REGIMENT OF FOOT, WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE DECEMBER THE 20TH, 180-. + ERECTED BY L. H. + 'I AM NOT WORTHY TO BE CALLED THY SON.' + +Ezra again called at the riverside rectory. 'The stone is come, sir. But +I'm afeard we can't do it nohow.' + +'I should like to oblige him,' said the gentlemanly old incumbent. 'And +I would forego all fees willingly. Still, if you and the others don't +think you can carry it out, I am in doubt what to say.' + +Well, sir; I've made inquiry of a Sidlinch woman as to his burial, and +what I thought seems true. They buried en wi' a new six-foot hurdle-saul +drough's body, from the sheep-pen up in North Ewelease though they won't +own to it now. And the question is, Is the moving worth while, +considering the awkwardness?' + +'Have you heard anything more of the young man?' + +Ezra had only heard that he had embarked that week for Spain with the +rest of the regiment. 'And if he's as desperate as 'a seemed, we shall +never see him here in England again.' + +'It is an awkward case,' said the rector. + +Ezra talked it over with the choir; one of whom suggested that the stone +might be erected at the crossroads. This was regarded as impracticable. +Another said that it might be set up in the churchyard without removing +the body; but this was seen to be dishonest. So nothing was done. + +The headstone remained in Ezra's outhouse till, growing tired of seeing +it there, he put it away among the bushes at the bottom of his garden. +The subject was sometimes revived among them, but it always ended with: +'Considering how 'a was buried, we can hardly make a job o't.' + +There was always the consciousness that Luke would never come back, an +impression strengthened by the disasters which were rumoured to have +befallen the army in Spain. This tended to make their inertness +permanent. The headstone grew green as it lay on its back under Ezra's +bushes; then a tree by the river was blown down, and, falling across the +stone, cracked it in three pieces. Ultimately the pieces became buried +in the leaves and mould. + +Luke had not been born a Chalk-Newton man, and he had no relations left +in Sidlinch, so that no tidings of him reached either village throughout +the war. But after Waterloo and the fall of Napoleon there arrived at +Sidlinch one day an English sergeant-major covered with stripes and, as +it turned out, rich in glory. Foreign service had so totally changed +Luke Holway that it was not until he told his name that the inhabitants +recognized him as the sergeant's only son. + +He had served with unswerving effectiveness through the Peninsular +campaigns under Wellington; had fought at Busaco, Fuentes d'Onore, Ciudad +Rodrigo, Badajoz, Salamanca, Vittoria, Quatre Bras, and Waterloo; and had +now returned to enjoy a more than earned pension and repose in his native +district. + +He hardly stayed in Sidlinch longer than to take a meal on his arrival. +The same evening he started on foot over the hill to Chalk-Newton, +passing the hand-post, and saying as he glanced at the spot, 'Thank God: +he's not there!' Nightfall was approaching when he reached the latter +village; but he made straight for the churchyard. On his entering it +there remained light enough to discern the headstones by, and these he +narrowly scanned. But though he searched the front part by the road, and +the back part by the river, what he sought he could not find--the grave +of Sergeant Holway, and a memorial bearing the inscription: 'I AM NOT +WORTHY TO BE CALLED THY SON.' + +He left the churchyard and made inquiries. The honourable and reverend +old rector was dead, and so were many of the choir; but by degrees the +sergeant-major learnt that his father still lay at the cross-roads in +Long Ash Lane. + +Luke pursued his way moodily homewards, to do which, in the natural +course, he would be compelled to repass the spot, there being no other +road between the two villages. But he could not now go by that place, +vociferous with reproaches in his father's tones; and he got over the +hedge and wandered deviously through the ploughed fields to avoid the +scene. Through many a fight and fatigue Luke had been sustained by the +thought that he was restoring the family honour and making noble amends. +Yet his father lay still in degradation. It was rather a sentiment than +a fact that his father's body had been made to suffer for his own +misdeeds; but to his super-sensitiveness it seemed that his efforts to +retrieve his character and to propitiate the shade of the insulted one +had ended in failure. + +He endeavoured, however, to shake off his lethargy, and, not liking the +associations of Sidlinch, hired a small cottage at Chalk-Newton which had +long been empty. Here he lived alone, becoming quite a hermit, and +allowing no woman to enter the house. + +The Christmas after taking up his abode herein he was sitting in the +chimney corner by himself, when he heard faint notes in the distance, and +soon a melody burst forth immediately outside his own window, it came +from the carol-singers, as usual; and though many of the old hands, Ezra +and Lot included, had gone to their rest, the same old carols were still +played out of the same old books. There resounded through the sergeant- +major's window-shutters the familiar lines that the deceased choir had +rendered over his father's grave:- + + He comes' the pri'-soners to' re-lease', + In Sa'-tan's bon'-dage held'. + +When they had finished they went on to another house, leaving him to +silence and loneliness as before. + +The candle wanted snuffing, but he did not snuff it, and he sat on till +it had burnt down into the socket and made waves of shadow on the +ceiling. + +The Christmas cheerfulness of next morning was broken at breakfast-time +by tragic intelligence which went down the village like wind. Sergeant- +Major Holway had been found shot through the head by his own hand at the +cross-roads in Long Ash Lane where his father lay buried. + +On the table in the cottage he had left a piece of paper, on which he had +written his wish that he might be buried at the Cross beside his father. +But the paper was accidentally swept to the floor, and overlooked till +after his funeral, which took place in the ordinary way in the +churchyard. + +Christmas 1897. + + + + +ENTER A DRAGOON + + +I lately had a melancholy experience (said the gentleman who is +answerable for the truth of this story). It was that of going over a +doomed house with whose outside aspect I had long been familiar--a house, +that is, which by reason of age and dilapidation was to be pulled down +during the following week. Some of the thatch, brown and rotten as the +gills of old mushrooms, had, indeed, been removed before I walked over +the building. Seeing that it was only a very small house--which is +usually called a 'cottage-residence'--situated in a remote hamlet, and +that it was not more than a hundred years old, if so much, I was led to +think in my progress through the hollow rooms, with their cracked walls +and sloping floors, what an exceptional number of abrupt family incidents +had taken place therein--to reckon only those which had come to my own +knowledge. And no doubt there were many more of which I had never heard. + +It stood at the top of a garden stretching down to the lane or street +that ran through a hermit-group of dwellings in Mellstock parish. From a +green gate at the lower entrance, over which the thorn hedge had been +shaped to an arch by constant clippings, a gravel path ascended between +the box edges of once trim raspberry, strawberry, and vegetable plots, +towards the front door. This was in colour an ancient and bleached green +that could be rubbed off with the finger, and it bore a small +long-featured brass knocker covered with verdigris in its crevices. For +some years before this eve of demolition the homestead had degenerated, +and been divided into two tenements to serve as cottages for farm +labourers; but in its prime it had indisputable claim to be considered +neat, pretty, and genteel. + +The variety of incidents above alluded to was mainly owing to the nature +of the tenure, whereby the place had been occupied by families not quite +of the kind customary in such spots--people whose circumstances, +position, or antecedents were more or less of a critical happy-go-lucky +cast. And of these residents the family whose term comprised the story I +wish to relate was that of Mr. Jacob Paddock the market-gardener, who +dwelt there for some years with his wife and grown-up daughter. + + + +I + + +An evident commotion was agitating the premises, which jerked busy sounds +across the front plot, resembling those of a disturbed hive. If a member +of the household appeared at the door it was with a countenance of +abstraction and concern. + +Evening began to bend over the scene; and the other inhabitants of the +hamlet came out to draw water, their common well being in the public road +opposite the garden and house of the Paddocks. Having wound up their +bucketsfull respectively they lingered, and spoke significantly together. +From their words any casual listener might have gathered information of +what had occurred. + +The woodman who lived nearest the site of the story told most of the +tale. Selina, the daughter of the Paddocks opposite, had been surprised +that afternoon by receiving a letter from her once intended husband, then +a corporal, but now a sergeant-major of dragoons, whom she had hitherto +supposed to be one of the slain in the Battle of the Alma two or three +years before. + +'She picked up wi'en against her father's wish, as we know, and before he +got his stripes,' their informant continued. 'Not but that the man was +as hearty a feller as you'd meet this side o' London. But Jacob, you +see, wished her to do better, and one can understand it. However, she +was determined to stick to him at that time; and for what happened she +was not much to blame, so near as they were to matrimony when the war +broke out and spoiled all.' + +'Even the very pig had been killed for the wedding,' said a woman, 'and +the barrel o' beer ordered in. O, the man meant honourable enough. But +to be off in two days to fight in a foreign country--'twas natural of her +father to say they should wait till he got back.' + +'And he never came,' murmured one in the shade. + +'The war ended but her man never turned up again. She was not sure he +was killed, but was too proud, or too timid, to go and hunt for him.' + +'One reason why her father forgave her when he found out how matters +stood was, as he said plain at the time, that he liked the man, and could +see that he meant to act straight. So the old folks made the best of +what they couldn't mend, and kept her there with 'em, when some wouldn't. +Time has proved seemingly that he did mean to act straight, now that he +has writ to her that he's coming. She'd have stuck to him all through +the time, 'tis my belief; if t'other hadn't come along.' + +'At the time of the courtship,' resumed the woodman, 'the regiment was +quartered in Casterbridge Barracks, and he and she got acquainted by his +calling to buy a penn'orth of rathe-ripes off that tree yonder in her +father's orchard--though 'twas said he seed her over hedge as well as the +apples. He declared 'twas a kind of apple he much fancied; and he called +for a penn'orth every day till the tree was cleared. It ended in his +calling for her.' + +''Twas a thousand pities they didn't jine up at once and ha' done wi' it. + +'Well; better late than never, if so be he'll have her now. But, Lord, +she'd that faith in 'en that she'd no more belief that he was alive, when +a' didn't come, than that the undermost man in our churchyard was alive. +She'd never have thought of another but for that--O no!' + +''Tis awkward, altogether, for her now.' + +'Still she hadn't married wi' the new man. Though to be sure she would +have committed it next week, even the licence being got, they say, for +she'd have no banns this time, the first being so unfortunate.' + +'Perhaps the sergeant-major will think he's released, and go as he came.' + +'O, not as I reckon. Soldiers bain't particular, and she's a tidy piece +o' furniture still. What will happen is that she'll have her soldier, +and break off with the master-wheelwright, licence or no--daze me if she +won't.' + +In the progress of these desultory conjectures the form of another +neighbour arose in the gloom. She nodded to the people at the well, who +replied 'G'd night, Mrs. Stone,' as she passed through Mr. Paddock's gate +towards his door. She was an intimate friend of the latter's household, +and the group followed her with their eyes up the path and past the +windows, which were now lighted up by candles inside. + + + +II + + +Mrs. Stone paused at the door, knocked, and was admitted by Selina's +mother, who took her visitor at once into the parlour on the left hand, +where a table was partly spread for supper. On the 'beaufet' against the +wall stood probably the only object which would have attracted the eye of +a local stranger in an otherwise ordinarily furnished room, a great plum- +cake guarded as if it were a curiosity by a glass shade of the kind seen +in museums--square, with a wooden back like those enclosing stuffed +specimens of rare feather or fur. This was the mummy of the cake +intended in earlier days for the wedding-feast of Selina and the soldier, +which had been religiously and lovingly preserved by the former as a +testimony to her intentional respectability in spite of an untoward +subsequent circumstance, which will be mentioned. This relic was now as +dry as a brick, and seemed to belong to a pre-existent civilization. Till +quite recently, Selina had been in the habit of pausing before it daily, +and recalling the accident whose consequences had thrown a shadow over +her life ever since--that of which the water-drawers had spoken--the +sudden news one morning that the Route had come for the ---th Dragoons, +two days only being the interval before departure; the hurried +consultation as to what should be done, the second time of asking being +past but not the third; and the decision that it would be unwise to +solemnize matrimony in such haphazard circumstances, even if it were +possible, which was doubtful. + +Before the fire the young woman in question was now seated on a low +stool, in the stillness of reverie, and a toddling boy played about the +floor around her. + +'Ah, Mrs. Stone!' said Selina, rising slowly. 'How kind of you to come +in. You'll bide to supper? Mother has told you the strange news, of +course?' + +'No. But I heard it outside, that is, that you'd had a letter from Mr. +Clark--Sergeant-Major Clark, as they say he is now--and that he's coming +to make it up with 'ee.' + +'Yes; coming to-night--all the way from the north of England where he's +quartered. I don't know whether I'm happy or--frightened at it. Of +course I always believed that if he was alive he'd come and keep his +solemn vow to me. But when it is printed that a man is killed--what can +you think?' + +'It was printed?' + +'Why, yes. After the Battle of the Alma the book of the names of the +killed and wounded was nailed up against Casterbridge Town Hall door. +'Twas on a Saturday, and I walked there o' purpose to read and see for +myself; for I'd heard that his name was down. There was a crowd of +people round the book, looking for the names of relations; and I can mind +that when they saw me they made way for me--knowing that we'd been just +going to be married--and that, as you may say, I belonged to him. Well, +I reached up my arm, and turned over the farrels of the book, and under +the "killed" I read his surname, but instead of "John" they'd printed +"James," and I thought 'twas a mistake, and that it must be he. Who +could have guessed there were two nearly of one name in one regiment.' + +'Well--he's coming to finish the wedding of 'ee as may be said; so never +mind, my dear. All's well that ends well.' + +'That's what he seems to say. But then he has not heard yet about Mr. +Miller; and that's what rather terrifies me. Luckily my marriage with +him next week was to have been by licence, and not banns, as in John's +case; and it was not so well known on that account. Still, I don't know +what to think.' + +'Everything seems to come just 'twixt cup and lip with 'ee, don't it now, +Miss Paddock. Two weddings broke off--'tis odd! How came you to accept +Mr. Miller, my dear?' + +'He's been so good and faithful! Not minding about the child at all; for +he knew the rights of the story. He's dearly fond o' Johnny, you +know--just as if 'twere his own--isn't he, my duck? Do Mr. Miller love +you or don't he?' + +'Iss! An' I love Mr. Miller,' said the toddler. + +'Well, you see, Mrs. Stone, he said he'd make me a comfortable home; and +thinking 'twould be a good thing for Johnny, Mr. Miller being so much +better off than me, I agreed at last, just as a widow might--which is +what I have always felt myself; ever since I saw what I thought was +John's name printed there. I hope John will forgive me!' + +'So he will forgive 'ee, since 'twas no manner of wrong to him. He ought +to have sent 'ee a line, saying 'twas another man.' + +Selina's mother entered. 'We've not known of this an hour, Mrs. Stone,' +she said. 'The letter was brought up from Lower Mellstock Post-office by +one of the school children, only this afternoon. Mr. Miller was coming +here this very night to settle about the wedding doings. Hark! Is that +your father? Or is it Mr. Miller already come?' + +The footsteps entered the porch; there was a brushing on the mat, and the +door of the room sprung back to disclose a rubicund man about thirty +years of age, of thriving master-mechanic appearance and obviously +comfortable temper. On seeing the child, and before taking any notice +whatever of the elders, the comer made a noise like the crowing of a cock +and flapped his arms as if they were wings, a method of entry which had +the unqualified admiration of Johnny. + +'Yes--it is he,' said Selina constrainedly advancing. + +'What--were you all talking about me, my dear?' said the genial young man +when he had finished his crowing and resumed human manners. 'Why what's +the matter,' he went on. 'You look struck all of a heap.' Mr. Miller +spread an aspect of concern over his own face, and drew a chair up to the +fire. + +'O mother, would you tell Mr. Miller, if he don't know?' + +'Mister Miller! and going to be married in six days!' he interposed. + +'Ah--he don't know it yet!' murmured Mrs. Paddock. + +'Know what?' + +'Well--John Clark--now Sergeant-Major Clark--wasn't shot at Alma after +all. 'Twas another of almost the same name.' + +'Now that's interesting! There were several cases like that.' + +'And he's home again; and he's coming here to-night to see her.' + +'Whatever shall I say, that he may not be offended with what I've done?' +interposed Selina. + +'But why should it matter if he be?' + +'O! I must agree to be his wife if he forgives me--of course I must.' + +'Must! But why not say nay, Selina, even if he do forgive 'ee?' + +'O no! How can I without being wicked? You were very very kind, Mr. +Miller, to ask me to have you; no other man would have done it after what +had happened; and I agreed, even though I did not feel half so warm as I +ought. Yet it was entirely owing to my believing him in the grave, as I +knew that if he were not he would carry out his promise; and this shows +that I was right in trusting him.' + +'Yes . . . He must be a goodish sort of fellow,' said Mr. Miller, for a +moment so impressed with the excellently faithful conduct of the sergeant- +major of dragoons that he disregarded its effect upon his own position. +He sighed slowly and added, 'Well, Selina, 'tis for you to say. I love +you, and I love the boy; and there's my chimney-corner and sticks o' +furniture ready for 'ee both.' + +'Yes, I know! But I mustn't hear it any more now,' murmured Selina +quickly. 'John will be here soon. I hope he'll see how it all was when +I tell him. If so be I could have written it to him it would have been +better.' + +'You think he doesn't know a single word about our having been on the +brink o't. But perhaps it's the other way--he's heard of it and that may +have brought him. + +'Ah--perhaps he has!' she said brightening. 'And already forgives me.' + +'If not, speak out straight and fair, and tell him exactly how it fell +out. If he's a man he'll see it.' + +'O he's a man true enough. But I really do think I shan't have to tell +him at all, since you've put it to me that way!' + +As it was now Johnny's bedtime he was carried upstairs, and when Selina +came down again her mother observed with some anxiety, 'I fancy Mr. Clark +must be here soon if he's coming; and that being so, perhaps Mr. Miller +wouldn't mind--wishing us good-night! since you are so determined to +stick to your sergeant-major.' A little bitterness bubbled amid the +closing words. 'It would be less awkward, Mr. Miller not being here--if +he will allow me to say it.' + +'To be sure; to be sure,' the master-wheelwright exclaimed with instant +conviction, rising alertly from his chair. 'Lord bless my soul,' he +said, taking up his hat and stick, 'and we to have been married in six +days! But Selina--you're right. You do belong to the child's father +since he's alive. I'll try to make the best of it.' + +Before the generous Miller had got further there came a knock to the door +accompanied by the noise of wheels. + +'I thought I heard something driving up!' said Mrs Paddock. + +They heard Mr. Paddock, who had been smoking in the room opposite, rise +and go to the door, and in a moment a voice familiar enough to Selina was +audibly saying, 'At last I am here again--not without many interruptions! +How is it with 'ee, Mr. Paddock? And how is she? Thought never to see +me again, I suppose?' + +A step with a clink of spurs in it struck upon the entry floor. + +'Danged if I bain't catched!' murmured Mr. Miller, forgetting company- +speech. 'Never mind--I may as well meet him here as elsewhere; and I +should like to see the chap, and make friends with en, as he seems one o' +the right sort.' He returned to the fireplace just as the sergeant-major +was ushered in. + + + +III + + +He was a good specimen of the long-service soldier of those days; a not +unhandsome man, with a certain undemonstrative dignity, which some might +have said to be partly owing to the stiffness of his uniform about his +neck, the high stock being still worn. He was much stouter than when +Selina had parted from him. Although she had not meant to be +demonstrative she ran across to him directly she saw him, and he held her +in his arms and kissed her. + +Then in much agitation she whispered something to him, at which he seemed +to be much surprised. + +'He's just put to bed,' she continued. 'You can go up and see him. I +knew you'd come if you were alive! But I had quite gi'd you up for dead. +You've been home in England ever since the war ended?' + +'Yes, dear.' + +'Why didn't you come sooner?' + +'That's just what I ask myself! Why was I such a sappy as not to hurry +here the first day I set foot on shore! Well, who'd have thought it--you +are as pretty as ever!' + +He relinquished her to peep upstairs a little way, where, by looking +through the ballusters, he could see Johnny's cot just within an open +door. On his stepping down again Mr. Miller was preparing to depart. + +'Now, what's this? I am sorry to see anybody going the moment I've +come,' expostulated the sergeant-major. 'I thought we might make an +evening of it. There's a nine gallon cask o' "Phoenix" beer outside in +the trap, and a ham, and half a rawmil' cheese; for I thought you might +be short o' forage in a lonely place like this; and it struck me we might +like to ask in a neighbour or two. But perhaps it would be taking a +liberty?' + +'O no, not at all,' said Mr. Paddock, who was now in the room, in a +judicial measured manner. 'Very thoughtful of 'ee, only 'twas not +necessary, for we had just laid in an extry stock of eatables and +drinkables in preparation for the coming event.' + +''Twas very kind, upon my heart,' said the soldier, 'to think me worth +such a jocund preparation, since you could only have got my letter this +morning.' + +Selina gazed at her father to stop him, and exchanged embarrassed glances +with Miller. Contrary to her hopes Sergeant-Major Clark plainly did not +know that the preparations referred to were for something quite other +than his own visit. + +The movement of the horse outside, and the impatient tapping of a whip- +handle upon the vehicle reminded them that Clark's driver was still in +waiting. The provisions were brought into the house, and the cart +dismissed. Miller, with very little pressure indeed, accepted an +invitation to supper, and a few neighbours were induced to come in to +make up a cheerful party. + +During the laying of the meal, and throughout its continuance, Selina, +who sat beside her first intended husband, tried frequently to break the +news to him of her engagement to the other--now terminated so suddenly, +and so happily for her heart, and her sense of womanly virtue. But the +talk ran entirely upon the late war; and though fortified by half a horn +of the strong ale brought by the sergeant-major she decided that she +might have a better opportunity when supper was over of revealing the +situation to him in private. + +Having supped, Clark leaned back at ease in his chair and looked around. +'We used sometimes to have a dance in that other room after supper, +Selina dear, I recollect. We used to clear out all the furniture into +this room before beginning. Have you kept up such goings on?' + +'No, not at all!' said his sweetheart, sadly. + +'We were not unlikely to revive it in a few days,' said Mr. Paddock. +'But, howsomever, there's seemingly many a slip, as the saying is.' + +'Yes, I'll tell John all about that by and by!' interposed Selina; at +which, perceiving that the secret which he did not like keeping was to be +kept even yet, her father held his tongue with some show of testiness. + +The subject of a dance having been broached, to put the thought in +practice was the feeling of all. Soon after the tables and chairs were +borne from the opposite room to this by zealous hands, and two of the +villagers sent home for a fiddle and tambourine, when the majority began +to tread a measure well known in that secluded vale. Selina naturally +danced with the sergeant-major, not altogether to her father's +satisfaction, and to the real uneasiness of her mother, both of whom +would have preferred a postponement of festivities till the rashly +anticipated relationship between their daughter and Clark in the past had +been made fact by the church's ordinances. They did not, however, +express a positive objection, Mr. Paddock remembering, with +self-reproach, that it was owing to his original strongly expressed +disapproval of Selina's being a soldier's wife that the wedding had been +delayed, and finally hindered--with worse consequences than were +expected; and ever since the misadventure brought about by his government +he had allowed events to steer their own courses. + +'My tails will surely catch in your spurs, John!' murmured the daughter +of the house, as she whirled around upon his arm with the rapt soul and +look of a somnambulist. 'I didn't know we should dance, or I would have +put on my other frock.' + +'I'll take care, my love. We've danced here before. Do you think your +father objects to me now? I've risen in rank. I fancy he's still a +little against me.' + +'He has repented, times enough.' + +'And so have I! If I had married you then 'twould have saved many a +misfortune. I have sometimes thought it might have been possible to rush +the ceremony through somehow before I left; though we were only in the +second asking, were we? And even if I had come back straight here when +we returned from the Crimea, and married you then, how much happier I +should have been!' + +'Dear John, to say that! Why didn't you?' + +'O--dilatoriness and want of thought, and a fear of facing your father +after so long. I was in hospital a great while, you know. But how +familiar the place seems again! What's that I saw on the beaufet in the +other room? It never used to be there. A sort of withered corpse of a +cake--not an old bride-cake surely?' + +'Yes, John, ours. 'Tis the very one that was made for our wedding three +years ago.' + +'Sakes alive! Why, time shuts up together, and all between then and now +seems not to have been! What became of that wedding-gown that they were +making in this room, I remember--a bluish, whitish, frothy thing?' + +'I have that too.' + +'Really! . . . Why, Selina--' + +'Yes!' + +'Why not put it on now?' + +'Wouldn't it seem--. And yet, O how I should like to! It would remind +them all, if we told them what it was, how we really meant to be married +on that bygone day!' Her eyes were again laden with wet. + +'Yes . . . The pity that we didn't--the pity!' Moody mournfulness seemed +to hold silent awhile one not naturally taciturn. 'Well--will you?' he +said. + +'I will--the next dance, if mother don't mind.' + +Accordingly, just before the next figure was formed, Selina disappeared, +and speedily came downstairs in a creased and box-worn, but still airy +and pretty, muslin gown, which was indeed the very one that had been +meant to grace her as a bride three years before. + +'It is dreadfully old-fashioned,' she apologized. + +'Not at all. What a grand thought of mine! Now, let's to't again.' + +She explained to some of them, as he led her to the second dance, what +the frock had been meant for, and that she had put it on at his request. +And again athwart and around the room they went. + +'You seem the bride!' he said. + +'But I couldn't wear this gown to be married in now!' she replied, +ecstatically, 'or I shouldn't have put it on and made it dusty. It is +really too old-fashioned, and so folded and fretted out, you can't think. +That was with my taking it out so many times to look at. I have never +put it on--never--till now!' + +'Selina, I am thinking of giving up the army. Will you emigrate with me +to New Zealand? I've an uncle out there doing well, and he'd soon help +me to making a larger income. The English army is glorious, but it ain't +altogether enriching.' + +'Of course, anywhere that you decide upon. Is it healthy there for +Johnny?' + +'A lovely climate. And I shall never be happy in England . . . Aha!' he +concluded again, with a bitterness of unexpected strength, 'would to +Heaven I had come straight back here!' + +As the dance brought round one neighbour after another the re-united pair +were thrown into juxtaposition with Bob Heartall among the rest who had +been called in; one whose chronic expression was that he carried inside +him a joke on the point of bursting with its own vastness. He took +occasion now to let out a little of its quality, shaking his head at +Selina as he addressed her in an undertone-- + +'This is a bit of a topper to the bridegroom, ho ho! 'Twill teach en the +liberty you'll expect when you've married en!' + +'What does he mean by a "topper,"' the sergeant-major asked, who, not +being of local extraction, despised the venerable local language, and +also seemed to suppose 'bridegroom' to be an anticipatory name for +himself. 'I only hope I shall never be worse treated than you've treated +me to-night!' + +Selina looked frightened. 'He didn't mean you, dear,' she said as they +moved on. 'We thought perhaps you knew what had happened, owing to your +coming just at this time. Had you--heard anything about--what I +intended?' + +'Not a breath--how should I--away up in Yorkshire? It was by the merest +accident that I came just at this date to make peace with you for my +delay.' + +'I was engaged to be married to Mr. Bartholomew Miller. That's what it +is! I would have let 'ee know by letter, but there was no time, only +hearing from 'ee this afternoon . . . You won't desert me for it, will +you, John? Because, as you know, I quite supposed you dead, and--and--' +Her eyes were full of tears of trepidation, and he might have felt a sob +heaving within her. + + + +IV + + +The soldier was silent during two or three double bars of the tune. 'When +were you to have been married to the said Mr. Bartholomew Miller?' he +inquired. + +'Quite soon.' + +'How soon?' + +'Next week--O yes--just the same as it was with you and me. There's a +strange fate of interruption hanging over me, I sometimes think! He had +bought the licence, which I preferred so that it mightn't be like--ours. +But it made no difference to the fate of it.' + +'Had bought the licence! The devil!' + +'Don't be angry, dear John. I didn't know!' + +'No, no, I'm not angry.' + +'It was so kind of him, considering!' + +'Yes . . . I see, of course, how natural your action was--never thinking +of seeing me any more! Is it the Mr. Miller who is in this dance?' + +'Yes.' + +Clark glanced round upon Bartholomew and was silent again, for some +little while, and she stole a look at him, to find that he seemed +changed. 'John, you look ill!' she almost sobbed. ''Tisn't me, is it?' + +'O dear, no. Though I hadn't, somehow, expected it. I can't find fault +with you for a moment--and I don't . . . This is a deuce of a long dance, +don't you think? We've been at it twenty minutes if a second, and the +figure doesn't allow one much rest. I'm quite out of breath.' + +'They like them so dreadfully long here. Shall we drop out? Or I'll +stop the fiddler.' + +'O no, no, I think I can finish. But although I look healthy enough I +have never been so strong as I formerly was, since that long illness I +had in the hospital at Scutari.' + +'And I knew nothing about it!' + +'You couldn't, dear, as I didn't write. What a fool I have been +altogether!' He gave a twitch, as of one in pain. 'I won't dance again +when this one is over. The fact is I have travelled a long way to-day, +and it seems to have knocked me up a bit.' + +There could be no doubt that the sergeant-major was unwell, and Selina +made herself miserable by still believing that her story was the cause of +his ailment. Suddenly he said in a changed voice, and she perceived that +he was paler than ever: 'I must sit down.' + +Letting go her waist he went quickly to the other room. She followed, +and found him in the nearest chair, his face bent down upon his hands and +arms, which were resting on the table. + +'What's the matter?' said her father, who sat there dozing by the fire. + +'John isn't well . . . We are going to New Zealand when we are married, +father. A lovely country! John, would you like something to drink?' + +'A drop o' that Schiedam of old Owlett's, that's under stairs, perhaps,' +suggested her father. 'Not that nowadays 'tis much better than licensed +liquor.' + +'John,' she said, putting her face close to his and pressing his arm. +'Will you have a drop of spirits or something?' + +He did not reply, and Selina observed that his ear and the side of his +face were quite white. Convinced that his illness was serious, a growing +dismay seized hold of her. The dance ended; her mother came in, and +learning what had happened, looked narrowly at the sergeant-major. + +'We must not let him lie like that, lift him up,' she said. 'Let him +rest in the window-bench on some cushions.' + +They unfolded his arms and hands as they lay clasped upon the table, and +on lifting his head found his features to bear the very impress of death +itself. Bartholomew Miller, who had now come in, assisted Mr. Paddock to +make a comfortable couch in the window-seat, where they stretched out +Clark upon his back. + +Still he seemed unconscious. 'We must get a doctor,' said Selina. 'O, +my dear John, how is it you be taken like this?' + +'My impression is that he's dead!' murmured Mr. Paddock. 'He don't +breathe enough to move a tomtit's feather.' + +There were plenty to volunteer to go for a doctor, but as it would be at +least an hour before he could get there the case seemed somewhat +hopeless. The dancing-party ended as unceremoniously as it had begun; +but the guests lingered round the premises till the doctor should arrive. +When he did come the sergeant-major's extremities were already cold, and +there was no doubt that death had overtaken him almost at the moment that +he had sat down. + +The medical practitioner quite refused to accept the unhappy Selina's +theory that her revelation had in any way induced Clark's sudden +collapse. Both he and the coroner afterwards, who found the immediate +cause to be heart-failure, held that such a supposition was unwarranted +by facts. They asserted that a long day's journey, a hurried drive, and +then an exhausting dance, were sufficient for such a result upon a heart +enfeebled by fatty degeneration after the privations of a Crimean winter +and other trying experiences, the coincidence of the sad event with any +disclosure of hers being a pure accident. + +This conclusion, however, did not dislodge Selina's opinion that the +shock of her statement had been the immediate stroke which had felled a +constitution so undermined. + + + +V + + +At this date the Casterbridge Barracks were cavalry quarters, their +adaptation to artillery having been effected some years later. It had +been owing to the fact that the ---th Dragoons, in which John Clark had +served, happened to be lying there that Selina made his acquaintance. At +the time of his death the barracks were occupied by the Scots Greys, but +when the pathetic circumstances of the sergeant-major's end became known +in the town the officers of the Greys offered the services of their fine +reed and brass band, that he might have a funeral marked by due military +honours. His body was accordingly removed to the barracks, and carried +thence to the churchyard in the Durnover quarter on the following +afternoon, one of the Greys' most ancient and docile chargers being +blacked up to represent Clark's horse on the occasion. + +Everybody pitied Selina, whose story was well known. She followed the +corpse as the only mourner, Clark having been without relations in this +part of the country, and a communication with his regiment having brought +none from a distance. She sat in a little shabby brown-black mourning +carriage, squeezing herself up in a corner to be as much as possible out +of sight during the slow and dramatic march through the town to the tune +from Saul. When the interment had taken place, the volleys been fired, +and the return journey begun, it was with something like a shock that she +found the military escort to be moving at a quick march to the lively +strains of 'Off she goes!' as if all care for the sergeant-major was +expected to be ended with the late discharge of the carbines. It was, by +chance, the very tune to which they had been footing when he died, and +unable to bear its notes, she hastily told her driver to drop behind. The +band and military party diminished up the High Street, and Selina turned +over Swan bridge and homeward to Mellstock. + +Then recommenced for her a life whose incidents were precisely of a suit +with those which had preceded the soldier's return; but how different in +her appreciation of them! Her narrow miss of the recovered +respectability they had hoped for from that tardy event worked upon her +parents as an irritant, and after the first week or two of her mourning +her life with them grew almost insupportable. She had impulsively taken +to herself the weeds of a widow, for such she seemed to herself to be, +and clothed little Johnny in sables likewise. This assumption of a moral +relationship to the deceased, which she asserted to be only not a legal +one by two most unexpected accidents, led the old people to indulge in +sarcasm at her expense whenever they beheld her attire, though all the +while it cost them more pain to utter than it gave her to hear it. Having +become accustomed by her residence at home to the business carried on by +her father, she surprised them one day by going off with the child to +Chalk-Newton, in the direction of the town of Ivell, and opening a +miniature fruit and vegetable shop, attending Ivell market with her +produce. Her business grew somewhat larger, and it was soon sufficient +to enable her to support herself and the boy in comfort. She called +herself 'Mrs. John Clark' from the day of leaving home, and painted the +name on her signboard--no man forbidding her. + +By degrees the pain of her state was forgotten in her new circumstances, +and getting to be generally accepted as the widow of a sergeant-major of +dragoons--an assumption which her modest and mournful demeanour seemed to +substantiate--her life became a placid one, her mind being nourished by +the melancholy luxury of dreaming what might have been her future in New +Zealand with John, if he had only lived to take her there. Her only +travels now were a journey to Ivell on market-days, and once a fortnight +to the churchyard in which Clark lay, there to tend, with Johnny's +assistance, as widows are wont to do, the flowers she had planted upon +his grave. + +On a day about eighteen months after his unexpected decease, Selina was +surprised in her lodging over her little shop by a visit from Bartholomew +Miller. He had called on her once or twice before, on which occasions he +had used without a word of comment the name by which she was known. + +'I've come this time,' he said, 'less because I was in this direction +than to ask you, Mrs. Clark, what you mid well guess. I've come o' +purpose, in short.' + +She smiled. + +''Tis to ask me again to marry you?' + +'Yes, of course. You see, his coming back for 'ee proved what I always +believed of 'ee, though others didn't. There's nobody but would be glad +to welcome you to our parish again, now you've showed your independence +and acted up to your trust in his promise. Well, my dear, will you +come?' + +'I'd rather bide as Mrs. Clark, I think,' she answered. 'I am not +ashamed of my position at all; for I am John's widow in the eyes of +Heaven.' + +'I quite agree--that's why I've come. Still, you won't like to be always +straining at this shop-keeping and market-standing; and 'twould be better +for Johnny if you had nothing to do but tend him.' + +He here touched the only weak spot in Selina's resistance to his +proposal--the good of the boy. To promote that there were other men she +might have married offhand without loving them if they had asked her to; +but though she had known the worthy speaker from her youth, she could not +for the moment fancy herself happy as Mrs. Miller. + +He paused awhile. 'I ought to tell 'ee, Mrs. Clark,' he said by and by, +'that marrying is getting to be a pressing question with me. Not on my +own account at all. The truth is, that mother is growing old, and I am +away from home a good deal, so that it is almost necessary there should +be another person in the house with her besides me. That's the practical +consideration which forces me to think of taking a wife, apart from my +wish to take you; and you know there's nobody in the world I care for so +much.' + +She said something about there being far better women than she, and other +natural commonplaces; but assured him she was most grateful to him for +feeling what he felt, as indeed she sincerely was. However, Selina would +not consent to be the useful third person in his comfortable home--at any +rate just then. He went away, after taking tea with her, without +discerning much hope for him in her good-bye. + + + +VI + + +After that evening she saw and heard nothing of him for a great while. +Her fortnightly journeys to the sergeant-major's grave were continued, +whenever weather did not hinder them; and Mr. Miller must have known, she +thought, of this custom of hers. But though the churchyard was not +nearly so far from his homestead as was her shop at Chalk-Newton, he +never appeared in the accidental way that lovers use. + +An explanation was forthcoming in the shape of a letter from her mother, +who casually mentioned that Mr. Bartholomew Miller had gone away to the +other side of Shottsford-Forum to be married to a thriving dairyman's +daughter that he knew there. His chief motive, it was reported, had been +less one of love than a wish to provide a companion for his aged mother. + +Selina was practical enough to know that she had lost a good and possibly +the only opportunity of settling in life after what had happened, and for +a moment she regretted her independence. But she became calm on +reflection, and to fortify herself in her course started that afternoon +to tend the sergeant-major's grave, in which she took the same sober +pleasure as at first. + +On reaching the churchyard and turning the corner towards the spot as +usual, she was surprised to perceive another woman, also apparently a +respectable widow, and with a tiny boy by her side, bending over Clark's +turf, and spudding up with the point of her umbrella some ivy-roots that +Selina had reverently planted there to form an evergreen mantle over the +mound. + +'What are you digging up my ivy for!' cried Selina, rushing forward so +excitedly that Johnny tumbled over a grave with the force of the tug she +gave his hand in her sudden start. + +'Your ivy?' said the respectable woman. + +'Why yes! I planted it there--on my husband's grave.' + +'Your husband's!' + +'Yes. The late Sergeant-Major Clark. Anyhow, as good as my husband, for +he was just going to be.' + +'Indeed. But who may be my husband, if not he? I am the only Mrs. John +Clark, widow of the late Sergeant-Major of Dragoons, and this is his only +son and heir.' + +'How can that be?' faltered Selina, her throat seeming to stick together +as she just began to perceive its possibility. 'He had been--going to +marry me twice--and we were going to New Zealand.' + +'Ah!--I remember about you,' returned the legitimate widow calmly and not +unkindly. 'You must be Selina; he spoke of you now and then, and said +that his relations with you would always be a weight on his conscience. +Well; the history of my life with him is soon told. When he came back +from the Crimea he became acquainted with me at my home in the north, and +we were married within a month of first knowing each other. +Unfortunately, after living together a few months, we could not agree; +and after a particularly sharp quarrel, in which, perhaps, I was most in +the wrong--as I don't mind owning here by his graveside--he went away +from me, declaring he would buy his discharge and emigrate to New +Zealand, and never come back to me any more. The next thing I heard was +that he had died suddenly at Mellstock at some low carouse; and as he had +left me in such anger to live no more with me, I wouldn't come down to +his funeral, or do anything in relation to him. 'Twas temper, I know, +but that was the fact. Even if we had parted friends it would have been +a serious expense to travel three hundred miles to get there, for one who +wasn't left so very well off . . . I am sorry I pulled up your ivy-roots; +but that common sort of ivy is considered a weed in my part of the +country.' + +December 1899. + + + + +A TRYST AT AN ANCIENT EARTH WORK + + +At one's every step forward it rises higher against the south sky, with +an obtrusive personality that compels the senses to regard it and +consider. The eyes may bend in another direction, but never without the +consciousness of its heavy, high-shouldered presence at its point of +vantage. Across the intervening levels the gale races in a straight line +from the fort, as if breathed out of it hitherward. With the shifting of +the clouds the faces of the steeps vary in colour and in shade, broad +lights appearing where mist and vagueness had prevailed, dissolving in +their turn into melancholy gray, which spreads over and eclipses the +luminous bluffs. In this so-thought immutable spectacle all is change. + +Out of the invisible marine region on the other side birds soar suddenly +into the air, and hang over the summits of the heights with the +indifference of long familiarity. Their forms are white against the +tawny concave of cloud, and the curves they exhibit in their floating +signify that they are sea-gulls which have journeyed inland from expected +stress of weather. As the birds rise behind the fort, so do the clouds +rise behind the birds, almost as it seems, stroking with their bagging +bosoms the uppermost flyers. + +The profile of the whole stupendous ruin, as seen at a distance of a mile +eastward, is cleanly cut as that of a marble inlay. It is varied with +protuberances, which from hereabouts have the animal aspect of warts, +wens, knuckles, and hips. It may indeed be likened to an enormous many- +limbed organism of an antediluvian time--partaking of the cephalopod in +shape--lying lifeless, and covered with a thin green cloth, which hides +its substance, while revealing its contour. This dull green mantle of +herbage stretches down towards the levels, where the ploughs have essayed +for centuries to creep up near and yet nearer to the base of the castle, +but have always stopped short before reaching it. The furrows of these +environing attempts show themselves distinctly, bending to the incline as +they trench upon it; mounting in steeper curves, till the steepness +baffles them, and their parallel threads show like the striae of waves +pausing on the curl. The peculiar place of which these are some of the +features is 'Mai-Dun,' 'The Castle of the Great Hill,' said to be the +Dunium of Ptolemy, the capital of the Durotriges, which eventually came +into Roman occupation, and was finally deserted on their withdrawal from +the island. + +* * * * * + +The evening is followed by a night on which an invisible moon bestows a +subdued, yet pervasive light--without radiance, as without blackness. +From the spot whereon I am ensconced in a cottage, a mile away, the fort +has now ceased to be visible; yet, as by day, to anybody whose thoughts +have been engaged with it and its barbarous grandeurs of past time the +form asserts its existence behind the night gauzes as persistently as if +it had a voice. Moreover, the south-west wind continues to feed the +intervening arable flats with vapours brought directly from its sides. + +The midnight hour for which there has been occasion to wait at length +arrives, and I journey towards the stronghold in obedience to a request +urged earlier in the day. It concerns an appointment, which I rather +regret my decision to keep now that night is come. The route thither is +hedgeless and treeless--I need not add deserted. The moonlight is +sufficient to disclose the pale riband-like surface of the way as it +trails along between the expanses of darker fallow. Though the road +passes near the fortress it does not conduct directly to its fronts. As +the place is without an inhabitant, so it is without a trackway. So +presently leaving the macadamized road to pursue its course elsewhither, +I step off upon the fallow, and plod stumblingly across it. The castle +looms out off the shade by degrees, like a thing waking up and asking +what I want there. It is now so enlarged by nearness that its whole +shape cannot be taken in at one view. The ploughed ground ends as the +rise sharpens, the sloping basement of grass begins, and I climb upward +to invade Mai-Dun. + +Impressive by day as this largest Ancient-British work in the kingdom +undoubtedly is, its impressiveness is increased now. After standing +still and spending a few minutes in adding its age to its size, and its +size to its solitude, it becomes appallingly mournful in its growing +closeness. A squally wind blows in the face with an impact which +proclaims that the vapours of the air sail low to-night. The slope that +I so laboriously clamber up the wind skips sportively down. Its track +can be discerned even in this light by the undulations of the withered +grass-bents--the only produce of this upland summit except moss. Four +minutes of ascent, and a vantage-ground of some sort is gained. It is +only the crest of the outer rampart. Immediately within this a chasm +gapes; its bottom is imperceptible, but the counterscarp slopes not too +steeply to admit of a sliding descent if cautiously performed. The shady +bottom, dank and chilly, is thus gained, and reveals itself as a kind of +winding lane, wide enough for a waggon to pass along, floored with rank +herbage, and trending away, right and left, into obscurity, between the +concentric walls of earth. The towering closeness of these on each hand, +their impenetrability, and their ponderousness, are felt as a physical +pressure. The way is now up the second of them, which stands steeper and +higher than the first. To turn aside, as did Christian's companion, from +such a Hill Difficulty, is the more natural tendency; but the way to the +interior is upward. There is, of course, an entrance to the fortress; +but that lies far off on the other side. It might possibly have been the +wiser course to seek for easier ingress there. + +However, being here, I ascend the second acclivity. The grass stems--the +grey beard of the hill--sway in a mass close to my stooping face. The +dead heads of these various grasses--fescues, fox-tails, and ryes--bob +and twitch as if pulled by a string underground. From a few thistles a +whistling proceeds; and even the moss speaks, in its humble way, under +the stress of the blast. + +That the summit of the second line of defence has been gained is suddenly +made known by a contrasting wind from a new quarter, coming over with the +curve of a cascade. These novel gusts raise a sound from the whole camp +or castle, playing upon it bodily as upon a harp. It is with some +difficulty that a foothold can be preserved under their sweep. Looking +aloft for a moment I perceive that the sky is much more overcast than it +has been hitherto, and in a few instants a dead lull in what is now a +gale ensues with almost preternatural abruptness. I take advantage of +this to sidle down the second counterscarp, but by the time the ditch is +reached the lull reveals itself to be but the precursor of a storm. It +begins with a heave of the whole atmosphere, like the sigh of a weary +strong man on turning to re-commence unusual exertion, just as I stand +here in the second fosse. That which now radiates from the sky upon the +scene is not so much light as vaporous phosphorescence. + +The wind, quickening, abandons the natural direction it has pursued on +the open upland, and takes the course of the gorge's length, rushing +along therein helter-skelter, and carrying thick rain upon its back. The +rain is followed by hailstones which fly through the defile in +battalions--rolling, hopping, ricochetting, snapping, clattering down the +shelving banks in an undefinable haze of confusion. The earthen sides of +the fosse seem to quiver under the drenching onset, though it is +practically no more to them than the blows of Thor upon the giant of +Jotun-land. It is impossible to proceed further till the storm somewhat +abates, and I draw up behind a spur of the inner scarp, where possibly a +barricade stood two thousand years ago; and thus await events. + +* * * * * + +The roar of the storm can be heard travelling the complete circuit of the +castle--a measured mile--coming round at intervals like a +circumambulating column of infantry. Doubtless such a column has passed +this way in its time, but the only columns which enter in these latter +days are the columns of sheep and oxen that are sometimes seen here now; +while the only semblance of heroic voices heard are the utterances of +such, and of the many winds which make their passage through the ravines. + +The expected lightning radiates round, and a rumbling as from its +subterranean vaults--if there are any--fills the castle. The lightning +repeats itself, and, coming after the aforesaid thoughts of martial men, +it bears a fanciful resemblance to swords moving in combat. It has the +very brassy hue of the ancient weapons that here were used. The so +sudden entry upon the scene of this metallic flame is as the entry of a +presiding exhibitor who unrolls the maps, uncurtains the pictures, +unlocks the cabinets, and effects a transformation by merely exposing the +materials of his science, unintelligibly cloaked till then. The abrupt +configuration of the bluffs and mounds is now for the first time clearly +revealed--mounds whereon, doubtless, spears and shields have frequently +lain while their owners loosened their sandals and yawned and stretched +their arms in the sun. For the first time, too, a glimpse is obtainable +of the true entrance used by its occupants of old, some way ahead. + +There, where all passage has seemed to be inviolably barred by an almost +vertical facade, the ramparts are found to overlap each other like +loosely clasped fingers, between which a zigzag path may be followed--a +cunning construction that puzzles the uninformed eye. But its cunning, +even where not obscured by dilapidation, is now wasted on the solitary +forms of a few wild badgers, rabbits, and hares. Men must have often +gone out by those gates in the morning to battle with the Roman legions +under Vespasian; some to return no more, others to come back at evening, +bringing with them the noise of their heroic deeds. But not a page, not +a stone, has preserved their fame. + +* * * * * + +Acoustic perceptions multiply to-night. We can almost hear the stream of +years that have borne those deeds away from us. Strange articulations +seem to float on the air from that point, the gateway, where the +animation in past times must frequently have concentrated itself at hours +of coming and going, and general excitement. There arises an +ineradicable fancy that they are human voices; if so, they must be the +lingering air-borne vibrations of conversations uttered at least fifteen +hundred years ago. The attention is attracted from mere nebulous +imaginings about yonder spot by a real moving of something close at hand. + +I recognize by the now moderate flashes of lightning, which are sheet- +like and nearly continuous, that it is the gradual elevation of a small +mound of earth. At first no larger than a man's fist it reaches the +dimensions of a hat, then sinks a little and is still. It is but the +heaving of a mole who chooses such weather as this to work in from some +instinct that there will be nobody abroad to molest him. As the fine +earth lifts and lifts and falls loosely aside fragments of burnt clay +roll out of it--clay that once formed part of cups or other vessels used +by the inhabitants of the fortress. + +The violence of the storm has been counterbalanced by its transitoriness. +From being immersed in well-nigh solid media of cloud and hail shot with +lightning, I find myself uncovered of the humid investiture and left bare +to the mild gaze of the moon, which sparkles now on every wet grass-blade +and frond of moss. + +But I am not yet inside the fort, and the delayed ascent of the third and +last escarpment is now made. It is steeper than either. The first was a +surface to walk up, the second to stagger up, the third can only be +ascended on the hands and toes. On the summit obtrudes the first +evidence which has been met with in these precincts that the time is +really the nineteenth century; it is in the form of a white notice-board +on a post, and the wording can just be discerned by the rays of the +setting moon: + +CAUTION.--Any Person found removing Relics, Skeletons, Stones, Pottery, +Tiles, or other Material from this Earthwork, or cutting up the Ground, +will be Prosecuted as the Law directs. + +Here one observes a difference underfoot from what has gone before: +scraps of Roman tile and stone chippings protrude through the grass in +meagre quantity, but sufficient to suggest that masonry stood on the +spot. Before the eye stretches under the moonlight the interior of the +fort. So open and so large is it as to be practically an upland plateau, +and yet its area lies wholly within the walls of what may be designated +as one building. It is a long-violated retreat; all its corner-stones, +plinths, and architraves were carried away to build neighbouring villages +even before mediaeval or modern history began. Many a block which once +may have helped to form a bastion here rests now in broken and diminished +shape as part of the chimney-corner of some shepherd's cottage within the +distant horizon, and the corner-stones of this heathen altar may form the +base-course of some adjoining village church. + +Yet the very bareness of these inner courts and wards, their condition of +mere pasturage, protects what remains of them as no defences could do. +Nothing is left visible that the hands can seize on or the weather +overturn, and a permanence of general outline at least results, which no +other condition could ensure. + +The position of the castle on this isolated hill bespeaks deliberate and +strategic choice exercised by some remote mind capable of prospective +reasoning to a far extent. The natural configuration of the surrounding +country and its bearing upon such a stronghold were obviously long +considered and viewed mentally before its extensive design was carried +into execution. Who was the man that said, 'Let it be built here!'--not +on that hill yonder, or on that ridge behind, but on this best spot of +all? Whether he were some great one of the Belgae, or of the Durotriges, +or the travelling engineer of Britain's united tribes, must for ever +remain time's secret; his form cannot be realized, nor his countenance, +nor the tongue that he spoke, when he set down his foot with a thud and +said, 'Let it be here!' + +Within the innermost enclosure, though it is so wide that at a +superficial glance the beholder has only a sense of standing on a breezy +down, the solitude is rendered yet more solitary by the knowledge that +between the benighted sojourner herein and all kindred humanity are those +three concentric walls of earth which no being would think of scaling on +such a night as this, even were he to hear the most pathetic cries +issuing hence that could be uttered by a spectre-chased soul. I reach a +central mound or platform--the crown and axis of the whole structure. The +view from here by day must be of almost limitless extent. On this raised +floor, dais, or rostrum, harps have probably twanged more or less tuneful +notes in celebration of daring, strength, or cruelty; of worship, +superstition, love, birth, and death; of simple loving-kindness perhaps +never. Many a time must the king or leader have directed his keen eyes +hence across the open lands towards the ancient road, the Icening Way, +still visible in the distance, on the watch for armed companies +approaching either to succour or to attack. + +I am startled by a voice pronouncing my name. Past and present have +become so confusedly mingled under the associations of the spot that for +a time it has escaped my memory that this mound was the place agreed on +for the aforesaid appointment. I turn and behold my friend. He stands +with a dark lantern in his hand and a spade and light pickaxe over his +shoulder. He expresses both delight and surprise that I have come. I +tell him I had set out before the bad weather began. + +He, to whom neither weather, darkness, nor difficulty seems to have any +relation or significance, so entirely is his soul wrapped up in his own +deep intentions, asks me to take the lantern and accompany him. I take +it and walk by his side. He is a man about sixty, small in figure, with +grey old-fashioned whiskers cut to the shape of a pair of crumb-brushes. +He is entirely in black broadcloth--or rather, at present, black and +brown, for he is bespattered with mud from his heels to the crown of his +low hat. He has no consciousness of this--no sense of anything but his +purpose, his ardour for which causes his eyes to shine like those of a +lynx, and gives his motions, all the elasticity of an athlete's. + +'Nobody to interrupt us at this time of night!' he chuckles with fierce +enjoyment. + +We retreat a little way and find a sort of angle, an elevation in the +sod, a suggested squareness amid the mass of irregularities around. Here, +he tells me, if anywhere, the king's house stood. Three months of +measurement and calculation have confirmed him in this conclusion. + +He requests me now to open the lantern, which I do, and the light streams +out upon the wet sod. At last divining his proceedings I say that I had +no idea, in keeping the tryst, that he was going to do more at such an +unusual time than meet me for a meditative ramble through the stronghold. +I ask him why, having a practicable object, he should have minded +interruptions and not have chosen the day? He informs me, quietly +pointing to his spade, that it was because his purpose is to dig, then +signifying with a grim nod the gaunt notice-post against the sky beyond. +I inquire why, as a professed and well-known antiquary with capital +letters at the tail of his name, he did not obtain the necessary +authority, considering the stringent penalties for this sort of thing; +and he chuckles fiercely again with suppressed delight, and says, +'Because they wouldn't have given it!' + +He at once begins cutting up the sod, and, as he takes the pickaxe to +follow on with, assures me that, penalty or no penalty, honest men or +marauders, he is sure of one thing, that we shall not be disturbed at our +work till after dawn. + +I remember to have heard of men who, in their enthusiasm for some special +science, art, or hobby, have quite lost the moral sense which would +restrain them from indulging it illegitimately; and I conjecture that +here, at last, is an instance of such an one. He probably guesses the +way my thoughts travel, for he stands up and solemnly asserts that he has +a distinctly justifiable intention in this matter; namely, to uncover, to +search, to verify a theory or displace it, and to cover up again. He +means to take away nothing--not a grain of sand. In this he says he sees +no such monstrous sin. I inquire if this is really a promise to me? He +repeats that it is a promise, and resumes digging. My contribution to +the labour is that of directing the light constantly upon the hole. When +he has reached something more than a foot deep he digs more cautiously, +saying that, be it much or little there, it will not lie far below the +surface; such things never are deep. A few minutes later the point of +the pickaxe clicks upon a stony substance. He draws the implement out as +feelingly as if it had entered a man's body. Taking up the spade he +shovels with care, and a surface, level as an altar, is presently +disclosed. His eyes flash anew; he pulls handfuls of grass and mops the +surface clean, finally rubbing it with his handkerchief. Grasping the +lantern from my hand he holds it close to the ground, when the rays +reveal a complete mosaic--a pavement of minute tesserae of many colours, +of intricate pattern, a work of much art, of much time, and of much +industry. He exclaims in a shout that he knew it always--that it is not +a Celtic stronghold exclusively, but also a Roman; the former people +having probably contributed little more than the original framework which +the latter took and adapted till it became the present imposing +structure. + +I ask, What if it is Roman? + +A great deal, according to him. That it proves all the world to be wrong +in this great argument, and himself alone to be right! Can I wait while +he digs further? + +I agree--reluctantly; but he does not notice my reluctance. At an +adjoining spot he begins flourishing the tools anew with the skill of a +navvy, this venerable scholar with letters after his name. Sometimes he +falls on his knees, burrowing with his hands in the manner of a hare, and +where his old-fashioned broadcloth touches the sides of the hole it gets +plastered with the damp earth. He continually murmurs to himself how +important, how very important, this discovery is! He draws out an +object; we wash it in the same primitive way by rubbing it with the wet +grass, and it proves to be a semi-transparent bottle of iridescent +beauty, the sight of which draws groans of luxurious sensibility from the +digger. Further and further search brings out a piece of a weapon. It +is strange indeed that by merely peeling off a wrapper of modern +accumulations we have lowered ourselves into an ancient world. Finally a +skeleton is uncovered, fairly perfect. He lays it out on the grass, bone +to its bone. + +My friend says the man must have fallen fighting here, as this is no +place of burial. He turns again to the trench, scrapes, feels, till from +a corner he draws out a heavy lump--a small image four or five inches +high. We clean it as before. It is a statuette, apparently of gold, or, +more probably, of bronze-gilt--a figure of Mercury, obviously, its head +being surmounted with the petasus or winged hat, the usual accessory of +that deity. Further inspection reveals the workmanship to be of good +finish and detail, and, preserved by the limy earth, to be as fresh in +every line as on the day it left the hands of its artificer. + +We seem to be standing in the Roman Forum and not on a hill in Wessex. +Intent upon this truly valuable relic of the old empire of which even +this remote spot was a component part, we do not notice what is going on +in the present world till reminded of it by the sudden renewal of the +storm. Looking up I perceive that the wide extinguisher of cloud has +again settled down upon the fortress-town, as if resting upon the edge of +the inner rampart, and shutting out the moon. I turn my back to the +tempest, still directing the light across the hole. My companion digs on +unconcernedly; he is living two thousand years ago, and despises things +of the moment as dreams. But at last he is fairly beaten, and standing +up beside me looks round on what he has done. The rays of the lantern +pass over the trench to the tall skeleton stretched upon the grass on the +other side. The beating rain has washed the bones clean and smooth, and +the forehead, cheek-bones, and two-and-thirty teeth of the skull glisten +in the candle-shine as they lie. + +This storm, like the first, is of the nature of a squall, and it ends as +abruptly as the other. We dig no further. My friend says that it is +enough--he has proved his point. He turns to replace the bones in the +trench and covers them. But they fall to pieces under his touch: the air +has disintegrated them, and he can only sweep in the fragments. The next +act of his plan is more than difficult, but is carried out. The +treasures are inhumed again in their respective holes: they are not ours. +Each deposition seems to cost him a twinge; and at one moment I fancied I +saw him slip his hand into his coat pocket. + +'We must re-bury them all,' say I. + +'O yes,' he answers with integrity. 'I was wiping my hand.' + +The beauties of the tesselated floor of the governor's house are once +again consigned to darkness; the trench is filled up; the sod laid +smoothly down; he wipes the perspiration from his forehead with the same +handkerchief he had used to mop the skeleton and tesserae clean; and we +make for the eastern gate of the fortress. + +Dawn bursts upon us suddenly as we reach the opening. It comes by the +lifting and thinning of the clouds that way till we are bathed in a pink +light. The direction of his homeward journey is not the same as mine, +and we part under the outer slope. + +Walking along quickly to restore warmth I muse upon my eccentric friend, +and cannot help asking myself this question: Did he really replace the +gilded image of the god Mercurius with the rest of the treasures? He +seemed to do so; and yet I could not testify to the fact. Probably, +however, he was as good as his word. + +* * * + +It was thus I spoke to myself, and so the adventure ended. But one thing +remains to be told, and that is concerned with seven years after. Among +the effects of my friend, at that time just deceased, was found, +carefully preserved, a gilt statuette representing Mercury, labelled +'Debased Roman.' No record was attached to explain how it came into his +possession. The figure was bequeathed to the Casterbridge Museum. + +Detroit Post, + +March 1885. + + + + +WHAT THE SHEPHERD SAW: A TALE OF FOUR MOONLIGHT NIGHTS + + +The genial Justice of the Peace--now, alas, no more--who made himself +responsible for the facts of this story, used to begin in the good old- +fashioned way with a bright moonlight night and a mysterious figure, an +excellent stroke for an opening, even to this day, if well followed up. + +The Christmas moon (he would say) was showing her cold face to the +upland, the upland reflecting the radiance in frost-sparkles so minute as +only to be discernible by an eye near at hand. This eye, he said, was +the eye of a shepherd lad, young for his occupation, who stood within a +wheeled hut of the kind commonly in use among sheep-keepers during the +early lambing season, and was abstractedly looking through the loophole +at the scene without. + +The spot was called Lambing Corner, and it was a sheltered portion of +that wide expanse of rough pastureland known as the Marlbury Downs, which +you directly traverse when following the turnpike-road across Mid-Wessex +from London, through Aldbrickham, in the direction of Bath and Bristol. +Here, where the hut stood, the land was high and dry, open, except to the +north, and commanding an undulating view for miles. On the north side +grew a tall belt of coarse furze, with enormous stalks, a clump of the +same standing detached in front of the general mass. The clump was +hollow, and the interior had been ingeniously taken advantage of as a +position for the before-mentioned hut, which was thus completely screened +from winds, and almost invisible, except through the narrow approach. But +the furze twigs had been cut away from the two little windows of the hut, +that the occupier might keep his eye on his sheep. + +In the rear, the shelter afforded by the belt of furze bushes was +artificially improved by an inclosure of upright stakes, interwoven with +boughs of the same prickly vegetation, and within the inclosure lay a +renowned Marlbury-Down breeding flock of eight hundred ewes. + +To the south, in the direction of the young shepherd's idle gaze, there +rose one conspicuous object above the uniform moonlit plateau, and only +one. It was a Druidical trilithon, consisting of three oblong stones in +the form of a doorway, two on end, and one across as a lintel. Each +stone had been worn, scratched, washed, nibbled, split, and otherwise +attacked by ten thousand different weathers; but now the blocks looked +shapely and little the worse for wear, so beautifully were they silvered +over by the light of the moon. The ruin was locally called the Devil's +Door. + +An old shepherd presently entered the hut from the direction of the ewes, +and looked around in the gloom. 'Be ye sleepy?' he asked in cross +accents of the boy. + +The lad replied rather timidly in the negative. + +'Then,' said the shepherd, 'I'll get me home-along, and rest for a few +hours. There's nothing to be done here now as I can see. The ewes can +want no more tending till daybreak--'tis beyond the bounds of reason that +they can. But as the order is that one of us must bide, I'll leave 'ee, +d'ye hear. You can sleep by day, and I can't. And you can be down to my +house in ten minutes if anything should happen. I can't afford 'ee +candle; but, as 'tis Christmas week, and the time that folks have +hollerdays, you can enjoy yerself by falling asleep a bit in the chair +instead of biding awake all the time. But mind, not longer at once than +while the shade of the Devil's Door moves a couple of spans, for you must +keep an eye upon the ewes.' + +The boy made no definite reply, and the old man, stirring the fire in the +stove with his crook-stem, closed the door upon his companion and +vanished. + +As this had been more or less the course of events every night since the +season's lambing had set in, the boy was not at all surprised at the +charge, and amused himself for some time by lighting straws at the stove. +He then went out to the ewes and new-born lambs, re-entered, sat down, +and finally fell asleep. This was his customary manner of performing his +watch, for though special permission for naps had this week been +accorded, he had, as a matter of fact, done the same thing on every +preceding night, sleeping often till awakened by a smack on the shoulder +at three or four in the morning from the crook-stem of the old man. + +It might have been about eleven o'clock when he awoke. He was so +surprised at awaking without, apparently, being called or struck, that on +second thoughts he assumed that somebody must have called him in spite of +appearances, and looked out of the hut window towards the sheep. They +all lay as quiet as when he had visited them, very little bleating being +audible, and no human soul disturbing the scene. He next looked from the +opposite window, and here the case was different. The frost-facets +glistened under the moon as before; an occasional furze bush showed as a +dark spot on the same; and in the foreground stood the ghostly form of +the trilithon. But in front of the trilithon stood a man. + +That he was not the shepherd or any one of the farm labourers was +apparent in a moment's observation,--his dress being a dark suit, and his +figure of slender build and graceful carriage. He walked backwards and +forwards in front of the trilithon. + +The shepherd lad had hardly done speculating on the strangeness of the +unknown's presence here at such an hour, when he saw a second figure +crossing the open sward towards the locality of the trilithon and furze- +clump that screened the hut. This second personage was a woman; and +immediately on sight of her the male stranger hastened forward, meeting +her just in front of the hut window. Before she seemed to be aware of +his intention he clasped her in his arms. + +The lady released herself and drew back with some dignity. + +'You have come, Harriet--bless you for it!' he exclaimed, fervently. + +'But not for this,' she answered, in offended accents. And then, more +good-naturedly, 'I have come, Fred, because you entreated me so! What +can have been the object of your writing such a letter? I feared I might +be doing you grievous ill by staying away. How did you come here?' + +'I walked all the way from my father's.' + +'Well, what is it? How have you lived since we last met?' + +'But roughly; you might have known that without asking. I have seen many +lands and many faces since I last walked these downs, but I have only +thought of you.' + +'Is it only to tell me this that you have summoned me so strangely?' + +A passing breeze blew away the murmur of the reply and several succeeding +sentences, till the man's voice again became audible in the words, +'Harriet--truth between us two! I have heard that the Duke does not +treat you too well.' + +'He is warm-tempered, but he is a good husband.' + +'He speaks roughly to you, and sometimes even threatens to lock you out +of doors.' + +'Only once, Fred! On my honour, only once. The Duke is a fairly good +husband, I repeat. But you deserve punishment for this night's trick of +drawing me out. What does it mean?' + +'Harriet, dearest, is this fair or honest? Is it not notorious that your +life with him is a sad one--that, in spite of the sweetness of your +temper, the sourness of his embitters your days. I have come to know if +I can help you. You are a Duchess, and I am Fred Ogbourne; but it is not +impossible that I may be able to help you . . . By God! the sweetness of +that tongue ought to keep him civil, especially when there is added to it +the sweetness of that face!' + +'Captain Ogbourne!' she exclaimed, with an emphasis of playful fear. 'How +can such a comrade of my youth behave to me as you do? Don't speak so, +and stare at me so! Is this really all you have to say? I see I ought +not to have come. 'Twas thoughtlessly done.' + +Another breeze broke the thread of discourse for a time. + +'Very well. I perceive you are dead and lost to me,' he could next be +heard to say, '"Captain Ogbourne" proves that. As I once loved you I +love you now, Harriet, without one jot of abatement; but you are not the +woman you were--you once were honest towards me; and now you conceal your +heart in made-up speeches. Let it be: I can never see you again.' + +'You need not say that in such a tragedy tone, you silly. You may see me +in an ordinary way--why should you not? But, of course, not in such a +way as this. I should not have come now, if it had not happened that the +Duke is away from home, so that there is nobody to check my erratic +impulses.' + +'When does he return?' + +'The day after to-morrow, or the day after that.' + +'Then meet me again to-morrow night.' + +'No, Fred, I cannot.' + +'If you cannot to-morrow night, you can the night after; one of the two +before he comes please bestow on me. Now, your hand upon it! To-morrow +or next night you will see me to bid me farewell!' He seized the +Duchess's hand. + +'No, but Fred--let go my hand! What do you mean by holding me so? If it +be love to forget all respect to a woman's present position in thinking +of her past, then yours may be so, Frederick. It is not kind and gentle +of you to induce me to come to this place for pity of you, and then to +hold me tight here.' + +'But see me once more! I have come two thousand miles to ask it.' + +'O, I must not! There will be slanders--Heaven knows what! I cannot +meet you. For the sake of old times don't ask it.' + +'Then own two things to me; that you did love me once, and that your +husband is unkind to you often enough now to make you think of the time +when you cared for me.' + +'Yes--I own them both,' she answered faintly. 'But owning such as that +tells against me; and I swear the inference is not true.' + +'Don't say that; for you have come--let me think the reason of your +coming what I like to think it. It can do you no harm. Come once more!' + +He still held her hand and waist. 'Very well, then,' she said. 'Thus +far you shall persuade me. I will meet you to-morrow night or the night +after. Now, let me go.' + +He released her, and they parted. The Duchess ran rapidly down the hill +towards the outlying mansion of Shakeforest Towers, and when he had +watched her out of sight, he turned and strode off in the opposite +direction. All then was silent and empty as before. + +Yet it was only for a moment. When they had quite departed, another +shape appeared upon the scene. He came from behind the trilithon. He +was a man of stouter build than the first, and wore the boots and spurs +of a horseman. Two things were at once obvious from this phenomenon: +that he had watched the interview between the Captain and the Duchess; +and that, though he probably had seen every movement of the couple, +including the embrace, he had been too remote to hear the reluctant words +of the lady's conversation--or, indeed, any words at all--so that the +meeting must have exhibited itself to his eye as the assignation of a +pair of well-agreed lovers. But it was necessary that several years +should elapse before the shepherd-boy was old enough to reason out this. + +The third individual stood still for a moment, as if deep in meditation. +He crossed over to where the lady and gentleman had stood, and looked at +the ground; then he too turned and went away in a third direction, as +widely divergent as possible from those taken by the two interlocutors. +His course was towards the highway; and a few minutes afterwards the trot +of a horse might have been heard upon its frosty surface, lessening till +it died away upon the ear. + +The boy remained in the hut, confronting the trilithon as if he expected +yet more actors on the scene, but nobody else appeared. How long he +stood with his little face against the loophole he hardly knew; but he +was rudely awakened from his reverie by a punch in his back, and in the +feel of it he familiarly recognized the stem of the old shepherd's crook. + +'Blame thy young eyes and limbs, Bill Mills--now you have let the fire +out, and you know I want it kept in! I thought something would go wrong +with 'ee up here, and I couldn't bide in bed no more than thistledown on +the wind, that I could not! Well, what's happened, fie upon 'ee?' + +'Nothing.' + +'Ewes all as I left 'em?' + +'Yes.' + +'Any lambs want bringing in?' + +'No.' + +The shepherd relit the fire, and went out among the sheep with a lantern, +for the moon was getting low. Soon he came in again. + +'Blame it all--thou'st say that nothing have happened; when one ewe have +twinned and is like to go off, and another is dying for want of half an +eye of looking to! I told 'ee, Bill Mills, if anything went wrong to +come down and call me; and this is how you have done it.' + +'You said I could go to sleep for a hollerday, and I did.' + +'Don't you speak to your betters like that, young man, or you'll come to +the gallows-tree! You didn't sleep all the time, or you wouldn't have +been peeping out of that there hole! Now you can go home, and be up here +again by breakfast-time. I be an old man, and there's old men that +deserve well of the world; but no I--must rest how I can!' + +The elder shepherd then lay down inside the hut, and the boy went down +the hill to the hamlet where he dwelt. + + + +SECOND NIGHT + + +When the next night drew on the actions of the boy were almost enough to +show that he was thinking of the meeting he had witnessed, and of the +promise wrung from the lady that she would come there again. As far as +the sheep-tending arrangements were concerned, to-night was but a +repetition of the foregoing one. Between ten and eleven o'clock the old +shepherd withdrew as usual for what sleep at home he might chance to get +without interruption, making up the other necessary hours of rest at some +time during the day; the boy was left alone. + +The frost was the same as on the night before, except perhaps that it was +a little more severe. The moon shone as usual, except that it was three- +quarters of an hour later in its course; and the boy's condition was much +the same, except that he felt no sleepiness whatever. He felt, too, +rather afraid; but upon the whole he preferred witnessing an assignation +of strangers to running the risk of being discovered absent by the old +shepherd. + +It was before the distant clock of Shakeforest Towers had struck eleven +that he observed the opening of the second act of this midnight drama. It +consisted in the appearance of neither lover nor Duchess, but of the +third figure--the stout man, booted and spurred--who came up from the +easterly direction in which he had retreated the night before. He walked +once round the trilithon, and next advanced towards the clump concealing +the hut, the moonlight shining full upon his face and revealing him to be +the Duke. Fear seized upon the shepherd-boy: the Duke was Jove himself +to the rural population, whom to offend was starvation, homelessness, and +death, and whom to look at was to be mentally scathed and dumbfoundered. +He closed the stove, so that not a spark of light appeared, and hastily +buried himself in the straw that lay in a corner. + +The Duke came close to the clump of furze and stood by the spot where his +wife and the Captain had held their dialogue; he examined the furze as if +searching for a hiding-place, and in doing so discovered the hut. The +latter he walked round and then looked inside; finding it to all seeming +empty, he entered, closing the door behind him and taking his place at +the little circular window against which the boy's face had been pressed +just before. + +The Duke had not adopted his measures too rapidly, if his object were +concealment. Almost as soon as he had stationed himself there eleven +o'clock struck, and the slender young man who had previously graced the +scene promptly reappeared from the north quarter of the down. The spot +of assignation having, by the accident of his running forward on the +foregoing night, removed itself from the Devil's Door to the clump of +furze, he instinctively came thither, and waited for the Duchess where he +had met her before. + +But a fearful surprise was in store for him to-night, as well as for the +trembling juvenile. At his appearance the Duke breathed more and more +quickly, his breathings being distinctly audible to the crouching boy. +The young man had hardly paused when the alert nobleman softly opened the +door of the hut, and, stepping round the furze, came full upon Captain +Fred. + +'You have dishonoured her, and you shall die the death you deserve!' came +to the shepherd's ears, in a harsh, hollow whisper through the boarding +of the hut. + +The apathetic and taciturn boy was excited enough to run the risk of +rising and looking from the window, but he could see nothing for the +intervening furze boughs, both the men having gone round to the side. +What took place in the few following moments he never exactly knew. He +discerned portion of a shadow in quick muscular movement; then there was +the fall of something on the grass; then there was stillness. + +Two or three minutes later the Duke became visible round the corner of +the hut, dragging by the collar the now inert body of the second man. The +Duke dragged him across the open space towards the trilithon. Behind +this ruin was a hollow, irregular spot, overgrown with furze and stunted +thorns, and riddled by the old holes of badgers, its former inhabitants, +who had now died out or departed. The Duke vanished into this depression +with his burden, reappearing after the lapse of a few seconds. When he +came forth he dragged nothing behind him. + +He returned to the side of the hut, cleansed something on the grass, and +again put himself on the watch, though not as before, inside the hut, but +without, on the shady side. 'Now for the second!' he said. + +It was plain, even to the unsophisticated boy, that he now awaited the +other person of the appointment--his wife, the Duchess--for what purpose +it was terrible to think. He seemed to be a man of such determined +temper that he would scarcely hesitate in carrying out a course of +revenge to the bitter end. Moreover--though it was what the shepherd did +not perceive--this was all the more probable, in that the moody Duke was +labouring under the exaggerated impression which the sight of the meeting +in dumb show had conveyed. + +The jealous watcher waited long, but he waited in vain. From within the +hut the boy could hear his occasional exclamations of surprise, as if he +were almost disappointed at the failure of his assumption that his guilty +Duchess would surely keep the tryst. Sometimes he stepped from the shade +of the furze into the moonlight, and held up his watch to learn the time. + +About half-past eleven he seemed to give up expecting her. He then went +a second time to the hollow behind the trilithon, remaining there nearly +a quarter of an hour. From this place he proceeded quickly over a +shoulder of the declivity, a little to the left, presently returning on +horseback, which proved that his horse had been tethered in some secret +place down there. Crossing anew the down between the hut and the +trilithon, and scanning the precincts as if finally to assure himself +that she had not come, he rode slowly downwards in the direction of +Shakeforest Towers. + +The juvenile shepherd thought of what lay in the hollow yonder; and no +fear of the crook-stem of his superior officer was potent enough to +detain him longer on that hill alone. Any live company, even the most +terrible, was better than the company of the dead; so, running with the +speed of a hare in the direction pursued by the horseman, he overtook the +revengeful Duke at the second descent (where the great western road +crossed before you came to the old park entrance on that side--now closed +up and the lodge cleared away, though at the time it was wondered why, +being considered the most convenient gate of all). + +Once within the sound of the horse's footsteps, Bill Mills felt +comparatively comfortable; for, though in awe of the Duke because of his +position, he had no moral repugnance to his companionship on account of +the grisly deed he had committed, considering that powerful nobleman to +have a right to do what he chose on his own lands. The Duke rode +steadily on beneath his ancestral trees, the hoofs of his horse sending +up a smart sound now that he had reached the hard road of the drive, and +soon drew near the front door of his house, surmounted by parapets with +square-cut battlements that cast a notched shade upon the gravelled +terrace. These outlines were quite familiar to little Bill Mills, though +nothing within their boundary had ever been seen by him. + +When the rider approached the mansion a small turret door was quickly +opened and a woman came out. As soon as she saw the horseman's outlines +she ran forward into the moonlight to meet him. + +'Ah dear--and are you come?' she said. 'I heard Hero's tread just when +you rode over the hill, and I knew it in a moment. I would have come +further if I had been aware--' + +'Glad to see me, eh?' + +'How can you ask that?' + +'Well; it is a lovely night for meetings.' + +'Yes, it is a lovely night.' + +The Duke dismounted and stood by her side. 'Why should you have been +listening at this time of night, and yet not expecting me?' he asked. + +'Why, indeed! There is a strange story attached to that, which I must +tell you at once. But why did you come a night sooner than you said you +would come? I am rather sorry--I really am!' (shaking her head +playfully) 'for as a surprise to you I had ordered a bonfire to be built, +which was to be lighted on your arrival to-morrow; and now it is wasted. +You can see the outline of it just out there.' + +The Duke looked across to a spot of rising glade, and saw the faggots in +a heap. He then bent his eyes with a bland and puzzled air on the +ground, 'What is this strange story you have to tell me that kept you +awake?' he murmured. + +'It is this--and it is really rather serious. My cousin Fred +Ogbourne--Captain Ogbourne as he is now--was in his boyhood a great +admirer of mine, as I think I have told you, though I was six years his +senior. In strict truth, he was absurdly fond of me.' + +'You have never told me of that before.' + +'Then it was your sister I told--yes, it was. Well, you know I have not +seen him for many years, and naturally I had quite forgotten his +admiration of me in old times. But guess my surprise when the day before +yesterday, I received a mysterious note bearing no address, and found on +opening it that it came from him. The contents frightened me out of my +wits. He had returned from Canada to his father's house, and conjured me +by all he could think of to meet him at once. But I think I can repeat +the exact words, though I will show it to you when we get indoors. + + "MY DEAR COUSIN HARRIET," the note said, "After this long absence you + will be surprised at my sudden reappearance, and more by what I am + going to ask. But if my life and future are of any concern to you at + all, I beg that you will grant my request. What I require of you, is, + dear Harriet, that you meet me about eleven to-night by the Druid + stones on Marlbury Downs, about a mile or more from your house. I + cannot say more, except to entreat you to come. I will explain all + when you are there. The one thing is, I want to see you. Come alone. + Believe me, I would not ask this if my happiness did not hang upon + it--God knows how entirely! I am too agitated to say more--Yours. + FRED." + +'That was all of it. Now, of course I ought have gone, as it turned out, +but that I did not think of then. I remembered his impetuous temper, and +feared that something grievous was impending over his head, while he had +not a friend in the world to help him, or any one except myself to whom +he would care to make his trouble known. So I wrapped myself up and went +to Marlbury Downs at the time he had named. Don't you think I was +courageous?' + +'Very.' + +'When I got there--but shall we not walk on; it is getting cold?' The +Duke, however, did not move. 'When I got there he came, of course, as a +full grown man and officer, and not as the lad that I had known him. When +I saw him I was sorry I had come. I can hardly tell you how he behaved. +What he wanted I don't know even now; it seemed to be no more than the +mere meeting with me. He held me by the hand and waist--O so tight--and +would not let me go till I had promised to meet him again. His manner +was so strange and passionate that I was afraid of him in such a lonely +place, and I promised to come. Then I escaped--then I ran home--and +that's all. When the time drew on this evening for the +appointment--which, of course, I never intended to keep, I felt uneasy, +lest when he found I meant to disappoint him he would come on to the +house; and that's why I could not sleep. But you are so silent!' + +'I have had a long journey.' + +'Then let us get into the house. Why did you come alone and unattended +like this?' + +'It was my humour.' + +After a moment's silence, during which they moved on, she said, 'I have +thought of something which I hardly like to suggest to you. He said that +if I failed to come to-night he would wait again to-morrow night. Now, +shall we to-morrow night go to the hill together--just to see if he is +there; and if he is, read him a lesson on his foolishness in nourishing +this old passion, and sending for me so oddly, instead of coming to the +house?' + +'Why should we see if he's there?' said her husband moodily. + +'Because I think we ought to do something in it. Poor Fred! He would +listen to you if you reasoned with him, and set our positions in their +true light before him. It would be no more than Christian kindness to a +man who unquestionably is very miserable from some cause or other. His +head seems quite turned.' + +By this time they had reached the door, rung the bell, and waited. All +the house seemed to be asleep; but soon a man came to them, the horse was +taken away, and the Duke and Duchess went in. + + + +THIRD NIGHT + + +There was no help for it. Bill Mills was obliged to stay on duty, in the +old shepherd's absence, this evening as before, or give up his post and +living. He thought as bravely as he could of what lay behind the Devil's +Door, but with no great success, and was therefore in a measure relieved, +even if awe-stricken, when he saw the forms of the Duke and Duchess +strolling across the frosted greensward. The Duchess was a few yards in +front of her husband and tripped on lightly. + +'I tell you he has not thought it worth while to come again!' the Duke +insisted, as he stood still, reluctant to walk further. + +'He is more likely to come and wait all night; and it would be harsh +treatment to let him do it a second time.' + +'He is not here; so turn and come home.' + +'He seems not to be here, certainly; I wonder if anything has happened to +him. If it has, I shall never forgive myself!' + +The Duke, uneasily, 'O, no. He has some other engagement.' + +'That is very unlikely.' + +'Or perhaps he has found the distance too far.' + +'Nor is that probable.' + +'Then he may have thought better of it.' + +'Yes, he may have thought better of it; if, indeed, he is not here all +the time--somewhere in the hollow behind the Devil's Door. Let us go and +see; it will serve him right to surprise him.' + +'O, he's not there.' + +'He may be lying very quiet because of you,' she said archly. + +'O, no--not because of me!' + +'Come, then. I declare, dearest, you lag like an unwilling schoolboy to- +night, and there's no responsiveness in you! You are jealous of that +poor lad, and it is quite absurd of you.' + +'I'll come! I'll come! Say no more, Harriet!' And they crossed over +the green. + +Wondering what they would do, the young shepherd left the hut, and +doubled behind the belt of furze, intending to stand near the trilithon +unperceived. But, in crossing the few yards of open ground he was for a +moment exposed to view. + +'Ah, I see him at last!' said the Duchess. + +'See him!' said the Duke. 'Where?' + +'By the Devil's Door; don't you notice a figure there? Ah, my poor lover- +cousin, won't you catch it now?' And she laughed half-pityingly. 'But +what's the matter?' she asked, turning to her husband. + +'It is not he!' said the Duke hoarsely. 'It can't be he!' + +'No, it is not he. It is too small for him. It is a boy.' + +'Ah, I thought so! Boy, come here.' + +The youthful shepherd advanced with apprehension. + +'What are you doing here?' + +'Keeping sheep, your Grace.' + +'Ah, you know me! Do you keep sheep here every night?' + +'Off and on, my Lord Duke.' + +'And what have you seen here to-night or last night?' inquired the +Duchess. 'Any person waiting or walking about?' + +The boy was silent. + +'He has seen nothing,' interrupted her husband, his eyes so forbiddingly +fixed on the boy that they seemed to shine like points of fire. 'Come, +let us go. The air is too keen to stand in long.' + +When they were gone the boy retreated to the hut and sheep, less fearful +now than at first--familiarity with the situation having gradually +overpowered his thoughts of the buried man. But he was not to be left +alone long. When an interval had elapsed of about sufficient length for +walking to and from Shakeforest Towers, there appeared from that +direction the heavy form of the Duke. He now came alone. + +The nobleman, on his part, seemed to have eyes no less sharp than the +boy's, for he instantly recognized the latter among the ewes, and came +straight towards him. + +'Are you the shepherd lad I spoke to a short time ago?' + +'I be, my Lord Duke.' + +'Now listen to me. Her Grace asked you what you had seen this last night +or two up here, and you made no reply. I now ask the same thing, and you +need not be afraid to answer. Have you seen anything strange these +nights you have been watching here?' + +'My Lord Duke, I be a poor heedless boy, and what I see I don't bear in +mind.' + +'I ask you again,' said the Duke, coming nearer, 'have you seen anything +strange these nights you have been watching here?' + +'O, my Lord Duke! I be but the under-shepherd boy, and my father he was +but your humble Grace's hedger, and my mother only the cinder-woman in +the back-yard! I fall asleep when left alone, and I see nothing at all!' + +The Duke grasped the boy by the shoulder, and, directly impending over +him, stared down into his face, 'Did you see anything strange done here +last night, I say?' + +'O, my Lord Duke, have mercy, and don't stab me!' cried the shepherd, +falling on his knees. 'I have never seen you walking here, or riding +here, or lying-in-wait for a man, or dragging a heavy load!' + +'H'm!' said his interrogator, grimly, relaxing his hold. 'It is well to +know that you have never seen those things. Now, which would you +rather--see me do those things now, or keep a secret all your life?' + +'Keep a secret, my Lord Duke!' + +'Sure you are able?' + +'O, your Grace, try me!' + +'Very well. And now, how do you like sheep-keeping?' + +'Not at all. 'Tis lonely work for them that think of spirits, and I'm +badly used.' + +'I believe you. You are too young for it. I must do something to make +you more comfortable. You shall change this smock-frock for a real cloth +jacket, and your thick boots for polished shoes. And you shall be taught +what you have never yet heard of; and be put to school, and have bats and +balls for the holidays, and be made a man of. But you must never say you +have been a shepherd boy, and watched on the hills at night, for shepherd +boys are not liked in good company. + +'Trust me, my Lord Duke.' + +'The very moment you forget yourself, and speak of your shepherd +days--this year, next year, in school, out of school, or riding in your +carriage twenty years hence--at that moment my help will be withdrawn, +and smash down you come to shepherding forthwith. You have parents, I +think you say?' + +'A widowed mother only, my Lord Duke.' + +'I'll provide for her, and make a comfortable woman of her, until you +speak of--what?' + +'Of my shepherd days, and what I saw here.' + +'Good. If you do speak of it?' + +'Smash down she comes to widowing forthwith!' + +'That's well--very well. But it's not enough. Come here.' He took the +boy across to the trilithon, and made him kneel down. + +'Now, this was once a holy place,' resumed the Duke. 'An altar stood +here, erected to a venerable family of gods, who were known and talked of +long before the God we know now. So that an oath sworn here is doubly an +oath. Say this after me: "May all the host above--angels and archangels, +and principalities and powers--punish me; may I be tormented wherever I +am--in the house or in the garden, in the fields or in the roads, in +church or in chapel, at home or abroad, on land or at sea; may I be +afflicted in eating and in drinking, in growing up and in growing old, in +living and dying, inwardly and outwardly, and for always, if I ever speak +of my life as a shepherd boy, or of what I have seen done on this +Marlbury Down. So be it, and so let it be. Amen and amen." Now kiss +the stone.' + +The trembling boy repeated the words, and kissed the stone, as desired. + +The Duke led him off by the hand. That night the junior shepherd slept +in Shakeforest Towers, and the next day he was sent away for tuition to a +remote village. Thence he went to a preparatory establishment, and in +due course to a public school. + + + +FOURTH NIGHT + + +On a winter evening many years subsequent to the above-mentioned +occurrences, the ci-devant shepherd sat in a well-furnished office in the +north wing of Shakeforest Towers in the guise of an ordinary educated man +of business. He appeared at this time as a person of thirty-eight or +forty, though actually he was several years younger. A worn and restless +glance of the eye now and then, when he lifted his head to search for +some letter or paper which had been mislaid, seemed to denote that his +was not a mind so thoroughly at ease as his surroundings might have led +an observer to expect. + +His pallor, too, was remarkable for a countryman. He was professedly +engaged in writing, but he shaped not word. He had sat there only a few +minutes, when, laying down his pen and pushing back his chair, he rested +a hand uneasily on each of the chair-arms and looked on the floor. + +Soon he arose and left the room. His course was along a passage which +ended in a central octagonal hall; crossing this he knocked at a door. A +faint, though deep, voice told him to come in. The room he entered was +the library, and it was tenanted by a single person only--his patron the +Duke. + +During this long interval of years the Duke had lost all his heaviness of +build. He was, indeed, almost a skeleton; his white hair was thin, and +his hands were nearly transparent. 'Oh--Mills?' he murmured. 'Sit down. +What is it?' + +'Nothing new, your Grace. Nobody to speak of has written, and nobody has +called.' + +'Ah--what then? You look concerned.' + +'Old times have come to life, owing to something waking them.' + +'Old times be cursed--which old times are they?' + +'That Christmas week twenty-two years ago, when the late Duchess's cousin +Frederick implored her to meet him on Marlbury Downs. I saw the +meeting--it was just such a night as this--and I, as you know, saw more. +She met him once, but not the second time.' + +'Mills, shall I recall some words to you--the words of an oath taken on +that hill by a shepherd-boy?' + +'It is unnecessary. He has strenuously kept that oath and promise. Since +that night no sound of his shepherd life has crossed his lips--even to +yourself. But do you wish to hear more, or do you not, your Grace?' + +'I wish to hear no more,' said the Duke sullenly. + +'Very well; let it be so. But a time seems coming--may be quite near at +hand--when, in spite of my lips, that episode will allow itself to go +undivulged no longer.' + +'I wish to hear no more!' repeated the Duke. + +'You need be under no fear of treachery from me,' said the steward, +somewhat bitterly. 'I am a man to whom you have been kind--no patron +could have been kinder. You have clothed and educated me; have installed +me here; and I am not unmindful. But what of it--has your Grace gained +much by my stanchness? I think not. There was great excitement about +Captain Ogbourne's disappearance, but I spoke not a word. And his body +has never been found. For twenty-two years I have wondered what you did +with him. Now I know. A circumstance that occurred this afternoon +recalled the time to me most forcibly. To make it certain to myself that +all was not a dream, I went up there with a spade; I searched, and saw +enough to know that something decays there in a closed badger's hole.' + +'Mills, do you think the Duchess guessed?' + +'She never did, I am sure, to the day of her death.' + +'Did you leave all as you found it on the hill?' + +'I did.' + +'What made you think of going up there this particular afternoon?' + +'What your Grace says you don't wish to be told.' + +The Duke was silent; and the stillness of the evening was so marked that +there reached their ears from the outer air the sound of a tolling bell. + +'What is that bell tolling for?' asked the nobleman. + +'For what I came to tell you of, your Grace.' + +'You torment me it is your way!' said the Duke querulously. 'Who's dead +in the village?' + +'The oldest man--the old shepherd.' + +'Dead at last--how old is he?' + +'Ninety-four.' + +'And I am only seventy. I have four-and-twenty years to the good!' + +'I served under that old man when I kept sheep on Marlbury Downs. And he +was on the hill that second night, when I first exchanged words with your +Grace. He was on the hill all the time; but I did not know he was +there--nor did you.' + +'Ah!' said the Duke, starting up. 'Go on--I yield the point--you may +tell!' + +'I heard this afternoon that he was at the point of death. It was that +which set me thinking of that past time--and induced me to search on the +hill for what I have told you. Coming back I heard that he wished to see +the Vicar to confess to him a secret he had kept for more than twenty +years--"out of respect to my Lord the Duke"--something that he had seen +committed on Marlbury Downs when returning to the flock on a December +night twenty-two years ago. I have thought it over. He had left me in +charge that evening; but he was in the habit of coming back suddenly, +lest I should have fallen asleep. That night I saw nothing of him, +though he had promised to return. He must have returned, and--found +reason to keep in hiding. It is all plain. The next thing is that the +Vicar went to him two hours ago. Further than that I have not heard.' + +'It is quite enough. I will see the Vicar at daybreak to-morrow.' + +'What to do?' + +'Stop his tongue for four-and-twenty years--till I am dead at +ninety-four, like the shepherd.' + +'Your Grace--while you impose silence on me, I will not speak, even +though nay neck should pay the penalty. I promised to be yours, and I am +yours. But is this persistence of any avail?' + +'I'll stop his tongue, I say!' cried the Duke with some of his old rugged +force. 'Now, you go home to bed, Mills, and leave me to manage him.' + +The interview ended, and the steward withdrew. The night, as he had +said, was just such an one as the night of twenty-two years before, and +the events of the evening destroyed in him all regard for the season as +one of cheerfulness and goodwill. He went off to his own house on the +further verge of the park, where he led a lonely life, scarcely calling +any man friend. At eleven he prepared to retire to bed--but did not +retire. He sat down and reflected. Twelve o'clock struck; he looked out +at the colourless moon, and, prompted by he knew not what, put on his hat +and emerged into the air. Here William Mills strolled on and on, till he +reached the top of Marlbury Downs, a spot he had not visited at this hour +of the night during the whole score-and-odd years. + +He placed himself, as nearly as he could guess, on the spot where the +shepherd's hut had stood. No lambing was in progress there now, and the +old shepherd who had used him so roughly had ceased from his labours that +very day. But the trilithon stood up white as ever; and, crossing the +intervening sward, the steward fancifully placed his mouth against the +stone. Restless and self-reproachful as he was, he could not resist a +smile as he thought of the terrifying oath of compact, sealed by a kiss +upon the stones of a Pagan temple. But he had kept his word, rather as a +promise than as a formal vow, with much worldly advantage to himself, +though not much happiness; till increase of years had bred reactionary +feelings which led him to receive the news of to-night with emotions akin +to relief. + +While leaning against the Devil's Door and thinking on these things, he +became conscious that he was not the only inhabitant of the down. A +figure in white was moving across his front with long, noiseless strides. +Mills stood motionless, and when the form drew quite near he perceived it +to be that of the Duke himself in his nightshirt--apparently walking in +his sleep. Not to alarm the old man, Mills clung close to the shadow of +the stone. The Duke went straight on into the hollow. There he knelt +down, and began scratching the earth with his hands like a badger. After +a few minutes he arose, sighed heavily, and retraced his steps as he had +come. + +Fearing that he might harm himself, yet unwilling to arouse him, the +steward followed noiselessly. The Duke kept on his path unerringly, +entered the park, and made for the house, where he let himself in by a +window that stood open--the one probably by which he had come out. Mills +softly closed the window behind his patron, and then retired homeward to +await the revelations of the morning, deeming it unnecessary to alarm the +house. + +However, he felt uneasy during the remainder of the night, no less on +account of the Duke's personal condition than because of that which was +imminent next day. Early in the morning he called at Shakeforest Towers. +The blinds were down, and there was something singular upon the porter's +face when he opened the door. The steward inquired for the Duke. + +The man's voice was subdued as he replied: 'Sir, I am sorry to say that +his Grace is dead! He left his room some time in the night, and wandered +about nobody knows where. On returning to the upper floor he lost his +balance and fell downstairs.' + +The steward told the tale of the Down before the Vicar had spoken. Mills +had always intended to do so after the death of the Duke. The +consequences to himself he underwent cheerfully; but his life was not +prolonged. He died, a farmer at the Cape, when still somewhat under +forty-nine years of age. + +The splendid Marlbury breeding flock is as renowned as ever, and, to the +eye, seems the same in every particular that it was in earlier times; but +the animals which composed it on the occasion of the events gathered from +the Justice are divided by many ovine generations from its members now. +Lambing Corner has long since ceased to be used for lambing purposes, +though the name still lingers on as the appellation of the spot. This +abandonment of site may be partly owing to the removal of the high furze +bushes which lent such convenient shelter at that date. Partly, too, it +may be due to another circumstance. For it is said by present shepherds +in that district that during the nights of Christmas week flitting shapes +are seen in the open space around the trilithon, together with the gleam +of a weapon, and the shadow of a man dragging a burden into the hollow. +But of these things there is no certain testimony. + +Christmas 1881. + + + + +A COMMITTEE-MAN OF 'THE TERROR' + + +We had been talking of the Georgian glories of our old-fashioned watering- +place, which now, with its substantial russet-red and dun brick buildings +in the style of the year eighteen hundred, looks like one side of a Soho +or Bloomsbury Street transported to the shore, and draws a smile from the +modern tourist who has no eye for solidity of build. The writer, quite a +youth, was present merely as a listener. The conversation proceeded from +general subjects to particular, until old Mrs. H--, whose memory was as +perfect at eighty as it had ever been in her life, interested us all by +the obvious fidelity with which she repeated a story many times related +to her by her mother when our aged friend was a girl--a domestic drama +much affecting the life of an acquaintance of her said parent, one +Mademoiselle V--, a teacher of French. The incidents occurred in the +town during the heyday of its fortunes, at the time of our brief peace +with France in 1802-3. + +'I wrote it down in the shape of a story some years ago, just after my +mother's death,' said Mrs. H--. 'It is locked up in my desk there now.' + +'Read it!' said we. + +'No,' said she; 'the light is bad, and I can remember it well enough, +word for word, flourishes and all.' We could not be choosers in the +circumstances, and she began. + +* * * * * + +'There are two in it, of course, the man and the woman, and it was on an +evening in September that she first got to know him. There had not been +such a grand gathering on the Esplanade all the season. His Majesty King +George the Third was present, with all the princesses and royal dukes, +while upwards of three hundred of the general nobility and other persons +of distinction were also in the town at the time. Carriages and other +conveyances were arriving every minute from London and elsewhere; and +when among the rest a shabby stage-coach came in by a by-route along the +coast from Havenpool, and drew up at a second-rate tavern, it attracted +comparatively little notice. + +'From this dusty vehicle a man alighted, left his small quantity of +luggage temporarily at the office, and walked along the street as if to +look for lodgings. + +'He was about forty-five--possibly fifty--and wore a long coat of faded +superfine cloth, with a heavy collar, and a hunched-up neckcloth. He +seemed to desire obscurity. + +'But the display appeared presently to strike him, and he asked of a +rustic he met in the street what was going on; his accent being that of +one to whom English pronunciation was difficult. + +'The countryman looked at him with a slight surprise, and said, "King +Jarge is here and his royal Cwort." + +'The stranger inquired if they were going to stay long. + +'"Don't know, Sir. Same as they always do, I suppose." + +'"How long is that?" + +'"Till some time in October. They've come here every summer since eighty- +nine." + +'The stranger moved onward down St. Thomas Street, and approached the +bridge over the harbour backwater, that then, as now, connected the old +town with the more modern portion. The spot was swept with the rays of a +low sun, which lit up the harbour lengthwise, and shone under the brim of +the man's hat and into his eyes as he looked westward. Against the +radiance figures were crossing in the opposite direction to his own; +among them this lady of my mother's later acquaintance, Mademoiselle V--. +She was the daughter of a good old French family, and at that date a pale +woman, twenty-eight or thirty years of age, tall and elegant in figure, +but plainly dressed and wearing that evening (she said) a small muslin +shawl crossed over the bosom in the fashion of the time, and tied behind. + +'At sight of his face, which, as she used to tell us, was unusually +distinct in the peering sunlight, she could not help giving a little +shriek of horror, for a terrible reason connected with her history, and +after walking a few steps further, she sank down against the parapet of +the bridge in a fainting fit. + +'In his preoccupation the foreign gentleman had hardly noticed her, but +her strange collapse immediately attracted his attention. He quickly +crossed the carriageway, picked her up, and carried her into the first +shop adjoining the bridge, explaining that she was a lady who had been +taken ill outside. + +'She soon revived; but, clearly much puzzled, her helper perceived that +she still had a dread of him which was sufficient to hinder her complete +recovery of self-command. She spoke in a quick and nervous way to the +shopkeeper, asking him to call a coach. + +'This the shopkeeper did, Mademoiselle V--- and the stranger remaining in +constrained silence while he was gone. The coach came up, and giving the +man the address, she entered it and drove away. + +'"Who is that lady?" said the newly arrived gentleman. + +'"She's of your nation, as I should make bold to suppose," said the +shopkeeper. And he told the other that she was Mademoiselle V--, +governess at General Newbold's, in the same town. + +'"You have many foreigners here?" the stranger inquired. + +'"Yes, though mostly Hanoverians. But since the peace they are learning +French a good deal in genteel society, and French instructors are rather +in demand." + +'"Yes, I teach it," said the visitor. "I am looking for a tutorship in +an academy." + +'The information given by the burgess to the Frenchman seemed to explain +to the latter nothing of his countrywoman's conduct--which, indeed, was +the case--and he left the shop, taking his course again over the bridge +and along the south quay to the Old Rooms Inn, where he engaged a +bedchamber. + +'Thoughts of the woman who had betrayed such agitation at sight of him +lingered naturally enough with the newcomer. Though, as I stated, not +much less than thirty years of age, Mademoiselle V--, one of his own +nation, and of highly refined and delicate appearance, had kindled a +singular interest in the middle-aged gentleman's breast, and her large +dark eyes, as they had opened and shrunk from him, exhibited a pathetic +beauty to which hardly any man could have been insensible. + +'The next day, having written some letters, he went out and made known at +the office of the town "Guide" and of the newspaper, that a teacher of +French and calligraphy had arrived, leaving a card at the bookseller's to +the same effect. He then walked on aimlessly, but at length inquired the +way to General Newbold's. At the door, without giving his name, he asked +to see Mademoiselle V--, and was shown into a little back parlour, where +she came to him with a gaze of surprise. + +'"My God! Why do you intrude here, Monsieur?" she gasped in French as +soon as she saw his face. + +'"You were taken ill yesterday. I helped you. You might have been run +over if I had not picked you up. It was an act of simple humanity +certainly; but I thought I might come to ask if you had recovered?" + +'She had turned aside, and had scarcely heard a word of his speech. "I +hate you, infamous man!" she said. "I cannot bear your helping me. Go +away!" + +'"But you are a stranger to me." + +'"I know you too well!" + +'"You have the advantage then, Mademoiselle. I am a newcomer here. I +never have seen you before to my knowledge; and I certainly do not, could +not, hate you." + +'"Are you not Monsieur B--?" + +'He flinched. "I am--in Paris," he said. "But here I am Monsieur G--." + +'"That is trivial. You are the man I say you are." + +'"How did you know my real name, Mademoiselle?" + +'"I saw you in years gone by, when you did not see me. You were formerly +Member of the Committee of Public Safety, under the Convention." + +"I was." + +'"You guillotined my father, my brother, my uncle--all my family, nearly, +and broke my mother's heart. They had done nothing but keep silence. +Their sentiments were only guessed. Their headless corpses were thrown +indiscriminately into the ditch of the Mousseaux Cemetery, and destroyed +with lime." + +'He nodded. + +'"You left me without a friend, and here I am now, alone in a foreign +land." + +'"I am sorry for you," said be. "Sorry for the consequence, not for the +intent. What I did was a matter of conscience, and, from a point of view +indiscernible by you, I did right. I profited not a farthing. But I +shall not argue this. You have the satisfaction of seeing me here an +exile also, in poverty, betrayed by comrades, as friendless as yourself." + +'"It is no satisfaction to me, Monsieur." + +'"Well, things done cannot be altered. Now the question: are you quite +recovered?" + +'"Not from dislike and dread of you--otherwise, yes." + +'"Good morning, Mademoiselle." + +'"Good morning." + +'They did not meet again till one evening at the theatre (which my +mother's friend was with great difficulty induced to frequent, to perfect +herself in English pronunciation, the idea she entertained at that time +being to become a teacher of English in her own country later on). She +found him sitting next to her, and it made her pale and restless. + +'"You are still afraid of me?" + +'"I am. O cannot you understand!" + +'He signified the affirmative. + +'"I follow the play with difficulty," he said, presently. + +'"So do I--now," said she. + +'He regarded her long, and she was conscious of his look; and while she +kept her eyes on the stage they filled with tears. Still she would not +move, and the tears ran visibly down her cheek, though the play was a +merry one, being no other than Mr. Sheridan's comedy of "The Rivals," +with Mr. S. Kemble as Captain Absolute. He saw her distress, and that +her mind was elsewhere; and abruptly rising from his seat at +candle-snuffing time he left the theatre. + +'Though he lived in the old town, and she in the new, they frequently saw +each other at a distance. One of these occasions was when she was on the +north side of the harbour, by the ferry, waiting for the boat to take her +across. He was standing by Cove Row, on the quay opposite. Instead of +entering the boat when it arrived she stepped back from the quay; but +looking to see if he remained she beheld him pointing with his finger to +the ferry-boat. + +'"Enter!" he said, in a voice loud enough to reach her. + +'Mademoiselle V--- stood still. + +'"Enter!" he said, and, as she did not move, he repeated the word a third +time. + +'She had really been going to cross, and now approached and stepped down +into the boat. Though she did not raise her eyes she knew that he was +watching her over. At the landing steps she saw from under the brim of +her hat a hand stretched down. The steps were steep and slippery. + +'"No, Monsieur," she said. "Unless, indeed, you believe in God, and +repent of your evil past!" + +'"I am sorry you were made to suffer. But I only believe in the god +called Reason, and I do not repent. I was the instrument of a national +principle. Your friends were not sacrificed for any ends of mine." + +'She thereupon withheld her hand, and clambered up unassisted. He went +on, ascending the Look-out Hill, and disappearing over the brow. Her way +was in the same direction, her errand being to bring home the two young +girls under her charge, who had gone to the cliff for an airing. When +she joined them at the top she saw his solitary figure at the further +edge, standing motionless against the sea. All the while that she +remained with her pupils he stood without turning, as if looking at the +frigates in the roadstead, but more probably in meditation, unconscious +where he was. In leaving the spot one of the children threw away half a +sponge-biscuit that she had been eating. Passing near it he stooped, +picked it up carefully, and put it in his pocket. + +'Mademoiselle V--- came homeward, asking herself, "Can he be starving?" + +'From that day he was invisible for so long a time that she thought he +had gone away altogether. But one evening a note came to her, and she +opened it trembling. + + '"I am here ill," it said, "and, as you know, alone. There are one or + two little things I want done, in case my death should occur,--and I + should prefer not to ask the people here, if it could be avoided. Have + you enough of the gift of charity to come and carry out my wishes + before it is too late?" + +'Now so it was that, since seeing him possess himself of the broken cake, +she had insensibly begun to feel something that was more than curiosity, +though perhaps less than anxiety, about this fellow-countryman of hers; +and it was not in her nervous and sensitive heart to resist his appeal. +She found his lodging (to which he had removed from the Old Rooms inn for +economy) to be a room over a shop, half-way up the steep and narrow +street of the old town, to which the fashionable visitors seldom +penetrated. With some misgiving she entered the house, and was admitted +to the chamber where he lay. + +'"You are too good, too good," he murmured. And presently, "You need not +shut the door. You will feel safer, and they will not understand what we +say." + +'"Are you in want, Monsieur? Can I give you--" + +'"No, no. I merely want you to do a trifling thing or two that I have +not strength enough to do myself. Nobody in the town but you knows who I +really am--unless you have told?" + +'"I have not told . . . I thought you might have acted from principle in +those sad days, even--" + +'"You are kind to concede that much. However, to the present. I was +able to destroy my few papers before I became so weak . . . But in the +drawer there you will find some pieces of linen clothing--only two or +three--marked with initials that may be recognized. Will you rip them +out with a penknife?" + +'She searched as bidden, found the garments, cut out the stitches of the +lettering, and replaced the linen as before. A promise to post, in the +event of his death, a letter he put in her hand, completed all that he +required of her. + +'He thanked her. "I think you seem sorry for me," he murmured. "And I +am surprised. You are sorry?" + +'She evaded the question. "Do you repent and believe?" she asked. + +'"No." + +'Contrary to her expectations and his own he recovered, though very +slowly; and her manner grew more distant thenceforward, though his +influence upon her was deeper than she knew. Weeks passed away, and the +month of May arrived. One day at this time she met him walking slowly +along the beach to the northward. + +'"You know the news?" he said. + +'"You mean of the rupture between France and England again?" + +'"Yes; and the feeling of antagonism is stronger than it was in the last +war, owing to Bonaparte's high-handed arrest of the innocent English who +were travelling in our country for pleasure. I feel that the war will be +long and bitter; and that my wish to live unknown in England will be +frustrated. See here." + +'He took from his pocket a piece of the single newspaper which circulated +in the county in those days, and she read-- + + "The magistrates acting under the Alien Act have been requested to + direct a very scrutinizing eye to the Academies in our towns and other + places, in which French tutors are employed, and to all of that + nationality who profess to be teachers in this country. Many of them + are known to be inveterate Enemies and Traitors to the nation among + whose people they have found a livelihood and a home." + +'He continued: "I have observed since the declaration of war a marked +difference in the conduct of the rougher class of people here towards me. +If a great battle were to occur--as it soon will, no doubt--feeling would +grow to a pitch that would make it impossible for me, a disguised man of +no known occupation, to stay here. With you, whose duties and +antecedents are known, it may be less difficult, but still unpleasant. +Now I propose this. You have probably seen how my deep sympathy with you +has quickened to a warm feeling; and what I say is, will you agree to +give me a title to protect you by honouring me with your hand? I am +older than you, it is true, but as husband and wife we can leave England +together, and make the whole world our country. Though I would propose +Quebec, in Canada, as the place which offers the best promise of a home." + +'"My God! You surprise me!" said she. + +'"But you accept my proposal?" + +'"No, no!" + +'"And yet I think you will, Mademoiselle, some day!" + +'"I think not." + +'"I won't distress you further now." + +'"Much thanks . . . I am glad to see you looking better, Monsieur; I mean +you are looking better." + +'"Ah, yes. I am improving. I walk in the sun every day." + +'And almost every day she saw him--sometimes nodding stiffly only, +sometimes exchanging formal civilities. "You are not gone yet," she said +on one of these occasions. + +'"No. At present I don't think of going without you." + +'"But you find it uncomfortable here?" + +'"Somewhat. So when will you have pity on me?" + +'She shook her head and went on her way. Yet she was a little moved. "He +did it on principle," she would murmur. "He had no animosity towards +them, and profited nothing!" + +'She wondered how he lived. It was evident that he could not be so poor +as she had thought; his pretended poverty might be to escape notice. She +could not tell, but she knew that she was dangerously interested in him. + +'And he still mended, till his thin, pale face became more full and firm. +As he mended she had to meet that request of his, advanced with even +stronger insistency. + +'The arrival of the King and Court for the season as usual brought +matters to a climax for these two lonely exiles and fellow +country-people. The King's awkward preference for a part of the coast in +such dangerous proximity to France made it necessary that a strict +military vigilance should be exercised to guard the royal residents. Half- +a-dozen frigates were every night posted in a line across the bay, and +two lines of sentinels, one at the water's edge and another behind the +Esplanade, occupied the whole sea-front after eight every night. The +watering-place was growing an inconvenient residence even for +Mademoiselle V--- herself, her friendship for this strange French tutor +and writing-master who never had any pupils having been observed by many +who slightly knew her. The General's wife, whose dependent she was, +repeatedly warned her against the acquaintance; while the Hanoverian and +other soldiers of the Foreign Legion, who had discovered the nationality +of her friend, were more aggressive than the English military gallants +who made it their business to notice her. + +'In this tense state of affairs her answers became more agitated. "O +Heaven, how can I marry you!" she would say. + +'"You will; surely you will!" he answered again. "I don't leave without +you. And I shall soon be interrogated before the magistrates if I stay +here; probably imprisoned. You will come?" + +'She felt her defences breaking down. Contrary to all reason and sense +of family honour she was, by some abnormal craving, inclining to a +tenderness for him that was founded on its opposite. Sometimes her warm +sentiments burnt lower than at others, and then the enormity of her +conduct showed itself in more staring hues. + +'Shortly after this he came with a resigned look on his face. "It is as +I expected," he said. "I have received a hint to go. In good sooth, I +am no Bonapartist--I am no enemy to England; but the presence of the King +made it impossible for a foreigner with no visible occupation, and who +may be a spy, to remain at large in the town. The authorities are civil, +but firm. They are no more than reasonable. Good. I must go. You must +come also." + +'She did not speak. But she nodded assent, her eyes drooping. + +'On her way back to the house on the Esplanade she said to herself, "I am +glad, I am glad! I could not do otherwise. It is rendering good for +evil!" But she knew how she mocked herself in this, and that the moral +principle had not operated one jot in her acceptance of him. In truth +she had not realized till now the full presence of the emotion which had +unconsciously grown up in her for this lonely and severe man, who, in her +tradition, was vengeance and irreligion personified. He seemed to absorb +her whole nature, and, absorbing, to control it. + +'A day or two before the one fixed for the wedding there chanced to come +to her a letter from the only acquaintance of her own sex and country she +possessed in England, one to whom she had sent intelligence of her +approaching marriage, without mentioning with whom. This friend's +misfortunes had been somewhat similar to her own, which fact had been one +cause of their intimacy; her friend's sister, a nun of the Abbey of +Montmartre, having perished on the scaffold at the hands of the same +Comite de Salut Public which had numbered Mademoiselle V--'s affianced +among its members. The writer had felt her position much again of late, +since the renewal of the war, she said; and the letter wound up with a +fresh denunciation of the authors of their mutual bereavement and +subsequent troubles. + +'Coming just then, its contents produced upon Mademoiselle V--- the +effect of a pail of water upon a somnambulist. What had she been doing +in betrothing herself to this man! Was she not making herself a +parricide after the event? At this crisis in her feelings her lover +called. He beheld her trembling, and, in reply to his question, she told +him of her scruples with impulsive candour. + +'She had not intended to do this, but his attitude of tender command +coerced her into frankness. Thereupon he exhibited an agitation never +before apparent in him. He said, "But all that is past. You are the +symbol of Charity, and we are pledged to let bygones be." + +'His words soothed her for the moment, but she was sadly silent, and he +went away. + +'That night she saw (as she firmly believed to the end of her life) a +divinely sent vision. A procession of her lost relatives--father, +brother, uncle, cousin--seemed to cross her chamber between her bed and +the window, and when she endeavoured to trace their features she +perceived them to be headless, and that she had recognized them by their +familiar clothes only. In the morning she could not shake off the +effects of this appearance on her nerves. All that day she saw nothing +of her wooer, he being occupied in making arrangements for their +departure. It grew towards evening--the marriage eve; but, in spite of +his re-assuring visit, her sense of family duty waxed stronger now that +she was left alone. Yet, she asked herself, how could she, alone and +unprotected, go at this eleventh hour and reassert to an affianced +husband that she could not and would not marry him while admitting at the +same time that she loved him? The situation dismayed her. She had +relinquished her post as governess, and was staying temporarily in a room +near the coach-office, where she expected him to call in the morning to +carry out the business of their union and departure. + +'Wisely or foolishly, Mademoiselle V--- came to a resolution: that her +only safety lay in flight. His contiguity influenced her too sensibly; +she could not reason. So packing up her few possessions and placing on +the table the small sum she owed, she went out privately, secured a last +available seat in the London coach, and, almost before she had fully +weighed her action, she was rolling out of the town in the dusk of the +September evening. + +'Having taken this startling step she began to reflect upon her reasons. +He had been one of that tragic Committee the sound of whose name was a +horror to the civilized world; yet he had been only one of several +members, and, it seemed, not the most active. He had marked down names +on principle, had felt no personal enmity against his victims, and had +enriched himself not a sou out of the office he had held. Nothing could +change the past. Meanwhile he loved her, and her heart inclined to as +much of him as she could detach from that past. Why not, as he had +suggested, bury memories, and inaugurate a new era by this union? In +other words, why not indulge her tenderness, since its nullification +could do no good. + +'Thus she held self-communion in her seat in the coach, passing through +Casterbridge, and Shottsford, and on to the White Hart at Melchester, at +which place the whole fabric of her recent intentions crumbled down. +Better be staunch having got so far; let things take their course, and +marry boldly the man who had so impressed her. How great he was; how +small was she! And she had presumed to judge him! Abandoning her place +in the coach with the precipitancy that had characterized her taking it, +she waited till the vehicle had driven off, something in the departing +shapes of the outside passengers against the starlit sky giving her a +start, as she afterwards remembered. Presently the down coach, "The +Morning Herald," entered the city, and she hastily obtained a place on +the top. + +'"I'll be firm--I'll be his--if it cost me my immortal soul!" she said. +And with troubled breathings she journeyed back over the road she had +just traced. + +'She reached our royal watering-place by the time the day broke, and her +first aim was to get back to the hired room in which her last few days +had been spent. When the landlady appeared at the door in response to +Mademoiselle V--'s nervous summons, she explained her sudden departure +and return as best she could; and no objection being offered to her re- +engagement of the room for one day longer she ascended to the chamber and +sat down panting. She was back once more, and her wild tergiversations +were a secret from him whom alone they concerned. + +'A sealed letter was on the mantelpiece. "Yes, it is directed to you, +Mademoiselle," said the woman who had followed her. "But we were +wondering what to do with it. A town messenger brought it after you had +gone last night." + +'When the landlady had left, Mademoiselle V--- opened the letter and +read-- + + "MY DEAR AND HONOURED FRIEND.--You have been throughout our + acquaintance absolutely candid concerning your misgivings. But I have + been reserved concerning mine. That is the difference between us. You + probably have not guessed that every qualm you have felt on the + subject of our marriage has been paralleled in my heart to the full. + Thus it happened that your involuntary outburst of remorse yesterday, + though mechanically deprecated by me in your presence, was a last item + in my own doubts on the wisdom of our union, giving them a force that + I could no longer withstand. I came home; and, on reflection, much as + I honour and adore you, I decide to set you free. + + "As one whose life has been devoted, and I may say sacrificed, to the + cause of Liberty, I cannot allow your judgment (probably a permanent + one) to be fettered beyond release by a feeling which may be transient + only. + + "It would be no less than excruciating to both that I should announce + this decision to you by word of mouth. I have therefore taken the + less painful course of writing. Before you receive this I shall have + left the town by the evening coach for London, on reaching which city + my movements will be revealed to none. + + "Regard me, Mademoiselle, as dead, and accept my renewed assurances of + respect, remembrance, and affection." + +'When she had recovered from her shock of surprise and grief, she +remembered that at the starting of the coach out of Melchester before +dawn, the shape of a figure among the outside passengers against the +starlit sky had caused her a momentary start, from its resemblance to +that of her friend. Knowing nothing of each other's intentions, and +screened from each other by the darkness, they had left the town by the +same conveyance. "He, the greater, persevered; I, the smaller, +returned!" she said. + +'Recovering from her stupor, Mademoiselle V--- bethought herself again of +her employer, Mrs. Newbold, whom recent events had estranged. To that +lady she went with a full heart, and explained everything. Mrs. Newbold +kept to herself her opinion of the episode, and reinstalled the deserted +bride in her old position as governess to the family. + +'A governess she remained to the end of her days. After the final peace +with France she became acquainted with my mother, to whom by degrees she +imparted these experiences of hers. As her hair grew white, and her +features pinched, Mademoiselle V--- would wonder what nook of the world +contained her lover, if he lived, and if by any chance she might see him +again. But when, some time in the 'twenties, death came to her, at no +great age, that outline against the stars of the morning remained as the +last glimpse she ever obtained of her family's foe and her once affianced +husband.' + +1895. + + + + +MASTER JOHN HORSELEIGH, KNIGHT + + +In the earliest and mustiest volume of the Havenpool marriage registers +(said the thin-faced gentleman) this entry may still be read by any one +curious enough to decipher the crabbed handwriting of the date. I took a +copy of it when I was last there; and it runs thus (he had opened his +pocket-book, and now read aloud the extract; afterwards handing round the +book to us, wherein we saw transcribed the following)-- + + Mastr John Horseleigh, Knyght, of the p'ysshe of Clyffton was maryd to + Edith the wyffe late off John Stocker, m'chawnte of Havenpool the + xiiij daje of December be p'vylegge gevyn by our sup'me hedd of the + chyrche of Ingelonde Kynge Henry the viii th 1539. + +Now, if you turn to the long and elaborate pedigree of the ancient family +of the Horseleighs of Clyfton Horseleigh, you will find no mention +whatever of this alliance, notwithstanding the privilege given by the +Sovereign and head of the Church; the said Sir John being therein +chronicled as marrying, at a date apparently earlier than the above, the +daughter and heiress of Richard Phelipson, of Montislope, in Nether +Wessex, a lady who outlived him, of which marriage there were issue two +daughters and a son, who succeeded him in his estates. How are we to +account for these, as it would seem, contemporaneous wives? A strange +local tradition only can help us, and this can be briefly told. + +One evening in the autumn of the year 1540 or 1541, a young sailor, whose +Christian name was Roger, but whose surname is not known, landed at his +native place of Havenpool, on the South Wessex coast, after a voyage in +the Newfoundland trade, then newly sprung into existence. He returned in +the ship Primrose with a cargo of 'trayne oyle brought home from the New +Founde Lande,' to quote from the town records of the date. During his +absence of two summers and a winter, which made up the term of a +Newfoundland 'spell,' many unlooked-for changes had occurred within the +quiet little seaport, some of which closely affected Roger the sailor. At +the time of his departure his only sister Edith had become the bride of +one Stocker, a respectable townsman, and part owner of the brig in which +Roger had sailed; and it was to the house of this couple, his only +relatives, that the young man directed his steps. On trying the door in +Quay Street he found it locked, and then observed that the windows were +boarded up. Inquiring of a bystander, he learnt for the first time of +the death of his brother-in-law, though that event had taken place nearly +eighteen months before. + +'And my sister Edith?' asked Roger. + +'She's married again--as they do say, and hath been so these twelve +months. I don't vouch for the truth o't, though if she isn't she ought +to be.' + +Roger's face grew dark. He was a man with a considerable reserve of +strong passion, and he asked his informant what he meant by speaking +thus. + +The man explained that shortly after the young woman's bereavement a +stranger had come to the port. He had seen her moping on the quay, had +been attracted by her youth and loneliness, and in an extraordinarily +brief wooing had completely fascinated her--had carried her off, and, as +was reported, had married her. Though he had come by water, he was +supposed to live no very great distance off by land. They were last +heard of at Oozewood, in Upper Wessex, at the house of one Wall, a timber- +merchant, where, he believed, she still had a lodging, though her +husband, if he were lawfully that much, was but an occasional visitor to +the place. + +'The stranger?' asked Roger. 'Did you see him? What manner of man was +he?' + +'I liked him not,' said the other. 'He seemed of that kind that hath +something to conceal, and as he walked with her he ever and anon turned +his head and gazed behind him, as if he much feared an unwelcome pursuer. +But, faith,' continued he, 'it may have been the man's anxiety only. Yet +did I not like him.' + +'Was he older than my sister?' Roger asked. + +'Ay--much older; from a dozen to a score of years older. A man of some +position, maybe, playing an amorous game for the pleasure of the hour. +Who knoweth but that he have a wife already? Many have done the thing +hereabouts of late.' + +Having paid a visit to the graves of his relatives, the sailor next day +went along the straight road which, then a lane, now a highway, conducted +to the curious little inland town named by the Havenpool man. It is +unnecessary to describe Oozewood on the South-Avon. It has a railway at +the present day; but thirty years of steam traffic past its precincts +have hardly modified its original features. Surrounded by a sort of +fresh-water lagoon, dividing it from meadows and coppice, its ancient +thatch and timber houses have barely made way even in the front street +for the ubiquitous modern brick and slate. It neither increases nor +diminishes in size; it is difficult to say what the inhabitants find to +do, for, though trades in woodware are still carried on, there cannot be +enough of this class of work nowadays to maintain all the householders, +the forests around having been so greatly thinned and curtailed. At the +time of this tradition the forests were dense, artificers in wood +abounded, and the timber trade was brisk. Every house in the town, +without exception, was of oak framework, filled in with plaster, and +covered with thatch, the chimney being the only brick portion of the +structure. Inquiry soon brought Roger the sailor to the door of Wall, +the timber-dealer referred to, but it was some time before he was able to +gain admission to the lodging of his sister, the people having plainly +received directions not to welcome strangers. + +She was sitting in an upper room on one of the lath-backed, +willow-bottomed 'shepherd's' chairs, made on the spot then as to this +day, and as they were probably made there in the days of the Heptarchy. +In her lap was an infant, which she had been suckling, though now it had +fallen asleep; so had the young mother herself for a few minutes, under +the drowsing effects of solitude. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she +awoke, started up with a glad cry, and ran to the door, opening which she +met her brother on the threshold. + +'O, this is merry; I didn't expect 'ee!' she said. 'Ah, Roger--I thought +it was John.' Her tones fell to disappointment. + +The sailor kissed her, looked at her sternly for a few moments, and +pointing to the infant, said, 'You mean the father of this?' + +'Yes, my husband,' said Edith. + +'I hope so,' he answered. + +'Why, Roger, I'm married--of a truth am I!' she cried. + +'Shame upon 'ee, if true! If not true, worse. Master Stocker was an +honest man, and ye should have respected his memory longer. Where is thy +husband?' + +'He comes often. I thought it was he now. Our marriage has to be kept +secret for a while--it was done privily for certain reasons; but we was +married at church like honest folk--afore God we were, Roger, six months +after poor Stocker's death.' + +''Twas too soon,' said Roger. + +'I was living in a house alone; I had nowhere to go to. You were far +over sea in the New Found Land, and John took me and brought me here.' + +'How often doth he come?' says Roger again. + +'Once or twice weekly,' says she. + +'I wish th' 'dst waited till I returned, dear Edy,' he said. 'It mid be +you are a wife--I hope so. But, if so, why this mystery? Why this mean +and cramped lodging in this lonely copse-circled town? Of what standing +is your husband, and of where?' + +'He is of gentle breeding--his name is John. I am not free to tell his +family-name. He is said to be of London, for safety' sake; but he really +lives in the county next adjoining this.' + +'Where in the next county?' + +'I do not know. He has preferred not to tell me, that I may not have the +secret forced from me, to his and my hurt, by bringing the marriage to +the ears of his kinsfolk and friends.' + +Her brother's face flushed. 'Our people have been honest townsmen, well- +reputed for long; why should you readily take such humbling from a +sojourner of whom th' 'st know nothing?' + +They remained in constrained converse till her quick ear caught a sound, +for which she might have been waiting--a horse's footfall. 'It is John!' +said she. 'This is his night--Saturday.' + +'Don't be frightened lest he should find me here!' said Roger. 'I am on +the point of leaving. I wish not to be a third party. Say nothing at +all about my visit, if it will incommode you so to do. I will see thee +before I go afloat again.' + +Speaking thus he left the room, and descending the staircase let himself +out by the front door, thinking he might obtain a glimpse of the +approaching horseman. But that traveller had in the meantime gone +stealthily round to the back of the homestead, and peering along the +pinion-end of the house Roger discerned him unbridling and haltering his +horse with his own hands in the shed there. + +Roger retired to the neighbouring inn called the Black Lamb, and +meditated. This mysterious method of approach determined him, after all, +not to leave the place till he had ascertained more definite facts of his +sister's position--whether she were the deluded victim of the stranger or +the wife she obviously believed herself to be. Having eaten some supper, +he left the inn, it being now about eleven o'clock. He first looked into +the shed, and, finding the horse still standing there, waited +irresolutely near the door of his sister's lodging. Half an hour +elapsed, and, while thinking he would climb into a loft hard by for a +night's rest, there seemed to be a movement within the shutters of the +sitting-room that his sister occupied. Roger hid himself behind a faggot- +stack near the back door, rightly divining that his sister's visitor +would emerge by the way he had entered. The door opened, and the candle +she held in her hand lighted for a moment the stranger's form, showing it +to be that of a tall and handsome personage, about forty years of age, +and apparently of a superior position in life. Edith was assisting him +to cloak himself, which being done he took leave of her with a kiss and +left the house. From the door she watched him bridle and saddle his +horse, and having mounted and waved an adieu to her as she stood candle +in hand, he turned out of the yard and rode away. + +The horse which bore him was, or seemed to be, a little lame, and Roger +fancied from this that the rider's journey was not likely to be a long +one. Being light of foot he followed apace, having no great difficulty +on such a still night in keeping within earshot some few miles, the +horseman pausing more than once. In this pursuit Roger discovered the +rider to choose bridle-tracks and open commons in preference to any high +road. The distance soon began to prove a more trying one than he had +bargained for; and when out of breath and in some despair of being able +to ascertain the man's identity, he perceived an ass standing in the +starlight under a hayrick, from which the animal was helping itself to +periodic mouthfuls. + +The story goes that Roger caught the ass, mounted, and again resumed the +trail of the unconscious horseman, which feat may have been possible to a +nautical young fellow, though one can hardly understand how a sailor +would ride such an animal without bridle or saddle, and strange to his +hands, unless the creature were extraordinarily docile. This question, +however, is immaterial. Suffice it to say that at dawn the following +morning Roger beheld his sister's lover or husband entering the gates of +a large and well-timbered park on the south-western verge of the White +Hart Forest (as it was then called), now known to everybody as the Vale +of Blackmoor. Thereupon the sailor discarded his steed, and finding for +himself an obscurer entrance to the same park a little further on, he +crossed the grass to reconnoitre. + +He presently perceived amid the trees before him a mansion which, new to +himself, was one of the best known in the county at that time. Of this +fine manorial residence hardly a trace now remains; but a manuscript +dated some years later than the events we are regarding describes it in +terms from which the imagination may construct a singularly clear and +vivid picture. This record presents it as consisting of 'a faire yellow +freestone building, partly two and partly three storeys; a faire halle +and parlour, both waynscotted; a faire dyning roome and withdrawing +roome, and many good lodgings; a kitchen adjoyninge backwarde to one end +of the dwelling-house, with a faire passage from it into the halle, +parlour, and dyninge roome, and sellars adjoyninge. + +'In the front of the house a square greene court, and a curious gatehouse +with lodgings in it, standing with the front of the house to the south; +in a large outer court three stables, a coach-house, a large barne, and a +stable for oxen and kyne, and all houses necessary. + +'Without the gatehouse, paled in, a large square greene, in which +standeth a faire chappell; of the south-east side of the greene court, +towards the river, a large garden. + +'Of the south-west side of the greene court is a large bowling greene, +with fower mounted walks about it, all walled about with a batteled wall, +and sett with all sorts of fruit; and out of it into the feildes there +are large walks under many tall elmes orderly planted.' + +Then follows a description of the orchards and gardens; the servants' +offices, brewhouse, bakehouse, dairy, pigeon-houses, and corn-mill; the +river and its abundance of fish; the warren, the coppices, the walks; +ending thus-- + +'And all the country north of the house, open champaign, sandy feildes, +very dry and pleasant for all kindes of recreation, huntinge, and +hawkinge, and profitble for tillage . . . The house hath a large prospect +east, south, and west, over a very large and pleasant vale . . . is +seated from the good markett towns of Sherton Abbas three miles, and Ivel +a mile, that plentifully yield all manner of provision; and within twelve +miles of the south sea.' + +It was on the grass before this seductive and picturesque structure that +the sailor stood at gaze under the elms in the dim dawn of Sunday +morning, and saw to his surprise his sister's lover and horse vanish +within the court of the building. + +Perplexed and weary, Roger slowly retreated, more than ever convinced +that something was wrong in his sister's position. He crossed the +bowling green to the avenue of elms, and, bent on further research, was +about to climb into one of these, when, looking below, he saw a heap of +hay apparently for horses or deer. Into this he crept, and, having eaten +a crust of bread which he had hastily thrust into his pocket at the inn, +he curled up and fell asleep, the hay forming a comfortable bed, and +quite covering him over. + +He slept soundly and long, and was awakened by the sound of a bell. On +peering from the hay he found the time had advanced to full day; the sun +was shining brightly. The bell was that of the 'faire chappell' on the +green outside the gatehouse, and it was calling to matins. Presently the +priest crossed the green to a little side-door in the chancel, and then +from the gateway of the mansion emerged the household, the tall man whom +Roger had seen with his sister on the previous night, on his arm being a +portly dame, and, running beside the pair, two little girls and a boy. +These all entered the chapel, and the bell having ceased and the environs +become clear, the sailor crept out from his hiding. + +He sauntered towards the chapel, the opening words of the service being +audible within. While standing by the porch he saw a belated servitor +approaching from the kitchen-court to attend the service also. Roger +carelessly accosted him, and asked, as an idle wanderer, the name of the +family he had just seen cross over from the mansion. + +'Od zounds! if ye modden be a stranger here in very truth, goodman. That +wer Sir John and his dame, and his children Elizabeth, Mary, and John.' + +'I be from foreign parts. Sir John what d'ye call'n?' + +'Master John Horseleigh, Knight, who had a'most as much lond by +inheritance of his mother as 'a had by his father, and likewise some by +his wife. Why, bain't his arms dree goolden horses' heads, and idden his +lady the daughter of Master Richard Phelipson, of Montislope, in Nether +Wessex, known to us all?' + +'It mid be so, and yet it mid not. However, th' 'lt miss thy prayers for +such an honest knight's welfare, and I have to traipse seaward many +miles.' + +He went onward, and as he walked continued saying to himself, 'Now to +that poor wronged fool Edy. The fond thing! I thought it; 'twas too +quick--she was ever amorous. What's to become of her! God wot! How be +I going to face her with the news, and how be I to hold it from her? To +bring this disgrace on my father's honoured name, a double-tongued +knave!' He turned and shook his fist at the chapel and all in it, and +resumed his way. + +Perhaps it was owing to the perplexity of his mind that, instead of +returning by the direct road towards his sister's obscure lodging in the +next county, he followed the highway to Casterbridge, some fifteen miles +off, where he remained drinking hard all that afternoon and evening, and +where he lay that and two or three succeeding nights, wandering thence +along the Anglebury road to some village that way, and lying the Friday +night after at his native place of Havenpool. The sight of the familiar +objects there seems to have stirred him anew to action, and the next +morning he was observed pursuing the way to Oozewood that he had followed +on the Saturday previous, reckoning, no doubt, that Saturday night would, +as before, be a time for finding Sir John with his sister again. + +He delayed to reach the place till just before sunset. His sister was +walking in the meadows at the foot of the garden, with a nursemaid who +carried the baby, and she looked up pensively when he approached. Anxiety +as to her position had already told upon her once rosy cheeks and lucid +eyes. But concern for herself and child was displaced for the moment by +her regard of Roger's worn and haggard face. + +'Why--you are sick, Roger--you are tired! Where have you been these many +days? Why not keep me company a bit--my husband is much away? And we +have hardly spoke at all of dear father and of your voyage to the New +Land. Why did you go away so suddenly? There is a spare chamber at my +lodging.' + +'Come indoors,' he said. 'We'll talk now--talk a good deal. As for him +[nodding to the child], better heave him into the river; better for him +and you!' + +She forced a laugh, as if she tried to see a good joke in the remark, and +they went silently indoors. + +'A miserable hole!' said Roger, looking round the room. + +'Nay, but 'tis very pretty!' + +'Not after what I've seen. Did he marry 'ee at church in orderly +fashion?' + +'He did sure--at our church at Havenpool.' + +'But in a privy way?' + +'Ay--because of his friends--it was at night-time.' + +'Ede, ye fond one--for all that he's not thy husband! Th' 'rt not his +wife; and the child is a bastard. He hath a wife and children of his own +rank, and bearing his name; and that's Sir John Horseleigh, of Clyfton +Horseleigh, and not plain Jack, as you think him, and your lawful +husband. The sacrament of marriage is no safeguard nowadays. The King's +new-made headship of the Church hath led men to practise these tricks +lightly.' + +She had turned white. 'That's not true, Roger!' she said. 'You are in +liquor, my brother, and you know not what you say! Your seafaring years +have taught 'ee bad things!' + +'Edith--I've seen them; wife and family--all. How canst--' + +They were sitting in the gathered darkness, and at that moment steps were +heard without. 'Go out this way,' she said. 'It is my husband. He must +not see thee in this mood. Get away till to-morrow, Roger, as you care +for me.' + +She pushed her brother through a door leading to the back stairs, and +almost as soon as it was closed her visitor entered. Roger, however, did +not retreat down the stairs; he stood and looked through the bobbin-hole. +If the visitor turned out to be Sir John, he had determined to confront +him. + +It was the knight. She had struck a light on his entry, and he kissed +the child, and took Edith tenderly by the shoulders, looking into her +face. + +'Something's gone awry wi' my dear!' he said. 'What is it? What's the +matter?' + +'O, Jack!' she cried. 'I have heard such a fearsome rumour--what doth it +mean? He who told me is my best friend. He must be deceived! But who +deceived him, and why? Jack, I was just told that you had a wife living +when you married me, and have her still!' + +'A wife?--H'm.' + +'Yes, and children. Say no, say no!' + +'By God! I have no lawful wife but you; and as for children, many or +few, they are all bastards, save this one alone!' + +'And that you be Sir John Horseleigh of Clyfton?' + +'I mid be. I have never said so to 'ee.' + +'But Sir John is known to have a lady, and issue of her!' + +The knight looked down. 'How did thy mind get filled with such as this?' +he asked. + +'One of my kindred came.' + +'A traitor! Why should he mar our life? Ah! you said you had a brother +at sea--where is he now?' + +'Here!' came from close behind him. And flinging open the door, Roger +faced the intruder. 'Liar!' he said, 'to call thyself her husband!' + +Sir John fired up, and made a rush at the sailor, who seized him by the +collar, and in the wrestle they both fell, Roger under. But in a few +seconds he contrived to extricate his right arm, and drawing from his +belt a knife which he wore attached to a cord round his neck he opened it +with his teeth, and struck it into the breast of Sir John stretched above +him. Edith had during these moments run into the next room to place the +child in safety, and when she came back the knight was relaxing his hold +on Roger's throat. He rolled over upon his back and groaned. + +The only witness of the scene save the three concerned was the nursemaid, +who had brought in the child on its father's arrival. She stated +afterwards that nobody suspected Sir John had received his death wound; +yet it was so, though he did not die for a long while, meaning thereby an +hour or two; that Mistress Edith continually endeavoured to staunch the +blood, calling her brother Roger a wretch, and ordering him to get +himself gone; on which order he acted, after a gloomy pause, by opening +the window, and letting himself down by the sill to the ground. + +It was then that Sir John, in difficult accents, made his dying +declaration to the nurse and Edith, and, later, the apothecary; which was +to this purport, that the Dame Horseleigh who passed as his wife at +Clyfton, and who had borne him three children, was in truth and deed, +though unconsciously, the wife of another man. Sir John had married her +several years before, in the face of the whole county, as the widow of +one Decimus Strong, who had disappeared shortly after her union with him, +having adventured to the North to join the revolt of the Nobles, and on +that revolt being quelled retreated across the sea. Two years ago, +having discovered this man to be still living in France, and not wishing +to disturb the mind and happiness of her who believed herself his wife, +yet wishing for legitimate issue, Sir John had informed the King of the +facts, who had encouraged him to wed honestly, though secretly, the young +merchant's widow at Havenpool; she being, therefore, his lawful wife, and +she only. That to avoid all scandal and hubbub he had purposed to let +things remain as they were till fair opportunity should arise of making +the true case known with least pain to all parties concerned, but that, +having been thus suspected and attacked by his own brother-in-law, his +zest for such schemes and for all things had died out in him, and he only +wished to commend his soul to God. + +That night, while the owls were hooting from the forest that encircled +the sleeping townlet, and the South-Avon was gurgling through the wooden +piles of the bridge, Sir John died there in the arms of his wife. She +concealed nothing of the cause of her husband's death save the subject of +the quarrel, which she felt it would be premature to announce just then, +and until proof of her status should be forthcoming. But before a month +had passed, it happened, to her inexpressible sorrow, that the child of +this clandestine union fell sick and died. From that hour all interest +in the name and fame of the Horseleighs forsook the younger of the twain +who called themselves wives of Sir John, and, being careless about her +own fame, she took no steps to assert her claims, her legal position +having, indeed, grown hateful to her in her horror at the tragedy. And +Sir William Byrt, the curate who had married her to her husband, being an +old man and feeble, was not disinclined to leave the embers unstirred of +such a fiery matter as this, and to assist her in letting established +things stand. Therefore, Edith retired with the nurse, her only +companion and friend, to her native town, where she lived in absolute +obscurity till her death in middle age. Her brother was never seen again +in England. + +A strangely corroborative sequel to the story remains to be told. Shortly +after the death of Sir John Horseleigh, a soldier of fortune returned +from the Continent, called on Dame Horseleigh the fictitious, living in +widowed state at Clyfton Horseleigh, and, after a singularly brief +courtship, married her. The tradition at Havenpool and elsewhere has +ever been that this man was already her husband, Decimus Strong, who +remarried her for appearance' sake only. + +The illegitimate son of this lady by Sir John succeeded to the estates +and honours, and his son after him, there being nobody on the alert to +investigate their pretensions. Little difference would it have made to +the present generation, however, had there been such a one, for the +family in all its branches, lawful and unlawful, has been extinct these +many score years, the last representative but one being killed at the +siege of Sherton Castle, while attacking in the service of the +Parliament, and the other being outlawed later in the same century for a +debt of ten pounds, and dying in the county jail. The mansion house and +its appurtenances were, as I have previously stated, destroyed, excepting +one small wing, which now forms part of a farmhouse, and is visible as +you pass along the railway from Casterbridge to Ivel. The outline of the +old bowling-green is also distinctly to be seen. + +This, then, is the reason why the only lawful marriage of Sir John, as +recorded in the obscure register at Havenpool, does not appear in the +pedigree of the house of Horseleigh. + +Spring 1893. + + + + +THE DUKE'S REAPPEARANCE--A FAMILY TRADITION + + +According to the kinsman who told me the story, Christopher Swetman's +house, on the outskirts of King's-Hintock village, was in those days +larger and better kept than when, many years later, it was sold to the +lord of the manor adjoining; after having been in the Swetman family, as +one may say, since the Conquest. + +Some people would have it to be that the thing happened at the house +opposite, belonging to one Childs, with whose family the Swetmans +afterwards intermarried. But that it was at the original homestead of +the Swetmans can be shown in various ways; chiefly by the unbroken +traditions of the family, and indirectly by the evidence of the walls +themselves, which are the only ones thereabout with windows mullioned in +the Elizabethan manner, and plainly of a date anterior to the event; +while those of the other house might well have been erected fifty or +eighty years later, and probably were; since the choice of Swetman's +house by the fugitive was doubtless dictated by no other circumstance +than its then suitable loneliness. + +It was a cloudy July morning just before dawn, the hour of two having +been struck by Swetman's one-handed clock on the stairs, that is still +preserved in the family. Christopher heard the strokes from his chamber, +immediately at the top of the staircase, and overlooking the front of the +house. He did not wonder that he was sleepless. The rumours and +excitements which had latterly stirred the neighbourhood, to the effect +that the rightful King of England had landed from Holland, at a port only +eighteen miles to the south-west of Swetman's house, were enough to make +wakeful and anxious even a contented yeoman like him. Some of the +villagers, intoxicated by the news, had thrown down their scythes, and +rushed to the ranks of the invader. Christopher Swetman had weighed both +sides of the question, and had remained at home. + +Now as he lay thinking of these and other things he fancied that he could +hear the footfall of a man on the road leading up to his house--a byway, +which led scarce anywhere else; and therefore a tread was at any time +more apt to startle the inmates of the homestead than if it had stood in +a thoroughfare. The footfall came opposite the gate, and stopped there. +One minute, two minutes passed, and the pedestrian did not proceed. +Christopher Swetman got out of bed, and opened the casement. 'Hoi! who's +there?' cries he. + +'A friend,' came from the darkness. + +'And what mid ye want at this time o' night?' says Swetman. + +'Shelter. I've lost my way.' + +'What's thy name?' + +There came no answer. + +'Be ye one of King Monmouth's men?' + +'He that asks no questions will hear no lies from me. I am a stranger; +and I am spent, and hungered. Can you let me lie with you to-night?' + +Swetman was generous to people in trouble, and his house was roomy. 'Wait +a bit,' he said, 'and I'll come down and have a look at thee, anyhow.' + +He struck a light, put on his clothes, and descended, taking his horn- +lantern from a nail in the passage, and lighting it before opening the +door. The rays fell on the form of a tall, dark man in cavalry +accoutrements and wearing a sword. He was pale with fatigue and covered +with mud, though the weather was dry. + +'Prithee take no heed of my appearance,' said the stranger. 'But let me +in.' + +That his visitor was in sore distress admitted of no doubt, and the +yeoman's natural humanity assisted the other's sad importunity and gentle +voice. Swetman took him in, not without a suspicion that this man +represented in some way Monmouth's cause, to which he was not unfriendly +in his secret heart. At his earnest request the new-comer was given a +suit of the yeoman's old clothes in exchange for his own, which, with his +sword, were hidden in a closet in Swetman's chamber; food was then put +before him and a lodging provided for him in a room at the back. + +Here he slept till quite late in the morning, which was Sunday, the sixth +of July, and when he came down in the garments that he had borrowed he +met the household with a melancholy smile. Besides Swetman himself, +there were only his two daughters, Grace and Leonard (the latter was, +oddly enough, a woman's name here), and both had been enjoined to +secrecy. They asked no questions and received no information; though the +stranger regarded their fair countenances with an interest almost too +deep. Having partaken of their usual breakfast of ham and cider he +professed weariness and retired to the chamber whence he had come. + +In a couple of hours or thereabout he came down again, the two young +women having now gone off to morning service. Seeing Christopher +bustling about the house without assistance, he asked if he could do +anything to aid his host. + +As he seemed anxious to hide all differences and appear as one of +themselves, Swetman set him to get vegetables from the garden and fetch +water from Buttock's Spring in the dip near the house (though the spring +was not called by that name till years after, by the way). + +'And what can I do next?' says the stranger when these services had been +performed. + +His meekness and docility struck Christopher much, and won upon him. +'Since you be minded to,' says the latter, 'you can take down the dishes +and spread the table for dinner. Take a pewter plate for thyself, but +the trenchers will do for we.' + +But the other would not, and took a trencher likewise, in doing which he +spoke of the two girls and remarked how comely they were. + +This quietude was put an end to by a stir out of doors, which was +sufficient to draw Swetman's attention to it, and he went out. Farm +hands who had gone off and joined the Duke on his arrival had begun to +come in with news that a midnight battle had been fought on the moors to +the north, the Duke's men, who had attacked, being entirely worsted; the +Duke himself, with one or two lords and other friends, had fled, no one +knew whither. + +'There has been a battle,' says Swetman, on coming indoors after these +tidings, and looking earnestly at the stranger. + +'May the victory be to the rightful in the end, whatever the issue now,' +says the other, with a sorrowful sigh. + +'Dost really know nothing about it?' said Christopher. 'I could have +sworn you was one from that very battle!' + +'I was here before three o' the clock this morning; and these men have +only arrived now.' + +'True,' said the yeoman. 'But still, I think--' + +'Do not press your question,' the stranger urged. 'I am in a strait, and +can refuse a helper nothing; such inquiry is, therefore, unfair.' + +'True again,' said Swetman, and held his tongue. + +The daughters of the house returned from church, where the service had +been hurried by reason of the excitement. To their father's questioning +if they had spoken of him who sojourned there they replied that they had +said never a word; which, indeed, was true, as events proved. + +He bade them serve the dinner; and, as the visitor had withdrawn since +the news of the battle, prepared to take a platter to him upstairs. But +he preferred to come down and dine with the family. + +During the afternoon more fugitives passed through the village, but +Christopher Swetman, his visitor, and his family kept indoors. In the +evening, however, Swetman came out from his gate, and, harkening in +silence to these tidings and more, wondered what might be in store for +him for his last night's work. + +He returned homeward by a path across the mead that skirted his own +orchard. Passing here, he heard the voice of his daughter Leonard +expostulating inside the hedge, her words being: 'Don't ye, sir; don't! I +prithee let me go!' + +'Why, sweetheart?' + +'Because I've a-promised another!' + +Peeping through, as he could not help doing, he saw the girl struggling +in the arms of the stranger, who was attempting to kiss her; but finding +her resistance to be genuine, and her distress unfeigned, he reluctantly +let her go. + +Swetman's face grew dark, for his girls were more to him than himself. He +hastened on, meditating moodily all the way. He entered the gate, and +made straight for the orchard. When he reached it his daughter had +disappeared, but the stranger was still standing there. + +'Sir!' said the yeoman, his anger having in no wise abated, 'I've seen +what has happened! I have taken 'ee into my house, at some jeopardy to +myself; and, whoever you be, the least I expected of 'ee was to treat the +maidens with a seemly respect. You have not done it, and I no longer +trust you. I am the more watchful over them in that they are motherless; +and I must ask 'ee to go after dark this night!' + +The stranger seemed dazed at discovering what his impulse had brought +down upon his head, and his pale face grew paler. He did not reply for a +time. When he did speak his soft voice was thick with feeling. + +'Sir,' says he, 'I own that I am in the wrong, if you take the matter +gravely. We do not what we would but what we must. Though I have not +injured your daughter as a woman, I have been treacherous to her as a +hostess and friend in need. I'll go, as you say; I can do no less. I +shall doubtless find a refuge elsewhere.' + +They walked towards the house in silence, where Swetman insisted that his +guest should have supper before departing. By the time this was eaten it +was dusk and the stranger announced that he was ready. + +They went upstairs to where the garments and sword lay hidden, till the +departing one said that on further thought he would ask another favour: +that he should be allowed to retain the clothes he wore, and that his +host would keep the others and the sword till he, the speaker, should +come or send for them. + +'As you will,' said Swetman. 'The gain is on my side; for those clouts +were but kept to dress a scarecrow next fall.' + +'They suit my case,' said the stranger sadly. 'However much they may +misfit me, they do not misfit my sorry fortune now!' + +'Nay, then,' said Christopher relenting, 'I was too hasty. Sh'lt bide!' + +But the other would not, saying that it was better that things should +take their course. Notwithstanding that Swetman importuned him, he only +added, 'If I never come again, do with my belongings as you list. In the +pocket you will find a gold snuff-box, and in the snuff-box fifty gold +pieces.' + +'But keep 'em for thy use, man!' said the yeoman. + +'No,' says the parting guest; 'they are foreign pieces and would harm me +if I were taken. Do as I bid thee. Put away these things again and take +especial charge of the sword. It belonged to my father's father and I +value it much. But something more common becomes me now.' + +Saying which, he took, as he went downstairs, one of the ash sticks used +by Swetman himself for walking with. The yeoman lighted him out to the +garden hatch, where he disappeared through Clammers Gate by the road that +crosses King's-Hintock Park to Evershead. + +Christopher returned to the upstairs chamber, and sat down on his bed +reflecting. Then he examined the things left behind, and surely enough +in one of the pockets the gold snuff-box was revealed, containing the +fifty gold pieces as stated by the fugitive. The yeoman next looked at +the sword which its owner had stated to have belonged to his grandfather. +It was two-edged, so that he almost feared to handle it. On the blade +was inscribed the words 'ANDREA FERARA,' and among the many fine chasings +were a rose and crown, the plume of the Prince of Wales, and two +portraits; portraits of a man and a woman, the man's having the face of +the first King Charles, and the woman's, apparently, that of his Queen. + +Swetman, much awed and surprised, returned the articles to the closet, +and went downstairs pondering. Of his surmise he said nothing to his +daughters, merely declaring to them that the gentleman was gone; and +never revealing that he had been an eye-witness of the unpleasant scene +in the orchard that was the immediate cause of the departure. + +Nothing occurred in Hintock during the week that followed, beyond the +fitful arrival of more decided tidings concerning the utter defeat of the +Duke's army and his own disappearance at an early stage of the battle. +Then it was told that Monmouth was taken, not in his own clothes but in +the disguise of a countryman. He had been sent to London, and was +confined in the Tower. + +The possibility that his guest had been no other than the Duke made +Swetman unspeakably sorry now; his heart smote him at the thought that, +acting so harshly for such a small breach of good faith, he might have +been the means of forwarding the unhappy fugitive's capture. On the +girls coming up to him he said, 'Get away with ye, wenches: I fear you +have been the ruin of an unfortunate man!' + +On the Tuesday night following, when the yeoman was sleeping as usual in +his chamber, he was, he said, conscious of the entry of some one. Opening +his eyes, he beheld by the light of the moon, which shone upon the front +of his house, the figure of a man who seemed to be the stranger moving +from the door towards the closet. He was dressed somewhat differently +now, but the face was quite that of his late guest in its tragical +pensiveness, as was also the tallness of his figure. He neared the +closet; and, feeling his visitor to be within his rights, Christopher +refrained from stirring. The personage turned his large haggard eyes +upon the bed where Swetman lay, and then withdrew from their hiding the +articles that belonged to him, again giving a hard gaze at Christopher as +he went noiselessly out of the chamber with his properties on his arm. +His retreat down the stairs was just audible, and also his departure by +the side door, through which entrance or exit was easy to those who knew +the place. + +Nothing further happened, and towards morning Swetman slept. To avoid +all risk he said not a word to the girls of the visit of the night, and +certainly not to any one outside the house; for it was dangerous at that +time to avow anything. + +Among the killed in opposing the recent rising had been a younger brother +of the lord of the manor, who lived at King's-Hintock Court hard by. +Seeing the latter ride past in mourning clothes next day, Swetman +ventured to condole with him. + +'He'd no business there!' answered the other. His words and manner +showed the bitterness that was mingled with his regret. 'But say no more +of him. You know what has happened since, I suppose?' + +'I know that they say Monmouth is taken, Sir Thomas, but I can't think it +true,' answered Swetman. + +'O zounds! 'tis true enough,' cried the knight, 'and that's not all. The +Duke was executed on Tower Hill two days ago.' + +'D'ye say it verily?' says Swetman. + +'And a very hard death he had, worse luck for 'n,' said Sir Thomas. +'Well, 'tis over for him and over for my brother. But not for the rest. +There'll be searchings and siftings down here anon; and happy is the man +who has had nothing to do with this matter!' + +Now Swetman had hardly heard the latter words, so much was he confounded +by the strangeness of the tidings that the Duke had come to his death on +the previous Tuesday. For it had been only the night before this present +day of Friday that he had seen his former guest, whom he had ceased to +doubt could be other than the Duke, come into his chamber and fetch away +his accoutrements as he had promised. + +'It couldn't have been a vision,' said Christopher to himself when the +knight had ridden on. 'But I'll go straight and see if the things be in +the closet still; and thus I shall surely learn if 'twere a vision or +no.' + +To the closet he went, which he had not looked into since the stranger's +departure. And searching behind the articles placed to conceal the +things hidden, he found that, as he had never doubted, they were gone. + +When the rumour spread abroad in the West that the man beheaded in the +Tower was not indeed the Duke, but one of his officers taken after the +battle, and that the Duke had been assisted to escape out of the country, +Swetman found in it an explanation of what so deeply mystified him. That +his visitor might have been a friend of the Duke's, whom the Duke had +asked to fetch the things in a last request, Swetman would never admit. +His belief in the rumour that Monmouth lived, like that of thousands of +others, continued to the end of his days. + +* * * * * + +Such, briefly, concluded my kinsman, is the tradition which has been +handed down in Christopher Swetman's family for the last two hundred +years. + + + + +A MERE INTERLUDE + + +CHAPTER I + + +The traveller in school-books, who vouched in dryest tones for the +fidelity to fact of the following narrative, used to add a ring of truth +to it by opening with a nicety of criticism on the heroine's personality. +People were wrong, he declared, when they surmised that Baptista Trewthen +was a young woman with scarcely emotions or character. There was nothing +in her to love, and nothing to hate--so ran the general opinion. That +she showed few positive qualities was true. The colours and tones which +changing events paint on the faces of active womankind were looked for in +vain upon hers. But still waters run deep; and no crisis had come in the +years of her early maidenhood to demonstrate what lay hidden within her, +like metal in a mine. + +She was the daughter of a small farmer in St. Maria's, one of the Isles +of Lyonesse beyond Off-Wessex, who had spent a large sum, as there +understood, on her education, by sending her to the mainland for two +years. At nineteen she was entered at the Training College for Teachers, +and at twenty-one nominated to a school in the country, near Tor-upon- +Sea, whither she proceeded after the Christmas examination and holidays. + +The months passed by from winter to spring and summer, and Baptista +applied herself to her new duties as best she could, till an uneventful +year had elapsed. Then an air of abstraction pervaded her bearing as she +walked to and fro, twice a day, and she showed the traits of a person who +had something on her mind. A widow, by name Mrs. Wace, in whose house +Baptista Trewthen had been provided with a sitting-room and bedroom till +the school-house should be built, noticed this change in her youthful +tenant's manner, and at last ventured to press her with a few questions. + +'It has nothing to do with the place, nor with you,' said Miss Trewthen. + +'Then it is the salary?' + +'No, nor the salary.' + +'Then it is something you have heard from home, my dear.' + +Baptista was silent for a few moments. 'It is Mr. Heddegan,' she +murmured. 'Him they used to call David Heddegan before he got his +money.' + +'And who is the Mr. Heddegan they used to call David?' + +'An old bachelor at Giant's Town, St. Maria's, with no relations +whatever, who lives about a stone's throw from father's. When I was a +child he used to take me on his knee and say he'd marry me some day. Now +I am a woman the jest has turned earnest, and he is anxious to do it. And +father and mother says I can't do better than have him.' + +'He's well off?' + +'Yes--he's the richest man we know--as a friend and neighbour.' + +'How much older did you say he was than yourself?' + +'I didn't say. Twenty years at least.' + +'And an unpleasant man in the bargain perhaps?' + +'No--he's not unpleasant.' + +'Well, child, all I can say is that I'd resist any such engagement if +it's not palatable to 'ee. You are comfortable here, in my little house, +I hope. All the parish like 'ee: and I've never been so cheerful, since +my poor husband left me to wear his wings, as I've been with 'ee as my +lodger.' + +The schoolmistress assured her landlady that she could return the +sentiment. 'But here comes my perplexity,' she said. 'I don't like +keeping school. Ah, you are surprised--you didn't suspect it. That's +because I've concealed my feeling. Well, I simply hate school. I don't +care for children--they are unpleasant, troublesome little things, whom +nothing would delight so much as to hear that you had fallen down dead. +Yet I would even put up with them if it was not for the inspector. For +three months before his visit I didn't sleep soundly. And the Committee +of Council are always changing the Code, so that you don't know what to +teach, and what to leave untaught. I think father and mother are right. +They say I shall never excel as a schoolmistress if I dislike the work +so, and that therefore I ought to get settled by marrying Mr. Heddegan. +Between us two, I like him better than school; but I don't like him quite +so much as to wish to marry him.' + +These conversations, once begun, were continued from day to day; till at +length the young girl's elderly friend and landlady threw in her opinion +on the side of Miss Trewthen's parents. All things considered, she +declared, the uncertainty of the school, the labour, Baptista's natural +dislike for teaching, it would be as well to take what fate offered, and +make the best of matters by wedding her father's old neighbour and +prosperous friend. + +The Easter holidays came round, and Baptista went to spend them as usual +in her native isle, going by train into Off-Wessex and crossing by packet +from Pen-zephyr. When she returned in the middle of April her face wore +a more settled aspect. + +'Well?' said the expectant Mrs. Wace. + +'I have agreed to have him as my husband,' said Baptista, in an off-hand +way. 'Heaven knows if it will be for the best or not. But I have agreed +to do it, and so the matter is settled.' + +Mrs. Wace commended her; but Baptista did not care to dwell on the +subject; so that allusion to it was very infrequent between them. +Nevertheless, among other things, she repeated to the widow from time to +time in monosyllabic remarks that the wedding was really impending; that +it was arranged for the summer, and that she had given notice of leaving +the school at the August holidays. Later on she announced more +specifically that her marriage was to take place immediately after her +return home at the beginning of the month aforesaid. + +She now corresponded regularly with Mr. Heddegan. Her letters from him +were seen, at least on the outside, and in part within, by Mrs. Wace. Had +she read more of their interiors than the occasional sentences shown her +by Baptista she would have perceived that the scratchy, rusty handwriting +of Miss Trewthen's betrothed conveyed little more matter than details of +their future housekeeping, and his preparations for the same, with +innumerable 'my dears' sprinkled in disconnectedly, to show the depth of +his affection without the inconveniences of syntax. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +It was the end of July--dry, too dry, even for the season, the delicate +green herbs and vegetables that grew in this favoured end of the kingdom +tasting rather of the watering-pot than of the pure fresh moisture from +the skies. Baptista's boxes were packed, and one Saturday morning she +departed by a waggonette to the station, and thence by train to +Pen-zephyr, from which port she was, as usual, to cross the water +immediately to her home, and become Mr. Heddegan's wife on the Wednesday +of the week following. + +She might have returned a week sooner. But though the wedding day had +loomed so near, and the banns were out, she delayed her departure till +this last moment, saying it was not necessary for her to be at home long +beforehand. As Mr. Heddegan was older than herself, she said, she was to +be married in her ordinary summer bonnet and grey silk frock, and there +were no preparations to make that had not been amply made by her parents +and intended husband. + +In due time, after a hot and tedious journey, she reached Pen-zephyr. She +here obtained some refreshment, and then went towards the pier, where she +learnt to her surprise that the little steamboat plying between the town +and the islands had left at eleven o'clock; the usual hour of departure +in the afternoon having been forestalled in consequence of the fogs which +had for a few days prevailed towards evening, making twilight navigation +dangerous. + +This being Saturday, there was now no other boat till Tuesday, and it +became obvious that here she would have to remain for the three days, +unless her friends should think fit to rig out one of the island' sailing- +boats and come to fetch her--a not very likely contingency, the sea +distance being nearly forty miles. + +Baptista, however, had been detained in Pen-zephyr on more than one +occasion before, either on account of bad weather or some such reason as +the present, and she was therefore not in any personal alarm. But, as +she was to be married on the following Wednesday, the delay was certainly +inconvenient to a more than ordinary degree, since it would leave less +than a day's interval between her arrival and the wedding ceremony. + +Apart from this awkwardness she did not much mind the accident. It was +indeed curious to see how little she minded. Perhaps it would not be too +much to say that, although she was going to do the critical deed of her +life quite willingly, she experienced an indefinable relief at the +postponement of her meeting with Heddegan. But her manner after making +discovery of the hindrance was quiet and subdued, even to passivity +itself; as was instanced by her having, at the moment of receiving +information that the steamer had sailed, replied 'Oh,' so coolly to the +porter with her luggage, that he was almost disappointed at her lack of +disappointment. + +The question now was, should she return again to Mrs. Wace, in the +village of Lower Wessex, or wait in the town at which she had arrived. +She would have preferred to go back, but the distance was too great; +moreover, having left the place for good, and somewhat dramatically, to +become a bride, a return, even for so short a space, would have been a +trifle humiliating. + +Leaving, then, her boxes at the station, her next anxiety was to secure a +respectable, or rather genteel, lodging in the popular seaside resort +confronting her. To this end she looked about the town, in which, though +she had passed through it half-a-dozen times, she was practically a +stranger. + +Baptista found a room to suit her over a fruiterer's shop; where she made +herself at home, and set herself in order after her journey. An early +cup of tea having revived her spirits she walked out to reconnoitre. + +Being a schoolmistress she avoided looking at the schools, and having a +sort of trade connection with books, she avoided looking at the +booksellers; but wearying of the other shops she inspected the churches; +not that for her own part she cared much about ecclesiastical edifices; +but tourists looked at them, and so would she--a proceeding for which no +one would have credited her with any great originality, such, for +instance, as that she subsequently showed herself to possess. The +churches soon oppressed her. She tried the Museum, but came out because +it seemed lonely and tedious. + +Yet the town and the walks in this land of strawberries, these +headquarters of early English flowers and fruit, were then, as always, +attractive. From the more picturesque streets she went to the town +gardens, and the Pier, and the Harbour, and looked at the men at work +there, loading and unloading as in the time of the Phoenicians. + +'Not Baptista? Yes, Baptista it is!' + +The words were uttered behind her. Turning round she gave a start, and +became confused, even agitated, for a moment. Then she said in her usual +undemonstrative manner, 'O--is it really you, Charles?' + +Without speaking again at once, and with a half-smile, the new-comer +glanced her over. There was much criticism, and some resentment--even +temper--in his eye. + +'I am going home,' continued she. 'But I have missed the boat.' + +He scarcely seemed to take in the meaning of this explanation, in the +intensity of his critical survey. 'Teaching still? What a fine +schoolmistress you make, Baptista, I warrant!' he said with a slight +flavour of sarcasm, which was not lost upon her. + +'I know I am nothing to brag of,' she replied. 'That's why I have given +up.' + +'O--given up? You astonish me.' + +'I hate the profession.' + +'Perhaps that's because I am in it.' + +'O no, it isn't. But I am going to enter on another life altogether. I +am going to be married next week to Mr. David Heddegan.' + +The young man--fortified as he was by a natural cynical pride and +passionateness--winced at this unexpected reply, notwithstanding. + +'Who is Mr. David Heddegan?' he asked, as indifferently as lay in his +power. + +She informed him the bearer of the name was a general merchant of Giant's +Town, St. Maria's island--her father's nearest neighbour and oldest +friend. + +'Then we shan't see anything more of you on the mainland?' inquired the +schoolmaster. + +'O, I don't know about that,' said Miss Trewthen. + +'Here endeth the career of the belle of the boarding-school your father +was foolish enough to send you to. A "general merchant's" wife in the +Lyonesse Isles. Will you sell pounds of soap and pennyworths of tin +tacks, or whole bars of saponaceous matter, and great tenpenny nails?' + +'He's not in such a small way as that!' she almost pleaded. 'He owns +ships, though they are rather little ones!' + +'O, well, it is much the same. Come, let us walk on; it is tedious to +stand still. I thought you would be a failure in education,' he +continued, when she obeyed him and strolled ahead. 'You never showed +power that way. You remind me much of some of those women who think they +are sure to be great actresses if they go on the stage, because they have +a pretty face, and forget that what we require is acting. But you found +your mistake, didn't you?' + +'Don't taunt me, Charles.' It was noticeable that the young +schoolmaster's tone caused her no anger or retaliatory passion; far +otherwise: there was a tear in her eye. 'How is it you are at +Pen-zephyr?' she inquired. + +'I don't taunt you. I speak the truth, purely in a friendly way, as I +should to any one I wished well. Though for that matter I might have +some excuse even for taunting you. Such a terrible hurry as you've been +in. I hate a woman who is in such a hurry.' + +'How do you mean that?' + +'Why--to be somebody's wife or other--anything's wife rather than +nobody's. You couldn't wait for me, O, no. Well, thank God, I'm cured +of all that!' + +'How merciless you are!' she said bitterly. 'Wait for you? What does +that mean, Charley? You never showed--anything to wait for--anything +special towards me.' + +'O come, Baptista dear; come!' + +'What I mean is, nothing definite,' she expostulated. 'I suppose you +liked me a little; but it seemed to me to be only a pastime on your part, +and that you never meant to make an honourable engagement of it.' + +'There, that's just it! You girls expect a man to mean business at the +first look. No man when he first becomes interested in a woman has any +definite scheme of engagement to marry her in his mind, unless he is +meaning a vulgar mercenary marriage. However, I did at last mean an +honourable engagement, as you call it, come to that.' + +'But you never said so, and an indefinite courtship soon injures a +woman's position and credit, sooner than you think.' + +'Baptista, I solemnly declare that in six months I should have asked you +to marry me.' + +She walked along in silence, looking on the ground, and appearing very +uncomfortable. Presently he said, 'Would you have waited for me if you +had known?' To this she whispered in a sorrowful whisper, 'Yes!' + +They went still farther in silence--passing along one of the beautiful +walks on the outskirts of the town, yet not observant of scene or +situation. Her shoulder and his were close together, and he clasped his +fingers round the small of her arm--quite lightly, and without any +attempt at impetus; yet the act seemed to say, 'Now I hold you, and my +will must be yours.' + +Recurring to a previous question of hers he said, 'I have merely run down +here for a day or two from school near Trufal, before going off to the +north for the rest of my holiday. I have seen my relations at Redrutin +quite lately, so I am not going there this time. How little I thought of +meeting you! How very different the circumstances would have been if, +instead of parting again as we must in half-an-hour or so, possibly for +ever, you had been now just going off with me, as my wife, on our +honeymoon trip. Ha--ha--well--so humorous is life!' + +She stopped suddenly. 'I must go back now--this is altogether too +painful, Charley! It is not at all a kind mood you are in to-day.' + +'I don't want to pain you--you know I do not,' he said more gently. 'Only +it just exasperates me--this you are going to do. I wish you would not.' + +'What?' + +'Marry him. There, now I have showed you my true sentiments.' + +'I must do it now,' said she. + +'Why?' he asked, dropping the off-hand masterful tone he had hitherto +spoken in, and becoming earnest; still holding her arm, however, as if +she were his chattel to be taken up or put down at will. 'It is never +too late to break off a marriage that's distasteful to you. Now I'll say +one thing; and it is truth: I wish you would marry me instead of him, +even now, at the last moment, though you have served me so badly.' + +'O, it is not possible to think of that!' she answered hastily, shaking +her head. 'When I get home all will be prepared--it is ready even +now--the things for the party, the furniture, Mr. Heddegan's new suit, +and everything. I should require the courage of a tropical lion to go +home there and say I wouldn't carry out my promise!' + +'Then go, in Heaven's name! But there would be no necessity for you to +go home and face them in that way. If we were to marry, it would have to +be at once, instantly; or not at all. I should think your affection not +worth the having unless you agreed to come back with me to Trufal this +evening, where we could be married by licence on Monday morning. And +then no Mr. David Heddegan or anybody else could get you away from me.' + +'I must go home by the Tuesday boat,' she faltered. 'What would they +think if I did not come?' + +'You could go home by that boat just the same. All the difference would +be that I should go with you. You could leave me on the quay, where I'd +have a smoke, while you went and saw your father and mother privately; +you could then tell them what you had done, and that I was waiting not +far off; that I was a school-master in a fairly good position, and a +young man you had known when you were at the Training College. Then I +would come boldly forward; and they would see that it could not be +altered, and so you wouldn't suffer a lifelong misery by being the wife +of a wretched old gaffer you don't like at all. Now, honestly; you do +like me best, don't you, Baptista?' + +'Yes.' + +'Then we will do as I say.' + +She did not pronounce a clear affirmative. But that she consented to the +novel proposition at some moment or other of that walk was apparent by +what occurred a little later. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +An enterprise of such pith required, indeed, less talking than +consideration. The first thing they did in carrying it out was to return +to the railway station, where Baptista took from her luggage a small +trunk of immediate necessaries which she would in any case have required +after missing the boat. That same afternoon they travelled up the line +to Trufal. + +Charles Stow (as his name was), despite his disdainful indifference to +things, was very careful of appearances, and made the journey +independently of her though in the same train. He told her where she +could get board and lodgings in the city; and with merely a distant nod +to her of a provisional kind, went off to his own quarters, and to see +about the licence. + +On Sunday she saw him in the morning across the nave of the +pro-cathedral. In the afternoon they walked together in the fields, +where he told her that the licence would be ready next day, and would be +available the day after, when the ceremony could be performed as early +after eight o'clock as they should choose. + +His courtship, thus renewed after an interval of two years, was as +impetuous, violent even, as it was short. The next day came and passed, +and the final arrangements were made. Their agreement was to get the +ceremony over as soon as they possibly could the next morning, so as to +go on to Pen-zephyr at once, and reach that place in time for the boat's +departure the same day. It was in obedience to Baptista's earnest +request that Stow consented thus to make the whole journey to Lyonesse by +land and water at one heat, and not break it at Pen-zephyr; she seemed to +be oppressed with a dread of lingering anywhere, this great first act of +disobedience to her parents once accomplished, with the weight on her +mind that her home had to be convulsed by the disclosure of it. To face +her difficulties over the water immediately she had created them was, +however, a course more desired by Baptista than by her lover; though for +once he gave way. + +The next morning was bright and warm as those which had preceded it. By +six o'clock it seemed nearly noon, as is often the case in that part of +England in the summer season. By nine they were husband and wife. They +packed up and departed by the earliest train after the service; and on +the way discussed at length what she should say on meeting her parents, +Charley dictating the turn of each phrase. In her anxiety they had +travelled so early that when they reached Pen-zephyr they found there +were nearly two hours on their hands before the steamer's time of +sailing. + +Baptista was extremely reluctant to be seen promenading the streets of +the watering-place with her husband till, as above stated, the household +at Giant's Town should know the unexpected course of events from her own +lips; and it was just possible, if not likely, that some Lyonessian might +be prowling about there, or even have come across the sea to look for +her. To meet any one to whom she was known, and to have to reply to +awkward questions about the strange young man at her side before her well- +framed announcement had been delivered at proper time and place, was a +thing she could not contemplate with equanimity. So, instead of looking +at the shops and harbour, they went along the coast a little way. + +The heat of the morning was by this time intense. They clambered up on +some cliffs, and while sitting there, looking around at St. Michael's +Mount and other objects, Charles said to her that he thought he would run +down to the beach at their feet, and take just one plunge into the sea. + +Baptista did not much like the idea of being left alone; it was gloomy, +she said. But he assured her he would not be gone more than a quarter of +an hour at the outside, and she passively assented. + +Down he went, disappeared, appeared again, and looked back. Then he +again proceeded, and vanished, till, as a small waxen object, she saw him +emerge from the nook that had screened him, cross the white fringe of +foam, and walk into the undulating mass of blue. Once in the water he +seemed less inclined to hurry than before; he remained a long time; and, +unable either to appreciate his skill or criticize his want of it at that +distance, she withdrew her eyes from the spot, and gazed at the still +outline of St. Michael's--now beautifully toned in grey. + +Her anxiety for the hour of departure, and to cope at once with the +approaching incidents that she would have to manipulate as best she +could, sent her into a reverie. It was now Tuesday; she would reach home +in the evening--a very late time they would say; but, as the delay was a +pure accident, they would deem her marriage to Mr. Heddegan to-morrow +still practicable. Then Charles would have to be produced from the +background. It was a terrible undertaking to think of, and she almost +regretted her temerity in wedding so hastily that morning. The rage of +her father would be so crushing; the reproaches of her mother so bitter; +and perhaps Charles would answer hotly, and perhaps cause estrangement +till death. There had obviously been no alarm about her at St. Maria's, +or somebody would have sailed across to inquire for her. She had, in a +letter written at the beginning of the week, spoken of the hour at which +she intended to leave her country schoolhouse; and from this her friends +had probably perceived that by such timing she would run a risk of losing +the Saturday boat. She had missed it, and as a consequence sat here on +the shore as Mrs. Charles Stow. + +This brought her to the present, and she turned from the outline of St. +Michael's Mount to look about for her husband's form. He was, as far as +she could discover, no longer in the sea. Then he was dressing. By +moving a few steps she could see where his clothes lay. But Charles was +not beside them. + +Baptista looked back again at the water in bewilderment, as if her senses +were the victim of some sleight of hand. Not a speck or spot resembling +a man's head or face showed anywhere. By this time she was alarmed, and +her alarm intensified when she perceived a little beyond the scene of her +husband's bathing a small area of water, the quality of whose surface +differed from that of the surrounding expanse as the coarse vegetation of +some foul patch in a mead differs from the fine green of the remainder. +Elsewhere it looked flexuous, here it looked vermiculated and lumpy, and +her marine experiences suggested to her in a moment that two currents met +and caused a turmoil at this place. + +She descended as hastily as her trembling limbs would allow. The way +down was terribly long, and before reaching the heap of clothes it +occurred to her that, after all, it would be best to run first for help. +Hastening along in a lateral direction she proceeded inland till she met +a man, and soon afterwards two others. To them she exclaimed, 'I think a +gentleman who was bathing is in some danger. I cannot see him as I +could. Will you please run and help him, at once, if you will be so +kind?' + +She did not think of turning to show them the exact spot, indicating it +vaguely by the direction of her hand, and still going on her way with the +idea of gaining more assistance. When she deemed, in her faintness, that +she had carried the alarm far enough, she faced about and dragged herself +back again. Before reaching the now dreaded spot she met one of the men. + +'We can see nothing at all, Miss,' he declared. + +Having gained the beach, she found the tide in, and no sign of Charley's +clothes. The other men whom she had besought to come had disappeared, it +must have been in some other direction, for she had not met them going +away. They, finding nothing, had probably thought her alarm a mere +conjecture, and given up the quest. + +Baptista sank down upon the stones near at hand. Where Charley had +undressed was now sea. There could not be the least doubt that he was +drowned, and his body sucked under by the current; while his clothes, +lying within high-water mark, had probably been carried away by the +rising tide. + +She remained in a stupor for some minutes, till a strange sensation +succeeded the aforesaid perceptions, mystifying her intelligence, and +leaving her physically almost inert. With his personal disappearance, +the last three days of her life with him seemed to be swallowed up, also +his image, in her mind's eye, waned curiously, receded far away, grew +stranger and stranger, less and less real. Their meeting and marriage +had been so sudden, unpremeditated, adventurous, that she could hardly +believe that she had played her part in such a reckless drama. Of all +the few hours of her life with Charles, the portion that most insisted in +coming back to memory was their fortuitous encounter on the previous +Saturday, and those bitter reprimands with which he had begun the attack, +as it might be called, which had piqued her to an unexpected +consummation. + +A sort of cruelty, an imperiousness, even in his warmth, had +characterized Charles Stow. As a lover he had ever been a bit of a +tyrant; and it might pretty truly have been said that he had stung her +into marriage with him at last. Still more alien from her life did these +reflections operate to make him; and then they would be chased away by an +interval of passionate weeping and mad regret. Finally, there returned +upon the confused mind of the young wife the recollection that she was on +her way homeward, and that the packet would sail in three-quarters of an +hour. + +Except the parasol in her hand, all she possessed was at the station +awaiting her onward journey. + +She looked in that direction; and, entering one of those undemonstrative +phases so common with her, walked quietly on. + +At first she made straight for the railway; but suddenly turning she went +to a shop and wrote an anonymous line announcing his death by drowning to +the only person she had ever heard Charles mention as a relative. Posting +this stealthily, and with a fearful look around her, she seemed to +acquire a terror of the late events, pursuing her way to the station as +if followed by a spectre. + +When she got to the office she asked for the luggage that she had left +there on the Saturday as well as the trunk left on the morning just +lapsed. All were put in the boat, and she herself followed. Quickly as +these things had been done, the whole proceeding, nevertheless, had been +almost automatic on Baptista's part, ere she had come to any definite +conclusion on her course. + +Just before the bell rang she heard a conversation on the pier, which +removed the last shade of doubt from her mind, if any had existed, that +she was Charles Stow's widow. The sentences were but fragmentary, but +she could easily piece them out. + +'A man drowned--swam out too far--was a stranger to the place--people in +boat--saw him go down--couldn't get there in time.' + +The news was little more definite than this as yet; though it may as well +be stated once for all that the statement was true. Charley, with the +over-confidence of his nature, had ventured out too far for his strength, +and succumbed in the absence of assistance, his lifeless body being at +that moment suspended in the transparent mid-depths of the bay. His +clothes, however, had merely been gently lifted by the rising tide, and +floated into a nook hard by, where they lay out of sight of the passers- +by till a day or two after. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +In ten minutes they were steaming out of the harbour for their voyage of +four or five hours, at whose ending she would have to tell her strange +story. + +As Pen-zephyr and all its environing scenes disappeared behind Mousehole +and St. Clement's Isle, Baptista's ephemeral, meteor-like husband +impressed her yet more as a fantasy. She was still in such a trance-like +state that she had been an hour on the little packet-boat before she +became aware of the agitating fact that Mr. Heddegan was on board with +her. Involuntarily she slipped from her left hand the symbol of her +wifehood. + +'Hee-hee! Well, the truth is, I wouldn't interrupt 'ee. "I reckon she +don't see me, or won't see me," I said, "and what's the hurry? She'll +see enough o' me soon!" I hope ye be well, mee deer?' + +He was a hale, well-conditioned man of about five and fifty, of the +complexion common to those whose lives are passed on the bluffs and +beaches of an ocean isle. He extended the four quarters of his face in a +genial smile, and his hand for a grasp of the same magnitude. She gave +her own in surprised docility, and he continued: 'I couldn't help coming +across to meet 'ee. What an unfortunate thing you missing the boat and +not coming Saturday! They meant to have warned 'ee that the time was +changed, but forgot it at the last moment. The truth is that I should +have informed 'ee myself; but I was that busy finishing up a job last +week, so as to have this week free, that I trusted to your father for +attending to these little things. However, so plain and quiet as it is +all to be, it really do not matter so much as it might otherwise have +done, and I hope ye haven't been greatly put out. Now, if you'd sooner +that I should not be seen talking to 'ee--if 'ee feel shy at all before +strangers--just say. I'll leave 'ee to yourself till we get home.' + +'Thank you much. I am indeed a little tired, Mr. Heddegan.' + +He nodded urbane acquiescence, strolled away immediately, and minutely +inspected the surface of the funnel, till some female passengers of +Giant's Town tittered at what they must have thought a rebuff--for the +approaching wedding was known to many on St. Maria's Island, though to +nobody elsewhere. Baptista coloured at their satire, and called him +back, and forced herself to commune with him in at least a mechanically +friendly manner. + +The opening event had been thus different from her expectation, and she +had adumbrated no act to meet it. Taken aback she passively allowed +circumstances to pilot her along; and so the voyage was made. + +It was near dusk when they touched the pier of Giant's Town, where +several friends and neighbours stood awaiting them. Her father had a +lantern in his hand. Her mother, too, was there, reproachfully glad that +the delay had at last ended so simply. Mrs. Trewthen and her daughter +went together along the Giant's Walk, or promenade, to the house, rather +in advance of her husband and Mr. Heddegan, who talked in loud tones +which reached the women over their shoulders. + +Some would have called Mrs. Trewthen a good mother; but though well +meaning she was maladroit, and her intentions missed their mark. This +might have been partly attributable to the slight deafness from which she +suffered. Now, as usual, the chief utterances came from her lips. + +'Ah, yes, I'm so glad, my child, that you've got over safe. It is all +ready, and everything so well arranged, that nothing but misfortune could +hinder you settling as, with God's grace, becomes 'ee. Close to your +mother's door a'most, 'twill be a great blessing, I'm sure; and I was +very glad to find from your letters that you'd held your word sacred. +That's right--make your word your bond always. Mrs. Wace seems to be a +sensible woman. I hope the Lord will do for her as he's doing for you no +long time hence. And how did 'ee get over the terrible journey from Tor- +upon-Sea to Pen-zephyr? Once you'd done with the railway, of course, you +seemed quite at home. Well, Baptista, conduct yourself seemly, and all +will be well.' + +Thus admonished, Baptista entered the house, her father and Mr. Heddegan +immediately at her back. Her mother had been so didactic that she had +felt herself absolutely unable to broach the subjects in the centre of +her mind. + +The familiar room, with the dark ceiling, the well-spread table, the old +chairs, had never before spoken so eloquently of the times ere she knew +or had heard of Charley Stow. She went upstairs to take off her things, +her mother remaining below to complete the disposition of the supper, and +attend to the preparation of to-morrow's meal, altogether composing such +an array of pies, from pies of fish to pies of turnips, as was never +heard of outside the Western Duchy. Baptista, once alone, sat down and +did nothing; and was called before she had taken off her bonnet. + +'I'm coming,' she cried, jumping up, and speedily disapparelling herself, +brushed her hair with a few touches and went down. + +Two or three of Mr. Heddegan's and her father's friends had dropped in, +and expressed their sympathy for the delay she had been subjected to. The +meal was a most merry one except to Baptista. She had desired privacy, +and there was none; and to break the news was already a greater +difficulty than it had been at first. Everything around her, animate and +inanimate, great and small, insisted that she had come home to be +married; and she could not get a chance to say nay. + +One or two people sang songs, as overtures to the melody of the morrow, +till at length bedtime came, and they all withdrew, her mother having +retired a little earlier. When Baptista found herself again alone in her +bedroom the case stood as before: she had come home with much to say, and +she had said nothing. + +It was now growing clear even to herself that Charles being dead, she had +not determination sufficient within her to break tidings which, had he +been alive, would have imperatively announced themselves. And thus with +the stroke of midnight came the turning of the scale; her story should +remain untold. It was not that upon the whole she thought it best not to +attempt to tell it; but that she could not undertake so explosive a +matter. To stop the wedding now would cause a convulsion in Giant's Town +little short of volcanic. Weakened, tired, and terrified as she had been +by the day's adventures, she could not make herself the author of such a +catastrophe. But how refuse Heddegan without telling? It really seemed +to her as if her marriage with Mr. Heddegan were about to take place as +if nothing had intervened. + +Morning came. The events of the previous days were cut off from her +present existence by scene and sentiment more completely than ever. +Charles Stow had grown to be a special being of whom, owing to his +character, she entertained rather fearful than loving memory. Baptista +could hear when she awoke that her parents were already moving about +downstairs. But she did not rise till her mother's rather rough voice +resounded up the staircase as it had done on the preceding evening. + +'Baptista! Come, time to be stirring! The man will be here, by heaven's +blessing, in three-quarters of an hour. He has looked in already for a +minute or two--and says he's going to the church to see if things be well +forward.' + +Baptista arose, looked out of the window, and took the easy course. When +she emerged from the regions above she was arrayed in her new silk frock +and best stockings, wearing a linen jacket over the former for +breakfasting, and her common slippers over the latter, not to spoil the +new ones on the rough precincts of the dwelling. + +It is unnecessary to dwell at any great length on this part of the +morning's proceedings. She revealed nothing; and married Heddegan, as +she had given her word to do, on that appointed August day. + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Mr. Heddegan forgave the coldness of his bride's manner during and after +the wedding ceremony, full well aware that there had been considerable +reluctance on her part to acquiesce in this neighbourly arrangement, and, +as a philosopher of long standing, holding that whatever Baptista's +attitude now, the conditions would probably be much the same six months +hence as those which ruled among other married couples. + +An absolutely unexpected shock was given to Baptista's listless mind +about an hour after the wedding service. They had nearly finished the +mid-day dinner when the now husband said to her father, 'We think of +starting about two. And the breeze being so fair we shall bring up +inside Pen-zephyr new pier about six at least.' + +'What--are we going to Pen-zephyr?' said Baptista. 'I don't know +anything of it.' + +'Didn't you tell her?' asked her father of Heddegan. + +It transpired that, owing to the delay in her arrival, this proposal too, +among other things, had in the hurry not been mentioned to her, except +some time ago as a general suggestion that they would go somewhere. +Heddegan had imagined that any trip would be pleasant, and one to the +mainland the pleasantest of all. + +She looked so distressed at the announcement that her husband willingly +offered to give it up, though he had not had a holiday off the island for +a whole year. Then she pondered on the inconvenience of staying at +Giant's Town, where all the inhabitants were bonded, by the circumstances +of their situation, into a sort of family party, which permitted and +encouraged on such occasions as these oral criticism that was apt to +disturb the equanimity of newly married girls, and would especially worry +Baptista in her strange situation. Hence, unexpectedly, she agreed not +to disorganize her husband's plans for the wedding jaunt, and it was +settled that, as originally intended, they should proceed in a +neighbour's sailing boat to the metropolis of the district. + +In this way they arrived at Pen-zephyr without difficulty or mishap. +Bidding adieu to Jenkin and his man, who had sailed them over, they +strolled arm in arm off the pier, Baptista silent, cold, and obedient. +Heddegan had arranged to take her as far as Plymouth before their return, +but to go no further than where they had landed that day. Their first +business was to find an inn; and in this they had unexpected difficulty, +since for some reason or other--possibly the fine weather--many of the +nearest at hand were full of tourists and commercial travellers. He led +her on till he reached a tavern which, though comparatively unpretending, +stood in as attractive a spot as any in the town; and this, somewhat to +their surprise after their previous experience, they found apparently +empty. The considerate old man, thinking that Baptista was educated to +artistic notions, though he himself was deficient in them, had decided +that it was most desirable to have, on such an occasion as the present, +an apartment with 'a good view' (the expression being one he had often +heard in use among tourists); and he therefore asked for a favourite room +on the first floor, from which a bow-window protruded, for the express +purpose of affording such an outlook. + +The landlady, after some hesitation, said she was sorry that particular +apartment was engaged; the next one, however, or any other in the house, +was unoccupied. + +'The gentleman who has the best one will give it up to-morrow, and then +you can change into it,' she added, as Mr. Heddegan hesitated about +taking the adjoining and less commanding one. + +'We shall be gone to-morrow, and shan't want it,' he said. + +Wishing not to lose customers, the landlady earnestly continued that +since he was bent on having the best room, perhaps the other gentleman +would not object to move at once into the one they despised, since, +though nothing could be seen from the window, the room was equally large. + +'Well, if he doesn't care for a view,' said Mr. Heddegan, with the air of +a highly artistic man who did. + +'O no--I am sure he doesn't,' she said. 'I can promise that you shall +have the room you want. If you would not object to go for a walk for +half an hour, I could have it ready, and your things in it, and a nice +tea laid in the bow-window by the time you come back?' + +This proposal was deemed satisfactory by the fussy old tradesman, and +they went out. Baptista nervously conducted him in an opposite direction +to her walk of the former day in other company, showing on her wan face, +had he observed it, how much she was beginning to regret her sacrificial +step for mending matters that morning. + +She took advantage of a moment when her husband's back was turned to +inquire casually in a shop if anything had been heard of the gentleman +who was sucked down in the eddy while bathing. + +The shopman said, 'Yes, his body has been washed ashore,' and had just +handed Baptista a newspaper on which she discerned the heading, 'A +Schoolmaster drowned while bathing,' when her husband turned to join her. +She might have pursued the subject without raising suspicion; but it was +more than flesh and blood could do, and completing a small purchase +almost ran out of the shop. + +'What is your terrible hurry, mee deer?' said Heddegan, hastening after. + +'I don't know--I don't want to stay in shops,' she gasped. + +'And we won't,' he said. 'They are suffocating this weather. Let's go +back and have some tay!' + +They found the much desired apartment awaiting their entry. It was a +sort of combination bed and sitting-room, and the table was prettily +spread with high tea in the bow-window, a bunch of flowers in the midst, +and a best-parlour chair on each side. Here they shared the meal by the +ruddy light of the vanishing sun. But though the view had been engaged, +regardless of expense, exclusively for Baptista's pleasure, she did not +direct any keen attention out of the window. Her gaze as often fell on +the floor and walls of the room as elsewhere, and on the table as much as +on either, beholding nothing at all. + +But there was a change. Opposite her seat was the door, upon which her +eyes presently became riveted like those of a little bird upon a snake. +For, on a peg at the back of the door, there hung a hat; such a +hat--surely, from its peculiar make, the actual hat--that had been worn +by Charles. Conviction grew to certainty when she saw a railway ticket +sticking up from the band. Charles had put the ticket there--she had +noticed the act. + +Her teeth almost chattered; she murmured something incoherent. Her +husband jumped up and said, 'You are not well! What is it? What shall I +get 'ee?' + +'Smelling salts!' she said, quickly and desperately; 'at that chemist's +shop you were in just now.' + +He jumped up like the anxious old man that he was, caught up his own hat +from a back table, and without observing the other hastened out and +downstairs. + +Left alone she gazed and gazed at the back of the door, then +spasmodically rang the bell. An honest-looking country maid-servant +appeared in response. + +'A hat!' murmured Baptista, pointing with her finger. 'It does not +belong to us.' + +'O yes, I'll take it away,' said the young woman with some hurry. 'It +belongs to the other gentleman.' + +She spoke with a certain awkwardness, and took the hat out of the room. +Baptista had recovered her outward composure. 'The other gentleman?' she +said. 'Where is the other gentleman?' + +'He's in the next room, ma'am. He removed out of this to oblige 'ee.' + +'How can you say so? I should hear him if he were there,' said Baptista, +sufficiently recovered to argue down an apparent untruth. + +'He's there,' said the girl, hardily. + +'Then it is strange that he makes no noise,' said Mrs. Heddegan, +convicting the girl of falsity by a look. + +'He makes no noise; but it is not strange,' said the servant. + +All at once a dread took possession of the bride's heart, like a cold +hand laid thereon; for it flashed upon her that there was a possibility +of reconciling the girl's statement with her own knowledge of facts. + +'Why does he make no noise?' she weakly said. + +The waiting-maid was silent, and looked at her questioner. 'If I tell +you, ma'am, you won't tell missis?' she whispered. + +Baptista promised. + +'Because he's a-lying dead!' said the girl. 'He's the schoolmaster that +was drownded yesterday.' + +'O!' said the bride, covering her eyes. 'Then he was in this room till +just now?' + +'Yes,' said the maid, thinking the young lady's agitation natural enough. +'And I told missis that I thought she oughtn't to have done it, because I +don't hold it right to keep visitors so much in the dark where death's +concerned; but she said the gentleman didn't die of anything infectious; +she was a poor, honest, innkeeper's wife, she says, who had to get her +living by making hay while the sun sheened. And owing to the drownded +gentleman being brought here, she said, it kept so many people away that +we were empty, though all the other houses were full. So when your good +man set his mind upon the room, and she would have lost good paying folk +if he'd not had it, it wasn't to be supposed, she said, that she'd let +anything stand in the way. Ye won't say that I've told ye, please, m'm? +All the linen has been changed, and as the inquest won't be till +to-morrow, after you are gone, she thought you wouldn't know a word of +it, being strangers here.' + +The returning footsteps of her husband broke off further narration. +Baptista waved her hand, for she could not speak. The waiting-maid +quickly withdrew, and Mr. Heddegan entered with the smelling salts and +other nostrums. + +'Any better?' he questioned. + +'I don't like the hotel,' she exclaimed, almost simultaneously. 'I can't +bear it--it doesn't suit me!' + +'Is that all that's the matter?' he returned pettishly (this being the +first time of his showing such a mood). 'Upon my heart and life such +trifling is trying to any man's temper, Baptista! Sending me about from +here to yond, and then when I come back saying 'ee don't like the place +that I have sunk so much money and words to get for 'ee. 'Od dang it +all, 'tis enough to--But I won't say any more at present, mee deer, +though it is just too much to expect to turn out of the house now. We +shan't get another quiet place at this time of the evening--every other +inn in the town is bustling with rackety folk of one sort and t'other, +while here 'tis as quiet as the grave--the country, I would say. So bide +still, d'ye hear, and to-morrow we shall be out of the town altogether--as +early as you like.' + +The obstinacy of age had, in short, overmastered its complaisance, and +the young woman said no more. The simple course of telling him that in +the adjoining room lay a corpse which had lately occupied their own +might, it would have seemed, have been an effectual one without further +disclosure, but to allude to that subject, however it was disguised, was +more than Heddegan's young wife had strength for. Horror broke her down. +In the contingency one thing only presented itself to her paralyzed +regard--that here she was doomed to abide, in a hideous contiguity to the +dead husband and the living, and her conjecture did, in fact, bear itself +out. That night she lay between the two men she had married--Heddegan on +the one hand, and on the other through the partition against which the +bed stood, Charles Stow. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Kindly time had withdrawn the foregoing event three days from the present +of Baptista Heddegan. It was ten o'clock in the morning; she had been +ill, not in an ordinary or definite sense, but in a state of cold +stupefaction, from which it was difficult to arouse her so much as to say +a few sentences. When questioned she had replied that she was pretty +well. + +Their trip, as such, had been something of a failure. They had gone on +as far as Falmouth, but here he had given way to her entreaties to return +home. This they could not very well do without repassing through Pen- +zephyr, at which place they had now again arrived. + +In the train she had seen a weekly local paper, and read there a +paragraph detailing the inquest on Charles. It was added that the +funeral was to take place at his native town of Redrutin on Friday. + +After reading this she had shown no reluctance to enter the fatal +neighbourhood of the tragedy, only stipulating that they should take +their rest at a different lodging from the first; and now comparatively +braced up and calm--indeed a cooler creature altogether than when last in +the town, she said to David that she wanted to walk out for a while, as +they had plenty of time on their hands. + +'To a shop as usual, I suppose, mee deer?' + +'Partly for shopping,' she said. 'And it will be best for you, dear, to +stay in after trotting about so much, and have a good rest while I am +gone.' + +He assented; and Baptista sallied forth. As she had stated, her first +visit was made to a shop, a draper's. Without the exercise of much +choice she purchased a black bonnet and veil, also a black stuff gown; a +black mantle she already wore. These articles were made up into a parcel +which, in spite of the saleswoman's offers, her customer said she would +take with her. Bearing it on her arm she turned to the railway, and at +the station got a ticket for Redrutin. + +Thus it appeared that, on her recovery from the paralyzed mood of the +former day, while she had resolved not to blast utterly the happiness of +her present husband by revealing the history of the departed one, she had +also determined to indulge a certain odd, inconsequent, feminine +sentiment of decency, to the small extent to which it could do no harm to +any person. At Redrutin she emerged from the railway carriage in the +black attire purchased at the shop, having during the transit made the +change in the empty compartment she had chosen. The other clothes were +now in the bandbox and parcel. Leaving these at the cloak-room she +proceeded onward, and after a wary survey reached the side of a hill +whence a view of the burial ground could be obtained. + +It was now a little before two o'clock. While Baptista waited a funeral +procession ascended the road. Baptista hastened across, and by the time +the procession entered the cemetery gates she had unobtrusively joined +it. + +In addition to the schoolmaster's own relatives (not a few), the +paragraph in the newspapers of his death by drowning had drawn together +many neighbours, acquaintances, and onlookers. Among them she passed +unnoticed, and with a quiet step pursued the winding path to the chapel, +and afterwards thence to the grave. When all was over, and the relatives +and idlers had withdrawn, she stepped to the edge of the chasm. From +beneath her mantle she drew a little bunch of forget-me-nots, and dropped +them in upon the coffin. In a few minutes she also turned and went away +from the cemetery. By five o'clock she was again in Pen-zephyr. + +'You have been a mortal long time!' said her husband, crossly. 'I +allowed you an hour at most, mee deer.' + +'It occupied me longer,' said she. + +'Well--I reckon it is wasting words to complain. Hang it, ye look so +tired and wisht that I can't find heart to say what I would!' + +'I am--weary and wisht, David; I am. We can get home to-morrow for +certain, I hope?' + +'We can. And please God we will!' said Mr. Heddegan heartily, as if he +too were weary of his brief honeymoon. 'I must be into business again on +Monday morning at latest.' + +They left by the next morning steamer, and in the afternoon took up their +residence in their own house at Giant's Town. + +The hour that she reached the island it was as if a material weight had +been removed from Baptista's shoulders. Her husband attributed the +change to the influence of the local breezes after the hot-house +atmosphere of the mainland. However that might be, settled here, a few +doors from her mother's dwelling, she recovered in no very long time much +of her customary bearing, which was never very demonstrative. She +accepted her position calmly, and faintly smiled when her neighbours +learned to call her Mrs. Heddegan, and said she seemed likely to become +the leader of fashion in Giant's Town. + +Her husband was a man who had made considerably more money by trade than +her father had done: and perhaps the greater profusion of surroundings at +her command than she had heretofore been mistress of, was not without an +effect upon her. One week, two weeks, three weeks passed; and, being pre- +eminently a young woman who allowed things to drift, she did nothing +whatever either to disclose or conceal traces of her first marriage; or +to learn if there existed possibilities--which there undoubtedly did--by +which that hasty contract might become revealed to those about her at any +unexpected moment. + +While yet within the first month of her marriage, and on an evening just +before sunset, Baptista was standing within her garden adjoining the +house, when she saw passing along the road a personage clad in a greasy +black coat and battered tall hat, which, common enough in the slums of a +city, had an odd appearance in St. Maria's. The tramp, as he seemed to +be, marked her at once--bonnetless and unwrapped as she was her features +were plainly recognizable--and with an air of friendly surprise came and +leant over the wall. + +'What! don't you know me?' said he. + +She had some dim recollection of his face, but said that she was not +acquainted with him. + +'Why, your witness to be sure, ma'am. Don't you mind the man that was +mending the church-window when you and your intended husband walked up to +be made one; and the clerk called me down from the ladder, and I came and +did my part by writing my name and occupation?' + +Baptista glanced quickly around; her husband was out of earshot. That +would have been of less importance but for the fact that the wedding +witnessed by this personage had not been the wedding with Mr. Heddegan, +but the one on the day previous. + +'I've had a misfortune since then, that's pulled me under,' continued her +friend. 'But don't let me damp yer wedded joy by naming the particulars. +Yes, I've seen changes since; though 'tis but a short time ago--let me +see, only a month next week, I think; for 'twere the first or second day +in August.' + +'Yes--that's when it was,' said another man, a sailor, who had come up +with a pipe in his mouth, and felt it necessary to join in (Baptista +having receded to escape further speech). 'For that was the first time I +set foot in Giant's Town; and her husband took her to him the same day.' + +A dialogue then proceeded between the two men outside the wall, which +Baptista could not help hearing. + +'Ay, I signed the book that made her one flesh,' repeated the decayed +glazier. 'Where's her goodman?' + +'About the premises somewhere; but you don't see 'em together much,' +replied the sailor in an undertone. 'You see, he's older than she.' + +'Older? I should never have thought it from my own observation,' said +the glazier. 'He was a remarkably handsome man.' + +'Handsome? Well, there he is--we can see for ourselves.' + +David Heddegan had, indeed, just shown himself at the upper end of the +garden; and the glazier, looking in bewilderment from the husband to the +wife, saw the latter turn pale. + +Now that decayed glazier was a far-seeing and cunning man--too far-seeing +and cunning to allow himself to thrive by simple and straightforward +means--and he held his peace, till he could read more plainly the meaning +of this riddle, merely adding carelessly, 'Well--marriage do alter a man, +'tis true. I should never ha' knowed him!' + +He then stared oddly at the disconcerted Baptista, and moving on to where +he could again address her, asked her to do him a good turn, since he +once had done the same for her. Understanding that he meant money, she +handed him some, at which he thanked her, and instantly went away. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +She had escaped exposure on this occasion; but the incident had been an +awkward one, and should have suggested to Baptista that sooner or later +the secret must leak out. As it was, she suspected that at any rate she +had not heard the last of the glazier. + +In a day or two, when her husband had gone to the old town on the other +side of the island, there came a gentle tap at the door, and the worthy +witness of her first marriage made his appearance a second time. + +'It took me hours to get to the bottom of the mystery--hours!' he said +with a gaze of deep confederacy which offended her pride very deeply. +'But thanks to a good intellect I've done it. Now, ma'am, I'm not a man +to tell tales, even when a tale would be so good as this. But I'm going +back to the mainland again, and a little assistance would be as rain on +thirsty ground.' + +'I helped you two days ago,' began Baptista. + +'Yes--but what was that, my good lady? Not enough to pay my passage to +Pen-zephyr. I came over on your account, for I thought there was a +mystery somewhere. Now I must go back on my own. Mind this--'twould be +very awkward for you if your old man were to know. He's a queer temper, +though he may be fond.' + +She knew as well as her visitor how awkward it would be; and the hush- +money she paid was heavy that day. She had, however, the satisfaction of +watching the man to the steamer, and seeing him diminish out of sight. +But Baptista perceived that the system into which she had been led of +purchasing silence thus was one fatal to her peace of mind, particularly +if it had to be continued. + +Hearing no more from the glazier she hoped the difficulty was past. But +another week only had gone by, when, as she was pacing the Giant's Walk +(the name given to the promenade), she met the same personage in the +company of a fat woman carrying a bundle. + +'This is the lady, my dear,' he said to his companion. 'This, ma'am, is +my wife. We've come to settle in the town for a time, if so be we can +find room.' + +'That you won't do,' said she. 'Nobody can live here who is not +privileged.' + +'I am privileged,' said the glazier, 'by my trade.' + +Baptista went on, but in the afternoon she received a visit from the +man's wife. This honest woman began to depict, in forcible colours, the +necessity for keeping up the concealment. + +'I will intercede with my husband, ma'am,' she said. 'He's a true man if +rightly managed; and I'll beg him to consider your position. 'Tis a very +nice house you've got here,' she added, glancing round, 'and well worth a +little sacrifice to keep it.' + +The unlucky Baptista staved off the danger on this third occasion as she +had done on the previous two. But she formed a resolve that, if the +attack were once more to be repeated she would face a revelation--worse +though that must now be than before she had attempted to purchase silence +by bribes. Her tormentors, never believing her capable of acting upon +such an intention, came again; but she shut the door in their faces. They +retreated, muttering something; but she went to the back of the house, +where David Heddegan was. + +She looked at him, unconscious of all. The case was serious; she knew +that well; and all the more serious in that she liked him better now than +she had done at first. Yet, as she herself began to see, the secret was +one that was sure to disclose itself. Her name and Charles's stood +indelibly written in the registers; and though a month only had passed as +yet it was a wonder that his clandestine union with her had not already +been discovered by his friends. Thus spurring herself to the inevitable, +she spoke to Heddegan. + +'David, come indoors. I have something to tell you.' + +He hardly regarded her at first. She had discerned that during the last +week or two he had seemed preoccupied, as if some private business +harassed him. She repeated her request. He replied with a sigh, 'Yes, +certainly, mee deer.' + +When they had reached the sitting-room and shut the door she repeated, +faintly, 'David, I have something to tell you--a sort of tragedy I have +concealed. You will hate me for having so far deceived you; but perhaps +my telling you voluntarily will make you think a little better of me than +you would do otherwise.' + +'Tragedy?' he said, awakening to interest. 'Much you can know about +tragedies, mee deer, that have been in the world so short a time!' + +She saw that he suspected nothing, and it made her task the harder. But +on she went steadily. 'It is about something that happened before we +were married,' she said. + +'Indeed!' + +'Not a very long time before--a short time. And it is about a lover,' +she faltered. + +'I don't much mind that,' he said mildly. 'In truth, I was in hopes +'twas more.' + +'In hopes!' + +'Well, yes.' + +This screwed her up to the necessary effort. 'I met my old sweetheart. +He scorned me, chid me, dared me, and I went and married him. We were +coming straight here to tell you all what we had done; but he was +drowned; and I thought I would say nothing about him: and I married you, +David, for the sake of peace and quietness. I've tried to keep it from +you, but have found I cannot. There--that's the substance of it, and you +can never, never forgive me, I am sure!' + +She spoke desperately. But the old man, instead of turning black or +blue, or slaying her in his indignation, jumped up from his chair, and +began to caper around the room in quite an ecstatic emotion. + +'O, happy thing! How well it falls out!' he exclaimed, snapping his, +fingers over his head. 'Ha-ha--the knot is cut--I see a way out of my +trouble--ha-ha!' She looked at him without uttering a sound, till, as he +still continued smiling joyfully, she said, 'O--what do you mean! Is it +done to torment me?' + +'No--no! O, mee deer, your story helps me out of the most heart-aching +quandary a poor man ever found himself in! You see, it is this--I've got +a tragedy, too; and unless you had had one to tell, I could never have +seen my way to tell mine!' + +'What is yours--what is it?' she asked, with altogether a new view of +things. + +'Well--it is a bouncer; mine is a bouncer!' said he, looking on the +ground and wiping his eyes. + +'Not worse than mine?' + +'Well--that depends upon how you look at it. Yours had to do with the +past alone; and I don't mind it. You see, we've been married a month, +and it don't jar upon me as it would if we'd only been married a day or +two. Now mine refers to past, present, and future; so that--' + +'Past, present, and future!' she murmured. 'It never occurred to me that +you had a tragedy, too.' + +'But I have!' he said, shaking his head. 'In fact, four.' + +'Then tell 'em!' cried the young woman. + +'I will--I will. But be considerate, I beg 'ee, mee deer. Well--I +wasn't a bachelor when I married 'ee, any more than you were a spinster. +Just as you was a widow-woman, I was a widow-man. + +'Ah!' said she, with some surprise. 'But is that all?--then we are +nicely balanced,' she added, relieved. + +'No--it is not all. There's the point. I am not only a widower.' + +'O, David!' + +'I am a widower with four tragedies--that is to say, four strapping +girls--the eldest taller than you. Don't 'ee look so struck--dumb-like! +It fell out in this way. I knew the poor woman, their mother, in Pen- +zephyr for some years; and--to cut a long story short--I privately +married her at last, just before she died. I kept the matter secret, but +it is getting known among the people here by degrees. I've long felt for +the children--that it is my duty to have them here, and do something for +them. I have not had courage to break it to 'ee, but I've seen lately +that it would soon come to your ears, and that hev worried me.' + +'Are they educated?' said the ex-schoolmistress. + +'No. I am sorry to say they have been much neglected; in truth, they can +hardly read. And so I thought that by marrying a young schoolmistress I +should get some one in the house who could teach 'em, and bring 'em into +genteel condition, all for nothing. You see, they are growed up too tall +to be sent to school.' + +'O, mercy!' she almost moaned. 'Four great girls to teach the rudiments +to, and have always in the house with me spelling over their books; and I +hate teaching, it kills me. I am bitterly punished--I am, I am!' + +'You'll get used to 'em, mee deer, and the balance of secrets--mine +against yours--will comfort your heart with a sense of justice. I could +send for 'em this week very well--and I will! In faith, I could send +this very day. Baptista, you have relieved me of all my difficulty!' + +Thus the interview ended, so far as this matter was concerned. Baptista +was too stupefied to say more, and when she went away to her room she +wept from very mortification at Mr. Heddegan's duplicity. Education, the +one thing she abhorred; the shame of it to delude a young wife so! + +The next meal came round. As they sat, Baptista would not suffer her +eyes to turn towards him. He did not attempt to intrude upon her +reserve, but every now and then looked under the table and chuckled with +satisfaction at the aspect of affairs. 'How very well matched we be!' he +said, comfortably. + +Next day, when the steamer came in, Baptista saw her husband rush down to +meet it; and soon after there appeared at her door four tall, hipless, +shoulderless girls, dwindling in height and size from the eldest to the +youngest, like a row of Pan pipes; at the head of them standing Heddegan. +He smiled pleasantly through the grey fringe of his whiskers and beard, +and turning to the girls said, 'Now come forrard, and shake hands +properly with your stepmother.' + +Thus she made their acquaintance, and he went out, leaving them together. +On examination the poor girls turned out to be not only plain-looking, +which she could have forgiven, but to have such a lamentably meagre +intellectual equipment as to be hopelessly inadequate as companions. Even +the eldest, almost her own age, could only read with difficulty words of +two syllables; and taste in dress was beyond their comprehension. In the +long vista of future years she saw nothing but dreary drudgery at her +detested old trade without prospect of reward. + +She went about quite despairing during the next few days--an unpromising, +unfortunate mood for a woman who had not been married six weeks. From +her parents she concealed everything. They had been amongst the few +acquaintances of Heddegan who knew nothing of his secret, and were +indignant enough when they saw such a ready-made household foisted upon +their only child. But she would not support them in their remonstrances. + +'No, you don't yet know all,' she said. + +Thus Baptista had sense enough to see the retributive fairness of this +issue. For some time, whenever conversation arose between her and +Heddegan, which was not often, she always said, 'I am miserable, and you +know it. Yet I don't wish things to be otherwise.' + +But one day when he asked, 'How do you like 'em now?' her answer was +unexpected. 'Much better than I did,' she said, quietly. 'I may like +them very much some day.' + +This was the beginning of a serener season for the chastened spirit of +Baptista Heddegan. She had, in truth, discovered, underneath the crust +of uncouthness and meagre articulation which was due to their +Troglodytean existence, that her unwelcomed daughters had natures that +were unselfish almost to sublimity. The harsh discipline accorded to +their young lives before their mother's wrong had been righted, had +operated less to crush them than to lift them above all personal +ambition. They considered the world and its contents in a purely +objective way, and their own lot seemed only to affect them as that of +certain human beings among the rest, whose troubles they knew rather than +suffered. + +This was such an entirely new way of regarding life to a woman of +Baptista's nature, that her attention, from being first arrested by it, +became deeply interested. By imperceptible pulses her heart expanded in +sympathy with theirs. The sentences of her tragi-comedy, her life, +confused till now, became clearer daily. That in humanity, as +exemplified by these girls, there was nothing to dislike, but infinitely +much to pity, she learnt with the lapse of each week in their company. +She grew to like the girls of unpromising exterior, and from liking she +got to love them; till they formed an unexpected point of junction +between her own and her husband's interests, generating a sterling +friendship at least, between a pair in whose existence there had +threatened to be neither friendship nor love. + +October, 1885. + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHANGED MAN AND OTHER TALES*** + + +******* This file should be named 3058.txt or 3058.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/0/5/3058 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.07.00*END* + + + + +A CHANGED MAN AND OTHER TALES + + + + +Contents: + +Prefatory Note +A Changed Man +The Waiting Supper +Alicia's Diary +The Grave by the Handpost +Enter a Dragoon +A Tryst at an Ancient Earthwork +What the Shepherd Saw +A Committee Man of 'The Terror' +Master John Horseleigh, Knight +The Duke's Reappearance +A Mere Interlude + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + + + + +I reprint in this volume, for what they may be worth, a dozen minor +novels that have been published in the periodical press at various +dates in the past, in order to render them accessible to readers who +desire to have them in the complete series issued by my publishers. +For aid in reclaiming some of the narratives I express my thanks to +the proprietors and editors of the newspapers and magazines in whose +pages they first appeared. + +T. H. +August 1913. + + + + +A CHANGED MAN + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + +The person who, next to the actors themselves, chanced to know most +of their story, lived just below 'Top o' Town' (as the spot was +called) in an old substantially-built house, distinguished among its +neighbours by having an oriel window on the first floor, whence could +be obtained a raking view of the High Street, west and east, the +former including Laura's dwelling, the end of the Town Avenue hard by +(in which were played the odd pranks hereafter to be mentioned), the +Port-Bredy road rising westwards, and the turning that led to the +cavalry barracks where the Captain was quartered. Looking eastward +down the town from the same favoured gazebo, the long perspective of +houses declined and dwindled till they merged in the highway across +the moor. The white riband of road disappeared over Grey's Bridge a +quarter of a mile off, to plunge into innumerable rustic windings, +shy shades, and solitary undulations up hill and down dale for one +hundred and twenty miles till it exhibited itself at Hyde Park Corner +as a smooth bland surface in touch with a busy and fashionable world. + +To the barracks aforesaid had recently arrived the --th Hussars, a +regiment new to the locality. Almost before any acquaintance with +its members had been made by the townspeople, a report spread that +they were a 'crack' body of men, and had brought a splendid band. +For some reason or other the town had not been used as the +headquarters of cavalry for many years, the various troops stationed +there having consisted of casual detachments only; so that it was +with a sense of honour that everybody--even the small furniture- +broker from whom the married troopers hired tables and chairs-- +received the news of their crack quality. + +In those days the Hussar regiments still wore over the left shoulder +that attractive attachment, or frilled half-coat, hanging loosely +behind like the wounded wing of a bird, which was called the pelisse, +though it was known among the troopers themselves as a 'sling- +jacket.' It added amazingly to their picturesqueness in women's +eyes, and, indeed, in the eyes of men also. + +The burgher who lived in the house with the oriel window sat during a +great many hours of the day in that projection, for he was an +invalid, and time hung heavily on his hands unless he maintained a +constant interest in proceedings without. Not more than a week after +the arrival of the Hussars his ears were assailed by the shout of one +schoolboy to another in the street below. + +'Have 'ee heard this about the Hussars? They are haunted! Yes--a +ghost troubles 'em; he has followed 'em about the world for years.' + +A haunted regiment: that was a new idea for either invalid or +stalwart. The listener in the oriel came to the conclusion that +there were some lively characters among the --th Hussars. + +He made Captain Maumbry's acquaintance in an informal manner at an +afternoon tea to which he went in a wheeled chair--one of the very +rare outings that the state of his health permitted. Maumbry showed +himself to be a handsome man of twenty-eight or thirty, with an +attractive hint of wickedness in his manner that was sure to make him +adorable with good young women. The large dark eyes that lit his +pale face expressed this wickedness strongly, though such was the +adaptability of their rays that one could think they might have +expressed sadness or seriousness just as readily, if he had had a +mind for such. + +An old and deaf lady who was present asked Captain Maumbry bluntly: +'What's this we hear about you? They say your regiment is haunted.' + +The Captain's face assumed an aspect of grave, even sad, concern. +'Yes,' he replied, 'it is too true.' + +Some younger ladies smiled till they saw how serious he looked, when +they looked serious likewise. + +'Really?' said the old lady. + +'Yes. We naturally don't wish to say much about it.' + +'No, no; of course not. But--how haunted?' + +'Well; the--THING, as I'll call it, follows us. In country quarters +or town, abroad or at home, it's just the same.' + +'How do you account for it?' + +'H'm.' Maumbry lowered his voice. 'Some crime committed by certain +of our regiment in past years, we suppose.' + +'Dear me . . . How very horrid, and singular!' + +'But, as I said, we don't speak of it much.' + +'No . . . no.' + +When the Hussar was gone, a young lady, disclosing a long-suppressed +interest, asked if the ghost had been seen by any of the town. + +The lawyer's son, who always had the latest borough news, said that, +though it was seldom seen by any one but the Hussars themselves, more +than one townsman and woman had already set eyes on it, to his or her +terror. The phantom mostly appeared very late at night, under the +dense trees of the town-avenue nearest the barracks. It was about +ten feet high; its teeth chattered with a dry naked sound, as if they +were those of a skeleton; and its hip-bones could be heard grating in +their sockets. + +During the darkest weeks of winter several timid persons were +seriously frightened by the object answering to this cheerful +description, and the police began to look into the matter. Whereupon +the appearances grew less frequent, and some of the Boys of the +regiment thankfully stated that they had not been so free from +ghostly visitation for years as they had become since their arrival +in Casterbridge. + +This playing at ghosts was the most innocent of the amusements +indulged in by the choice young spirits who inhabited the lichened, +red-brick building at the top of the town bearing 'W.D.' and a broad +arrow on its quoins. Far more serious escapades--levities relating +to love, wine, cards, betting--were talked of, with no doubt more or +less of exaggeration. That the Hussars, Captain Maumbry included, +were the cause of bitter tears to several young women of the town and +country is unquestionably true, despite the fact that the gaieties of +the young men wore a more staring colour in this old-fashioned place +than they would have done in a large and modern city. + + + +CHAPTER II + + + +Regularly once a week they rode out in marching order. + +Returning up the town on one of these occasions, the romantic pelisse +flapping behind each horseman's shoulder in the soft south-west wind, +Captain Maumbry glanced up at the oriel. A mutual nod was exchanged +between him and the person who sat there reading. The reader and a +friend in the room with him followed the troop with their eyes all +the way up the street, till, when the soldiers were opposite the +house in which Laura lived, that young lady became discernible in the +balcony. + +'They are engaged to be married, I hear,' said the friend. + +'Who--Maumbry and Laura? Never--so soon?' + +'Yes.' + +'He'll never marry. Several girls have been mentioned in connection +with his name. I am sorry for Laura.' + +'Oh, but you needn't be. They are excellently matched.' + +'She's only one more.' + +'She's one more, and more still. She has regularly caught him. She +is a born player of the game of hearts, and she knew how to beat him +in his own practices. If there is one woman in the town who has any +chance of holding her own and marrying him, she is that woman.' + +This was true, as it turned out. By natural proclivity Laura had +from the first entered heart and soul into military romance as +exhibited in the plots and characters of those living exponents of it +who came under her notice. From her earliest young womanhood +civilians, however promising, had no chance of winning her interest +if the meanest warrior were within the horizon. It may be that the +position of her uncle's house (which was her home) at the corner of +West Street nearest the barracks, the daily passing of the troops, +the constant blowing of trumpet-calls a furlong from her windows, +coupled with the fact that she knew nothing of the inner realities of +military life, and hence idealized it, had also helped her mind's +original bias for thinking men-at-arms the only ones worthy of a +woman's heart. + +Captain Maumbry was a typical prize; one whom all surrounding maidens +had coveted, ached for, angled for, wept for, had by her judicious +management become subdued to her purpose; and in addition to the +pleasure of marrying the man she loved, Laura had the joy of feeling +herself hated by the mothers of all the marriageable girls of the +neighbourhood. + +The man in the oriel went to the wedding; not as a guest, for at this +time he was but slightly acquainted with the parties; but mainly +because the church was close to his house; partly, too, for a reason +which moved many others to be spectators of the ceremony; a +subconsciousness that, though the couple might be happy in their +experiences, there was sufficient possibility of their being +otherwise to colour the musings of an onlooker with a pleasing pathos +of conjecture. He could on occasion do a pretty stroke of rhyming in +those days, and he beguiled the time of waiting by pencilling on a +blank page of his prayer-book a few lines which, though kept private +then, may be given here:- + + +AT A HASTY WEDDING +(Triolet) + +If hours be years the twain are blest, + For now they solace swift desire +By lifelong ties that tether zest + If hours be years. The twain are blest +Do eastern suns slope never west, + Nor pallid ashes follow fire. +If hours be years the twain are blest + For now they solace swift desire. + + +As if, however, to falsify all prophecies, the couple seemed to find +in marriage the secret of perpetuating the intoxication of a +courtship which, on Maumbry's side at least, had opened without +serious intent. During the winter following they were the most +popular pair in and about Casterbridge--nay in South Wessex itself. +No smart dinner in the country houses of the younger and gayer +families within driving distance of the borough was complete without +their lively presence; Mrs. Maumbry was the blithest of the whirling +figures at the county ball; and when followed that inevitable +incident of garrison-town life, an amateur dramatic entertainment, it +was just the same. The acting was for the benefit of such and such +an excellent charity--nobody cared what, provided the play were +played--and both Captain Maumbry and his wife were in the piece, +having been in fact, by mutual consent, the originators of the +performance. And so with laughter, and thoughtlessness, and +movement, all went merrily. There was a little backwardness in the +bill-paying of the couple; but in justice to them it must be added +that sooner or later all owings were paid. + + + +CHAPTER III + + + +At the chapel-of-ease attended by the troops there arose above the +edge of the pulpit one Sunday an unknown face. This was the face of +a new curate. He placed upon the desk, not the familiar sermon book, +but merely a Bible. The person who tells these things was not +present at that service, but he soon learnt that the young curate was +nothing less than a great surprise to his congregation; a mixed one +always, for though the Hussars occupied the body of the building, its +nooks and corners were crammed with civilians, whom, up to the +present, even the least uncharitable would have described as being +attracted thither less by the services than by the soldiery. + +Now there arose a second reason for squeezing into an already +overcrowded church. The persuasive and gentle eloquence of Mr. +Sainway operated like a charm upon those accustomed only to the +higher and dryer styles of preaching, and for a time the other +churches of the town were thinned of their sitters. + +At this point in the nineteenth century the sermon was the sole +reason for churchgoing amongst a vast body of religious people. The +liturgy was a formal preliminary, which, like the Royal proclamation +in a court of assize, had to be got through before the real interest +began; and on reaching home the question was simply: Who preached, +and how did he handle his subject? Even had an archbishop officiated +in the service proper nobody would have cared much about what was +said or sung. People who had formerly attended in the morning only +began to go in the evening, and even to the special addresses in the +afternoon. + +One day when Captain Maumbry entered his wife's drawing-room, filled +with hired furniture, she thought he was somebody else, for he had +not come upstairs humming the most catching air afloat in musical +circles or in his usual careless way. + +'What's the matter, Jack?' she said without looking up from a note +she was writing. + +'Well--not much, that I know.' + +'O, but there is,' she murmured as she wrote. + +'Why--this cursed new lath in a sheet--I mean the new parson! He +wants us to stop the band-playing on Sunday afternoons.' + +Laura looked up aghast. + +'Why, it is the one thing that enables the few rational beings +hereabouts to keep alive from Saturday to Monday!' + +'He says all the town flock to the music and don't come to the +service, and that the pieces played are profane, or mundane, or +inane, or something--not what ought to be played on Sunday. Of +course 'tis Lautmann who settles those things.' + +Lautmann was the bandmaster. + +The barrack-green on Sunday afternoons had, indeed, become the +promenade of a great many townspeople cheerfully inclined, many even +of those who attended in the morning at Mr. Sainway's service; and +little boys who ought to have been listening to the curate's +afternoon lecture were too often seen rolling upon the grass and +making faces behind the more dignified listeners. + +Laura heard no more about the matter, however, for two or three +weeks, when suddenly remembering it she asked her husband if any +further objections had been raised. + +'O--Mr. Sainway. I forgot to tell you. I've made his acquaintance. +He is not a bad sort of man.' + +Laura asked if either Maumbry or some others of the officers did not +give the presumptuous curate a good setting down for his +interference. + +'O well--we've forgotten that. He's a stunning preacher, they tell +me.' + +The acquaintance developed apparently, for the Captain said to her a +little later on, 'There's a good deal in Sainway's argument about +having no band on Sunday afternoons. After all, it is close to his +church. But he doesn't press his objections unduly.' + +'I am surprised to hear you defend him!' + +'It was only a passing thought of mine. We naturally don't wish to +offend the inhabitants of the town if they don't like it.' + +'But they do.' + +The invalid in the oriel never clearly gathered the details of +progress in this conflict of lay and clerical opinion; but so it was +that, to the disappointment of musicians, the grief of out-walking +lovers, and the regret of the junior population of the town and +country round, the band-playing on Sunday afternoons ceased in +Casterbridge barrack-square. + +By this time the Maumbrys had frequently listened to the preaching of +the gentle if narrow-minded curate; for these light-natured, hit-or- +miss, rackety people went to church like others for respectability's +sake. None so orthodox as your unmitigated worldling. A more +remarkable event was the sight to the man in the window of Captain +Maumbry and Mr. Sainway walking down the High Street in earnest +conversation. On his mentioning this fact to a caller he was assured +that it was a matter of common talk that they were always together. + +The observer would soon have learnt this with his own eyes if he had +not been told. They began to pass together nearly every day. +Hitherto Mrs. Maumbry, in fashionable walking clothes, had usually +been her husband's companion; but this was less frequent now. The +close and singular friendship between the two men went on for nearly +a year, when Mr. Sainway was presented to a living in a densely- +populated town in the midland counties. He bade the parishioners of +his old place a reluctant farewell and departed, the touching sermon +he preached on the occasion being published by the local printer. +Everybody was sorry to lose him; and it was with genuine grief that +his Casterbridge congregation learnt later on that soon after his +induction to his benefice, during some bitter weather, he had fallen +seriously ill of inflammation of the lungs, of which he eventually +died. + +We now get below the surface of things. Of all who had known the +dead curate, none grieved for him like the man who on his first +arrival had called him a 'lath in a sheet.' Mrs. Maumbry had never +greatly sympathized with the impressive parson; indeed, she had been +secretly glad that he had gone away to better himself. He had +considerably diminished the pleasures of a woman by whom the joys of +earth and good company had been appreciated to the full. Sorry for +her husband in his loss of a friend who had been none of hers, she +was yet quite unprepared for the sequel. + +'There is something that I have wanted to tell you lately, dear,' he +said one morning at breakfast with hesitation. 'Have you guessed +what it is?' + +She had guessed nothing. + +'That I think of retiring from the army.' + +'What!' + +'I have thought more and more of Sainway since his death, and of what +he used to say to me so earnestly. And I feel certain I shall be +right in obeying a call within me to give up this fighting trade and +enter the Church.' + +'What--be a parson?' + +'Yes.' + +'But what should _I_ do?' + +'Be a parson's wife.' + +'Never!' she affirmed. + +'But how can you help it?' + +'I'll run away rather!' she said vehemently; + +'No, you mustn't,' Maumbry replied, in the tone he used when his mind +was made up. 'You'll get accustomed to the idea, for I am +constrained to carry it out, though it is against my worldly +interests. I am forced on by a Hand outside me to tread in the steps +of Sainway.' + +'Jack,' she asked, with calm pallor and round eyes; 'do you mean to +say seriously that you are arranging to be a curate instead of a +soldier?' + +'I might say a curate IS a soldier--of the church militant; but I +don't want to offend you with doctrine. I distinctly say, yes.' + +Late one evening, a little time onward, he caught her sitting by the +dim firelight in her room. She did not know he had entered; and he +found her weeping. 'What are you crying about, poor dearest?' he +said. + +She started. 'Because of what you have told me!' The Captain grew +very unhappy; but he was undeterred. + +In due time the town learnt, to its intense surprise, that Captain +Maumbry had retired from the --th Hussars and gone to Fountall +Theological College to prepare for the ministry. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + + +'O, the pity of it! Such a dashing soldier--so popular--such an +acquisition to the town--the soul of social life here! And now! . . +. One should not speak ill of the dead, but that dreadful Mr. +Sainway--it was too cruel of him!' + +This is a summary of what was said when Captain, now the Reverend, +John Maumbry was enabled by circumstances to indulge his heart's +desire of returning to the scene of his former exploits in the +capacity of a minister of the Gospel. A low-lying district of the +town, which at that date was crowded with impoverished cottagers, was +crying for a curate, and Mr. Maumbry generously offered himself as +one willing to undertake labours that were certain to produce little +result, and no thanks, credit, or emolument. + +Let the truth be told about him as a clergyman; he proved to be +anything but a brilliant success. Painstaking, single-minded, deeply +in earnest as all could see, his delivery was laboured, his sermons +were dull to listen to, and alas, too, too long. Even the +dispassionate judges who sat by the hour in the bar-parlour of the +White Hart--an inn standing at the dividing line between the poor +quarter aforesaid and the fashionable quarter of Maumbry's former +triumphs, and hence affording a position of strict impartiality-- +agreed in substance with the young ladies to the westward, though +their views were somewhat more tersely expressed: 'Surely, God +A'mighty spwiled a good sojer to make a bad pa'son when He shifted +Cap'n Ma'mbry into a sarpless!' + +The latter knew that such things were said, but he pursued his daily' +labours in and out of the hovels with serene unconcern. + +It was about this time that the invalid in the oriel became more than +a mere bowing acquaintance of Mrs. Maumbry's. She had returned to +the town with her husband, and was living with him in a little house +in the centre of his circle of ministration, when by some means she +became one of the invalid's visitors. After a general conversation +while sitting in his room with a friend of both, an incident led up +to the matter that still rankled deeply in her soul. Her face was +now paler and thinner than it had been; even more attractive, her +disappointments having inscribed themselves as meek thoughtfulness on +a look that was once a little frivolous. The two ladies had called +to be allowed to use the window for observing the departure of the +Hussars, who were leaving for barracks much nearer to London. + +The troopers turned the corner of Barrack Road into the top of High +Street, headed by their band playing 'The girl I left behind me' +(which was formerly always the tune for such times, though it is now +nearly disused). They came and passed the oriel, where an officer or +two, looking up and discovering Mrs. Maumbry, saluted her, whose eyes +filled with tears as the notes of the band waned away. Before the +little group had recovered from that sense of the romantic which such +spectacles impart, Mr. Maumbry came along the pavement. He probably +had bidden his former brethren-in-arms a farewell at the top of the +street, for he walked from that direction in his rather shabby +clerical clothes, and with a basket on his arm which seemed to hold +some purchases he had been making for his poorer parishioners. +Unlike the soldiers he went along quite unconscious of his appearance +or of the scene around. + +The contrast was too much for Laura. With lips that now quivered, +she asked the invalid what he thought of the change that had come to +her. + +It was difficult to answer, and with a wilfulness that was too strong +in her she repeated the question. + +'Do you think,' she added, 'that a woman's husband has a right to do +such a thing, even if he does feel a certain call to it?' + +Her listener sympathized too largely with both of them to be anything +but unsatisfactory in his reply. Laura gazed longingly out of the +window towards the thin dusty line of Hussars, now smalling towards +the Mellstock Ridge. 'I,' she said, 'who should have been in their +van on the way to London, am doomed to fester in a hole in Durnover +Lane!' + +Many events had passed and many rumours had been current concerning +her before the invalid saw her again after her leave-taking that day. + + + +CHAPTER V + + + +Casterbridge had known many military and civil episodes; many happy +times, and times less happy; and now came the time of her visitation. +The scourge of cholera had been laid on the suffering country, and +the low-lying purlieus of this ancient borough had more than their +share of the infliction. Mixen Lane, in the Durnover quarter, and in +Maumbry's parish, was where the blow fell most heavily. Yet there +was a certain mercy in its choice of a date, for Maumbry was the man +for such an hour. + +The spread of the epidemic was so rapid that many left the town and +took lodgings in the villages and farms. Mr. Maumbry's house was +close to the most infected street, and he himself was occupied morn, +noon, and night in endeavours to stamp out the plague and in +alleviating the sufferings of the victims. So, as a matter of +ordinary precaution, he decided to isolate his wife somewhere away +from him for a while. + +She suggested a village by the sea, near Budmouth Regis, and lodgings +were obtained for her at Creston, a spot divided from the +Casterbridge valley by a high ridge that gave it quite another +atmosphere, though it lay no more than six miles off. + +Thither she went. While she was rusticating in this place of safety, +and her husband was slaving in the slums, she struck up an +acquaintance with a lieutenant in the -st Foot, a Mr. Vannicock, who +was stationed with his regiment at the Budmouth infantry barracks. +As Laura frequently sat on the shelving beach, watching each thin +wave slide up to her, and hearing, without heeding, its gnaw at the +pebbles in its retreat, he often took a walk that way. + +The acquaintance grew and ripened. Her situation, her history, her +beauty, her age--a year or two above his own--all tended to make an +impression on the young man's heart, and a reckless flirtation was +soon in blithe progress upon that lonely shore. + +It was said by her detractors afterwards that she had chosen her +lodging to be near this gentleman, but there is reason to believe +that she had never seen him till her arrival there. Just now +Casterbridge was so deeply occupied with its own sad affairs--a daily +burying of the dead and destruction of contaminated clothes and +bedding--that it had little inclination to promulgate such gossip as +may have reached its ears on the pair. Nobody long considered Laura +in the tragic cloud which overhung all. + +Meanwhile, on the Budmouth side of the hill the very mood of men was +in contrast. The visitation there had been slight and much earlier, +and normal occupations and pastimes had been resumed. Mr. Maumbry +had arranged to see Laura twice a week in the open air, that she +might run no risk from him; and, having heard nothing of the faint +rumour, he met her as usual one dry and windy afternoon on the summit +of the dividing hill, near where the high road from town to town +crosses the old Ridge-way at right angles. + +He waved his hand, and smiled as she approached, shouting to her: +'We will keep this wall between us, dear.' (Walls formed the field- +fences here.) 'You mustn't be endangered. It won't be for long, +with God's help!' + +'I will do as you tell me, Jack. But you are running too much risk +yourself, aren't you? I get little news of you; but I fancy you +are.' + +'Not more than others.' + +Thus somewhat formally they talked, an insulating wind beating the +wall between them like a mill-weir. + +'But you wanted to ask me something?' he added. + +'Yes. You know we are trying in Budmouth to raise some money for +your sufferers; and the way we have thought of is by a dramatic +performance. They want me to take a part.' + +His face saddened. 'I have known so much of that sort of thing, and +all that accompanies it! I wish you had thought of some other way.' + +She said lightly that she was afraid it was all settled. 'You object +to my taking a part, then? Of course--' + +He told her that he did not like to say he positively objected. He +wished they had chosen an oratorio, or lecture, or anything more in +keeping with the necessity it was to relieve. + +'But,' said she impatiently, 'people won't come to oratorios or +lectures! They will crowd to comedies and farces.' + +'Well, I cannot dictate to Budmouth how it shall earn the money it is +going to give us. Who is getting up this performance?' + +'The boys of the -st.' + +'Ah, yes; our old game!' replied Mr. Maumbry. 'The grief of +Casterbridge is the excuse for their frivolity. Candidly, dear +Laura, I wish you wouldn't play in it. But I don't forbid you to. I +leave the whole to your judgment.' + +The interview ended, and they went their ways northward and +southward. Time disclosed to all concerned that Mrs. Maumbry played +in the comedy as the heroine, the lover's part being taken by Mr. +Vannicock. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + + +Thus was helped on an event which the conduct of the mutually- +attracted ones had been generating for some time. + +It is unnecessary to give details. The --st Foot left for Bristol, +and this precipitated their action. After a week of hesitation she +agreed to leave her home at Creston and meet Vannicock on the ridge +hard by, and to accompany him to Bath, where he had secured lodgings +for her, so that she would be only about a dozen miles from his +quarters. + +Accordingly, on the evening chosen, she laid on her dressing-table a +note for her husband, running thus:- + + +DEAR JACK--I am unable to endure this life any longer, and I have +resolved to put an end to it. I told you I should run away if you +persisted in being a clergyman, and now I am doing it. One cannot +help one's nature. I have resolved to throw in my lot with Mr. +Vannicock, and I hope rather than expect you will forgive me.--L. + + +Then, with hardly a scrap of luggage, she went, ascending to the +ridge in the dusk of early evening. Almost on the very spot where +her husband had stood at their last tryst she beheld the outline of +Vannicock, who had come all the way from Bristol to fetch her. + +'I don't like meeting here--it is so unlucky!' she cried to him. +'For God's sake let us have a place of our own. Go back to the +milestone, and I'll come on.' + +He went back to the milestone that stands on the north slope of the +ridge, where the old and new roads diverge, and she joined him there. + +She was taciturn and sorrowful when he asked her why she would not +meet him on the top. At last she inquired how they were going to +travel. + +He explained that he proposed to walk to Mellstock Hill, on the other +side of Casterbridge, where a fly was waiting to take them by a +cross-cut into the Ivell Road, and onward to that town. The Bristol +railway was open to Ivell. + +This plan they followed, and walked briskly through the dull gloom +till they neared Casterbridge, which place they avoided by turning to +the right at the Roman Amphitheatre and bearing round to Durnover +Cross. Thence the way was solitary and open across the moor to the +hill whereon the Ivell fly awaited them. + +'I have noticed for some time,' she said, 'a lurid glare over the +Durnover end of the town. It seems to come from somewhere about +Mixen Lane.' + +'The lamps,' he suggested. + +'There's not a lamp as big as a rushlight in the whole lane. It is +where the cholera is worst.' + +By Standfast Corner, a little beyond the Cross, they suddenly +obtained an end view of the lane. Large bonfires were burning in the +middle of the way, with a view to purifying the air; and from the +wretched tenements with which the lane was lined in those days +persons were bringing out bedding and clothing. Some was thrown into +the fires, the rest placed in wheel-barrows and wheeled into the moor +directly in the track of the fugitives. + +They followed on, and came up to where a vast copper was set in the +open air. Here the linen was boiled and disinfected. By the light +of the lanterns Laura discovered that her husband was standing by the +copper, and that it was he who unloaded the barrow and immersed its +contents. The night was so calm and muggy that the conversation by +the copper reached her ears. + +'Are there many more loads to-night?' + +'There's the clothes o' they that died this afternoon, sir. But that +might bide till to-morrow, for you must be tired out.' + +'We'll do it at once, for I can't ask anybody else to undertake it. +Overturn that load on the grass and fetch the rest.' + +The man did so and went off with the barrow. Maumbry paused for a +moment to wipe his face, and resumed his homely drudgery amid this +squalid and reeking scene, pressing down and stirring the contents of +the copper with what looked like an old rolling-pin. The steam +therefrom, laden with death, travelled in a low trail across the +meadow. + +Laura spoke suddenly: 'I won't go to-night after all. He is so +tired, and I must help him. I didn't know things were so bad as +this!' + +Vannicock's arm dropped from her waist, where it had been resting as +they walked. 'Will you leave?' she asked. + +'I will if you say I must. But I'd rather help too.' There was no +expostulation in his tone. + +Laura had gone forward. 'Jack,' she said, 'I am come to help!' + +The weary curate turned and held up the lantern. 'O--what, is it +you, Laura?' he asked in surprise. 'Why did you come into this? You +had better go back--the risk is great.' + +'But I want to help you, Jack. Please let me help! I didn't come by +myself--Mr. Vannicock kept me company. He will make himself useful +too, if he's not gone on. Mr. Vannicock!' + +The young lieutenant came forward reluctantly. Mr. Maumbry spoke +formally to him, adding as he resumed his labour, 'I thought the --st +Foot had gone to Bristol.' + +'We have. But I have run down again for a few things.' + +The two newcomers began to assist, Vannicock placing on the ground +the small bag containing Laura's toilet articles that he had been +carrying. The barrowman soon returned with another load, and all +continued work for nearly a half-hour, when a coachman came out from +the shadows to the north. + +'Beg pardon, sir,' he whispered to Vannicock, 'but I've waited so +long on Mellstock hill that at last I drove down to the turnpike; and +seeing the light here, I ran on to find out what had happened.' + +Lieutenant Vannicock told him to wait a few minutes, and the last +barrow-load was got through. Mr. Maumbry stretched himself and +breathed heavily, saying, 'There; we can do no more.' + +As if from the relaxation of effort he seemed to be seized with +violent pain. He pressed his hands to his sides and bent forward. + +'Ah! I think it has got hold of me at last,' he said with +difficulty. 'I must try to get home. Let Mr. Vannicock take you +back, Laura.' + +He walked a few steps, they helping him, but was obliged to sink down +on the grass. + +'I am--afraid--you'll have to send for a hurdle, or shutter, or +something,' he went on feebly, 'or try to get me into the barrow.' + +But Vannicock had called to the driver of the fly, and they waited +until it was brought on from the turnpike hard by. Mr. Maumbry was +placed therein. Laura entered with him, and they drove to his humble +residence near the Cross, where he was got upstairs. + +Vannicock stood outside by the empty fly awhile, but Laura did not +reappear. He thereupon entered the fly and told the driver to take +him back to Ivell. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + + +Mr. Maumbry had over-exerted himself in the relief of the suffering +poor, and fell a victim--one of the last--to the pestilence which had +carried off so many. Two days later he lay in his coffin. + +Laura was in the room below. A servant brought in some letters, and +she glanced them over. One was the note from herself to Maumbry, +informing him that she was unable to endure life with him any longer +and was about to elope with Vannicock. Having read the letter she +took it upstairs to where the dead man was, and slipped it into his +coffin. The next day she buried him. + +She was now free. + +She shut up his house at Durnover Cross and returned to her lodgings +at Creston. Soon she had a letter from Vannicock, and six weeks +after her husband's death her lover came to see her. + +'I forgot to give you back this--that night,' he said presently, +handing her the little bag she had taken as her whole luggage when +leaving. + +Laura received it and absently shook it out. There fell upon the +carpet her brush, comb, slippers, nightdress, and other simple +necessaries for a journey. They had an intolerably ghastly look now, +and she tried to cover them. + +'I can now,' he said, 'ask you to belong to me legally--when a proper +interval has gone--instead of as we meant.' + +There was languor in his utterance, hinting at a possibility that it +was perfunctorily made. Laura picked up her articles, answering that +he certainly could so ask her--she was free. Yet not her expression +either could be called an ardent response. Then she blinked more and +more quickly and put her handkerchief to her face. She was weeping +violently. + +He did not move or try to comfort her in any way. What had come +between them? No living person. They had been lovers. There was +now no material obstacle whatever to their union. But there was the +insistent shadow of that unconscious one; the thin figure of him, +moving to and fro in front of the ghastly furnace in the gloom of +Durnover Moor. + +Yet Vannicock called upon Laura when he was in the neighbourhood, +which was not often; but in two years, as if on purpose to further +the marriage which everybody was expecting, the -st Foot returned to +Budmouth Regis. + +Thereupon the two could not help encountering each other at times. +But whether because the obstacle had been the source of the love, or +from a sense of error, and because Mrs. Maumbry bore a less +attractive look as a widow than before, their feelings seemed to +decline from their former incandescence to a mere tepid civility. +What domestic issues supervened in Vannicock's further story the man +in the oriel never knew; but Mrs. Maumbry lived and died a widow. + +1900. + + + + +THE WAITING SUPPER + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + +Whoever had perceived the yeoman standing on Squire Everard's lawn in +the dusk of that October evening fifty years ago, might have said at +first sight that he was loitering there from idle curiosity. For a +large five-light window of the manor-house in front of him was +unshuttered and uncurtained, so that the illuminated room within +could be scanned almost to its four corners. Obviously nobody was +ever expected to be in this part of the grounds after nightfall. + +The apartment thus swept by an eye from without was occupied by two +persons; they were sitting over dessert, the tablecloth having been +removed in the old-fashioned way. The fruits were local, consisting +of apples, pears, nuts, and such other products of the summer as +might be presumed to grow on the estate. There was strong ale and +rum on the table, and but little wine. Moreover, the appointments of +the dining-room were simple and homely even for the date, betokening +a countrified household of the smaller gentry, without much wealth or +ambition--formerly a numerous class, but now in great part ousted by +the territorial landlords. + +One of the two sitters was a young lady in white muslin, who listened +somewhat impatiently to the remarks of her companion, an elderly, +rubicund personage, whom the merest stranger could have pronounced to +be her father. The watcher evinced no signs of moving, and it became +evident that affairs were not so simple as they first had seemed. +The tall farmer was in fact no accidental spectator, and he stood by +premeditation close to the trunk of a tree, so that had any traveller +passed along the road without the park gate, or even round the lawn +to the door, that person would scarce have noticed the other, +notwithstanding that the gate was quite near at hand, and the park +little larger than a paddock. There was still light enough in the +western heaven to brighten faintly one side of the man's face, and to +show against the trunk of the tree behind the admirable cut of his +profile; also to reveal that the front of the manor-house, small +though it seemed, was solidly built of stone in that never-to-be- +surpassed style for the English country residence--the mullioned and +transomed Elizabethan. + +The lawn, although neglected, was still as level as a bowling-green-- +which indeed it might once have served for; and the blades of grass +before the window were raked by the candle-shine, which stretched +over them so far as to touch the yeoman's face in front. + +Within the dining-room there were also, with one of the twain, the +same signs of a hidden purpose that marked the farmer. The young +lady's mind was straying as clearly into the shadows as that of the +loiterer was fixed upon the room--nay, it could be said that she was +quite conscious of his presence outside. Impatience caused her foot +to beat silently on the carpet, and she more than once rose to leave +the table. This proceeding was checked by her father, who would put +his hand upon her shoulder and unceremoniously press her down into +her chair, till he should have concluded his observations. Her +replies were brief enough, and there was factitiousness in her smiles +of assent to his views. A small iron casement between two of the +mullions was open, and some occasional words of the dialogue were +audible without. + +'As for drains--how can I put in drains? The pipes don't cost much, +that's true; but the labour in sinking the trenches is ruination. +And then the gates--they should be hung to stone posts, otherwise +there's no keeping them up through harvest.' The Squire's voice was +strongly toned with the local accent, so that he said 'drains' and +'geats' like the rustics on his estate. + +The landscape without grew darker, and the young man's figure seemed +to be absorbed into the trunk of the tree. The small stars filled in +between the larger, the nebulae between the small stars, the trees +quite lost their voice; and if there was still a sound, it was from +the cascade of a stream which stretched along under the trees that +bounded the lawn on its northern side. + +At last the young girl did get to her feet and secure her retreat. +'I have something to do, papa,' she said. 'I shall not be in the +drawing-room just yet.' + +'Very well,' replied he. 'Then I won't hurry.' And closing the door +behind her, he drew his decanters together and settled down in his +chair. + +Three minutes after that a woman's shape emerged from the drawing- +room window, and passing through a wall-door to the entrance front, +came across the grass. She kept well clear of the dining-room +window, but enough of its light fell on her to show, escaping from +the dark-hooded cloak that she wore, stray verges of the same light +dress which had figured but recently at the dinner-table. The hood +was contracted tight about her face with a drawing-string, making her +countenance small and baby-like, and lovelier even than before. + +Without hesitation she brushed across the grass to the tree under +which the young man stood concealed. The moment she had reached him +he enclosed her form with his arm. The meeting and embrace, though +by no means formal, were yet not passionate; the whole proceeding was +that of persons who had repeated the act so often as to be +unconscious of its performance. She turned within his arm, and faced +in the same direction with himself, which was towards the window; and +thus they stood without speaking, the back of her head leaning +against his shoulder. For a while each seemed to be thinking his and +her diverse thoughts. + +'You have kept me waiting a long time, dear Christine,' he said at +last. 'I wanted to speak to you particularly, or I should not have +stayed. How came you to be dining at this time o' night?' + +'Father has been out all day, and dinner was put back till six. I +know I have kept you; but Nicholas, how can I help it sometimes, if I +am not to run any risk? My poor father insists upon my listening to +all he has to say; since my brother left he has had nobody else to +listen to him; and to-night he was particularly tedious on his usual +topics--draining, and tenant-farmers, and the village people. I must +take daddy to London; he gets so narrow always staying here.' + +'And what did you say to it all?' + +'Well, I took the part of the tenant-farmers, of course, as the +beloved of one should in duty do.' There followed a little break or +gasp, implying a strangled sigh. + +'You are sorry you have encouraged that beloving one?' + +'O no, Nicholas . . . What is it you want to see me for +particularly?' + +'I know you are sorry, as time goes on, and everything is at a dead- +lock, with no prospect of change, and your rural swain loses his +freshness! Only think, this secret understanding between us has +lasted near three year, ever since you was a little over sixteen.' + +'Yes; it has been a long time.' + +'And I an untamed, uncultivated man, who has never seen London, and +knows nothing about society at all.' + +'Not uncultivated, dear Nicholas. Untravelled, socially unpractised, +if you will,' she said, smiling. 'Well, I did sigh; but not because +I regret being your promised one. What I do sometimes regret is that +the scheme, which my meetings with you are but a part of, has not +been carried out completely. You said, Nicholas, that if I consented +to swear to keep faith with you, you would go away and travel, and +see nations, and peoples, and cities, and take a professor with you, +and study books and art, simultaneously with your study of men and +manners; and then come back at the end of two years, when I should +find that my father would by no means be indisposed to accept you as +a son-in-law. You said your reason for wishing to get my promise +before starting was that your mind would then be more at rest when +you were far away, and so could give itself more completely to +knowledge than if you went as my unaccepted lover only, fuming with +anxiety as to how I should be when you came back. I saw how +reasonable that was; and solemnly swore myself to you in consequence. +But instead of going to see the world you stay on and on here to see +me.' + +'And you don't want me to see you?' + +'Yes--no--it is not that. It is that I have latterly felt frightened +at what I am doing when not in your actual presence. It seems so +wicked not to tell my father that I have a lover close at hand, +within touch and view of both of us; whereas if you were absent my +conduct would not seem quite so treacherous. The realities would not +stare at one so. You would be a pleasant dream to me, which I should +be free to indulge in without reproach of my conscience; I should +live in hopeful expectation of your returning fully qualified to +boldly claim me of my father. There, I have been terribly frank, I +know.' + +He in his turn had lapsed into gloomy breathings now. 'I did plan it +as you state,' he answered. 'I did mean to go away the moment I had +your promise. But, dear Christine, I did not foresee two or three +things. I did not know what a lot of pain it would cost to tear +myself from you. And I did not know that my stingy uncle--heaven +forgive me calling him so!--would so flatly refuse to advance me +money for my purpose--the scheme of travelling with a first-rate +tutor costing a formidable sum o' money. You have no idea what it +would cost!' + +'But I have said that I'll find the money.' + +'Ah, there,' he returned, 'you have hit a sore place. To speak +truly, dear, I would rather stay unpolished a hundred years than take +your money.' + +'But why? Men continually use the money of the women they marry.' + +'Yes; but not till afterwards. No man would like to touch your money +at present, and I should feel very mean if I were to do so in present +circumstances. That brings me to what I was going to propose. But +no--upon the whole I will not propose it now.' + +'Ah! I would guarantee expenses, and you won't let me! The money is +my personal possession: it comes to me from my late grandfather, and +not from my father at all.' + +He laughed forcedly and pressed her hand. 'There are more reasons +why I cannot tear myself away,' he added. 'What would become of my +uncle's farming? Six hundred acres in this parish, and five hundred +in the next--a constant traipsing from one farm to the other; he +can't be in two places at once. Still, that might be got over if it +were not for the other matters. Besides, dear, I still should be a +little uneasy, even though I have your promise, lest somebody should +snap you up away from me.' + +'Ah, you should have thought of that before. Otherwise I have +committed myself for nothing.' + +'I should have thought of it,' he answered gravely. 'But I did not. +There lies my fault, I admit it freely. Ah, if you would only commit +yourself a little more, I might at least get over that difficulty! +But I won't ask you. You have no idea how much you are to me still; +you could not argue so coolly if you had. What property belongs to +you I hate the very sound of; it is you I care for. I wish you +hadn't a farthing in the world but what I could earn for you!' + +'I don't altogether wish that,' she murmured. + +'I wish it, because it would have made what I was going to propose +much easier to do than it is now. Indeed I will not propose it, +although I came on purpose, after what you have said in your +frankness.' + +'Nonsense, Nic. Come, tell me. How can you be so touchy?' + +'Look at this then, Christine dear.' He drew from his breast-pocket +a sheet of paper and unfolded it, when it was observable that a seal +dangled from the bottom. + +'What is it?' She held the paper sideways, so that what there was of +window-light fell on its surface. 'I can only read the Old English +letters--why--our names! Surely it is not a marriage-licence?' + +'It is.' + +She trembled. 'O Nic! how could you do this--and without telling +me!' + +'Why should I have thought I must tell you? You had not spoken +"frankly" then as you have now. We have been all to each other more +than these two years, and I thought I would propose that we marry +privately, and that I then leave you on the instant. I would have +taken my travelling-bag to church, and you would have gone home +alone. I should not have started on my adventures in the brilliant +manner of our original plan, but should have roughed it a little at +first; my great gain would have been that the absolute possession of +you would have enabled me to work with spirit and purpose, such as +nothing else could do. But I dare not ask you now--so frank as you +have been.' + +She did not answer. The document he had produced gave such +unexpected substantiality to the venture with which she had so long +toyed as a vague dream merely, that she was, in truth, frightened a +little. 'I--don't know about it!' she said. + +'Perhaps not. Ah, my little lady, you are wearying of me!' + +'No, Nic,' responded she, creeping closer. 'I am not. Upon my word, +and truth, and honour, I am not, Nic.' + +'A mere tiller of the soil, as I should be called,' he continued, +without heeding her. 'And you--well, a daughter of one of the--I +won't say oldest families, because that's absurd, all families are +the same age--one of the longest chronicled families about here, +whose name is actually the name of the place.' + +'That's not much, I am sorry to say! My poor brother--but I won't +speak of that . . . Well,' she murmured mischievously, after a pause, +'you certainly would not need to be uneasy if I were to do this that +you want me to do. You would have me safe enough in your trap then; +I couldn't get away!' + +'That's just it!' he said vehemently. 'It IS a trap--you feel it so, +and that though you wouldn't be able to get away from me you might +particularly wish to! Ah, if I had asked you two years ago you would +have agreed instantly. But I thought I was bound to wait for the +proposal to come from you as the superior!' + +'Now you are angry, and take seriously what I meant purely in fun. +You don't know me even yet! To show you that you have not been +mistaken in me, I do propose to carry out this licence. I'll marry +you, dear Nicholas, to-morrow morning.' + +'Ah, Christine! I am afraid I have stung you on to this, so that I +cannot--' + +'No, no, no!' she hastily rejoined; and there was something in her +tone which suggested that she had been put upon her mettle and would +not flinch. 'Take me whilst I am in the humour. What church is the +licence for?' + +'That I've not looked to see--why our parish church here, of course. +Ah, then we cannot use it! We dare not be married here.' + +'We do dare,' said she. 'And we will too, if you'll be there.' + +'IF I'll be there!' + +They speedily came to an agreement that he should be in the church- +porch at ten minutes to eight on the following morning, awaiting her; +and that, immediately after the conclusion of the service which would +make them one, Nicholas should set out on his long-deferred +educational tour, towards the cost of which she was resolving to +bring a substantial subscription with her to church. Then, slipping +from him, she went indoors by the way she had come, and Nicholas bent +his steps homewards. + + + +CHAPTER II + + + +Instead of leaving the spot by the gate, he flung himself over the +fence, and pursued a direction towards the river under the trees. +And it was now, in his lonely progress, that he showed for the first +time outwardly that he was not altogether unworthy of her. He wore +long water-boots reaching above his knees, and, instead of making a +circuit to find a bridge by which he might cross the Froom--the river +aforesaid--he made straight for the point whence proceeded the low +roar that was at this hour the only evidence of the stream's +existence. He speedily stood on the verge of the waterfall which +caused the noise, and stepping into the water at the top of the fall, +waded through with the sure tread of one who knew every inch of his +footing, even though the canopy of trees rendered the darkness almost +absolute, and a false step would have precipitated him into the pool +beneath. Soon reaching the boundary of the grounds, he continued in +the same direct line to traverse the alluvial valley, full of brooks +and tributaries to the main stream--in former times quite impassable, +and impassable in winter now. Sometimes he would cross a deep gully +on a plank not wider than the hand; at another time he ploughed his +way through beds of spear-grass, where at a few feet to the right or +left he might have been sucked down into a morass. At last he +reached firm land on the other side of this watery tract, and came to +his house on the rise behind--Elsenford--an ordinary farmstead, from +the back of which rose indistinct breathings, belchings, and +snortings, the rattle of halters, and other familiar features of an +agriculturist's home. + +While Nicholas Long was packing his bag in an upper room of this +dwelling, Miss Christine Everard sat at a desk in her own chamber at +Froom-Everard manor-house, looking with pale fixed countenance at the +candles. + +'I ought--I must now!' she whispered to herself. 'I should not have +begun it if I had not meant to carry it through! It runs in the +blood of us, I suppose.' She alluded to a fact unknown to her lover, +the clandestine marriage of an aunt under circumstances somewhat +similar to the present. In a few minutes she had penned the +following note:- + + +October 13, 183--. + +DEAR MR. BEALAND--Can you make it convenient to yourself to meet me +at the Church to-morrow morning at eight? I name the early hour +because it would suit me better than later on in the day. You will +find me in the chancel, if you can come. An answer yes or no by the +bearer of this will be sufficient. + +CHRISTINE EVERARD. + + +She sent the note to the rector immediately, waiting at a small side- +door of the house till she heard the servant's footsteps returning +along the lane, when she went round and met him in the passage. The +rector had taken the trouble to write a line, and answered that he +would meet her with pleasure. + +A dripping fog which ushered in the next morning was highly +favourable to the scheme of the pair. At that time of the century +Froom-Everard House had not been altered and enlarged; the public +lane passed close under its walls; and there was a door opening +directly from one of the old parlours--the south parlour, as it was +called--into the lane which led to the village. Christine came out +this way, and after following the lane for a short distance entered +upon a path within a belt of plantation, by which the church could be +reached privately. She even avoided the churchyard gate, walking +along to a place where the turf without the low wall rose into a +mound, enabling her to mount upon the coping and spring down inside. +She crossed the wet graves, and so glided round to the door. He was +there, with his bag in his hand. He kissed her with a sort of +surprise, as if he had expected that at the last moment her heart +would fail her. + +Though it had not failed her, there was, nevertheless, no great +ardour in Christine's bearing--merely the momentum of an antecedent +impulse. They went up the aisle together, the bottle-green glass of +the old lead quarries admitting but little light at that hour, and +under such an atmosphere. They stood by the altar-rail in silence, +Christine's skirt visibly quivering at each beat of her heart. + +Presently a quick step ground upon the gravel, and Mr. Bealand came +round by the front. He was a quiet bachelor, courteous towards +Christine, and not at first recognizing in Nicholas a neighbouring +yeoman (for he lived aloofly in the next parish), advanced to her +without revealing any surprise at her unusual request. But in truth +he was surprised, the keen interest taken by many country young women +at the present day in church decoration and festivals being then +unknown. + +'Good morning,' he said; and repeated the same words to Nicholas more +mechanically. + +'Good morning,' she replied gravely. 'Mr. Bealand, I have a serious +reason for asking you to meet me--us, I may say. We wish you to +marry us.' + +The rector's gaze hardened to fixity, rather between than upon either +of them, and he neither moved nor replied for some time. + +'Ah!' he said at last. + +'And we are quite ready.' + +'I had no idea--' + +'It has been kept rather private,' she said calmly. + +'Where are your witnesses?' + +'They are outside in the meadow, sir. I can call them in a moment,' +said Nicholas. + +'Oh--I see it is--Mr. Nicholas Long,' said Mr. Bealand, and turning +again to Christine, 'Does your father know of this?' + +'Is it necessary that I should answer that question, Mr. Bealand?' + +'I am afraid it is--highly necessary.' + +Christine began to look concerned. + +'Where is the licence?' the rector asked; 'since there have been no +banns.' + +Nicholas produced it, Mr. Bealand read it, an operation which +occupied him several minutes--or at least he made it appear so; till +Christine said impatiently, 'We are quite ready, Mr. Bealand. Will +you proceed? Mr. Long has to take a journey of a great many miles +to-day.' + +'And you?' + +'No. I remain.' + +Mr. Bealand assumed firmness. 'There is something wrong in this,' he +said. 'I cannot marry you without your father's presence.' + +'But have you a right to refuse us?' interposed Nicholas. 'I believe +we are in a position to demand your fulfilment of our request.' + +'No, you are not! Is Miss Everard of age? I think not. I think she +is months from being so. Eh, Miss Everard?' + +'Am I bound to tell that?' + +'Certainly. At any rate you are bound to write it. Meanwhile I +refuse to solemnize the service. And let me entreat you two young +people to do nothing so rash as this, even if by going to some +strange church, you may do so without discovery. The tragedy of +marriage--' + +'Tragedy?' + +'Certainly. It is full of crises and catastrophes, and ends with the +death of one of the actors. The tragedy of marriage, as I was +saying, is one I shall not be a party to your beginning with such +light hearts, and I shall feel bound to put your father on his guard, +Miss Everard. Think better of it, I entreat you! Remember the +proverb, "Marry in haste and repent at leisure."' + +Christine, spurred by opposition, almost stormed at him. Nicholas +implored; but nothing would turn that obstinate rector. She sat down +and reflected. By-and-by she confronted Mr. Bealand. + +'Our marriage is not to be this morning, I see,' she said. 'Now +grant me one favour, and in return I'll promise you to do nothing +rashly. Do not tell my father a word of what has happened here.' + +'I agree--if you undertake not to elope.' + +She looked at Nicholas, and he looked at her. 'Do you wish me to +elope, Nic?' she asked. + +'No,' he said. + +So the compact was made, and they left the church singly, Nicholas +remaining till the last, and closing the door. On his way home, +carrying the well-packed bag which was just now to go no further, the +two men who were mending water-carriers in the meadows approached the +hedge, as if they had been on the alert all the time. + +'You said you mid want us for zummat, sir?' + +'All right--never mind,' he answered through the hedge. 'I did not +require you after all.' + + + +CHAPTER III + + + +At a manor not far away there lived a queer and primitive couple who +had lately been blessed with a son and heir. The christening took +place during the week under notice, and this had been followed by a +feast to the parishioners. Christine's father, one of the same +generation and kind, had been asked to drive over and assist in the +entertainment, and Christine, as a matter of course, accompanied him. + +When they reached Athelhall, as the house was called, they found the +usually quiet nook a lively spectacle. Tables had been spread in the +apartment which lent its name to the whole building--the hall proper- +-covered with a fine open-timbered roof, whose braces, purlins, and +rafters made a brown thicket of oak overhead. Here tenantry of all +ages sat with their wives and families, and the servants were +assisted in their ministrations by the sons and daughters of the +owner's friends and neighbours. Christine lent a hand among the +rest. + +She was holding a plate in each hand towards a huge brown platter of +baked rice-pudding, from which a footman was scooping a large +spoonful, when a voice reached her ear over her shoulder: 'Allow me +to hold them for you.' + +Christine turned, and recognized in the speaker the nephew of the +entertainer, a young man from London, whom she had already met on two +or three occasions. + +She accepted the proffered help, and from that moment, whenever he +passed her in their marchings to and fro during the remainder of the +serving, he smiled acquaintance. When their work was done, he +improved the few words into a conversation. He plainly had been +attracted by her fairness. + +Bellston was a self-assured young man, not particularly good-looking, +with more colour in his skin than even Nicholas had. He had flushed +a little in attracting her notice, though the flush had nothing of +nervousness in it--the air with which it was accompanied making it +curiously suggestive of a flush of anger; and even when he laughed it +was difficult to banish that fancy. + +The late autumn sunlight streamed in through the window panes upon +the heads and shoulders of the venerable patriarchs of the hamlet, +and upon the middle-aged, and upon the young; upon men and women who +had played out, or were to play, tragedies or tragi-comedies in that +nook of civilization not less great, essentially, than those which, +enacted on more central arenas, fix the attention of the world. One +of the party was a cousin of Nicholas Long's, who sat with her +husband and children. + +To make himself as locally harmonious as possible, Mr. Bellston +remarked to his companion on the scene--'It does one's heart good,' +he said, 'to see these simple peasants enjoying themselves.' + +'O Mr. Bellston!' exclaimed Christine; 'don't be too sure about that +word "simple"! You little think what they see and meditate! Their +reasonings and emotions are as complicated as ours.' + +She spoke with a vehemence which would have been hardly present in +her words but for her own relation to Nicholas. The sense of that +produced in her a nameless depression thenceforward. The young man, +however, still followed her up. + +'I am glad to hear you say it,' he returned warmly. 'I was merely +attuning myself to your mood, as I thought. The real truth is that I +know more of the Parthians, and Medes, and dwellers in Mesopotamia-- +almost of any people, indeed--than of the English rustics. Travel +and exploration are my profession, not the study of the British +peasantry.' + +Travel. There was sufficient coincidence between his declaration and +the course she had urged upon her lover, to lend Bellston's account +of himself a certain interest in Christine's ears. He might perhaps +be able to tell her something that would be useful to Nicholas, if +their dream were carried out. A door opened from the hall into the +garden, and she somehow found herself outside, chatting with Mr. +Bellston on this topic, till she thought that upon the whole she +liked the young man. The garden being his uncle's, he took her round +it with an air of proprietorship; and they went on amongst the +Michaelmas daisies and chrysanthemums, and through a door to the +fruit-garden. A green-house was open, and he went in and cut her a +bunch of grapes. + +'How daring of you! They are your uncle's.' + +'O, he don't mind--I do anything here. A rough old buffer, isn't +he?' + +She was thinking of her Nic, and felt that, by comparison with her +present acquaintance, the farmer more than held his own as a fine and +intelligent fellow; but the harmony with her own existence in little +things, which she found here, imparted an alien tinge to Nicholas +just now. The latter, idealized by moonlight, or a thousand miles of +distance, was altogether a more romantic object for a woman's dream +than this smart new-lacquered man; but in the sun of afternoon, and +amid a surrounding company, Mr. Bellston was a very tolerable +companion. + +When they re-entered the hall, Bellston entreated her to come with +him up a spiral stair in the thickness of the wall, leading to a +passage and gallery whence they could look down upon the scene below. +The people had finished their feast, the newly-christened baby had +been exhibited, and a few words having been spoken to them they +began, amid a racketing of forms, to make for the greensward without, +Nicholas's cousin and cousin's wife and cousin's children among the +rest. While they were filing out, a voice was heard calling-- +'Hullo!--here, Jim; where are you?' said Bellston's uncle. The young +man descended, Christine following at leisure. + +'Now will ye be a good fellow,' the Squire continued, 'and set them +going outside in some dance or other that they know? I'm dog-tired, +and I want to have a yew words with Mr. Everard before we join 'em-- +hey, Everard? They are shy till somebody starts 'em; afterwards +they'll keep gwine brisk enough.' + +'Ay, that they wool,' said Squire Everard. + +They followed to the lawn; and here it proved that James Bellston was +as shy, or rather as averse, as any of the tenantry themselves, to +acting the part of fugleman. Only the parish people had been at the +feast, but outlying neighbours had now strolled in for a dance. + +'They want "Speed the Plough,"' said Bellston, coming up breathless. +'It must be a country dance, I suppose? Now, Miss Everard, do have +pity upon me. I am supposed to lead off; but really I know no more +about speeding the plough than a child just born! Would you take one +of the villagers?--just to start them, my uncle says. Suppose you +take that handsome young farmer over there--I don't know his name, +but I dare say you do--and I'll come on with one of the dairyman's +daughters as a second couple.' + +Christine turned in the direction signified, and changed colour-- +though in the shade nobody noticed it, 'Oh, yes--I know him,' she +said coolly. 'He is from near our own place--Mr. Nicholas Long.' + +'That's capital--then you can easily make him stand as first couple +with you. Now I must pick up mine.' + +'I--I think I'll dance with you, Mr. Bellston,' she said with some +trepidation. 'Because, you see,' she explained eagerly, 'I know the +figure and you don't--so that I can help you; while Nicholas Long, I +know, is familiar with the figure, and that will make two couples who +know it--which is necessary, at least.' + +Bellston showed his gratification by one of his angry-pleasant +flushes--he had hardly dared to ask for what she proffered freely; +and having requested Nicholas to take the dairyman's daughter, led +Christine to her place, Long promptly stepping up second with his +charge. There were grim silent depths in Nic's character; a small +deedy spark in his eye, as it caught Christine's, was all that showed +his consciousness of her. Then the fiddlers began--the celebrated +Mellstock fiddlers who, given free stripping, could play from sunset +to dawn without turning a hair. The couples wheeled and swung, +Nicholas taking Christine's hand in the course of business with the +figure, when she waited for him to give it a little squeeze; but he +did not. + +Christine had the greatest difficulty in steering her partner through +the maze, on account of his self-will, and when at last they reached +the bottom of the long line, she was breathless with her hard +labour.. Resting here, she watched Nic and his lady; and, though she +had decidedly cooled off in these later months, began to admire him +anew. Nobody knew these dances like him, after all, or could do +anything of this sort so well. His performance with the dairyman's +daughter so won upon her, that when 'Speed the Plough' was over she +contrived to speak to him. + +'Nic, you are to dance with me next time.' + +He said he would, and presently asked her in a formal public manner, +lifting his hat gallantly. She showed a little backwardness, which +he quite understood, and allowed him to lead her to the top, a row of +enormous length appearing below them as if by magic as soon as they +had taken their places. Truly the Squire was right when he said that +they only wanted starting. + +'What is it to be?' whispered Nicholas. + +She turned to the band. 'The Honeymoon,' she said. + +And then they trod the delightful last-century measure of that name, +which if it had been ever danced better, was never danced with more +zest. The perfect responsiveness which their tender acquaintance +threw into the motions of Nicholas and his partner lent to their +gyrations the fine adjustment of two interacting parts of a single +machine. The excitement of the movement carried Christine back to +the time--the unreflecting passionate time, about two years before-- +when she and Nic had been incipient lovers only; and it made her +forget the carking anxieties, the vision of social breakers ahead, +that had begun to take the gilding off her position now. Nicholas, +on his part, had never ceased to be a lover; no personal worries had +as yet made him conscious of any staleness, flatness, or +unprofitableness in his admiration of Christine. + +'Not quite so wildly, Nic,' she whispered. 'I don't object +personally; but they'll notice us. How came you here?' + +'I heard that you had driven over; and I set out--on purpose for +this.' + +'What--you have walked?' + +'Yes. If I had waited for one of uncle's horses I should have been +too late.' + +'Five miles here and five back--ten miles on foot--merely to dance!' + +'With you. What made you think of this old "Honeymoon" thing?' + +'O! it came into my head when I saw you, as what would have been a +reality with us if you had not been stupid about that licence, and +had got it for a distant church.' + +'Shall we try again?' + +'No--I don't know. I'll think it over.' + +The villagers admired their grace and skill, as the dancers +themselves perceived; but they did not know what accompanied that +admiration in one spot, at least. + +'People who wonder they can foot it so featly together should know +what some others think,' a waterman was saying to his neighbour. +'Then their wonder would be less.' + +His comrade asked for information. + +'Well--really I hardly believe it--but 'tis said they be man and +wife. Yes, sure--went to church and did the job a'most afore 'twas +light one morning. But mind, not a word of this; for 'twould be the +loss of a winter's work to me if I had spread such a report and it +were not true.' + +When the dance had ended she rejoined her own section of the company. +Her father and Mr. Bellston the elder had now come out from the +house, and were smoking in the background. Presently she found that +her father was at her elbow. + +'Christine, don't dance too often with young Long--as a mere matter +of prudence, I mean, as volk might think it odd, he being one of our +own neighbouring farmers. I should not mention this to 'ee if he +were an ordinary young fellow; but being superior to the rest it +behoves you to be careful.' + +'Exactly, papa,' said Christine. + +But the revived sense that she was deceiving him threw a damp over +her spirits. 'But, after all,' she said to herself, 'he is a young +man of Elsenford, handsome, able, and the soul of honour; and I am a +young woman of the adjoining parish, who have been constantly thrown +into communication with him. Is it not, by nature's rule, the most +proper thing in the world that I should marry him, and is it not an +absurd conventional regulation which says that such a union would be +wrong?' + +It may be concluded that the strength of Christine's large-minded +argument was rather an evidence of weakness than of strength in the +passion it concerned, which had required neither argument nor +reasoning of any kind for its maintenance when full and flush in its +early days. + +When driving home in the dark with her father she sank into pensive +silence. She was thinking of Nicholas having to trudge on foot all +those miles back after his exertions on the sward. Mr. Everard, +arousing himself from a nap, said suddenly, 'I have something to +mention to 'ee, by George--so I have, Chris! You probably know what +it is?' + +She expressed ignorance, wondering if her father had discovered +anything of her secret. + +'Well, according to HIM you know it. But I will tell 'ee. Perhaps +you noticed young Jim Bellston walking me off down the lawn with +him?--whether or no, we walked together a good while; and he informed +me that he wanted to pay his addresses to 'ee. I naturally said that +it depended upon yourself; and he replied that you were willing +enough; you had given him particular encouragement--showing your +preference for him by specially choosing him for your partner--hey? +"In that case," says I, "go on and conquer--settle it with her--I +have no objection." The poor fellow was very grateful, and in short, +there we left the matter. He'll propose to-morrow.' + +She saw now to her dismay what James Bellston had read as +encouragement. 'He has mistaken me altogether,' she said. 'I had no +idea of such a thing.' + +'What, you won't have him?' + +'Indeed, I cannot!' + +'Chrissy,' said Mr. Everard with emphasis, 'there's NOObody whom I +should so like you to marry as that young man. He's a thoroughly +clever fellow, and fairly well provided for. He's travelled all over +the temperate zone; but he says that directly he marries he's going +to give up all that, and be a regular stay-at-home. You would be +nowhere safer than in his hands.' + +'It is true,' she answered. 'He IS a highly desirable match, and I +SHOULD be well provided for, and probably very safe in his hands.' + +'Then don't be skittish, and stand-to.' + +She had spoken from her conscience and understanding, and not to +please her father. As a reflecting woman she believed that such a +marriage would be a wise one. In great things Nicholas was closest +to her nature; in little things Bellston seemed immeasurably nearer +than Nic; and life was made up of little things. + +Altogether the firmament looked black for Nicholas Long, +notwithstanding her half-hour's ardour for him when she saw him +dancing with the dairyman's daughter. Most great passions, +movements, and beliefs--individual and national--burst during their +decline into a temporary irradiation, which rivals their original +splendour; and then they speedily become extinct. Perhaps the dance +had given the last flare-up to Christine's love. It seemed to have +improvidently consumed for its immediate purpose all her ardour +forwards, so that for the future there was nothing left but +frigidity. + +Nicholas had certainly been very foolish about that licence! + + + +CHAPTER IV + + + +This laxity of emotional tone was further increased by an incident, +when, two days later, she kept an appointment with Nicholas in the +Sallows. The Sallows was an extension of shrubberies and plantations +along the banks of the Froom, accessible from the lawn of Froom- +Everard House only, except by wading through the river at the +waterfall or elsewhere. Near the brink was a thicket of box in which +a trunk lay prostrate; this had been once or twice their trysting- +place, though it was by no means a safe one; and it was here she sat +awaiting him now. + +The noise of the stream muffled any sound of footsteps, and it was +before she was aware of his approach that she looked up and saw him +wading across at the top of the waterfall. + +Noontide lights and dwarfed shadows always banished the romantic +aspect of her love for Nicholas. Moreover, something new had +occurred to disturb her; and if ever she had regretted giving way to +a tenderness for him--which perhaps she had not done with any +distinctness--she regretted it now. Yet in the bottom of their +hearts those two were excellently paired, the very twin halves of a +perfect whole; and their love was pure. But at this hour surfaces +showed garishly, and obscured the depths. Probably her regret +appeared in her face. + +He walked up to her without speaking, the water running from his +boots; and, taking one of her hands in each of his own, looked +narrowly into her eyes. + +'Have you thought it over?' + +'WHAT?' + +'Whether we shall try again; you remember saying you would at the +dance?' + +'Oh, I had forgotten that!' + +'You are sorry we tried at all!' he said accusingly. + +'I am not so sorry for the fact as for the rumours,' she said. + +'Ah! rumours?' + +'They say we are already married.' + +'Who?' + +'I cannot tell exactly. I heard some whispering to that effect. +Somebody in the village told one of the servants, I believe. This +man said that he was crossing the churchyard early on that +unfortunate foggy morning, and heard voices in the chancel, and +peeped through the window as well as the dim panes would let him; and +there he saw you and me and Mr. Bealand, and so on; but thinking his +surmises would be dangerous knowledge, he hastened on. And so the +story got afloat. Then your aunt, too--' + +'Good Lord!--what has she done?' + +The story was, told her, and she said proudly, "O yes, it is true +enough. I have seen the licence. But it is not to be known yet."' + +'Seen the licence? How the--' + +'Accidentally, I believe, when your coat was hanging somewhere.' + +The information, coupled with the infelicitous word 'proudly,' caused +Nicholas to flush with mortification. He knew that it was in his +aunt's nature to make a brag of that sort; but worse than the brag +was the fact that this was the first occasion on which Christine had +deigned to show her consciousness that such a marriage would be a +source of pride to his relatives--the only two he had in the world. + +'You are sorry, then, even to be thought my wife, much less to be +it.' He dropped her hand, which fell lifelessly. + +'It is not sorry exactly, dear Nic. But I feel uncomfortable and +vexed, that after screwing up my courage, my fidelity, to the point +of going to church, you should have so muddled--managed the matter +that it has ended in neither one thing nor the other. How can I meet +acquaintances, when I don't know what they are thinking of me?' + +'Then, dear Christine, let us mend the muddle. I'll go away for a +few days and get another licence, and you can come to me.' + +She shrank from this perceptibly. 'I cannot screw myself up to it a +second time,' she said. 'I am sure I cannot! Besides, I promised +Mr. Bealand. And yet how can I continue to see you after such a +rumour? We shall be watched now, for certain.' + +'Then don't see me.' + +'I fear I must not for the present. Altogether--' + +'What?' + +'I am very depressed.' + +These views were not very inspiriting to Nicholas, as he construed +them. It may indeed have been possible that he construed them +wrongly, and should have insisted upon her making the rumour true. +Unfortunately, too, he had come to her in a hurry through brambles +and briars, water and weed, and the shaggy wildness which hung about +his appearance at this fine and correct time of day lent an +impracticability to the look of him. + +'You blame me--you repent your courses--you repent that you ever, +ever owned anything to me!' + +'No, Nicholas, I do not repent that,' she returned gently, though +with firmness. 'But I think that you ought not to have got that +licence without asking me first; and I also think that you ought to +have known how it would be if you lived on here in your present +position, and made no effort to better it. I can bear whatever +comes, for social ruin is not personal ruin or even personal +disgrace. But as a sensible, new-risen poet says, whom I have been +reading this morning:- + + +The world and its ways have a certain worth: +And to press a point while these oppose +Were simple policy. Better wait. + + +As soon as you had got my promise, Nic, you should have gone away-- +yes--and made a name, and come back to claim me. That was my silly +girlish dream about my hero.' + +'Perhaps I can do as much yet! And would you have indeed liked +better to live away from me for family reasons, than to run a risk in +seeing me for affection's sake? O what a cold heart it has grown! +If I had been a prince, and you a dairymaid, I'd have stood by you in +the face of the world!' + +She shook her head. 'Ah--you don't know what society is--you don't +know.' + +'Perhaps not. Who was that strange gentleman of about seven-and- +twenty I saw at Mr. Bellston's christening feast?' + +'Oh--that was his nephew James. Now he is a man who has seen an +unusual extent of the world for his age. He is a great traveller, +you know.' + +'Indeed.' + +'In fact an explorer. He is very entertaining.' + +'No doubt.' + +Nicholas received no shock of jealousy from her announcement. He +knew her so well that he could see she was not in the least in love +with Bellston. But he asked if Bellston were going to continue his +explorations. + +'Not if he settles in life. Otherwise he will, I suppose.' + +'Perhaps I could be a great explorer, too, if I tried.' + +'You could, I am sure.' + +They sat apart, and not together; each looking afar off at vague +objects, and not in each other's eyes. Thus the sad autumn afternoon +waned, while the waterfall hissed sarcastically of the inevitableness +of the unpleasant. Very different this from the time when they had +first met there. + +The nook was most picturesque; but it looked horridly common and +stupid now. Their sentiment had set a colour hardly less visible +than a material one on surrounding objects, as sentiment must where +life is but thought. Nicholas was as devoted as ever to the fair +Christine; but unhappily he too had moods and humours, and the +division between them was not closed. + +She had no sooner got indoors and sat down to her work-table than her +father entered the drawing-room. + +She handed him his newspaper; he took it without a word, went and +stood on the hearthrug, and flung the paper on the floor. + +'Christine, what's the meaning of this terrible story? I was just on +my way to look at the register.' + +She looked at him without speech. + +'You have married--Nicholas Long?' + +'No, father.' + +'No? Can you say no in the face of such facts as I have been put in +possession of?' + +'Yes.' + +'But--the note you wrote to the rector--and the going to church?' + +She briefly explained that their attempt had failed. + +'Ah! Then this is what that dancing meant, was it? By -, it makes +me -. How long has this been going on, may I ask?' + +'This what?' + +'What, indeed! Why, making him your beau. Now listen to me. All's +well that ends well; from this day, madam, this moment, he is to be +nothing more to you. You are not to see him. Cut him adrift +instantly! I only wish his volk were on my farm--out they should go, +or I would know the reason why. However, you are to write him a +letter to this effect at once.' + +'How can I cut him adrift?' + +'Why not? You must, my good maid!' + +'Well, though I have not actually married him, I have solemnly sworn +to be his wife when he comes home from abroad to claim me. It would +be gross perjury not to fulfil my promise. Besides, no woman can go +to church with a man to deliberately solemnize matrimony, and refuse +him afterwards, if he does nothing wrong meanwhile.' + +The uttered sound of her strong conviction seemed to kindle in +Christine a livelier perception of all its bearings than she had +known while it had lain unformulated in her mind. For when she had +done speaking she fell down on her knees before her father, covered +her face, and said, 'Please, please forgive me, papa! How could I do +it without letting you know! I don't know, I don't know!' + +When she looked up she found that, in the turmoil of his mind, her +father was moving about the room. 'You are within an ace of ruining +yourself, ruining me, ruining us all!' he said. 'You are nearly as +bad as your brother, begad!' + +'Perhaps I am--yes--perhaps I am!' + +'That I should father such a harum-scarum brood!' + +'It is very bad; but Nicholas--' + +'He's a scoundrel!' + +'He is NOT a scoundrel!' cried she, turning quickly. 'He's as good +and worthy as you or I, or anybody bearing our name, or any nobleman +in the kingdom, if you come to that! Only--only'--she could not +continue the argument on those lines. 'Now, father, listen!' she +sobbed; 'if you taunt me I'll go off and join him at his farm this +very day, and marry him to-morrow, that's what I'll do!' + +'I don't taant ye!' + +'I wish to avoid unseemliness as much as you.' + +She went away. When she came back a quarter of an hour later, +thinking to find the room empty, he was standing there as before, +never having apparently moved. His manner had quite changed. He +seemed to take a resigned and entirely different view of +circumstances. + +'Christine, here's a paragraph in the paper hinting at a secret +wedding, and I'm blazed if it don't point to you. Well, since this +was to happen, I'll bear it, and not complain. All volk have +crosses, and this is one of mine. Now, this is what I've got to say- +-I feel that you must carry out this attempt at marrying Nicholas +Long. Faith, you must! The rumour will become a scandal if you +don't--that's my view. I have tried to look at the brightest side of +the case. Nicholas Long is a young man superior to most of his +class, and fairly presentable. And he's not poor--at least his uncle +is not. I believe the old muddler could buy me up any day. However, +a farmer's wife you must be, as far as I can see. As you've made +your bed, so ye must lie. Parents propose, and ungrateful children +dispose. You shall marry him, and immediately.' + +Christine hardly knew what to make of this. 'He is quite willing to +wait, and so am I. We can wait for two or three years, and then he +will be as worthy as--' + +'You must marry him. And the sooner the better, if 'tis to be done +at all . . . And yet I did wish you could have been Jim Bellston's +wife. I did wish it! But no.' + +'I, too, wished it and do still, in one sense,' she returned gently. +His moderation had won her out of her defiant mood, and she was +willing to reason with him. + +'You do?' he said surprised. + +'I see that in a worldly sense my conduct with Mr. Long may be +considered a mistake.' + +'H'm--I am glad to hear that--after my death you may see it more +clearly still; and you won't have long to wait, to my reckoning.' + +She fell into bitter repentance, and kissed him in her anguish. +'Don't say that!' she cried. 'Tell me what to do?' + +'If you'll leave me for an hour or two I'll think. Drive to the +market and back--the carriage is at the door--and I'll try to collect +my senses. Dinner can be put back till you return.' + +In a few minutes she was dressed, and the carriage bore her up the +hill which divided the village and manor from the market-town. + + + +CHAPTER V + + + +A quarter of an hour brought her into the High Street, and for want +of a more important errand she called at the harness-maker's for a +dog-collar that she required. + +It happened to be market-day, and Nicholas, having postponed the +engagements which called him thither to keep the appointment with her +in the Sallows, rushed off at the end of the afternoon to attend to +them as well as he could. Arriving thus in a great hurry on account +of the lateness of the hour, he still retained the wild, amphibious +appearance which had marked him when he came up from the meadows to +her side--an exceptional condition of things which had scarcely ever +before occurred. When she crossed the pavement from the shop door, +the shopman bowing and escorting her to the carriage, Nicholas +chanced to be standing at the road-waggon office, talking to the +master of the waggons. There were a good many people about, and +those near paused and looked at her transit, in the full stroke of +the level October sun, which went under the brims of their hats, and +pierced through their button-holes. From the group she heard +murmured the words: 'Mrs. Nicholas Long.' + +The unexpected remark, not without distinct satire in its tone, took +her so greatly by surprise that she was confounded. Nicholas was by +this time nearer, though coming against the sun he had not yet +perceived her. Influenced by her father's lecture, she felt angry +with him for being there and causing this awkwardness. Her notice of +him was therefore slight, supercilious perhaps, slurred over; and her +vexation at his presence showed distinctly in her face as she sat +down in her seat. Instead of catching his waiting eye, she +positively turned her head away. + +A moment after she was sorry she had treated him so; but he was gone. + +Reaching home she found on her dressing-table a note from her father. +The statement was brief: + + +I have considered and am of the same opinion. You must marry him. +He can leave home at once and travel as proposed. I have written to +him to this effect. I don't want any victuals, so don't wait dinner +for me. + + +Nicholas was the wrong kind of man to be blind to his Christine's +mortification, though he did not know its entire cause. He had +lately foreseen something of this sort as possible. + +'It serves me right,' he thought, as he trotted homeward. 'It was +absurd--wicked of me to lead her on so. The sacrifice would have +been too great--too cruel!' And yet, though he thus took her part, +he flushed with indignation every time he said to himself, 'She is +ashamed of me!' + +On the ridge which overlooked Froom-Everard he met a neighbour of +his--a stock-dealer--in his gig, and they drew rein and exchanged a +few words. A part of the dealer's conversation had much meaning for +Nicholas. + +'I've had occasion to call on Squire Everard,' the former said; 'but +he couldn't see me on account of being quite knocked up at some bad +news he has heard.' + +Nicholas rode on past Froom-Everard to Elsenford Farm, pondering. He +had new and startling matter for thought as soon as he got there. +The Squire's note had arrived. At first he could not credit its +import; then he saw further, took in the tone of the letter, saw the +writer's contempt behind the words, and understood that the letter +was written as by a man hemmed into a corner. Christine was +defiantly--insultingly--hurled at his head. He was accepted because +he was so despised. + +And yet with what respect he had treated her and hers! Now he was +reminded of what an agricultural friend had said years ago, seeing +the eyes of Nicholas fixed on Christine as on an angel when she +passed: 'Better a little fire to warm 'ee than a great one to burn +'ee. No good can come of throwing your heart there.' He went into +the mead, sat down, and asked himself four questions: + +1. How could she live near her acquaintance as his wife, even in his +absence, without suffering martyrdom from the stings of their +contempt? + +2. Would not this entail total estrangement between Christine and +her family also, and her own consequent misery? + +3. Must not such isolation extinguish her affection for him? + +4. Supposing that her father rigged them out as colonists and sent +them off to America, was not the effect of such exile upon one of her +gentle nurture likely to be as the last? + +In short, whatever they should embark in together would be cruelty to +her, and his death would be a relief. It would, indeed, in one +aspect be a relief to her now, if she were so ashamed of him as she +had appeared to be that day. Were he dead, this little episode with +him would fade away like a dream. + +Mr. Everard was a good-hearted man at bottom, but to take his enraged +offer seriously was impossible. Obviously it was hotly made in his +first bitterness at what he had heard. The least thing that he could +do would be to go away and never trouble her more. To travel and +learn and come back in two years, as mapped out in their first +sanguine scheme, required a staunch heart on her side, if the +necessary expenditure of time and money were to be afterwards +justified; and it were folly to calculate on that when he had seen +to-day that her heart was failing her already. To travel and +disappear and not be heard of for many years would be a far more +independent stroke, and it would leave her entirely unfettered. +Perhaps he might rival in this kind the accomplished Mr. Bellston, of +whose journeyings he had heard so much. + +He sat and sat, and the fog rose out of the river, enveloping him +like a fleece; first his feet and knees, then his arms and body, and +finally submerging his head. When he had come to a decision he went +up again into the homestead. He would be independent, if he died for +it, and he would free Christine. Exile was the only course. The +first step was to inform his uncle of his determination. + +Two days later Nicholas was on the same spot in the mead, at almost +the same hour of eve. But there was no fog now; a blusterous autumn +wind had ousted the still, golden days and misty nights; and he was +going, full of purpose, in the opposite direction. When he had last +entered the mead he was an inhabitant of the Froom valley; in forty- +eight hours he had severed himself from that spot as completely as if +he had never belonged to it. All that appertained to him in the +Froom valley now was circumscribed by the portmanteau in his hand. + +In making his preparations for departure he had unconsciously held a +faint, foolish hope that she would communicate with him and make up +their estrangement in some soft womanly way. But she had given no +signal, and it was too evident to him that her latest mood had grown +to be her fixed one, proving how well founded had been his impulse to +set her free. + +He entered the Sallows, found his way in the dark to the garden-door +of the house, slipped under it a note to tell her of his departure, +and explaining its true reason to be a consciousness of her growing +feeling that he was an encumbrance and a humiliation. Of the +direction of his journey and of the date of his return he said +nothing. + +His course now took him into the high road, which he pursued for some +miles in a north-easterly direction, still spinning the thread of sad +inferences, and asking himself why he should ever return. At +daybreak he stood on the hill above Shottsford-Forum, and awaited a +coach which passed about this time along that highway towards +Melchester and London. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + + +Some fifteen years after the date of the foregoing incidents, a man +who had dwelt in far countries, and viewed many cities, arrived at +Roy-Town, a roadside hamlet on the old western turnpike road, not +five miles from Froom-Everard, and put up at the Buck's Head, an +isolated inn at that spot. He was still barely of middle age, but it +could be seen that a haze of grey was settling upon the locks of his +hair, and that his face had lost colour and curve, as if by exposure +to bleaching climates and strange atmospheres, or from ailments +incidental thereto. He seemed to observe little around him, by +reason of the intrusion of his musings upon the scene. In truth +Nicholas Long was just now the creature of old hopes and fears +consequent upon his arrival--this man who once had not cared if his +name were blotted out from that district. The evening light showed +wistful lines which he could not smooth away by the worldling's gloss +of nonchalance that he had learnt to fling over his face. + +The Buck's Head was a somewhat unusual place for a man of this sort +to choose as a house of sojourn in preference to some Casterbridge +inn four miles further on. Before he left home it had been a lively +old tavern at which High-flyers, and Heralds, and Tally-hoes had +changed horses on their stages up and down the country; but now the +house was rather cavernous and chilly, the stable-roofs were hollow- +backed, the landlord was asthmatic, and the traffic gone. + +He arrived in the afternoon, and when he had sent back the fly and +was having a nondescript meal, he put a question to the waiting-maid +with a mien of indifference. + +'Squire Everard, of Froom-Everard Manor, has been dead some years, I +believe?' + +She replied in the affirmative. + +'And are any of the family left there still?' + +'O no, bless you, sir! They sold the place years ago--Squire +Everard's son did--and went away. I've never heard where they went +to. They came quite to nothing.' + +'Never heard anything of the young lady--the Squire's daughter?' + +'No. You see 'twas before I came to these parts.' + +When the waitress left the room, Nicholas pushed aside his plate and +gazed out of the window. He was not going over into the Froom Valley +altogether on Christine's account, but she had greatly animated his +motive in coming that way. Anyhow he would push on there now that he +was so near, and not ask questions here where he was liable to be +wrongly informed. The fundamental inquiry he had not ventured to +make--whether Christine had married before the family went away. He +had abstained because of an absurd dread of extinguishing hopeful +surmise. That the Everards had left their old home was bad enough +intelligence for one day. + +Rising from the table he put on his hat and went out, ascending +towards the upland which divided this district from his native vale. +The first familiar feature that met his eye was a little spot on the +distant sky--a clump of trees standing on a barrow which surmounted a +yet more remote upland--a point where, in his childhood, he had +believed people could stand and see America. He reached the further +verge of the plateau on which he had entered. Ah, there was the +valley--a greenish-grey stretch of colour--still looking placid and +serene, as though it had not much missed him. If Christine was no +longer there, why should he pause over it this evening? His uncle +and aunt were dead, and to-morrow would be soon enough to inquire for +remoter relatives. Thus, disinclined to go further, he turned to +retrace his way to the inn. + +In the backward path he now perceived the figure of a woman, who had +been walking at a distance behind him; and as she drew nearer he +began to be startled. Surely, despite the variations introduced into +that figure by changing years, its ground-lines were those of +Christine? + +Nicholas had been sentimental enough to write to Christine +immediately on landing at Southampton a day or two before this, +addressing his letter at a venture to the old house, and merely +telling her that he planned to reach the Roy-Town inn on the present +afternoon. The news of the scattering of the Everards had dissipated +his hope of hearing of her; but here she was. + +So they met--there, alone, on the open down by a pond, just as if the +meeting had been carefully arranged. + +She threw up her veil. She was still beautiful, though the years had +touched her; a little more matronly--much more homely. Or was it +only that he was much less homely now--a man of the world--the sense +of homeliness being relative? Her face had grown to be pre-eminently +of the sort that would be called interesting. Her habiliments were +of a demure and sober cast, though she was one who had used to dress +so airily and so gaily. Years had laid on a few shadows too in this. + +'I received your letter,' she said, when the momentary embarrassment +of their first approach had passed. 'And I thought I would walk +across the hills to-day, as it was fine. I have just called at the +inn, and they told me you were out. I was now on my way homeward.' + +He hardly listened to this, though he intently gazed at her. +'Christine,' he said, 'one word. Are you free?' + +'I--I am in a certain sense,' she replied, colouring. + +The announcement had a magical effect. The intervening time between +past and present closed up for him, and moved by an impulse which he +had combated for fifteen years, he seized her two hands and drew her +towards him. + +She started back, and became almost a mere acquaintance. 'I have to +tell you,' she gasped, 'that I have--been married.' + +Nicholas's rose-coloured dream was immediately toned down to a +greyish tinge. + +'I did not marry till many years after you had left,' she continued +in the humble tones of one confessing to a crime. 'Oh Nic,' she +cried reproachfully, 'how could you stay away so long?' + +'Whom did you marry?' + +'Mr. Bellston.' + +'I--ought to have expected it.' He was going to add, 'And is he +dead?' but he checked himself. Her dress unmistakably suggested +widowhood; and she had said she was free. + +'I must now hasten home,' said she. 'I felt that, considering my +shortcomings at our parting so many years ago, I owed you the +initiative now.' + +'There is some of your old generosity in that. I'll walk with you, +if I may. Where are you living, Christine?' + +'In the same house, but not on the old conditions. I have part of it +on lease; the farmer now tenanting the premises found the whole more +than he wanted, and the owner allowed me to keep what rooms I chose. +I am poor now, you know, Nicholas, and almost friendless. My brother +sold the Froom-Everard estate when it came to him, and the person who +bought it turned our home into a farmhouse. Till my father's death +my husband and I lived in the manor-house with him, so that I have +never lived away from the spot.' + +She was poor. That, and the change of name, sufficiently accounted +for the inn-servant's ignorance of her continued existence within the +walls of her old home. + +It was growing dusk, and he still walked with her. A woman's head +arose from the declivity before them, and as she drew nearer, +Christine asked him to go back. + +'This is the wife of the farmer who shares the house,' she said. +'She is accustomed to come out and meet me whenever I walk far and am +benighted. I am obliged to walk everywhere now.' + +The farmer's wife, seeing that Christine was not alone, paused in her +advance, and Nicholas said, 'Dear Christine, if you are obliged to do +these things, I am not, and what wealth I can command you may command +likewise. They say rolling stones gather no moss; but they gather +dross sometimes. I was one of the pioneers to the gold-fields, you +know, and made a sufficient fortune there for my wants. What is +more, I kept it. When I had done this I was coming home, but hearing +of my uncle's death I changed my plan, travelled, speculated, and +increased my fortune. Now, before we part: you remember you stood +with me at the altar once, and therefore I speak with less +preparation than I should otherwise use. Before we part then I ask, +shall another again intrude between us? Or shall we complete the +union we began?' + +She trembled--just as she had done at that very minute of standing +with him in the church, to which he had recalled her mind. 'I will +not enter into that now, dear Nicholas,' she replied. 'There will be +more to talk of and consider first--more to explain, which it would +have spoiled this meeting to have entered into now.' + +'Yes, yes; but--' + +'Further than the brief answer I first gave, Nic, don't press me to- +night. I still have the old affection for you, or I should not have +sought you. Let that suffice for the moment.' + +'Very well, dear one. And when shall I call to see you?' + +'I will write and fix an hour. I will tell you everything of my +history then.' + +And thus they parted, Nicholas feeling that he had not come here +fruitlessly. When she and her companion were out of sight he +retraced his steps to Roy-Town, where he made himself as comfortable +as he could in the deserted old inn of his boyhood's days. He missed +her companionship this evening more than he had done at any time +during the whole fifteen years; and it was as though instead of +separation there had been constant communion with her throughout that +period. The tones of her voice had stirred his heart in a nook which +had lain stagnant ever since he last heard them. They recalled the +woman to whom he had once lifted his eyes as to a goddess. Her +announcement that she had been another's came as a little shock to +him, and he did not now lift his eyes to her in precisely the same +way as he had lifted them at first. But he forgave her for marrying +Bellston; what could he expect after fifteen years? + +He slept at Roy-Town that night, and in the morning there was a short +note from her, repeating more emphatically her statement of the +previous evening--that she wished to inform him clearly of her +circumstances, and to calmly consider with him the position in which +she was placed. Would he call upon her on Sunday afternoon, when she +was sure to be alone? + +'Nic,' she wrote on, 'what a cosmopolite you are! I expected to find +my old yeoman still; but I was quite awed in the presence of such a +citizen of the world. Did I seem rusty and unpractised? Ah--you +seemed so once to me!' + +Tender playful words; the old Christine was in them. She said Sunday +afternoon, and it was now only Saturday morning. He wished she had +said to-day; that short revival of her image had vitalized to sudden +heat feelings that had almost been stilled. Whatever she might have +to explain as to her position--and it was awkwardly narrowed, no +doubt--he could not give her up. Miss Everard or Mrs. Bellston, what +mattered it?--she was the same Christine. + +He did not go outside the inn all Saturday. He had no wish to see or +do anything but to await the coming interview. So he smoked, and +read the local newspaper of the previous week, and stowed himself in +the chimney-corner. In the evening he felt that he could remain +indoors no longer, and the moon being near the full, he started from +the inn on foot in the same direction as that of yesterday, with the +view of contemplating the old village and its precincts, and hovering +round her house under the cloak of night. + +With a stout stick in his hand he climbed over the five miles of +upland in a comparatively short space of time. Nicholas had seen +many strange lands and trodden many strange ways since he last walked +that path, but as he trudged he seemed wonderfully like his old self, +and had not the slightest difficulty in finding the way. In +descending to the meads the streams perplexed him a little, some of +the old foot-bridges having been removed; but he ultimately got +across the larger water-courses, and pushed on to the village, +avoiding her residence for the moment, lest she should encounter him, +and think he had not respected the time of her appointment. + +He found his way to the churchyard, and first ascertained where lay +the two relations he had left alive at his departure; then he +observed the gravestones of other inhabitants with whom he had been +well acquainted, till by degrees he seemed to be in the society of +all the elder Froom-Everard population, as he had known the place. +Side by side as they had lived in his day here were they now. They +had moved house in mass. + +But no tomb of Mr. Bellston was visible, though, as he had lived at +the manor-house, it would have been natural to find it here. In +truth Nicholas was more anxious to discover that than anything, being +curious to know how long he had been dead. Seeing from the glimmer +of a light in the church that somebody was there cleaning for Sunday +he entered, and looked round upon the walls as well as he could. But +there was no monument to her husband, though one had been erected to +the Squire. + +Nicholas addressed the young man who was sweeping. 'I don't see any +monument or tomb to the late Mr. Bellston?' + +'O no, sir; you won't see that,' said the young man drily. + +'Why, pray?' + +'Because he's not buried here. He's not Christian-buried anywhere, +as far as we know. In short, perhaps he's not buried at all; and +between ourselves, perhaps he's alive.' + +Nicholas sank an inch shorter. 'Ah,' he answered. + +'Then you don't know the peculiar circumstances, sir?' + +'I am a stranger here--as to late years.' + +'Mr. Bellston was a traveller--an explorer--it was his calling; you +may have heard his name as such?' + +'I remember.' Nicholas recalled the fact that this very bent of Mr. +Bellston's was the incentive to his own roaming. + +'Well, when he married he came and lived here with his wife and his +wife's father, and said he would travel no more. But after a time he +got weary of biding quiet here, and weary of her--he was not a good +husband to the young lady by any means--and he betook himself again +to his old trick of roving--with her money. Away he went, quite out +of the realm of human foot, into the bowels of Asia, and never was +heard of more. He was murdered, it is said, but nobody knows; though +as that was nine years ago he's dead enough in principle, if not in +corporation. His widow lives quite humble, for between her husband +and her brother she's left in very lean pasturage.' + +Nicholas went back to the Buck's Head without hovering round her +dwelling. This then was the explanation which she had wanted to +make. Not dead, but missing. How could he have expected that the +first fair promise of happiness held out to him would remain +untarnished? She had said that she was free; and legally she was +free, no doubt. Moreover, from her tone and manner he felt himself +justified in concluding that she would be willing to run the risk of +a union with him, in the improbability of her husband's existence. +Even if that husband lived, his return was not a likely event, to +judge from his character. A man who could spend her money on his own +personal adventures would not be anxious to disturb her poverty after +such a lapse of time. + +Well, the prospect was not so unclouded as it had seemed. But could +he, even now, give up Christine? + + + +CHAPTER VII + + + +Two months more brought the year nearly to a close, and found +Nicholas Long tenant of a spacious house in the market-town nearest +to Froom-Everard. A man of means, genial character, and a bachelor, +he was an object of great interest to his neighbours, and to his +neighbours' wives and daughters. But he took little note of this, +and had made it his business to go twice a week, no matter what the +weather, to the now farmhouse at Froom-Everard, a wing of which had +been retained as the refuge of Christine. He always walked, to give +no trouble in putting up a horse to a housekeeper whose staff was +limited. + +The two had put their heads together on the situation, had gone to a +solicitor, had balanced possibilities, and had resolved to make the +plunge of matrimony. 'Nothing venture, nothing have,' Christine had +said, with some of her old audacity. + +With almost gratuitous honesty they had let their intentions be +widely known. Christine, it is true, had rather shrunk from +publicity at first; but Nicholas argued that their boldness in this +respect would have good results. With his friends he held that there +was not the slightest probability of her being other than a widow, +and a challenge to the missing man now, followed by no response, +would stultify any unpleasant remarks which might be thrown at her +after their union. To this end a paragraph was inserted in the +Wessex papers, announcing that their marriage was proposed to be +celebrated on such and such a day in December. + +His periodic walks along the south side of the valley to visit her +were among the happiest experiences of his life. The yellow leaves +falling around him in the foreground, the well-watered meads on the +left hand, and the woman he loved awaiting him at the back of the +scene, promised a future of much serenity, as far as human judgment +could foresee. On arriving, he would sit with her in the 'parlour' +of the wing she retained, her general sitting-room, where the only +relics of her early surroundings were an old clock from the other end +of the house, and her own piano. Before it was quite dark they would +stand, hand in hand, looking out of the window across the flat turf +to the dark clump of trees which hid further view from their eyes. + +'Do you wish you were still mistress here, dear?' he once said. + +'Not at all,' said she cheerfully. 'I have a good enough room, and a +good enough fire, and a good enough friend. Besides, my latter days +as mistress of the house were not happy ones, and they spoilt the +place for me. It was a punishment for my faithlessness. Nic, you do +forgive me? Really you do?' + +The twenty-third of December, the eve of the wedding-day, had arrived +at last in the train of such uneventful ones as these. Nicholas had +arranged to visit her that day a little later than usual, and see +that everything was ready with her for the morrow's event and her +removal to his house; for he had begun to look after her domestic +affairs, and to lighten as much as possible the duties of her +housekeeping. + +He was to come to an early supper, which she had arranged to take the +place of a wedding-breakfast next day--the latter not being feasible +in her present situation. An hour or so after dark the wife of the +farmer who lived in the other part of the house entered Christine's +parlour to lay the cloth. + +'What with getting the ham skinned, and the black-puddings hotted +up,' she said, 'it will take me all my time before he's here, if I +begin this minute.' + +'I'll lay the table myself,' said Christine, jumping up. 'Do you +attend to the cooking.' + +'Thank you, ma'am. And perhaps 'tis no matter, seeing that it is the +last night you'll have to do such work. I knew this sort of life +wouldn't last long for 'ee, being born to better things.' + +'It has lasted rather long, Mrs. Wake. And if he had not found me +out it would have lasted all my days.' + +'But he did find you out.' + +'He did. And I'll lay the cloth immediately.' + +Mrs. Wake went back to the kitchen, and Christine began to bustle +about. She greatly enjoyed preparing this table for Nicholas and +herself with her own hands. She took artistic pleasure in adjusting +each article to its position, as if half an inch error were a point +of high importance. Finally she placed the two candles where they +were to stand, and sat down by the fire. + +Mrs. Wake re-entered and regarded the effect. 'Why not have another +candle or two, ma'am?' she said. ''Twould make it livelier. Say +four.' + +'Very well,' said Christine, and four candles were lighted. +'Really,' she added, surveying them, 'I have been now so long +accustomed to little economies that they look quite extravagant.' + +'Ah, you'll soon think nothing of forty in his grand new house! +Shall I bring in supper directly he comes, ma'am?' + +'No, not for half an hour; and, Mrs. Wake, you and Betsy are busy in +the kitchen, I know; so when he knocks don't disturb yourselves; I +can let him in.' + +She was again left alone, and, as it still wanted some time to +Nicholas's appointment, she stood by the fire, looking at herself in +the glass over the mantel. Reflectively raising a lock of her hair +just above her temple she uncovered a small scar. That scar had a +history. The terrible temper of her late husband--those sudden moods +of irascibility which had made even his friendly excitements look +like anger--had once caused him to set that mark upon her with the +bezel of a ring he wore. He declared that the whole thing was an +accident. She was a woman, and kept her own opinion. + +Christine then turned her back to the glass and scanned the table and +the candles, shining one at each corner like types of the four +Evangelists, and thought they looked too assuming--too confident. +She glanced up at the clock, which stood also in this room, there not +being space enough for it in the passage. It was nearly seven, and +she expected Nicholas at half-past. She liked the company of this +venerable article in her lonely life: its tickings and whizzings +were a sort of conversation. It now began to strike the hour. At +the end something grated slightly. Then, without any warning, the +clock slowly inclined forward and fell at full length upon the floor. + +The crash brought the farmer's wife rushing into the room. Christine +had well-nigh sprung out of her shoes. Mrs. Wake's enquiry what had +happened was answered by the evidence of her own eyes. + +'How did it occur?' she said. + +'I cannot say; it was not firmly fixed, I suppose. Dear me, how +sorry I am! My dear father's hall-clock! And now I suppose it is +ruined.' + +Assisted by Mrs. Wake, she lifted the clock. Every inch of glass +was, of course, shattered, but very little harm besides appeared to +be done. They propped it up temporarily, though it would not go +again. + +Christine had soon recovered her composure, but she saw that Mrs. +Wake was gloomy. 'What does it mean, Mrs. Wake?' she said. 'Is it +ominous?' + +'It is a sign of a violent death in the family.' + +'Don't talk of it. I don't believe such things; and don't mention it +to Mr. Long when he comes. HE'S not in the family yet, you know.' + +'O no, it cannot refer to him,' said Mrs. Wake musingly. + +'Some remote cousin, perhaps,' observed Christine, no less willing to +humour her than to get rid of a shapeless dread which the incident +had caused in her own mind. 'And--supper is almost ready, Mrs. +Wake?' + +'In three-quarters of an hour.' + +Mrs. Wake left the room, and Christine sat on. Though it still +wanted fifteen minutes to the hour at which Nicholas had promised to +be there, she began to grow impatient. After the accustomed ticking +the dead silence was oppressive. But she had not to wait so long as +she had expected; steps were heard approaching the door, and there +was a knock. + +Christine was already there to open it. The entrance had no lamp, +but it was not particularly dark out of doors. She could see the +outline of a man, and cried cheerfully, 'You are early; it is very +good of you.' + +'I beg pardon. It is not Mr. Bellston himself--only a messenger with +his bag and great-coat. But he will be here soon.' + +The voice was not the voice of Nicholas, and the intelligence was +strange. 'I--I don't understand. Mr. Bellston?' she faintly +replied. + +'Yes, ma'am. A gentleman--a stranger to me--gave me these things at +Casterbridge station to bring on here, and told me to say that Mr. +Bellston had arrived there, and is detained for half-an-hour, but +will be here in the course of the evening.' + +She sank into a chair. The porter put a small battered portmanteau +on the floor, the coat on a chair, and looking into the room at the +spread table said, 'If you are disappointed, ma'am, that your husband +(as I s'pose he is) is not come, I can assure you he'll soon be here. +He's stopped to get a shave, to my thinking, seeing he wanted it. +What he said was that I could tell you he had heard the news in +Ireland, and would have come sooner, his hand being forced; but was +hindered crossing by the weather, having took passage in a sailing +vessel. What news he meant he didn't say.' + +'Ah, yes,' she faltered. It was plain that the man knew nothing of +her intended re-marriage. + +Mechanically rising and giving him a shilling, she answered to his +'good-night,' and he withdrew, the beat of his footsteps lessening in +the distance. She was alone; but in what a solitude. + +Christine stood in the middle of the hall, just as the man had left +her, in the gloomy silence of the stopped clock within the adjoining +room, till she aroused herself, and turning to the portmanteau and +great-coat brought them to the light of the candles, and examined +them. The portmanteau bore painted upon it the initials 'J. B.' in +white letters--the well-known initials of her husband. + +She examined the great-coat. In the breast-pocket was an empty +spirit flask, which she firmly fancied she recognized as the one she +had filled many times for him when he was living at home with her. + +She turned desultorily hither and thither, until she heard another +tread without, and there came a second knocking at the door. She did +not respond to it; and Nicholas--for it was he--thinking that he was +not heard by reason of a concentration on to-morrow's proceedings, +opened the door softly, and came on to the door of her room, which +stood unclosed, just as it had been left by the Casterbridge porter. + +Nicholas uttered a blithe greeting, cast his eye round the parlour, +which with its tall candles, blazing fire, snow-white cloth, and +prettily-spread table, formed a cheerful spectacle enough for a man +who had been walking in the dark for an hour. + +'My bride--almost, at last!' he cried, encircling her with his arms. + +Instead of responding, her figure became limp, frigid, heavy; her +head fell back, and he found that she had fainted. + +It was natural, he thought. She had had many little worrying matters +to attend to, and but slight assistance. He ought to have seen more +effectually to her affairs; the closeness of the event had over- +excited her. Nicholas kissed her unconscious face--more than once, +little thinking what news it was that had changed its aspect. Loth +to call Mrs. Wake, he carried Christine to a couch and laid her down. +This had the effect of reviving her. Nicholas bent and whispered in +her ear, 'Lie quiet, dearest, no hurry; and dream, dream, dream of +happy days. It is only I. You will soon be better.' He held her by +the hand. + +'No, no, no!' she said, with a stare. 'O, how can this be?' + +Nicholas was alarmed and perplexed, but the disclosure was not long +delayed. When she had sat up, and by degrees made the stunning event +known to him, he stood as if transfixed. + +'Ah--is it so?' said he. Then, becoming quite meek, 'And why was he +so cruel as to--delay his return till now?' + +She dutifully recited the explanation her husband had given her +through the messenger; but her mechanical manner of telling it showed +how much she doubted its truth. It was too unlikely that his arrival +at such a dramatic moment should not be a contrived surprise, quite +of a piece with his previous dealings towards her. + +'But perhaps it may be true--and he may have become kind now--not as +he used to be,' she faltered. 'Yes, perhaps, Nicholas, he is an +altered man--we'll hope he is. I suppose I ought not to have +listened to my legal advisers, and assumed his death so surely! +Anyhow, I am roughly received back into--the right way!' + +Nicholas burst out bitterly: 'O what too, too honest fools we were!- +-to so court daylight upon our intention by putting that announcement +in the papers! Why could we not have married privately, and gone +away, so that he would never have known what had become of you, even +if he had returned? Christine, he has done it to . . . But I'll say +no more. Of course we--might fly now.' + +'No, no; we might not,' said she hastily. + +'Very well. But this is hard to bear! "When I looked for good then +evil came unto me, and when I waited for light there came darkness." +So once said a sorely tried man in the land of Uz, and so say I now! +. . . I wonder if he is almost here at this moment?' + +She told him she supposed Bellston was approaching by the path across +the fields, having sent on his great-coat, which he would not want +walking. + +'And is this meal laid for him, or for me?' + +'It was laid for you.' + +'And it will be eaten by him?' + +'Yes.' + +'Christine, are you SURE that he is come, or have you been sleeping +over the fire and dreaming it?' + +She pointed anew to the portmanteau with the initials 'J. B.,' and to +the coat beside it. + +'Well, good-bye--good-bye! Curse that parson for not marrying us +fifteen years ago!' + +It is unnecessary to dwell further upon that parting. There are +scenes wherein the words spoken do not even approximate to the level +of the mental communion between the actors. Suffice it to say that +part they did, and quickly; and Nicholas, more dead than alive, went +out of the house homewards. + +Why had he ever come back? During his absence he had not cared for +Christine as he cared now. If he had been younger he might have felt +tempted to descend into the meads instead of keeping along their +edge. The Froom was down there, and he knew of quiet pools in that +stream to which death would come easily. But he was too old to put +an end to himself for such a reason as love; and another thought, +too, kept him from seriously contemplating any desperate act. His +affection for her was strongly protective, and in the event of her +requiring a friend's support in future troubles there was none but +himself left in the world to afford it. So he walked on. + +Meanwhile Christine had resigned herself to circumstances. A resolve +to continue worthy of her history and of her family lent her heroism +and dignity. She called Mrs. Wake, and explained to that worthy +woman as much of what had occurred as she deemed necessary. Mrs. +Wake was too amazed to reply; she retreated slowly, her lips parted; +till at the door she said with a dry mouth, 'And the beautiful +supper, ma'am?' + +'Serve it when he comes.' + +'When Mr. Bellston--yes, ma'am, I will.' She still stood gazing, as +if she could hardly take in the order. + +'That will do, Mrs. Wake. I am much obliged to you for all your +kindness.' And Christine was left alone again, and then she wept. + +She sat down and waited. That awful silence of the stopped clock +began anew, but she did not mind it now. She was listening for a +footfall in a state of mental tensity which almost took away from her +the power of motion. It seemed to her that the natural interval for +her husband's journey thither must have expired; but she was not +sure, and waited on. + +Mrs. Wake again came in. 'You have not rung for supper--' + +'He is not yet come, Mrs. Wake. If you want to go to bed, bring in +the supper and set it on the table. It will be nearly as good cold. +Leave the door unbarred.' + +Mrs. Wake did as was suggested, made up the fire, and went away. +Shortly afterwards Christine heard her retire to her chamber. But +Christine still sat on, and still her husband postponed his entry. + +She aroused herself once or twice to freshen the fire, but was +ignorant how the night was going. Her watch was upstairs and she did +not make the effort to go up to consult it. In her seat she +continued; and still the supper waited, and still he did not come. + +At length she was so nearly persuaded that the arrival of his things +must have been a dream after all, that she again went over to them, +felt them, and examined them. His they unquestionably were; and +their forwarding by the porter had been quite natural. She sighed +and sat down again. + +Presently she fell into a doze, and when she again became conscious +she found that the four candles had burnt into their sockets and gone +out. The fire still emitted a feeble shine. Christine did not take +the trouble to get more candles, but stirred the fire and sat on. + +After a long period she heard a creaking of the chamber floor and +stairs at the other end of the house, and knew that the farmer's +family were getting up. By-and-by Mrs. Wake entered the room, candle +in hand, bouncing open the door in her morning manner, obviously +without any expectation of finding a person there. + +'Lord-a-mercy! What, sitting here again, ma'am?' + +'Yes, I am sitting here still.' + +'You've been there ever since last night?' + +'Yes.' + +'Then--' + +'He's not come.' + +'Well, he won't come at this time o' morning,' said the farmer's +wife. 'Do 'ee get on to bed, ma'am. You must be shrammed to death!' + +It occurred to Christine now that possibly her husband had thought +better of obtruding himself upon her company within an hour of +revealing his existence to her, and had decided to pay a more formal +visit next day. She therefore adopted Mrs. Wake's suggestion and +retired. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + + +Nicholas had gone straight home, neither speaking to nor seeing a +soul. From that hour a change seemed to come over him. He had ever +possessed a full share of self-consciousness; he had been readily +piqued, had shown an unusual dread of being personally obtrusive. +But now his sense of self, as an individual provoking opinion, +appeared to leave him. When, therefore, after a day or two of +seclusion, he came forth again, and the few acquaintances he had +formed in the town condoled with him on what had happened, and pitied +his haggard looks, he did not shrink from their regard as he would +have done formerly, but took their sympathy as it would have been +accepted by a child. + +It reached his ears that Bellston had not appeared on the evening of +his arrival at any hotel in the town or neighbourhood, or entered his +wife's house at all. 'That's a part of his cruelty,' thought +Nicholas. And when two or three days had passed, and still no +account came to him of Bellston having joined her, he ventured to set +out for Froom-Everard. + +Christine was so shaken that she was obliged to receive him as she +lay on a sofa, beside the square table which was to have borne their +evening feast. She fixed her eyes wistfully upon him, and smiled a +sad smile. + +'He has not come?' said Nicholas under his breath. + +'He has not.' + +Then Nicholas sat beside her, and they talked on general topics +merely like saddened old friends. But they could not keep away the +subject of Bellston, their voices dropping as it forced its way in. +Christine, no less than Nicholas, knowing her husband's character, +inferred that, having stopped her game, as he would have phrased it, +he was taking things leisurely, and, finding nothing very attractive +in her limited mode of living, was meaning to return to her only when +he had nothing better to do. + +The bolt which laid low their hopes had struck so recently that they +could hardly look each other in the face when speaking that day. But +when a week or two had passed, and all the horizon still remained as +vacant of Bellston as before, Nicholas and she could talk of the +event with calm wonderment. Why had he come, to go again like this? + +And then there set in a period of resigned surmise, during which + + +So like, so very like, was day to day, + + +that to tell of one of them is to tell of all. Nicholas would arrive +between three and four in the afternoon, a faint trepidation +influencing his walk as he neared her door. He would knock; she +would always reply in person, having watched for him from the window. +Then he would whisper--'He has not come?' + +'He has not,' she would say. + +Nicholas would enter then, and she being ready bonneted, they would +walk into the Sallows together as far as to the spot which they had +frequently made their place of appointment in their youthful days. A +plank bridge, which Bellston had caused to be thrown over the stream +during his residence with her in the manor-house, was now again +removed, and all was just the same as in Nicholas's time, when he had +been accustomed to wade across on the edge of the cascade and come up +to her like a merman from the deep. Here on the felled trunk, which +still lay rotting in its old place, they would now sit, gazing at the +descending sheet of water, with its never-ending sarcastic hiss at +their baffled attempts to make themselves one flesh. Returning to +the house they would sit down together to tea, after which, and the +confidential chat that accompanied it, he walked home by the +declining light. This proceeding became as periodic as an +astronomical recurrence. Twice a week he came--all through that +winter, all through the spring following, through the summer, through +the autumn, the next winter, the next year, and the next, till an +appreciable span of human life had passed by. Bellston still +tarried. + +Years and years Nic walked that way, at this interval of three days, +from his house in the neighbouring town; and in every instance the +aforesaid order of things was customary; and still on his arrival the +form of words went on--'He has not come?' + +'He has not.' + +So they grew older. The dim shape of that third one stood +continually between them; they could not displace it; neither, on the +other hand, could it effectually part them. They were in close +communion, yet not indissolubly united; lovers, yet never growing +cured of love. By the time that the fifth year of Nic's visiting had +arrived, on about the five-hundredth occasion of his presence at her +tea-table, he noticed that the bleaching process which had begun upon +his own locks was also spreading to hers. He told her so, and they +laughed. Yet she was in good health: a condition of suspense, which +would have half-killed a man, had been endured by her without +complaint, and even with composure. + +One day, when these years of abeyance had numbered seven, they had +strolled as usual as far as the waterfall, whose faint roar formed a +sort of calling voice sufficient in the circumstances to direct their +listlessness. Pausing there, he looked up at her face and said, 'Why +should we not try again, Christine? We are legally at liberty to do +so now. Nothing venture nothing have.' + +But she would not. Perhaps a little primness of idea was by this +time ousting the native daring of Christine. 'What he has done once +he can do twice,' she said. 'He is not dead, and if we were to marry +he would say we had "forced his hand," as he said before, and duly +reappear.' + +Some years after, when Christine was about fifty, and Nicholas fifty- +three, a new trouble of a minor kind arrived. He found an +inconvenience in traversing the distance between their two houses, +particularly in damp weather, the years he had spent in trying +climates abroad having sown the seeds of rheumatism, which made a +journey undesirable on inclement days, even in a carriage. He told +her of this new difficulty, as he did of everything. + +'If you could live nearer,' suggested she. + +Unluckily there was no house near. But Nicholas, though not a +millionaire, was a man of means; he obtained a small piece of ground +on lease at the nearest spot to her home that it could be so +obtained, which was on the opposite brink of the Froom, this river +forming the boundary of the Froom-Everard manor; and here he built a +cottage large enough for his wants. This took time, and when he got +into it he found its situation a great comfort to him. He was not +more than five hundred yards from her now, and gained a new pleasure +in feeling that all sounds which greeted his ears, in the day or in +the night, also fell upon hers--the caw of a particular rook, the +voice of a neighbouring nightingale, the whistle of a local breeze, +or the purl of the fall in the meadows, whose rush was a material +rendering of Time's ceaseless scour over themselves, wearing them +away without uniting them. + +Christine's missing husband was taking shape as a myth among the +surrounding residents; but he was still believed in as corporeally +imminent by Christine herself, and also, in a milder degree, by +Nicholas. For a curious unconsciousness of the long lapse of time +since his revelation of himself seemed to affect the pair. There had +been no passing events to serve as chronological milestones, and the +evening on which she had kept supper waiting for him still loomed out +with startling nearness in their retrospects. + +In the seventeenth pensive year of this their parallel march towards +the common bourne, a labourer came in a hurry one day to Nicholas's +house and brought strange tidings. The present owner of Froom- +Everard--a non-resident--had been improving his property in sundry +ways, and one of these was by dredging the stream which, in the +course of years, had become choked with mud and weeds in its passage +through the Sallows. The process necessitated a reconstruction of +the waterfall. When the river had been pumped dry for this purpose, +the skeleton of a man had been found jammed among the piles +supporting the edge of the fall. Every particle of his flesh and +clothing had been eaten by fishes or abraded to nothing by the water, +but the relics of a gold watch remained, and on the inside of the +case was engraved the name of the maker of her husband's watch, which +she well remembered. + +Nicholas, deeply agitated, hastened down to the place and examined +the remains attentively, afterwards going across to Christine, and +breaking the discovery to her. She would not come to view the +skeleton, which lay extended on the grass, not a finger or toe-bone +missing, so neatly had the aquatic operators done their work. +Conjecture was directed to the question how Bellston had got there; +and conjecture alone could give an explanation. + +It was supposed that, on his way to call upon her, he had taken a +short cut through the grounds, with which he was naturally very +familiar, and coming to the fall under the trees had expected to find +there the plank which, during his occupancy of the premises with +Christine and her father, he had placed there for crossing into the +meads on the other side instead of wading across as Nicholas had +done. Before discovering its removal he had probably overbalanced +himself, and was thus precipitated into the cascade, the piles +beneath the descending current wedging him between them like the +prongs of a pitchfork, and effectually preventing the rising of his +body, over which the weeds grew. Such was the reasonable supposition +concerning the discovery; but proof was never forthcoming. + +'To think,' said Nicholas, when the remains had been decently +interred, and he was again sitting with Christine--though not beside +the waterfall--'to think how we visited him! How we sat over him, +hours and hours, gazing at him, bewailing our fate, when all the time +he was ironically hissing at us from the spot, in an unknown tongue, +that we could marry if we chose!' + +She echoed the sentiment with a sigh. + +'I have strange fancies,' she said. 'I suppose it MUST have been my +husband who came back, and not some other man.' + +Nicholas felt that there was little doubt. 'Besides--the skeleton,' +he said. + +'Yes . . . If it could not have been another person's--but no, of +course it was he.' + +'You might have married me on the day we had fixed, and there would +have been no impediment. You would now have been seventeen years my +wife, and we might have had tall sons and daughters.' + +'It might have been so,' she murmured. + +'Well--is it still better late than never?' + +The question was one which had become complicated by the increasing +years of each. Their wills were somewhat enfeebled now, their hearts +sickened of tender enterprise by hope too long deferred. Having +postponed the consideration of their course till a year after the +interment of Bellston, each seemed less disposed than formerly to +take it up again. + +'Is it worth while, after so many years?' she said to him. 'We are +fairly happy as we are--perhaps happier than we should be in any +other relation, seeing what old people we have grown. The weight is +gone from our lives; the shadow no longer divides us: then let us be +joyful together as we are, dearest Nic, in the days of our vanity; +and + + +With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.' + + +He fell in with these views of hers to some extent. But occasionally +he ventured to urge her to reconsider the case, though he spoke not +with the fervour of his earlier years. + +Autumn, 1887. + + + + +ALICIA'S DIARY + + + + +CHAPTER I.--SHE MISSES HER SISTER + + + +July 7.--I wander about the house in a mood of unutterable sadness, +for my dear sister Caroline has left home to-day with my mother, and +I shall not see them again for several weeks. They have accepted a +long-standing invitation to visit some old friends of ours, the +Marlets, who live at Versailles for cheapness--my mother thinking +that it will be for the good of Caroline to see a little of France +and Paris. But I don't quite like her going. I fear she may lose +some of that childlike simplicity and gentleness which so +characterize her, and have been nourished by the seclusion of our +life here. Her solicitude about her pony before starting was quite +touching, and she made me promise to visit it daily, and see that it +came to no harm. + +Caroline gone abroad, and I left here! It is the reverse of an +ordinary situation, for good or ill-luck has mostly ordained that I +should be the absent one. Mother will be quite tired out by the +young enthusiasm of Caroline. She will demand to be taken +everywhere--to Paris continually, of course; to all the stock shrines +of history's devotees; to palaces and prisons; to kings' tombs and +queens' tombs; to cemeteries and picture-galleries, and royal hunting +forests. My poor mother, having gone over most of this ground many +times before, will perhaps not find the perambulation so exhilarating +as will Caroline herself. I wish I could have gone with them. I +would not have minded having my legs walked off to please Caroline. +But this regret is absurd: I could not, of course, leave my father +with not a soul in the house to attend to the calls of the +parishioners or to pour out his tea. + +July 15.--A letter from Caroline to-day. It is very strange that she +tells me nothing which I expected her to tell--only trivial details. +She seems dazzled by the brilliancy of Paris--which no doubt appears +still more brilliant to her from the fact of her only being able to +obtain occasional glimpses of it. She would see that Paris, too, has +a seamy side if you live there. I was not aware that the Marlets +knew so many people. If, as mother has said, they went to reside at +Versailles for reasons of economy, they will not effect much in that +direction while they make a practice of entertaining all the +acquaintances who happen to be in their neighbourhood. They do not +confine their hospitalities to English people, either. I wonder who +this M. de la Feste is, in whom Caroline says my mother is so much +interested. + +July 18.--Another letter from Caroline. I have learnt from this +epistle, that M. Charles de la Feste is 'only one of the many friends +of the Marlets'; that though a Frenchman by birth, and now again +temporarily at Versailles, he has lived in England many many years; +that he is a talented landscape and marine painter, and has exhibited +at the Salon, and I think in London. His style and subjects are +considered somewhat peculiar in Paris--rather English than +Continental. I have not as yet learnt his age, or his condition, +married or single. From the tone and nature of her remarks about him +he sometimes seems to be a middle-aged family man, sometimes quite +the reverse. From his nomadic habits I should say the latter is the +most likely. He has travelled and seen a great deal, she tells me, +and knows more about English literature than she knows herself. + +July 21.--Letter from Caroline. Query: Is 'a friend of ours and the +Marlets,' of whom she now anonymously and mysteriously speaks, the +same personage as the 'M. de la Feste' of her former letters? He +must be the same, I think, from his pursuits. If so, whence this +sudden change of tone? . . . I have been lost in thought for at least +a quarter of an hour since writing the preceding sentence. Suppose +my dear sister is falling in love with this young man--there is no +longer any doubt about his age; what a very awkward, risky thing for +her! I do hope that my mother has an eye on these proceedings. But, +then, poor mother never sees the drift of anything: she is in truth +less of a mother to Caroline than I am. If I were there, how +jealously I would watch him, and ascertain his designs! + +I am of a stronger nature than Caroline. How I have supported her in +the past through her little troubles and great griefs! Is she +agitated at the presence of this, to her, new and strange feeling? +But I am assuming her to be desperately in love, when I have no proof +of anything of the kind. He may be merely a casual friend, of whom I +shall hear no more. + +July 24.--Then he IS a bachelor, as I suspected. 'If M. de la Feste +ever marries he will,' etc. So she writes. They are getting into +close quarters, obviously. Also, 'Something to keep my hair smooth, +which M. de la Feste told me he had found useful for the tips of his +moustache.' Very naively related this; and with how much +unconsciousness of the intimacy between them that the remark reveals! +But my mother--what can she be doing? Does she know of this? And if +so, why does she not allude to it in her letters to my father? . . . +I have been to look at Caroline's pony, in obedience to her +reiterated request that I would not miss a day in seeing that she was +well cared for. Anxious as Caroline was about this pony of hers +before starting, she now never mentioned the poor animal once in her +letters. The image of her pet suffers from displacement. + +August 3.--Caroline's forgetfulness of her pony has naturally enough +extended to me, her sister. It is ten days since she last wrote, and +but for a note from my mother I should not know if she were dead or +alive. + + + +CHAPTER II.--NEWS INTERESTING AND SERIOUS + + + +August 5.--A cloud of letters. A letter from Caroline, another from +mother; also one from each to my father. + +The probability to which all the intelligence from my sister has +pointed of late turns out to be a fact. There is an engagement, or +almost an engagement, announced between my dear Caroline and M. de la +Feste--to Caroline's sublime happiness, and my mother's entire +satisfaction; as well as to that of the Marlets. They and my mother +seem to know all about the young man--which is more than I do, though +a little extended information about him, considering that I am +Caroline's elder sister, would not have been amiss. I half feel with +my father, who is much surprised, and, I am sure, not altogether +satisfied, that he should not have been consulted at all before +matters reached such a definite stage, though he is too amiable to +say so openly. I don't quite say that a good thing should have been +hindered for the sake of our opinion, if it is a good thing; but the +announcement comes very suddenly. It must have been foreseen by my +mother for some time that this upshot was probable, and Caroline +might have told me more distinctly that M. de la Feste was her lover, +instead of alluding so mysteriously to him as only a friend of the +Marlets, and lately dropping his name altogether. My father, without +exactly objecting to him as a Frenchman, 'wishes he were of English +or some other reasonable nationality for one's son-in-law,' but I +tell him that the demarcations of races, kingdoms, and creeds, are +wearing down every day, that patriotism is a sort of vice, and that +the character of the individual is all we need think about in this +case. I wonder if, in the event of their marriage, he will continue +to live at Versailles, or if he will come to England. + +August 7.--A supplemental letter from Caroline, answering, by +anticipation, some of the aforesaid queries. She tells me that +'Charles,' though he makes Versailles his present home, is by no +means bound by his profession to continue there; that he will live +just where she wishes, provided it be not too far from some centre of +thought, art, and civilization. My mother and herself both think +that the marriage should not take place till next year. He exhibits +landscapes and canal scenery every year, she says; so I suppose he is +popular, and that his income is sufficient to keep them in comfort. +If not, I do not see why my father could not settle something more on +them than he had intended, and diminish by a little what he had +proposed for me, whilst it was imagined that I should be the first to +stand in need of such. + +'Of engaging manner, attractive appearance, and virtuous character,' +is the reply I receive from her in answer to my request for a +personal description. That is vague enough, and I would rather have +had one definite fact of complexion, voice, deed, or opinion. But of +course she has no eye now for material qualities; she cannot see him +as he is. She sees him irradiated with glories such as never +appertained and never will appertain to any man, foreign, English, or +Colonial. To think that Caroline, two years my junior, and so +childlike as to be five years my junior in nature, should be engaged +to be married before me. But that is what happens in families more +often than we are apt to remember. + +August 16.--Interesting news to-day. Charles, she says, has pleaded +that their marriage may just as well be this year as next; and he +seems to have nearly converted my mother to the same way of thinking. +I do not myself see any reason for delay, beyond the standing one of +my father having as yet had no opportunity of forming an opinion upon +the man, the time, or anything. However, he takes his lot very +quietly, and they are coming home to talk the question over with us; +Caroline having decided not to make any positive arrangements for +this change of state till she has seen me. Subject to my own and my +father's approval, she says, they are inclined to settle the date of +the wedding for November, three months from the present time, that it +shall take place here in the village, that I, of course, shall be +bridesmaid, and many other particulars. She draws an artless picture +of the probable effect upon the minds of the villagers of this +romantic performance in the chancel of our old church, in which she +is to be chief actor--the foreign gentleman dropping down like a god +from the skies, picking her up, and triumphantly carrying her off. +Her only grief will be separation from me, but this is to be assuaged +by my going and staying with her for long months at a time. This +simple prattle is very sweet to me, my dear sister, but I cannot help +feeling sad at the occasion of it. In the nature of things it is +obvious that I shall never be to you again what I hitherto have been: +your guide, counsellor, and most familiar friend. + +M. de la Feste does certainly seem to be all that one could desire as +protector to a sensitive fragile child like Caroline, and for that I +am thankful. Still, I must remember that I see him as yet only +through her eyes. For her sake I am intensely anxious to meet him, +and scrutinise him through and through, and learn what the man is +really made of who is to have such a treasure in his keeping. The +engagement has certainly been formed a little precipitately; I quite +agree with my father in that: still, good and happy marriages have +been made in a hurry before now, and mother seems well satisfied. + +August 20.--A terrible announcement came this morning; and we are in +deep trouble. I have been quite unable to steady my thoughts on +anything to-day till now--half-past eleven at night--and I only +attempt writing these notes because I am too restless to remain idle, +and there is nothing but waiting and waiting left for me to do. +Mother has been taken dangerously ill at Versailles: they were +within a day or two of starting; but all thought of leaving must now +be postponed, for she cannot possibly be moved in her present state. +I don't like the sound of haemorrhage at all in a woman of her full +habit, and Caroline and the Marlets have not exaggerated their +accounts I am certain. On the receipt of the letter my father +instantly decided to go to her, and I have been occupied all day in +getting him off, for as he calculates on being absent several days, +there have been many matters for him to arrange before setting out-- +the chief being to find some one who will do duty for him next +Sunday--a quest of no small difficulty at such short notice; but at +last poor old feeble Mr. Dugdale has agreed to attempt it, with Mr. +Highman, the Scripture reader, to assist him in the lessons. + +I fain would have gone with my father to escape the irksome anxiety +of awaiting her; but somebody had to stay, and I could best be +spared. George has driven him to the station to meet the last train +by which he will catch the midnight boat, and reach Havre some time +in the morning. He hates the sea, and a night passage in particular. +I hope he will get there without mishap of any kind; but I feel +anxious for him, stay-at-home as he is, and unable to cope with any +difficulty. Such an errand, too; the journey will be sad enough at +best. I almost think I ought to have been the one to go to her. + +August 21.--I nearly fell asleep of heaviness of spirit last night +over my writing. My father must have reached Paris by this time; and +now here comes a letter . . . + +Later.--The letter was to express an earnest hope that my father had +set out. My poor mother is sinking, they fear. What will become of +Caroline? O, how I wish I could see mother; why could not both have +gone? + +Later.--I get up from my chair, and walk from window to window, and +then come and write a line. I cannot even divine how poor Caroline's +marriage is to be carried out if mother dies. I pray that father may +have got there in time to talk to her and receive some directions +from her about Caroline and M. de la Feste--a man whom neither my +father nor I have seen. I, who might be useful in this emergency, am +doomed to stay here, waiting in suspense. + +August 23.--A letter from my father containing the sad news that my +mother's spirit has flown. Poor little Caroline is heart-broken--she +was always more my mother's pet than I was. It is some comfort to +know that my father arrived in time to hear from her own lips her +strongly expressed wish that Caroline's marriage should be solemnized +as soon as possible. M. de la Feste seems to have been a great +favourite of my dear mother's; and I suppose it now becomes almost a +sacred duty of my father to accept him as a son-in-law without +criticism. + + + +CHAPTER III.--HER GLOOM LIGHTENS A LITTLE + + + +September 10.--I have inserted nothing in my diary for more than a +fortnight. Events have been altogether too sad for me to have the +spirit to put them on paper. And yet there comes a time when the act +of recording one's trouble is recognized as a welcome method of +dwelling upon it . . . + +My dear mother has been brought home and buried here in the parish. +It was not so much her own wish that this should be done as my +father's, who particularly desired that she should lie in the family +vault beside his first wife. I saw them side by side before the +vault was closed--two women beloved by one man. As I stood, and +Caroline by my side, I fell into a sort of dream, and had an odd +fancy that Caroline and I might be also beloved of one, and lie like +these together--an impossibility, of course, being sisters. When I +awoke from my reverie Caroline took my hand and said it was time to +leave. + +September 14.--The wedding is indefinitely postponed. Caroline is +like a girl awakening in the middle of a somnambulistic experience, +and does not realize where she is, or how she stands. She walks +about silently, and I cannot tell her thoughts, as I used to do. It +was her own doing to write to M. de la Feste and tell him that the +wedding could not possibly take place this autumn as originally +planned. There is something depressing in this long postponement if +she is to marry him at all; and yet I do not see how it could be +avoided. + +October 20.--I have had so much to occupy me in consoling Caroline +that I have been continually overlooking my diary. Her life was much +nearer to my mother's than mine was. She has never, as I, lived away +from home long enough to become self-dependent, and hence in her +first loss, and all that it involved, she drooped like a rain-beaten +lily. But she is of a nature whose wounds soon heal, even though +they may be deep, and the supreme poignancy of her sorrow has already +passed. + +My father is of opinion that the wedding should not be delayed too +long. While at Versailles he made the acquaintance of M. de la +Feste, and though they had but a short and hurried communion with +each other, he was much impressed by M. de la Feste's disposition and +conduct, and is strongly in favour of his suit. It is odd that +Caroline's betrothed should influence in his favour all who come near +him. His portrait, which dear Caroline has shown me, exhibits him to +be of a physique that partly accounts for this: but there must be +something more than mere appearance, and it is probably some sort of +glamour or fascinating power--the quality which prevented Caroline +from describing him to me with any accuracy of detail. At the same +time, I see from the photograph that his face and head are remarkably +well formed; and though the contours of his mouth are hidden by his +moustache, his arched brows show well the romantic disposition of a +true lover and painter of Nature. I think that the owner of such a +face as this must be tender and sympathetic and true. + +October 30.--As my sister's grief for her mother becomes more and +more calmed, her love for M. de la Feste begins to reassume its +former absorbing command of her. She thinks of him incessantly, and +writes whole treatises to him by way of letters. Her blank +disappointment at his announcement of his inability to pay us a visit +quite so soon as he had promised, was quite tragic. I, too, am +disappointed, for I wanted to see and estimate him. But having +arranged to go to Holland to seize some aerial effects for his +pictures, which are only to be obtained at this time of the autumn, +he is obliged to postpone his journey this way, which is now to be +made early in the new year. I think myself that he ought to have +come at all sacrifices, considering Caroline's recent loss, the sad +postponement of what she was looking forward to, and her single- +minded affection for him. Still, who knows; his professional success +is important. Moreover, she is cheerful, and hopeful, and the delay +will soon be overpast. + + + +CHAPTER IV.--SHE BEHOLDS THE ATTRACTIVE STRANGER + + + +February 16.--We have had such a dull life here all the winter that I +have found nothing important enough to set down, and broke off my +journal accordingly. I resume it now to make an entry on the subject +of dear Caroline's future. It seems that she was too grieved, +immediately after the loss of our mother, to answer definitely the +question of M. de la Feste how long the postponement was to be; then, +afterwards, it was agreed that the matter should be discussed on his +autumn visit; but as he did not come, it has remained in abeyance +till this week, when Caroline, with the greatest simplicity and +confidence, has written to him without any further pressure on his +part, and told him that she is quite ready to fix the time, and will +do so as soon as he arrives to see her. She is a little frightened +now, lest it should seem forward in her to have revived the subject +of her own accord; but she may assume that his question has been +waiting on for an answer ever since, and that she has, therefore, +acted only within her promise. In truth, the secret at the bottom of +it all is that she is somewhat saddened because he has not latterly +reminded her of the pause in their affairs--that, in short, his +original impatience to possess her is not now found to animate him so +obviously. I suppose that he loves her as much as ever; indeed, I am +sure he must do so, seeing how lovable she is. It is mostly thus +with all men when women are out of their sight; they grow negligent. +Caroline must have patience, and remember that a man of his genius +has many and important calls upon his time. In justice to her I must +add that she does remember it fairly well, and has as much patience +as any girl ever had in the circumstances. He hopes to come at the +beginning of April at latest. Well, when he comes we shall see him. + +April 5.--I think that what M. de la Feste writes is reasonable +enough, though Caroline looks heart-sick about it. It is hardly +worth while for him to cross all the way to England and back just +now, while the sea is so turbulent, seeing that he will be obliged, +in any event, to come in May, when he has to be in London for +professional purposes, at which time he can take us easily on his way +both coming and going. When Caroline becomes his wife she will be +more practical, no doubt; but she is such a child as yet that there +is no contenting her with reasons. However, the time will pass +quickly, there being so much to do in preparing a trousseau for her, +which must now be put in hand in order that we may have plenty of +leisure to get it ready. On no account must Caroline be married in +half-mourning; I am sure that mother, could she know, would not wish +it, and it is odd that Caroline should be so intractably persistent +on this point, when she is usually so yielding. + +April 30.--This month has flown on swallow's wings. We are in a +great state of excitement--I as much as she--I cannot quite tell why. +He is really coming in ten days, he says. + +May 9. Four p.m.--I am so agitated I can scarcely write, and yet am +particularly impelled to do so before leaving my room. It is the +unexpected shape of an expected event which has caused my absurd +excitement, which proves me almost as much a school-girl as Caroline. + +M. de la Feste was not, as we understood, to have come till to- +morrow; but he is here--just arrived. All household directions have +devolved upon me, for my father, not thinking M. de la Feste would +appear before us for another four-and-twenty hours, left home before +post time to attend a distant consecration; and hence Caroline and I +were in no small excitement when Charles's letter was opened, and we +read that he had been unexpectedly favoured in the dispatch of his +studio work, and would follow his letter in a few hours. We sent the +covered carriage to meet the train indicated, and waited like two +newly strung harps for the first sound of the returning wheels. At +last we heard them on the gravel; and the question arose who was to +receive him. It was, strictly speaking, my duty; but I felt timid; I +could not help shirking it, and insisted that Caroline should go +down. She did not, however, go near the door as she usually does +when anybody is expected, but waited palpitating in the drawing-room. +He little thought when he saw the silent hall, and the apparently +deserted house, how that house was at the very same moment alive and +throbbing with interest under the surface. I stood at the back of +the upper landing, where nobody could see me from downstairs, and +heard him walk across the hall--a lighter step than my father's--and +heard him then go into the drawing-room, and the servant shut the +door behind him and go away. + +What a pretty lover's meeting they must have had in there all to +themselves! Caroline's sweet face looking up from her black gown-- +how it must have touched him. I know she wept very much, for I heard +her; and her eyes will be red afterwards, and no wonder, poor dear, +though she is no doubt happy. I can imagine what she is telling him +while I write this--her fears lest anything should have happened to +prevent his coming after all--gentle, smiling reproaches for his long +delay; and things of that sort. His two portmanteaus are at this +moment crossing the landing on the way to his room. I wonder if I +ought to go down. + +A little later.--I have seen him! It was not at all in the way that +I intended to encounter him, and I am vexed. Just after his +portmanteaus were brought up I went out from my room to descend, +when, at the moment of stepping towards the first stair, my eyes were +caught by an object in the hall below, and I paused for an instant, +till I saw that it was a bundle of canvas and sticks, composing a +sketching tent and easel. At the same nick of time the drawing-room +door opened and the affianced pair came out. They were saying they +would go into the garden; and he waited a moment while she put on her +hat. My idea was to let them pass on without seeing me, since they +seemed not to want my company, but I had got too far on the landing +to retreat; he looked up, and stood staring at me--engrossed to a +dream-like fixity. Thereupon I, too, instead of advancing as I ought +to have done, stood moonstruck and awkward, and before I could gather +my weak senses sufficiently to descend, she had called him, and they +went out by the garden door together. I then thought of following +them, but have changed my mind, and come here to jot down these few +lines. It is all I am fit for . . . + +He is even more handsome than I expected. I was right in feeling he +must have an attraction beyond that of form: it appeared even in +that momentary glance. How happy Caroline ought to be. But I must, +of course, go down to be ready with tea in the drawing-room by the +time they come indoors. + +11 p.m.--I have made the acquaintance of M. de la Feste; and I seem +to be another woman from the effect of it. I cannot describe why +this should be so, but conversation with him seems to expand the +view, and open the heart, and raise one as upon stilts to wider +prospects. He has a good intellectual forehead, perfect eyebrows, +dark hair and eyes, an animated manner, and a persuasive voice. His +voice is soft in quality--too soft for a man, perhaps; and yet on +second thoughts I would not have it less so. We have been talking of +his art: I had no notion that art demanded such sacrifices or such +tender devotion; or that there were two roads for choice within its +precincts, the road of vulgar money-making, and the road of high aims +and consequent inappreciation for many long years by the public. +That he has adopted the latter need not be said to those who +understand him. It is a blessing for Caroline that she has been +chosen by such a man, and she ought not to lament at postponements +and delays, since they have arisen unavoidably. Whether he finds +hers a sufficiently rich nature, intellectually and emotionally, for +his own, I know not, but he seems occasionally to be disappointed at +her simple views of things. Does he really feel such love for her at +this moment as he no doubt believes himself to be feeling, and as he +no doubt hopes to feel for the remainder of his life towards her? + +It was a curious thing he told me when we were left for a few minutes +alone; that Caroline had alluded so slightly to me in her +conversation and letters that he had not realized my presence in the +house here at all. But, of course, it was only natural that she +should write and talk most about herself. I suppose it was on +account of the fact of his being taken in some measure unawares, that +I caught him on two or three occasions regarding me fixedly in a way +that disquieted me somewhat, having been lately in so little society; +till my glance aroused him from his reverie, and he looked elsewhere +in some confusion. It was fortunate that he did so, and thus failed +to notice my own. It shows that he, too, is not particularly a +society person. + +May 10.--Have had another interesting conversation with M. de la +Feste on schools of landscape painting in the drawing-room after +dinner this evening--my father having fallen asleep, and left nobody +but Caroline and myself for Charles to talk to. I did not mean to +say so much to him, and had taken a volume of Modern Painters from +the bookcase to occupy myself with, while leaving the two lovers to +themselves; but he would include me in his audience, and I was +obliged to lay the book aside. However, I insisted on keeping +Caroline in the conversation, though her views on pictorial art were +only too charmingly crude and primitive. + +To-morrow, if fine, we are all three going to Wherryborne Wood, where +Charles will give us practical illustrations of the principles of +coloring that he has enumerated to-night. I am determined not to +occupy his attention to the exclusion of Caroline, and my plan is +that when we are in the dense part of the wood I will lag behind, and +slip away, and leave them to return by themselves. I suppose the +reason of his attentiveness to me lies in his simply wishing to win +the good opinion of one who is so closely united to Caroline, and so +likely to influence her good opinion of him. + +May 11. Late.--I cannot sleep, and in desperation have lit my candle +and taken up my pen. My restlessness is occasioned by what has +occurred to-day, which at first I did not mean to write down, or +trust to any heart but my own. We went to Wherryborne Wood-- +Caroline, Charles and I, as we had intended--and walked all three +along the green track through the midst, Charles in the middle +between Caroline and myself. Presently I found that, as usual, he +and I were the only talkers, Caroline amusing herself by observing +birds and squirrels as she walked docilely alongside her betrothed. +Having noticed this I dropped behind at the first opportunity and +slipped among the trees, in a direction in which I knew I should find +another path that would take me home. Upon this track I by and by +emerged, and walked along it in silent thought till, at a bend, I +suddenly encountered M. de la Feste standing stock still and smiling +thoughtfully at me. + +'Where is Caroline?' said I. + +'Only a little way off,' says he. 'When we missed you from behind us +we thought you might have mistaken the direction we had followed, so +she has gone one way to find you and I have come this way.' + +We then went back to find Caroline, but could not discover her +anywhere, and the upshot was that he and I were wandering about the +woods alone for more than an hour. On reaching home we found she had +given us up after searching a little while, and arrived there some +time before. I should not be so disturbed by the incident if I had +not perceived that, during her absence from us, he did not make any +earnest effort to rediscover her; and in answer to my repeated +expressions of wonder as to whither she could have wandered he only +said, 'Oh, she's quite safe; she told me she knew the way home from +any part of this wood. Let us go on with our talk. I assure you I +value this privilege of being with one I so much admire more than you +imagine;' and other things of that kind. I was so foolish as to show +a little perturbation--I cannot tell why I did not control myself; +and I think he noticed that I was not cool. Caroline has, with her +simple good faith, thought nothing of the occurrence; yet altogether +I am not satisfied. + + + +CHAPTER V.--HER SITUATION IS A TRYING ONE + + + +May 15.--The more I think of it day after day, the more convinced I +am that my suspicions are true. He is too interested in me--well, in +plain words, loves me; or, not to degrade that phrase, has a wild +passion for me; and his affection for Caroline is that towards a +sister only. That is the distressing truth; how it has come about I +cannot tell, and it wears upon me. + +A hundred little circumstances have revealed this to me, and the +longer I dwell upon it the more agitating does the consideration +become. Heaven only can help me out of the terrible difficulty in +which this places me. I have done nothing to encourage him to be +faithless to her. I have studiously kept out of his way; have +persistently refused to be a third in their interviews. Yet all to +no purpose. Some fatality has seemed to rule, ever since he came to +the house, that this disastrous inversion of things should arise. If +I had only foreseen the possibility of it before he arrived, how +gladly would I have departed on some visit or other to the meanest +friend to hinder such an apparent treachery. But I blindly welcomed +him--indeed, made myself particularly agreeable to him for her sake. + +There is no possibility of my suspicions being wrong; not until they +have reached absolute certainty have I dared even to admit the truth +to myself. His conduct to-day would have proved them true had I +entertained no previous apprehensions. Some photographs of myself +came for me by post, and they were handed round at the breakfast +table and criticised. I put them temporarily on a side table, and +did not remember them until an hour afterwards when I was in my own +room. On going to fetch them I discovered him standing at the table +with his back towards the door bending over the photographs, one of +which he raised to his lips. + +The witnessing this act so frightened me that I crept away to escape +observation. It was the climax to a series of slight and significant +actions all tending to the same conclusion. The question for me now +is, what am I to do? To go away is what first occurs to me, but what +reason can I give Caroline and my father for such a step; besides, it +might precipitate some sort of catastrophe by driving Charles to +desperation. For the present, therefore, I have decided that I can +only wait, though his contiguity is strangely disturbing to me now, +and I hardly retain strength of mind to encounter him. How will the +distressing complication end? + +May 19.--And so it has come! My mere avoidance of him has +precipitated the worst issue--a declaration. I had occasion to go +into the kitchen garden to gather some of the double ragged-robins +which grew in a corner there. Almost as soon as I had entered I +heard footsteps without. The door opened and shut, and I turned to +behold him just inside it. As the garden is closed by four walls and +the gardener was absent, the spot ensured absolute privacy. He came +along the path by the asparagus-bed, and overtook me. + +'You know why I come, Alicia?' said he, in a tremulous voice. + +I said nothing, and hung my head, for by his tone I did know. + +'Yes,' he went on, 'it is you I love; my sentiment towards your +sister is one of affection too, but protective, tutelary affection-- +no more. Say what you will I cannot help it. I mistook my feeling +for her, and I know how much I am to blame for my want of self- +knowledge. I have fought against this discovery night and day; but +it cannot be concealed. Why did I ever see you, since I could not +see you till I had committed myself? At the moment my eyes beheld +you on that day of my arrival, I said, "This is the woman for whom my +manhood has waited." Ever since an unaccountable fascination has +riveted my heart to you. Answer one word!' + +'O, M. de la Feste!' I burst out. What I said more I cannot +remember, but I suppose that the misery I was in showed pretty +plainly, for he said, 'Something must be done to let her know; +perhaps I have mistaken her affection, too; but all depends upon what +you feel.' + +'I cannot tell what I feel,' said I, 'except that this seems terrible +treachery; and every moment that I stay with you here makes it worse! +. . . Try to keep faith with her--her young heart is tender; +believe me there is no mistake in the quality of her love for you. +Would there were! This would kill her if she knew it!' + +He sighed heavily. 'She ought never to be my wife,' he said. +'Leaving my own happiness out of the question, it would be a cruelty +to her to unite her to me.' + +I said I could not hear such words from him, and begged him in tears +to go away; he obeyed, and I heard the garden door shut behind him. +What is to be the end of the announcement, and the fate of Caroline? + +May 20.--I put a good deal on paper yesterday, and yet not all. I +was, in truth, hoping against hope, against conviction, against too +conscious self-judgment. I scarcely dare own the truth now, yet it +relieves my aching heart to set it down. Yes, I love him--that is +the dreadful fact, and I can no longer parry, evade, or deny it to +myself though to the rest of the world it can never be owned. I love +Caroline's betrothed, and he loves me. It is no yesterday's passion, +cultivated by our converse; it came at first sight, independently of +my will; and my talk with him yesterday made rather against it than +for it, but, alas, did not quench it. God forgive us both for this +terrible treachery. + +May 25.--All is vague; our courses shapeless. He comes and goes, +being occupied, ostensibly at least, with sketching in his tent in +the wood. Whether he and she see each other privately I cannot tell, +but I rather think they do not; that she sadly awaits him, and he +does not appear. Not a sign from him that my repulse has done him +any good, or that he will endeavour to keep faith with her. O, if I +only had the compulsion of a god, and the self-sacrifice of a martyr! + +May 31.--It has all ended--or rather this act of the sad drama has +ended--in nothing. He has left us. No day for the fulfilment of the +engagement with Caroline is named, my father not being the man to +press any one on such a matter, or, indeed, to interfere in any way. +We two girls are, in fact, quite defenceless in a case of this kind; +lovers may come when they choose, and desert when they choose; poor +father is too urbane to utter a word of remonstrance or inquiry. +Moreover, as the approved of my dead mother, M. de la Feste has a +sort of autocratic power with my father, who holds it unkind to her +memory to have an opinion about him. I, feeling it my duty, asked M. +de la Feste at the last moment about the engagement, in a voice I +could not keep firm. + +'Since the death of your mother all has been indefinite--all!' he +said gloomily. That was the whole. Possibly, Wherryborne Rectory +may see him no more. + +June 7 .--M. de la Feste has written--one letter to her, one to me. +Hers could not have been very warm, for she did not brighten on +reading it. Mine was an ordinary note of friendship, filling an +ordinary sheet of paper, which I handed over to Caroline when I had +finished looking it through. But there was a scrap of paper in the +bottom of the envelope, which I dared not show any one. This scrap +is his real letter: I scanned it alone in my room, trembling, hot +and cold by turns. He tells me he is very wretched; that he deplores +what has happened, but was helpless. Why did I let him see me, if +only to make him faithless. Alas, alas! + +June 21 .--My dear Caroline has lost appetite, spirits, health. Hope +deferred maketh the heart sick. His letters to her grow colder--if +indeed he has written more than one. He has refrained from writing +again to me--he knows it is no use. Altogether the situation that he +and she and I are in is melancholy in the extreme. Why are human +hearts so perverse? + + + +CHAPTER VI.--HER INGENUITY INSTIGATES HER + + + +September 19.--Three months of anxious care--till at length I have +taken the extreme step of writing to him. Our chief distress has +been caused by the state of poor Caroline, who, after sinking by +degrees into such extreme weakness as to make it doubtful if she can +ever recover full vigour, has to-day been taken much worse. Her +position is very critical. The doctor says plainly that she is dying +of a broken heart--and that even the removal of the cause may not now +restore her. Ought I to have written to Charles sooner? But how +could I when she forbade me? It was her pride only which instigated +her, and I should not have obeyed. + +Sept. 26.--Charles has arrived and has seen her. He is shocked, +conscience-stricken, remorseful. I have told him that he can do no +good beyond cheering her by his presence. I do not know what he +thinks of proposing to her if she gets better, but he says little to +her at present: indeed he dares not: his words agitate her +dangerously. + +Sept. 28.--After a struggle between duty and selfishness, such as I +pray to Heaven I may never have to undergo again, I have asked him +for pity's sake to make her his wife, here and now, as she lies. I +said to him that the poor child would not trouble him long; and such +a solemnization would soothe her last hours as nothing else could do. +He said that he would willingly do so, and had thought of it himself; +but for one forbidding reason: in the event of her death as his wife +he can never marry me, her sister, according to our laws. I started +at his words. He went on: 'On the other hand, if I were sure that +immediate marriage with me would save her life, I would not refuse, +for possibly I might after a while, and out of sight of you, make +myself fairly content with one of so sweet a disposition as hers; but +if, as is probable, neither my marrying her nor any other act can +avail to save her life, by so doing I lose both her and you.' I +could not answer him. + +Sept. 29.--He continued firm in his reasons for refusal till this +morning, and then I became possessed with an idea, which I at once +propounded to him. It was that he should at least consent to a FORM +of marriage with Caroline, in consideration of her love; a form which +need not be a legal union, but one which would satisfy her sick and +enfeebled soul. Such things have been done, and the sentiment of +feeling herself his would inexpressibly comfort her mind, I am sure. +Then, if she is taken from us, I should not have lost the power of +becoming his lawful wife at some future day, if it indeed should be +deemed expedient; if, on the other hand, she lives, he can on her +recovery inform her of the incompleteness of their marriage contract, +the ceremony can be repeated, and I can, and I am sure willingly +would, avoid troubling them with my presence till grey hairs and +wrinkles make his unfortunate passion for me a thing of the past. I +put all this before him; but he demurred. + +Sept. 30.--I have urged him again. He says he will consider. It is +no time to mince matters, and as a further inducement I have offered +to enter into a solemn engagement to marry him myself a year after +her death. + +Sept. 30. Later.--An agitating interview. He says he will agree to +whatever I propose, the three possibilities and our contingent acts +being recorded as follows: First, in the event of dear Caroline +being taken from us, I marry him on the expiration of a year: +Second, in the forlorn chance of her recovery I take upon myself the +responsibility of explaining to Caroline the true nature of the +ceremony he has gone through with her, that it was done at my +suggestion to make her happy at once, before a special licence could +be obtained, and that a public ceremony at church is awaiting her: +Third, in the unlikely event of her cooling, and refusing to repeat +the ceremony with him, I leave England, join him abroad, and there +wed him, agreeing not to live in England again till Caroline has +either married another or regards her attachment to Charles as a +bygone matter. I have thought over these conditions, and have agreed +to them all as they stand. + +11 p.m.--I do not much like this scheme, after all. For one thing, I +have just sounded my father on it before parting with him for the +night, my impression having been that he would see no objection. But +he says he could on no account countenance any such unreal +proceeding; however good our intentions, and even though the poor +girl were dying, it would not be right. So I sadly seek my pillow. + +October 1.--I am sure my father is wrong in his view. Why is it not +right, if it would be balm to Caroline's wounded soul, and if a real +ceremony is absolutely refused by Charles--moreover is hardly +practicable in the difficulty of getting a special licence, if he +were agreed? My father does not know, or will not believe, that +Caroline's attachment has been the cause of her hopeless condition. +But that it is so, and that the form of words would give her +inexpressible happiness, I know well; for I whispered tentatively in +her ear on such marriages, and the effect was great. Henceforth my +father cannot be taken into confidence on the subject of Caroline. +He does not understand her. + +12 o'clock noon.--I have taken advantage of my father's absence to- +day to confide my secret notion to a thoughtful young man, who called +here this morning to speak to my father. He is the Mr. Theophilus +Higham, of whom I have already had occasion to speak--a Scripture +reader in the next town, and is soon going to be ordained. I told +him the pitiable case, and my remedy. He says ardently that he will +assist me--would do anything for me (he is, in truth, an admirer of +mine); he sees no wrong in such an act of charity. He is coming +again to the house this afternoon before my father returns, to carry +out the idea. I have spoken to Charles, who promises to be ready. I +must now break the news to Caroline. + +11 o'clock p.m.--I have been in too much excitement till now to set +down the result. We have accomplished our plan; and though I feel +like a guilty sinner, I am glad. My father, of course, is not to be +informed as yet. Caroline has had a seraphic expression upon her +wasted, transparent face ever since. I should hardly be surprised if +it really saved her life even now, and rendered a legitimate union +necessary between them. In that case my father can be informed of +the whole proceeding, and in the face of such wonderful success +cannot disapprove. Meanwhile poor Charles has not lost the +possibility of taking unworthy me to fill her place should she--. +But I cannot contemplate that alternative unmoved, and will not write +it. Charles left for the South of Europe immediately after the +ceremony. He was in a high-strung, throbbing, almost wild state of +mind at first, but grew calmer under my exhortations. I had to pay +the penalty of receiving a farewell kiss from him, which I much +regret, considering its meaning; but he took me so unexpectedly, and +in a moment was gone. + +Oct. 6.--She certainly is better, and even when she found that +Charles had been suddenly obliged to leave, she received the news +quite cheerfully. The doctor says that her apparent improvement may +be delusive; but I think our impressing upon her the necessity of +keeping what has occurred a secret from papa, and everybody, helps to +give her a zest for life. + +Oct. 8.--She is still mending. I am glad to have saved her--my only +sister--if I have done so; though I shall now never become Charles's +wife. + + + +CHAPTER VII.--A SURPRISE AWAITS HER + + + +Feb. 5.--Writing has been absolutely impossible for a long while; but +I now reach a stage at which it seems possible to jot down a line. +Caroline's recovery, extending over four months, has been very +engrossing; at first slow, latterly rapid. But a fearful +complication of affairs attends it! + + +O what a tangled web we weave +When first we practise to deceive! + + +Charles has written reproachfully to me from Venice, where he is. He +says how can he fulfil in the real what he has enacted in the +counterfeit, while he still loves me? Yet how, on the other hand, +can he leave it unfulfilled? All this time I have not told her, and +up to this minute she believes that he has indeed taken her for +better, for worse, till death them do part. It is a harassing +position for me, and all three. In the awful approach of death, +one's judgment loses its balance, and we do anything to meet the +exigencies of the moment, with a single eye to the one who excites +our sympathy, and from whom we seem on the brink of being separated +for ever. + +Had he really married her at that time all would be settled now. But +he took too much thought; she might have died, and then he had his +reason. If indeed it had turned out so, I should now be perhaps a +sad woman; but not a tempest-tossed one . . . The possibility of his +claiming me after all is what lies at the root of my agitation. +Everything hangs by a thread. Suppose I tell her the marriage was a +mockery; suppose she is indignant with me and with him for the +deception--and then? Otherwise, suppose she is not indignant but +forgives all; he is bound to marry her; and honour constrains me to +urge him thereto, in spite of what he protests, and to smooth the way +to this issue by my method of informing her. I have meant to tell +her the last month--ever since she has been strong enough to bear +such tidings; but I have been without the power--the moral force. +Surely I must write, and get him to come and assist me. + +March 14.--She continually wonders why he does not come, the five +months of his enforced absence having expired; and still more she +wonders why he does not write oftener. His last letter was cold, she +says, and she fears he regrets his marriage, which he may only have +celebrated with her for pity's sake, thinking she was sure to die. +It makes one's heart bleed to hear her hovering thus so near the +truth, and yet never discerning its actual shape. + +A minor trouble besets me, too, in the person of the young Scripture +reader, whose conscience pricks him for the part he played. Surely I +am punished, if ever woman were, for a too ingenious perversion of +her better judgment! + +April 2.--She is practically well. The faint pink revives in her +cheek, though it is not quite so full as heretofore. But she still +wonders what she can have done to offend 'her dear husband,' and I +have been obliged to tell the smallest part of the truth--an +unimportant fragment of the whole, in fact, I said that I feared for +the moment he might regret the precipitancy of the act, which her +illness caused, his affairs not having been quite sufficiently +advanced for marriage just then, though he will doubtless come to her +as soon as he has a home ready. Meanwhile I have written to him, +peremptorily, to come and relieve me in this awful dilemma. He will +find no note of love in that. + +April 10.--To my alarm the letter I lately addressed to him at +Venice, where he is staying, as well as the last one she sent him, +have received no reply. She thinks he is ill. I do not quite think +that, but I wish we could hear from him. Perhaps the peremptoriness +of my words had offended him; it grieves me to think it possible. +_I_ offend him! But too much of this. I MUST tell her the truth, or +she may in her ignorance commit herself to some course or other that +may be ruinously compromising. She said plaintively just now that if +he could see her, and know how occupied with him and him alone is her +every waking hour, she is sure he would forgive her the wicked +presumption of becoming his wife. Very sweet all that, and touching. +I could not conceal my tears. + +April 15.--The house is in confusion; my father is angry and +distressed, and I am distracted. Caroline has disappeared--gone away +secretly. I cannot help thinking that I know where she is gone to. +How guilty I seem, and how innocent she! O that I had told her +before now! + +1 o'clock.--No trace of her as yet. We find also that the little +waiting-maid we have here in training has disappeared with Caroline, +and there is not much doubt that Caroline, fearing to travel alone, +has induced this girl to go with her as companion. I am almost sure +she has started in desperation to find him, and that Venice is her +goal. Why should she run away, if not to join her husband, as she +thinks him? Now that I consider, there have been indications of this +wish in her for days, as in birds of passage there lurk signs of +their incipient intention; and yet I did not think she would have +taken such an extreme step, unaided, and without consulting me. I +can only jot down the bare facts--I have no time for reflections. +But fancy Caroline travelling across the continent of Europe with a +chit of a girl, who will be more of a charge than an assistance! +They will be a mark for every marauder who encounters them. + +Evening: 8 o'clock.--Yes, it is as I surmised. She has gone to join +him. A note posted by her in Budmouth Regis at daybreak has reached +me this afternoon--thanks to the fortunate chance of one of the +servants calling for letters in town to-day, or I should not have got +it until to-morrow. She merely asserts her determination of going to +him, and has started privately, that nothing may hinder her; stating +nothing about her route. That such a gentle thing should suddenly +become so calmly resolute quite surprises me. Alas, he may have left +Venice--she may not find him for weeks--may not at all. + +My father, on learning the facts, bade me at once have everything +ready by nine this evening, in time to drive to the train that meets +the night steam-boat. This I have done, and there being an hour to +spare before we start, I relieve the suspense of waiting by taking up +my pen. He says overtake her we must, and calls Charles the hardest +of names. He believes, of course, that she is merely an infatuated +girl rushing off to meet her lover; and how can the wretched I tell +him that she is more, and in a sense better than that--yet not +sufficiently more and better to make this flight to Charles anything +but a still greater danger to her than a mere lover's impulse. We +shall go by way of Paris, and we think we may overtake her there. I +hear my father walking restlessly up and down the hall, and can write +no more. + + + +CHAPTER VIII.--SHE TRAVELS IN PURSUIT + + + +April 16. Evening, Paris, Hotel --.--There is no overtaking her at +this place; but she has been here, as I thought, no other hotel in +Paris being known to her. We go on to-morrow morning. + +April 18. Venice.--A morning of adventures and emotions which leave +me sick and weary, and yet unable to sleep, though I have lain down +on the sofa of my room for more than an hour in the attempt. I +therefore make up my diary to date in a hurried fashion, for the sake +of the riddance it affords to ideas which otherwise remain suspended +hotly in the brain. + +We arrived here this morning in broad sunlight, which lit up the sea- +girt buildings as we approached so that they seemed like a city of +cork floating raft-like on the smooth, blue deep. But I only glanced +from the carriage window at the lovely scene, and we were soon across +the intervening water and inside the railway station. When we got to +the front steps the row of black gondolas and the shouts of the +gondoliers so bewildered my father that he was understood to require +two gondolas instead of one with two oars, and so I found him in one +and myself in another. We got this righted after a while, and were +rowed at once to the hotel on the Riva degli Schiavoni where M. de la +Feste had been staying when we last heard from him, the way being +down the Grand Canal for some distance, under the Rialto, and then by +narrow canals which eventually brought us under the Bridge of Sighs-- +harmonious to our moods!--and out again into open water. The scene +was purity itself as to colour, but it was cruel that I should behold +it for the first time under such circumstances. + +As soon as I entered the hotel, which is an old-fashioned place, like +most places here, where people are taken en pension as well as the +ordinary way, I rushed to the framed list of visitors hanging in the +hall, and in a moment I saw Charles's name upon it among the rest. +But she was our chief thought. I turned to the hall porter, and-- +knowing that she would have travelled as 'Madame de la Feste'--I +asked for her under that name, without my father hearing. (He, poor +soul, was making confused inquiries outside the door about 'an +English lady,' as if there were not a score of English ladies at +hand.) + +'She has just come,' said the porter. 'Madame came by the very early +train this morning, when Monsieur was asleep, and she requested us +not to disturb him. She is now in her room.' + +Whether Caroline had seen us from the window, or overheard me, I do +not know, but at that moment I heard footsteps on the bare marble +stairs, and she appeared in person descending. + +'Caroline!' I exclaimed, 'why have you done this?' and rushed up to +her. + +She did not answer; but looked down to hide her emotion, which she +conquered after the lapse of a few seconds, putting on a practical +tone that belied her. + +'I am just going to my husband,' she said. 'I have not yet seen him. +I have not been here long.' She condescended to give no further +reason for her movements, and made as if to move on. I implored her +to come into a private room where I could speak to her in confidence, +but she objected. However, the dining-room, close at hand, was quite +empty at this hour, and I got her inside and closed the door. I do +not know how I began my explanation, or how I ended it, but I told +her briefly and brokenly enough that the marriage was not real. + +'Not real?' she said vacantly. + +'It is not,' said I. 'You will find that it is all as I say.' + +She could not believe my meaning even then. 'Not his wife?' she +cried. 'It is impossible. What am I, then?' + +I added more details, and reiterated the reason for my conduct as +well as I could; but Heaven knows how very difficult I found it to +feel a jot more justification for it in my own mind than she did in +hers. + +The revulsion of feeling, as soon as she really comprehended all, was +most distressing. After her grief had in some measure spent itself +she turned against both him and me. + +'Why should have I been deceived like this?' she demanded, with a +bitter haughtiness of which I had not deemed such a tractable +creature capable. 'Do you suppose that ANYTHING could justify such +an imposition? What, O what a snare you have spread for me!' + +I murmured, 'Your life seemed to require it,' but she did not hear +me. She sank down in a chair, covered her face, and then my father +came in. 'O, here you are!' he said. 'I could not find you. And +Caroline!' + +'And were YOU, papa, a party to this strange deed of kindness?' + +'To what?' said he. + +Then out it all came, and for the first time he was made acquainted +with the fact that the scheme for soothing her illness, which I had +sounded him upon, had been really carried out. In a moment he sided +with Caroline. My repeated assurance that my motive was good availed +less than nothing. In a minute or two Caroline arose and went +abruptly out of the room, and my father followed her, leaving me +alone to my reflections. + +I was so bent upon finding Charles immediately that I did not notice +whither they went. The servants told me that M. de la Feste was just +outside smoking, and one of them went to look for him, I following; +but before we had gone many steps he came out of the hotel behind me. +I expected him to be amazed; but he showed no surprise at seeing me, +though he showed another kind of feeling to an extent which dismayed +me. I may have revealed something similar; but I struggled hard +against all emotion, and as soon as I could I told him she had come. +He simply said 'Yes' in a low voice. + +'You know it, Charles?' said I. + +'I have just learnt it,' he said. + +'O, Charles,' I went on, 'having delayed completing your marriage +with her till now, I fear--it has become a serious position for us. +Why did you not reply to our letters?' + +'I was purposing to reply in person: I did not know how to address +her on the point--how to address you. But what has become of her?' + +'She has gone off with my father,' said I; 'indignant with you, and +scorning me.' + +He was silent: and I suggested that we should follow them, pointing +out the direction which I fancied their gondola had taken. As the +one we got into was doubly manned we soon came in view of their two +figures ahead of us, while they were not likely to observe us, our +boat having the 'felze' on, while theirs was uncovered. They shot +into a narrow canal just beyond the Giardino Reale, and by the time +we were floating up between its slimy walls we saw them getting out +of their gondola at the steps which lead up near the end of the Via +22 Marzo. When we reached the same spot they were walking up and +down the Via in consultation. Getting out he stood on the lower +steps watching them. I watched him. He seemed to fall into a +reverie. + +'Will you not go and speak to her?' said I at length. + +He assented, and went forward. Still he did not hasten to join them, +but, screened by a projecting window, observed their musing converse. +At last he looked back at me; whereupon I pointed forward, and he in +obedience stepped out, and met them face to face. Caroline flushed +hot, bowed haughtily to him, turned away, and taking my father's arm +violently, led him off before he had had time to use his own +judgment. They disappeared into a narrow calle, or alley, leading to +the back of the buildings on the Grand Canal. + +M. de la Feste came slowly back; as he stepped in beside me I +realized my position so vividly that my heart might almost have been +heard to beat. The third condition had arisen--the least expected by +either of us. She had refused him; he was free to claim me. + +We returned in the boat together. He seemed quite absorbed till we +had turned the angle into the Grand Canal, when he broke the silence. +'She spoke very bitterly to you in the salle-a-manger,' he said. 'I +do not think she was quite warranted in speaking so to you, who had +nursed her so tenderly.' + +'O, but I think she was,' I answered. 'It was there I told her what +had been done; she did not know till then.' + +'She was very dignified--very striking,' he murmured. 'You were +more.' + +'But how do you know what passed between us,' said I. He then told +me that he had seen and heard all. The dining-room was divided by +folding-doors from an inner portion, and he had been sitting in the +latter part when we entered the outer, so that our words were +distinctly audible. + +'But, dear Alicia,' he went on, 'I was more impressed by the +affection of your apology to her than by anything else. And do you +know that now the conditions have arisen which give me liberty to +consider you my affianced?' I had been expecting this, but yet was +not prepared. I stammered out that we would not discuss it then. + +'Why not?' said he. 'Do you know that we may marry here and now? +She has cast off both you and me.' + +'It cannot be,' said I, firmly. 'She has not been fairly asked to be +your wife in fact--to repeat the service lawfully; and until that has +been done it would be grievous sin in me to accept you.' + +I had not noticed where the gondoliers were rowing us. I suppose he +had given them some direction unheard by me, for as I resigned myself +in despairing indolence to the motion of the gondola, I perceived +that it was taking us up the Canal, and, turning into a side opening +near the Palazzo Grimani, drew up at some steps near the end of a +large church. + +'Where are we?' said I. + +'It is the Church of the Frari,' he replied. 'We might be married +there. At any rate, let us go inside, and grow calm, and decide what +to do.' + +When we had entered I found that whether a place to marry in or not, +it was one to depress. The word which Venice speaks most constantly- +-decay--was in a sense accentuated here. The whole large fabric +itself seemed sinking into an earth which was not solid enough to +bear it. Cobwebbed cracks zigzagged the walls, and similar webs +clouded the window-panes. A sickly-sweet smell pervaded the aisles. +After walking about with him a little while in embarrassing silences, +divided only by his cursory explanations of the monuments and other +objects, and almost fearing he might produce a marriage licence, I +went to a door in the south transept which opened into the sacristy. + +I glanced through it, towards the small altar at the upper end. The +place was empty save of one figure; and she was kneeling here in +front of the beautiful altarpiece by Bellini. Beautiful though it +was she seemed not to see it. She was weeping and praying as though +her heart was broken. She was my sister Caroline. I beckoned to +Charles, and he came to my side, and looked through the door with me. + +'Speak to her,' said I. 'She will forgive you.' + +I gently pushed him through the doorway, and went back into the +transept, down the nave, and onward to the west door. There I saw my +father, to whom I spoke. He answered severely that, having first +obtained comfortable quarters in a pension on the Grand Canal, he had +gone back to the hotel on the Riva degli Schiavoni to find me; but +that I was not there. He was now waiting for Caroline, to accompany +her back to the pension, at which she had requested to be left to +herself as much as possible till she could regain some composure. + +I told him that it was useless to dwell on what was past, that I no +doubt had erred, that the remedy lay in the future and their +marriage. In this he quite agreed with me, and on my informing him +that M. de la Feste was at that moment with Caroline in the sacristy, +he assented to my proposal that we should leave them to themselves, +and return together to await them at the pension, where he had also +engaged a room for me. This we did, and going up to the chamber he +had chosen for me, which overlooked the Canal, I leant from the +window to watch for the gondola that should contain Charles and my +sister. + +They were not long in coming. I recognized them by the colour of her +sunshade as soon as they turned the bend on my right hand. They were +side by side of necessity, but there was no conversation between +them, and I thought that she looked flushed and he pale. When they +were rowed in to the steps of our house he handed her up. I fancied +she might have refused his assistance, but she did not. Soon I heard +her pass my door, and wishing to know the result of their interview I +went downstairs, seeing that the gondola had not put off with him. +He was turning from the door, but not towards the water, intending +apparently to walk home by way of the calle which led into the Via 22 +Marzo. + +'Has she forgiven you?' said I. + +'I have not asked her,' he said. + +'But you are bound to do so,' I told him. + +He paused, and then said, 'Alicia, let us understand each other. Do +you mean to tell me, once for all, that if your sister is willing to +become my wife you absolutely make way for her, and will not +entertain any thought of what I suggested to you any more?' + +'I do tell you so,' said I with dry lips. 'You belong to her--how +can I do otherwise?' + +'Yes; it is so; it is purely a question of honour,' he returned. +'Very well then, honour shall be my word, and not my love. I will +put the question to her frankly; if she says yes, the marriage shall +be. But not here. It shall be at your own house in England.' + +'When?' said I. + +'I will accompany her there,' he replied, 'and it shall be within a +week of her return. I have nothing to gain by delay. But I will not +answer for the consequences.' + +'What do you mean?' said I. He made no reply, went away, and I came +back to my room. + + + +CHAPTER IX.--SHE WITNESSES THE END + + + +April 20. Milan, 10.30 p.m.--We are thus far on our way homeward. +I, being decidedly de trop, travel apart from the rest as much as I +can. Having dined at the hotel here, I went out by myself; +regardless of the proprieties, for I could not stay in. I walked at +a leisurely pace along the Via Allesandro Manzoni till my eye was +caught by the grand Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, and I entered under +the high glass arcades till I reached the central octagon, where I +sat down on one of a group of chairs placed there. Becoming +accustomed to the stream of promenaders, I soon observed, seated on +the chairs opposite, Caroline and Charles. This was the first +occasion on which I had seen them en tete-a-tete since my +conversation with him. She soon caught sight of me; averted her +eyes; then, apparently abandoning herself to an impulse, she jumped +up from her seat and came across to me. We had not spoken to each +other since the meeting in Venice. + +'Alicia,' she said, sitting down by my side, 'Charles asks me to +forgive you, and I do forgive you.' + +I pressed her hand, with tears in my eyes, and said, 'And do you +forgive him?' + +'Yes,' said she, shyly. + +'And what's the result?' said I. + +'We are to be married directly we reach home.' + +This was almost the whole of our conversation; she walked home with +me, Charles following a little way behind, though she kept turning +her head, as if anxious that he should overtake us. 'Honour and not +love' seemed to ring in my ears. So matters stand. Caroline is +again happy. + +April 25.--We have reached home, Charles with us. Events are now +moving in silent speed, almost with velocity, indeed; and I sometimes +feel oppressed by the strange and preternatural ease which seems to +accompany their flow. Charles is staying at the neighbouring town; +he is only waiting for the marriage licence; when obtained he is to +come here, be quietly married to her, and carry her off. It is +rather resignation than content which sits on his face; but he has +not spoken a word more to me on the burning subject, or deviated one +hair's breadth from the course he laid down. They may be happy in +time to come: I hope so. But I cannot shake off depression. + +May 6.--Eve of the wedding. Caroline is serenely happy, though not +blithe. But there is nothing to excite anxiety about her. I wish I +could say the same of him. He comes and goes like a ghost, and yet +nobody seems to observe this strangeness in his mien. + +I could not help being here for the ceremony; but my absence would +have resulted in less disquiet on his part, I believe. However, I +may be wrong in attributing causes: my father simply says that +Charles and Caroline have as good a chance of being happy as other +people. Well, to-morrow settles all. + +May 7.--They are married: we have just returned from church. +Charles looked so pale this morning that my father asked him if he +was ill. He said, 'No: only a slight headache;' and we started for +the church. + +There was no hitch or hindrance; and the thing is done. + +4 p.m.--They ought to have set out on their journey by this time; but +there is an unaccountable delay. Charles went out half-an-hour ago, +and has not yet returned. Caroline is waiting in the hall; but I am +dreadfully afraid they will miss the train. I suppose the trifling +hindrance is of no account; and yet I am full of misgivings . . . + +Sept. 14.--Four months have passed; ONLY four months! It seems like +years. Can it be that only seventeen weeks ago I set on this paper +the fact of their marriage? I am now an aged woman by comparison! + +On that never to be forgotten day we waited and waited, and Charles +did not return. At six o'clock, when poor little Caroline had gone +back to her room in a state of suspense impossible to describe, a man +who worked in the water-meadows came to the house and asked for my +father. He had an interview with him in the study. My father then +rang his bell, and sent for me. I went down; and I then learnt the +fatal news. Charles was no more. The waterman had been going to +shut down the hatches of a weir in the meads when he saw a hat on the +edge of the pool below, floating round and round in the eddy, and +looking into the pool saw something strange at the bottom. He knew +what it meant, and lowering the hatches so that the water was still, +could distinctly see the body. It is needless to write particulars +that were in the newspapers at the time. Charles was brought to the +house, but he was dead. + +We all feared for Caroline; and she suffered much; but strange to +say, her suffering was purely of the nature of deep grief which found +relief in sobbing and tears. It came out at the inquest that Charles +had been accustomed to cross the meads to give an occasional half- +crown to an old man who lived on the opposite hill, who had once been +a landscape painter in an humble way till he lost his eyesight; and +it was assumed that he had gone thither for the same purpose to-day, +and to bid him farewell. On this information the coroner's jury +found that his death had been caused by misadventure; and everybody +believes to this hour that he was drowned while crossing the weir to +relieve the old man. Except one: she believes in no accident. +After the stunning effect of the first news, I thought it strange +that he should have chosen to go on such an errand at the last +moment, and to go personally, when there was so little time to spare, +since any gift could have been so easily sent by another hand. +Further reflection has convinced me that this step out of life was as +much a part of the day's plan as was the wedding in the church hard +by. They were the two halves of his complete intention when he gave +me on the Grand Canal that assurance which I shall never forget: +'Very well, then; honour shall be my word, not love. If she says +"Yes," the marriage shall be.' + +I do not know why I should have made this entry at this particular +time; but it has occurred to me to do it--to complete, in a measure, +that part of my desultory chronicle which relates to the love-story +of my sister and Charles. She lives on meekly in her grief; and will +probably outlive it; while I--but never mind me. + + + +CHAPTER X.--SHE ADDS A NOTE LONG AFTER + + + +Five-years later.--I have lighted upon this old diary, which it has +interested me to look over, containing, as it does, records of the +time when life shone more warmly in my eye than it does now. I am +impelled to add one sentence to round off its record of the past. +About a year ago my sister Caroline, after a persistent wooing, +accepted the hand and heart of Theophilus Higham, once the blushing +young Scripture reader who assisted at the substitute for a marriage +I planned, and now the fully-ordained curate of the next parish. His +penitence for the part he played ended in love. We have all now made +atonement for our sins against her: may she be deceived no more. + +1887. + + + + +THE GRAVE BY THE HANDPOST + + + + +I never pass through Chalk-Newton without turning to regard the +neighbouring upland, at a point where a lane crosses the lone +straight highway dividing this from the next parish; a sight which +does not fail to recall the event that once happened there; and, +though it may seem superfluous, at this date, to disinter more +memories of village history, the whispers of that spot may claim to +be preserved. + +It was on a dark, yet mild and exceptionally dry evening at +Christmas-time (according to the testimony of William Dewy of +Mellstock, Michael Mail, and others), that the choir of Chalk-Newton- +-a large parish situate about half-way between the towns of Ivel and +Casterbridge, and now a railway station--left their homes just before +midnight to repeat their annual harmonies under the windows of the +local population. The band of instrumentalists and singers was one +of the largest in the county; and, unlike the smaller and finer +Mellstock string-band, which eschewed all but the catgut, it included +brass and reed performers at full Sunday services, and reached all +across the west gallery. + +On this night there were two or three violins, two 'cellos, a tenor +viol, double bass, hautboy, clarionets, serpent, and seven singers. +It was, however, not the choir's labours, but what its members +chanced to witness, that particularly marked the occasion. + +They had pursued their rounds for many years without meeting with any +incident of an unusual kind, but to-night, according to the +assertions of several, there prevailed, to begin with, an +exceptionally solemn and thoughtful mood among two or three of the +oldest in the band, as if they were thinking they might be joined by +the phantoms of dead friends who had been of their number in earlier +years, and now were mute in the churchyard under flattening mounds-- +friends who had shown greater zest for melody in their time than was +shown in this; or that some past voice of a semi-transparent figure +might quaver from some bedroom-window its acknowledgment of their +nocturnal greeting, instead of a familiar living neighbour. Whether +this were fact or fancy, the younger members of the choir met +together with their customary thoughtlessness and buoyancy. When +they had gathered by the stone stump of the cross in the middle of +the village, near the White Horse Inn, which they made their starting +point, some one observed that they were full early, that it was not +yet twelve o'clock. The local waits of those days mostly refrained +from sounding a note before Christmas morning had astronomically +arrived, and not caring to return to their beer, they decided to +begin with some outlying cottages in Sidlinch Lane, where the people +had no clocks, and would not know whether it were night or morning. +In that direction they accordingly went; and as they ascended to +higher ground their attention was attracted by a light beyond the +houses, quite at the top of the lane. + +The road from Chalk-Newton to Broad Sidlinch is about two miles long +and in the middle of its course, where it passes over the ridge +dividing the two villages, it crosses at right angles, as has been +stated, the lonely monotonous old highway known as Long Ash Lane, +which runs, straight as a surveyor's line, many miles north and south +of this spot, on the foundation of a Roman road, and has often been +mentioned in these narratives. Though now quite deserted and grass- +grown, at the beginning of the century it was well kept and +frequented by traffic. The glimmering light appeared to come from +the precise point where the roads intersected. + +'I think I know what that mid mean!' one of the group remarked. + +They stood a few moments, discussing the probability of the light +having origin in an event of which rumours had reached them, and +resolved to go up the hill. + +Approaching the high land their conjectures were strengthened. Long +Ash Lane cut athwart them, right and left; and they saw that at the +junction of the four ways, under the hand-post, a grave was dug, into +which, as the choir drew nigh, a corpse had just been thrown by the +four Sidlinch men employed for the purpose. The cart and horse which +had brought the body thither stood silently by. + +The singers and musicians from Chalk-Newton halted, and looked on +while the gravediggers shovelled in and trod down the earth, till, +the hole being filled, the latter threw their spades into the cart, +and prepared to depart. + +'Who mid ye be a-burying there?' asked Lot Swanhills in a raised +voice. 'Not the sergeant?' + +The Sidlinch men had been so deeply engrossed in their task that they +had not noticed the lanterns of the Chalk-Newton choir till now. + +'What--be you the Newton carol-singers?' returned the representatives +of Sidlinch. + +'Ay, sure. Can it be that it is old Sergeant Holway you've a-buried +there?' + +''Tis so. You've heard about it, then?' + +The choir knew no particulars--only that he had shot himself in his +apple-closet on the previous Sunday. 'Nobody seem'th to know what 'a +did it for, 'a b'lieve? Leastwise, we don't know at Chalk-Newton,' +continued Lot. + +'O yes. It all came out at the inquest.' + +The singers drew close, and the Sidlinch men, pausing to rest after +their labours, told the story. 'It was all owing to that son of his, +poor old man. It broke his heart.' + +'But the son is a soldier, surely; now with his regiment in the East +Indies?' + +'Ay. And it have been rough with the army over there lately. 'Twas +a pity his father persuaded him to go. But Luke shouldn't have +twyted the sergeant o't, since 'a did it for the best.' + +The circumstances, in brief, were these: The sergeant who had come +to this lamentable end, father of the young soldier who had gone with +his regiment to the East, had been singularly comfortable in his +military experiences, these having ended long before the outbreak of +the great war with France. On his discharge, after duly serving his +time, he had returned to his native village, and married, and taken +kindly to domestic life. But the war in which England next involved +herself had cost him many frettings that age and infirmity prevented +him from being ever again an active unit of the army. When his only +son grew to young manhood, and the question arose of his going out in +life, the lad expressed his wish to be a mechanic. But his father +advised enthusiastically for the army. + +'Trade is coming to nothing in these days,' he said. 'And if the war +with the French lasts, as it will, trade will be still worse. The +army, Luke--that's the thing for 'ee. 'Twas the making of me, and +'twill be the making of you. I hadn't half such a chance as you'll +have in these splendid hotter times.' + +Luke demurred, for he was a home-keeping, peace-loving youth. But, +putting respectful trust in his father's judgment, he at length gave +way, and enlisted in the --d Foot. In the course of a few weeks he +was sent out to India to his regiment, which had distinguished itself +in the East under General Wellesley. + +But Luke was unlucky. News came home indirectly that he lay sick out +there; and then on one recent day when his father was out walking, +the old man had received tidings that a letter awaited him at +Casterbridge. The sergeant sent a special messenger the whole nine +miles, and the letter was paid for and brought home; but though, as +he had guessed, it came from Luke, its contents were of an unexpected +tenor. + +The letter had been written during a time of deep depression. Luke +said that his life was a burden and a slavery, and bitterly +reproached his father for advising him to embark on a career for +which he felt unsuited. He found himself suffering fatigues and +illnesses without gaining glory, and engaged in a cause which he did +not understand or appreciate. If it had not been for his father's +bad advice he, Luke, would now have been working comfortably at a +trade in the village that he had never wished to leave. + +After reading the letter the sergeant advanced a few steps till he +was quite out of sight of everybody, and then sat down on the bank by +the wayside. + +When he arose half-an-hour later he looked withered and broken, and +from that day his natural spirits left him. Wounded to the quick by +his son's sarcastic stings, he indulged in liquor more and more +frequently. His wife had died some years before this date, and the +sergeant lived alone in the house which had been hers. One morning +in the December under notice the report of a gun had been heard on +his premises, and on entering the neighbours found him in a dying +state. He had shot himself with an old firelock that he used for +scaring birds; and from what he had said the day before, and the +arrangements he had made for his decease, there was no doubt that his +end had been deliberately planned, as a consequence of the +despondency into which he had been thrown by his son's letter. The +coroner's jury returned a verdict of felo de se. + +'Here's his son's letter,' said one of the Sidlinch men. ''Twas +found in his father's pocket. You can see by the state o't how many +times he read it over. Howsomever, the Lord's will be done, since it +must, whether or no.' + +The grave was filled up and levelled, no mound being shaped over it. +The Sidlinch men then bade the Chalk-Newton choir good-night, and +departed with the cart in which they had brought the sergeant's body +to the hill. When their tread had died away from the ear, and the +wind swept over the isolated grave with its customary siffle of +indifference, Lot Swanhills turned and spoke to old Richard Toller, +the hautboy player. + +''Tis hard upon a man, and he a wold sojer, to serve en so, Richard. +Not that the sergeant was ever in a battle bigger than would go into +a half-acre paddock, that's true. Still, his soul ought to hae as +good a chance as another man's, all the same, hey?' + +Richard replied that he was quite of the same opinion. 'What d'ye +say to lifting up a carrel over his grave, as 'tis Christmas, and no +hurry to begin down in parish, and 'twouldn't take up ten minutes, +and not a soul up here to say us nay, or know anything about it?' + +Lot nodded assent. 'The man ought to hae his chances,' he repeated. + +'Ye may as well spet upon his grave, for all the good we shall do en +by what we lift up, now he's got so far,' said Notton, the clarionet +man and professed sceptic of the choir. 'But I'm agreed if the rest +be.' + +They thereupon placed themselves in a semicircle by the newly stirred +earth, and roused the dull air with the well-known Number Sixteen of +their collection, which Lot gave out as being the one he thought best +suited to the occasion and the mood + + +He comes' the pri'-soners to' re-lease', +In Sa'-tan's bon'-dage held'. + + +'Jown it--we've never played to a dead man afore,' said Ezra +Cattstock, when, having concluded the last verse, they stood +reflecting for a breath or two. 'But it do seem more merciful than +to go away and leave en, as they t'other fellers have done.' + +'Now backalong to Newton, and by the time we get overright the +pa'son's 'twill be half after twelve,' said the leader. + +They had not, however, done more than gather up their instruments +when the wind brought to their notice the noise of a vehicle rapidly +driven up the same lane from Sidlinch which the gravediggers had +lately retraced. To avoid being run over when moving on, they waited +till the benighted traveller, whoever he might be, should pass them +where they stood in the wider area of the Cross. + +In half a minute the light of the lanterns fell upon a hired fly, +drawn by a steaming and jaded horse. It reached the hand-post, when +a voice from the inside cried, 'Stop here!' The driver pulled rein. +The carriage door was opened from within, and there leapt out a +private soldier in the uniform of some line regiment. He looked +around, and was apparently surprised to see the musicians standing +there. + +'Have you buried a man here?' he asked. + +'No. We bain't Sidlinch folk, thank God; we be Newton choir. Though +a man is just buried here, that's true; and we've raised a carrel +over the poor mortal's natomy. What--do my eyes see before me young +Luke Holway, that went wi' his regiment to the East Indies, or do I +see his spirit straight from the battlefield? Be you the son that +wrote the letter--' + +'Don't--don't ask me. The funeral is over, then?' + +'There wer no funeral, in a Christen manner of speaking. But's +buried, sure enough. You must have met the men going back in the +empty cart.' + +'Like a dog in a ditch, and all through me!' + +He remained silent, looking at the grave, and they could not help +pitying him. 'My friends,' he said, 'I understand better now. You +have, I suppose, in neighbourly charity, sung peace to his soul? I +thank you, from my heart, for your kind pity. Yes; I am Sergeant +Holway's miserable son--I'm the son who has brought about his +father's death, as truly as if I had done it with my own hand!' + +'No, no. Don't ye take on so, young man. He'd been naturally low +for a good while, off and on, so we hear.' + +'We were out in the East when I wrote to him. Everything had seemed +to go wrong with me. Just after my letter had gone we were ordered +home. That's how it is you see me here. As soon as we got into +barracks at Casterbridge I heard o' this . . . Damn me! I'll dare to +follow my father, and make away with myself, too. It is the only +thing left to do!' + +'Don't ye be rash, Luke Holway, I say again; but try to make amends +by your future life. And maybe your father will smile a smile down +from heaven upon 'ee for 't.' + +He shook his head. 'I don't know about that!' he answered bitterly. + +'Try and be worthy of your father at his best. 'Tis not too late.' + +'D'ye think not? I fancy it is! . . . Well, I'll turn it over. +Thank you for your good counsel. I'll live for one thing, at any +rate. I'll move father's body to a decent Christian churchyard, if I +do it with my own hands. I can't save his life, but I can give him +an honourable grave. He shan't lie in this accursed place!' + +'Ay, as our pa'son says, 'tis a barbarous custom they keep up at +Sidlinch, and ought to be done away wi'. The man a' old soldier, +too. You see, our pa'son is not like yours at Sidlinch.' + +'He says it is barbarous, does he? So it is!' cried the soldier. +'Now hearken, my friends.' Then he proceeded to inquire if they +would increase his indebtedness to them by undertaking the removal, +privately, of the body of the suicide to the churchyard, not of +Sidlinch, a parish he now hated, but of Chalk-Newton. He would give +them all he possessed to do it. + +Lot asked Ezra Cattstock what he thought of it. + +Cattstock, the 'cello player, who was also the sexton, demurred, and +advised the young soldier to sound the rector about it first. 'Mid +be he would object, and yet 'a mid'nt. The pa'son o' Sidlinch is a +hard man, I own ye, and 'a said if folk will kill theirselves in hot +blood they must take the consequences. But ours don't think like +that at all, and might allow it.' + +'What's his name?' + +'The honourable and reverent Mr. Oldham, brother to Lord Wessex. But +you needn't be afeard o' en on that account. He'll talk to 'ee like +a common man, if so be you haven't had enough drink to gie 'ee bad +breath.' + +'O, the same as formerly. I'll ask him. Thank you. And that duty +done--' + +'What then?' + +'There's war in Spain. I hear our next move is there. I'll try to +show myself to be what my father wished me. I don't suppose I shall- +-but I'll try in my feeble way. That much I swear--here over his +body. So help me God.' + +Luke smacked his palm against the white hand-post with such force +that it shook. 'Yes, there's war in Spain; and another chance for me +to be worthy of father.' + +So the matter ended that night. That the private acted in one thing +as he had vowed to do soon became apparent, for during the Christmas +week the rector came into the churchyard when Cattstock was there, +and asked him to find a spot that would be suitable for the purpose +of such an interment, adding that he had slightly known the late +sergeant, and was not aware of any law which forbade him to assent to +the removal, the letter of the rule having been observed. But as he +did not wish to seem moved by opposition to his neighbour at +Sidlinch, he had stipulated that the act of charity should be carried +out at night, and as privately as possible, and that the grave should +be in an obscure part of the enclosure. 'You had better see the +young man about it at once,' added the rector. + +But before Ezra had done anything Luke came down to his house. His +furlough had been cut short, owing to new developments of the war in +the Peninsula, and being obliged to go back to his regiment +immediately, he was compelled to leave the exhumation and reinterment +to his friends. Everything was paid for, and he implored them all to +see it carried out forthwith. + +With this the soldier left. The next day Ezra, on thinking the +matter over, again went across to the rectory, struck with sudden +misgiving. He had remembered that the sergeant had been buried +without a coffin, and he was not sure that a stake had not been +driven through him. The business would be more troublesome than they +had at first supposed. + +'Yes, indeed!' murmured the rector. 'I am afraid it is not feasible +after all.' + +The next event was the arrival of a headstone by carrier from the +nearest town; to be left at Mr. Ezra Cattstock's; all expenses paid. +The sexton and the carrier deposited the stone in the former's +outhouse; and Ezra, left alone, put on his spectacles and read the +brief and simple inscription:- + + +HERE LYETH THE BODY OF SAMUEL HOLWAY, LATE SERGEANT IN HIS MAJESTY'S +--D REGIMENT OF FOOT, WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE DECEMBER THE 20TH, 180-. +ERECTED BY L. H. +'I AM NOT WORTHY TO BE CALLED THY SON.' + + +Ezra again called at the riverside rectory. 'The stone is come, sir. +But I'm afeard we can't do it nohow.' + +'I should like to oblige him,' said the gentlemanly old incumbent. +'And I would forego all fees willingly. Still, if you and the others +don't think you can carry it out, I am in doubt what to say.' + +Well, sir; I've made inquiry of a Sidlinch woman as to his burial, +and what I thought seems true. They buried en wi' a new six-foot +hurdle-saul drough's body, from the sheep-pen up in North Ewelease +though they won't own to it now. And the question is, Is the moving +worth while, considering the awkwardness?' + +'Have you heard anything more of the young man?' + +Ezra had only heard that he had embarked that week for Spain with the +rest of the regiment. 'And if he's as desperate as 'a seemed, we +shall never see him here in England again.' + +'It is an awkward case,' said the rector. + +Ezra talked it over with the choir; one of whom suggested that the +stone might be erected at the crossroads. This was regarded as +impracticable. Another said that it might be set up in the +churchyard without removing the body; but this was seen to be +dishonest. So nothing was done. + +The headstone remained in Ezra's outhouse till, growing tired of +seeing it there, he put it away among the bushes at the bottom of his +garden. The subject was sometimes revived among them, but it always +ended with: 'Considering how 'a was buried, we can hardly make a job +o't.' + +There was always the consciousness that Luke would never come back, +an impression strengthened by the disasters which were rumoured to +have befallen the army in Spain. This tended to make their inertness +permanent. The headstone grew green as it lay on its back under +Ezra's bushes; then a tree by the river was blown down, and, falling +across the stone, cracked it in three pieces. Ultimately the pieces +became buried in the leaves and mould. + +Luke had not been born a Chalk-Newton man, and he had no relations +left in Sidlinch, so that no tidings of him reached either village +throughout the war. But after Waterloo and the fall of Napoleon +there arrived at Sidlinch one day an English sergeant-major covered +with stripes and, as it turned out, rich in glory. Foreign service +had so totally changed Luke Holway that it was not until he told his +name that the inhabitants recognized him as the sergeant's only son. + +He had served with unswerving effectiveness through the Peninsular +campaigns under Wellington; had fought at Busaco, Fuentes d'Onore, +Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, Salamanca, Vittoria, Quatre Bras, and +Waterloo; and had now returned to enjoy a more than earned pension +and repose in his native district. + +He hardly stayed in Sidlinch longer than to take a meal on his +arrival. The same evening he started on foot over the hill to Chalk- +Newton, passing the hand-post, and saying as he glanced at the spot, +'Thank God: he's not there!' Nightfall was approaching when he +reached the latter village; but he made straight for the churchyard. +On his entering it there remained light enough to discern the +headstones by, and these he narrowly scanned. But though he searched +the front part by the road, and the back part by the river, what he +sought he could not find--the grave of Sergeant Holway, and a +memorial bearing the inscription: 'I AM NOT WORTHY TO BE CALLED THY +SON.' + +He left the churchyard and made inquiries. The honourable and +reverend old rector was dead, and so were many of the choir; but by +degrees the sergeant-major learnt that his father still lay at the +cross-roads in Long Ash Lane. + +Luke pursued his way moodily homewards, to do which, in the natural +course, he would be compelled to repass the spot, there being no +other road between the two villages. But he could not now go by that +place, vociferous with reproaches in his father's tones; and he got +over the hedge and wandered deviously through the ploughed fields to +avoid the scene. Through many a fight and fatigue Luke had been +sustained by the thought that he was restoring the family honour and +making noble amends. Yet his father lay still in degradation. It +was rather a sentiment than a fact that his father's body had been +made to suffer for his own misdeeds; but to his super-sensitiveness +it seemed that his efforts to retrieve his character and to +propitiate the shade of the insulted one had ended in failure. + +He endeavoured, however, to shake off his lethargy, and, not liking +the associations of Sidlinch, hired a small cottage at Chalk-Newton +which had long been empty. Here he lived alone, becoming quite a +hermit, and allowing no woman to enter the house. + +The Christmas after taking up his abode herein he was sitting in the +chimney corner by himself, when he heard faint notes in the distance, +and soon a melody burst forth immediately outside his own window, it +came from the carol-singers, as usual; and though many of the old +hands, Ezra and Lot included, had gone to their rest, the same old +carols were still played out of the same old books. There resounded +through the sergeant-major's window-shutters the familiar lines that +the deceased choir had rendered over his father's grave:- + + +He comes' the pri'-soners to' re-lease', +In Sa'-tan's bon'-dage held'. + + +When they had finished they went on to another house, leaving him to +silence and loneliness as before. + +The candle wanted snuffing, but he did not snuff it, and he sat on +till it had burnt down into the socket and made waves of shadow on +the ceiling. + +The Christmas cheerfulness of next morning was broken at breakfast- +time by tragic intelligence which went down the village like wind. +Sergeant-Major Holway had been found shot through the head by his own +hand at the cross-roads in Long Ash Lane where his father lay buried. + +On the table in the cottage he had left a piece of paper, on which he +had written his wish that he might be buried at the Cross beside his +father. But the paper was accidentally swept to the floor, and +overlooked till after his funeral, which took place in the ordinary +way in the churchyard. + +Christmas 1897. + + + +ENTER A DRAGOON + + + +I lately had a melancholy experience (said the gentleman who is +answerable for the truth of this story). It was that of going over a +doomed house with whose outside aspect I had long been familiar--a +house, that is, which by reason of age and dilapidation was to be +pulled down during the following week. Some of the thatch, brown and +rotten as the gills of old mushrooms, had, indeed, been removed +before I walked over the building. Seeing that it was only a very +small house--which is usually called a 'cottage-residence'--situated +in a remote hamlet, and that it was not more than a hundred years +old, if so much, I was led to think in my progress through the hollow +rooms, with their cracked walls and sloping floors, what an +exceptional number of abrupt family incidents had taken place +therein--to reckon only those which had come to my own knowledge. +And no doubt there were many more of which I had never heard. + +It stood at the top of a garden stretching down to the lane or street +that ran through a hermit-group of dwellings in Mellstock parish. +From a green gate at the lower entrance, over which the thorn hedge +had been shaped to an arch by constant clippings, a gravel path +ascended between the box edges of once trim raspberry, strawberry, +and vegetable plots, towards the front door. This was in colour an +ancient and bleached green that could be rubbed off with the finger, +and it bore a small long-featured brass knocker covered with +verdigris in its crevices. For some years before this eve of +demolition the homestead had degenerated, and been divided into two +tenements to serve as cottages for farm labourers; but in its prime +it had indisputable claim to be considered neat, pretty, and genteel. + +The variety of incidents above alluded to was mainly owing to the +nature of the tenure, whereby the place had been occupied by families +not quite of the kind customary in such spots--people whose +circumstances, position, or antecedents were more or less of a +critical happy-go-lucky cast. And of these residents the family +whose term comprised the story I wish to relate was that of Mr. Jacob +Paddock the market-gardener, who dwelt there for some years with his +wife and grown-up daughter. + + +I + + +An evident commotion was agitating the premises, which jerked busy +sounds across the front plot, resembling those of a disturbed hive. +If a member of the household appeared at the door it was with a +countenance of abstraction and concern. + +Evening began to bend over the scene; and the other inhabitants of +the hamlet came out to draw water, their common well being in the +public road opposite the garden and house of the Paddocks. Having +wound up their bucketsfull respectively they lingered, and spoke +significantly together. From their words any casual listener might +have gathered information of what had occurred. + +The woodman who lived nearest the site of the story told most of the +tale. Selina, the daughter of the Paddocks opposite, had been +surprised that afternoon by receiving a letter from her once intended +husband, then a corporal, but now a sergeant-major of dragoons, whom +she had hitherto supposed to be one of the slain in the Battle of the +Alma two or three years before. + +'She picked up wi'en against her father's wish, as we know, and +before he got his stripes,' their informant continued. 'Not but that +the man was as hearty a feller as you'd meet this side o' London. +But Jacob, you see, wished her to do better, and one can understand +it. However, she was determined to stick to him at that time; and +for what happened she was not much to blame, so near as they were to +matrimony when the war broke out and spoiled all.' + +'Even the very pig had been killed for the wedding,' said a woman, +'and the barrel o' beer ordered in. O, the man meant honourable +enough. But to be off in two days to fight in a foreign country-- +'twas natural of her father to say they should wait till he got +back.' + +'And he never came,' murmured one in the shade. + +'The war ended but her man never turned up again. She was not sure +he was killed, but was too proud, or too timid, to go and hunt for +him.' + +'One reason why her father forgave her when he found out how matters +stood was, as he said plain at the time, that he liked the man, and +could see that he meant to act straight. So the old folks made the +best of what they couldn't mend, and kept her there with 'em, when +some wouldn't. Time has proved seemingly that he did mean to act +straight, now that he has writ to her that he's coming. She'd have +stuck to him all through the time, 'tis my belief; if t'other hadn't +come along.' + +'At the time of the courtship,' resumed the woodman, 'the regiment +was quartered in Casterbridge Barracks, and he and she got acquainted +by his calling to buy a penn'orth of rathe-ripes off that tree yonder +in her father's orchard--though 'twas said he seed HER over hedge as +well as the apples. He declared 'twas a kind of apple he much +fancied; and he called for a penn'orth every day till the tree was +cleared. It ended in his calling for her.' + +''Twas a thousand pities they didn't jine up at once and ha' done wi' +it. + +'Well; better late than never, if so be he'll have her now. But, +Lord, she'd that faith in 'en that she'd no more belief that he was +alive, when a' didn't come, than that the undermost man in our +churchyard was alive. She'd never have thought of another but for +that--O no!' + +''Tis awkward, altogether, for her now.' + +'Still she hadn't married wi' the new man. Though to be sure she +would have committed it next week, even the licence being got, they +say, for she'd have no banns this time, the first being so +unfortunate.' + +'Perhaps the sergeant-major will think he's released, and go as he +came.' + +'O, not as I reckon. Soldiers bain't particular, and she's a tidy +piece o' furniture still. What will happen is that she'll have her +soldier, and break off with the master-wheelwright, licence or no-- +daze me if she won't.' + +In the progress of these desultory conjectures the form of another +neighbour arose in the gloom. She nodded to the people at the well, +who replied 'G'd night, Mrs. Stone,' as she passed through Mr. +Paddock's gate towards his door. She was an intimate friend of the +latter's household, and the group followed her with their eyes up the +path and past the windows, which were now lighted up by candles +inside. + + +II + + +Mrs. Stone paused at the door, knocked, and was admitted by Selina's +mother, who took her visitor at once into the parlour on the left +hand, where a table was partly spread for supper. On the 'beaufet' +against the wall stood probably the only object which would have +attracted the eye of a local stranger in an otherwise ordinarily +furnished room, a great plum-cake guarded as if it were a curiosity +by a glass shade of the kind seen in museums--square, with a wooden +back like those enclosing stuffed specimens of rare feather or fur. +This was the mummy of the cake intended in earlier days for the +wedding-feast of Selina and the soldier, which had been religiously +and lovingly preserved by the former as a testimony to her +intentional respectability in spite of an untoward subsequent +circumstance, which will be mentioned. This relic was now as dry as +a brick, and seemed to belong to a pre-existent civilization. Till +quite recently, Selina had been in the habit of pausing before it +daily, and recalling the accident whose consequences had thrown a +shadow over her life ever since--that of which the water-drawers had +spoken--the sudden news one morning that the Route had come for the - +-th Dragoons, two days only being the interval before departure; the +hurried consultation as to what should be done, the second time of +asking being past but not the third; and the decision that it would +be unwise to solemnize matrimony in such haphazard circumstances, +even if it were possible, which was doubtful. + +Before the fire the young woman in question was now seated on a low +stool, in the stillness of reverie, and a toddling boy played about +the floor around her. + +'Ah, Mrs. Stone!' said Selina, rising slowly. 'How kind of you to +come in. You'll bide to supper? Mother has told you the strange +news, of course?' + +'No. But I heard it outside, that is, that you'd had a letter from +Mr. Clark--Sergeant-Major Clark, as they say he is now--and that he's +coming to make it up with 'ee.' + +'Yes; coming to-night--all the way from the north of England where +he's quartered. I don't know whether I'm happy or--frightened at it. +Of course I always believed that if he was alive he'd come and keep +his solemn vow to me. But when it is printed that a man is killed-- +what can you think?' + +'It WAS printed?' + +'Why, yes. After the Battle of the Alma the book of the names of the +killed and wounded was nailed up against Casterbridge Town Hall door. +'Twas on a Saturday, and I walked there o' purpose to read and see +for myself; for I'd heard that his name was down. There was a crowd +of people round the book, looking for the names of relations; and I +can mind that when they saw me they made way for me--knowing that +we'd been just going to be married--and that, as you may say, I +belonged to him. Well, I reached up my arm, and turned over the +farrels of the book, and under the "killed" I read his surname, but +instead of "John" they'd printed "James," and I thought 'twas a +mistake, and that it must be he. Who could have guessed there were +two nearly of one name in one regiment.' + +'Well--he's coming to finish the wedding of 'ee as may be said; so +never mind, my dear. All's well that ends well.' + +'That's what he seems to say. But then he has not heard yet about +Mr. Miller; and that's what rather terrifies me. Luckily my marriage +with him next week was to have been by licence, and not banns, as in +John's case; and it was not so well known on that account. Still, I +don't know what to think.' + +'Everything seems to come just 'twixt cup and lip with 'ee, don't it +now, Miss Paddock. Two weddings broke off--'tis odd! How came you +to accept Mr. Miller, my dear?' + +'He's been so good and faithful! Not minding about the child at all; +for he knew the rights of the story. He's dearly fond o' Johnny, you +know--just as if 'twere his own--isn't he, my duck? Do Mr. Miller +love you or don't he?' + +'Iss! An' I love Mr. Miller,' said the toddler. + +'Well, you see, Mrs. Stone, he said he'd make me a comfortable home; +and thinking 'twould be a good thing for Johnny, Mr. Miller being so +much better off than me, I agreed at last, just as a widow might-- +which is what I have always felt myself; ever since I saw what I +thought was John's name printed there. I hope John will forgive me!' + +'So he will forgive 'ee, since 'twas no manner of wrong to him. He +ought to have sent 'ee a line, saying 'twas another man.' + +Selina's mother entered. 'We've not known of this an hour, Mrs. +Stone,' she said. 'The letter was brought up from Lower Mellstock +Post-office by one of the school children, only this afternoon. Mr. +Miller was coming here this very night to settle about the wedding +doings. Hark! Is that your father? Or is it Mr. Miller already +come?' + +The footsteps entered the porch; there was a brushing on the mat, and +the door of the room sprung back to disclose a rubicund man about +thirty years of age, of thriving master-mechanic appearance and +obviously comfortable temper. On seeing the child, and before taking +any notice whatever of the elders, the comer made a noise like the +crowing of a cock and flapped his arms as if they were wings, a +method of entry which had the unqualified admiration of Johnny. + +'Yes--it is he,' said Selina constrainedly advancing. + +'What--were you all talking about me, my dear?' said the genial young +man when he had finished his crowing and resumed human manners. 'Why +what's the matter,' he went on. 'You look struck all of a heap.' +Mr. Miller spread an aspect of concern over his own face, and drew a +chair up to the fire. + +'O mother, would you tell Mr. Miller, if he don't know?' + +'MISTER Miller! and going to be married in six days!' he interposed. + +'Ah--he don't know it yet!' murmured Mrs. Paddock. + +'Know what?' + +'Well--John Clark--now Sergeant-Major Clark--wasn't shot at Alma +after all. 'Twas another of almost the same name.' + +'Now that's interesting! There were several cases like that.' + +'And he's home again; and he's coming here to-night to see her.' + +'Whatever shall I say, that he may not be offended with what I've +done?' interposed Selina. + +'But why should it matter if he be?' + +'O! I must agree to be his wife if he forgives me--of course I +must.' + +'Must! But why not say nay, Selina, even if he do forgive 'ee?' + +'O no! How can I without being wicked? You were very very kind, Mr. +Miller, to ask me to have you; no other man would have done it after +what had happened; and I agreed, even though I did not feel half so +warm as I ought. Yet it was entirely owing to my believing him in +the grave, as I knew that if he were not he would carry out his +promise; and this shows that I was right in trusting him.' + +'Yes . . . He must be a goodish sort of fellow,' said Mr. Miller, for +a moment so impressed with the excellently faithful conduct of the +sergeant-major of dragoons that he disregarded its effect upon his +own position. He sighed slowly and added, 'Well, Selina, 'tis for +you to say. I love you, and I love the boy; and there's my chimney- +corner and sticks o' furniture ready for 'ee both.' + +'Yes, I know! But I mustn't hear it any more now,' murmured Selina +quickly. 'John will be here soon. I hope he'll see how it all was +when I tell him. If so be I could have written it to him it would +have been better.' + +'You think he doesn't know a single word about our having been on the +brink o't. But perhaps it's the other way--he's heard of it and that +may have brought him. + +'Ah--perhaps he has!' she said brightening. 'And already forgives +me.' + +'If not, speak out straight and fair, and tell him exactly how it +fell out. If he's a man he'll see it.' + +'O he's a man true enough. But I really do think I shan't have to +tell him at all, since you've put it to me that way!' + +As it was now Johnny's bedtime he was carried upstairs, and when +Selina came down again her mother observed with some anxiety, 'I +fancy Mr. Clark must be here soon if he's coming; and that being so, +perhaps Mr. Miller wouldn't mind--wishing us good-night! since you +are so determined to stick to your sergeant-major.' A little +bitterness bubbled amid the closing words. 'It would be less +awkward, Mr. Miller not being here--if he will allow me to say it.' + +'To be sure; to be sure,' the master-wheelwright exclaimed with +instant conviction, rising alertly from his chair. 'Lord bless my +soul,' he said, taking up his hat and stick, 'and we to have been +married in six days! But Selina--you're right. You do belong to the +child's father since he's alive. I'll try to make the best of it.' + +Before the generous Miller had got further there came a knock to the +door accompanied by the noise of wheels. + +'I thought I heard something driving up!' said Mrs Paddock. + +They heard Mr. Paddock, who had been smoking in the room opposite, +rise and go to the door, and in a moment a voice familiar enough to +Selina was audibly saying, 'At last I am here again--not without many +interruptions! How is it with 'ee, Mr. Paddock? And how is she? +Thought never to see me again, I suppose?' + +A step with a clink of spurs in it struck upon the entry floor. + +'Danged if I bain't catched!' murmured Mr. Miller, forgetting +company-speech. 'Never mind--I may as well meet him here as +elsewhere; and I should like to see the chap, and make friends with +en, as he seems one o' the right sort.' He returned to the fireplace +just as the sergeant-major was ushered in. + + +III + + +He was a good specimen of the long-service soldier of those days; a +not unhandsome man, with a certain undemonstrative dignity, which +some might have said to be partly owing to the stiffness of his +uniform about his neck, the high stock being still worn. He was much +stouter than when Selina had parted from him. Although she had not +meant to be demonstrative she ran across to him directly she saw him, +and he held her in his arms and kissed her. + +Then in much agitation she whispered something to him, at which he +seemed to be much surprised. + +'He's just put to bed,' she continued. 'You can go up and see him. +I knew you'd come if you were alive! But I had quite gi'd you up for +dead. You've been home in England ever since the war ended?' + +'Yes, dear.' + +'Why didn't you come sooner?' + +'That's just what I ask myself! Why was I such a sappy as not to +hurry here the first day I set foot on shore! Well, who'd have +thought it--you are as pretty as ever!' + +He relinquished her to peep upstairs a little way, where, by looking +through the ballusters, he could see Johnny's cot just within an open +door. On his stepping down again Mr. Miller was preparing to depart. + +'Now, what's this? I am sorry to see anybody going the moment I've +come,' expostulated the sergeant-major. 'I thought we might make an +evening of it. There's a nine gallon cask o' "Phoenix" beer outside +in the trap, and a ham, and half a rawmil' cheese; for I thought you +might be short o' forage in a lonely place like this; and it struck +me we might like to ask in a neighbour or two. But perhaps it would +be taking a liberty?' + +'O no, not at all,' said Mr. Paddock, who was now in the room, in a +judicial measured manner. 'Very thoughtful of 'ee, only 'twas not +necessary, for we had just laid in an extry stock of eatables and +drinkables in preparation for the coming event.' + +''Twas very kind, upon my heart,' said the soldier, 'to think me +worth such a jocund preparation, since you could only have got my +letter this morning.' + +Selina gazed at her father to stop him, and exchanged embarrassed +glances with Miller. Contrary to her hopes Sergeant-Major Clark +plainly did not know that the preparations referred to were for +something quite other than his own visit. + +The movement of the horse outside, and the impatient tapping of a +whip-handle upon the vehicle reminded them that Clark's driver was +still in waiting. The provisions were brought into the house, and +the cart dismissed. Miller, with very little pressure indeed, +accepted an invitation to supper, and a few neighbours were induced +to come in to make up a cheerful party. + +During the laying of the meal, and throughout its continuance, +Selina, who sat beside her first intended husband, tried frequently +to break the news to him of her engagement to the other--now +terminated so suddenly, and so happily for her heart, and her sense +of womanly virtue. But the talk ran entirely upon the late war; and +though fortified by half a horn of the strong ale brought by the +sergeant-major she decided that she might have a better opportunity +when supper was over of revealing the situation to him in private. + +Having supped, Clark leaned back at ease in his chair and looked +around. 'We used sometimes to have a dance in that other room after +supper, Selina dear, I recollect. We used to clear out all the +furniture into this room before beginning. Have you kept up such +goings on?' + +'No, not at all!' said his sweetheart, sadly. + +'We were not unlikely to revive it in a few days,' said Mr. Paddock. +'But, howsomever, there's seemingly many a slip, as the saying is.' + +'Yes, I'll tell John all about that by and by!' interposed Selina; at +which, perceiving that the secret which he did not like keeping was +to be kept even yet, her father held his tongue with some show of +testiness. + +The subject of a dance having been broached, to put the thought in +practice was the feeling of all. Soon after the tables and chairs +were borne from the opposite room to this by zealous hands, and two +of the villagers sent home for a fiddle and tambourine, when the +majority began to tread a measure well known in that secluded vale. +Selina naturally danced with the sergeant-major, not altogether to +her father's satisfaction, and to the real uneasiness of her mother, +both of whom would have preferred a postponement of festivities till +the rashly anticipated relationship between their daughter and Clark +in the past had been made fact by the church's ordinances. They did +not, however, express a positive objection, Mr. Paddock remembering, +with self-reproach, that it was owing to his original strongly +expressed disapproval of Selina's being a soldier's wife that the +wedding had been delayed, and finally hindered--with worse +consequences than were expected; and ever since the misadventure +brought about by his government he had allowed events to steer their +own courses. + +'My tails will surely catch in your spurs, John!' murmured the +daughter of the house, as she whirled around upon his arm with the +rapt soul and look of a somnambulist. 'I didn't know we should +dance, or I would have put on my other frock.' + +'I'll take care, my love. We've danced here before. Do you think +your father objects to me now? I've risen in rank. I fancy he's +still a little against me.' + +'He has repented, times enough.' + +'And so have I! If I had married you then 'twould have saved many a +misfortune. I have sometimes thought it might have been possible to +rush the ceremony through somehow before I left; though we were only +in the second asking, were we? And even if I had come back straight +here when we returned from the Crimea, and married you then, how much +happier I should have been!' + +'Dear John, to say that! Why didn't you?' + +'O--dilatoriness and want of thought, and a fear of facing your +father after so long. I was in hospital a great while, you know. +But how familiar the place seems again! What's that I saw on the +beaufet in the other room? It never used to be there. A sort of +withered corpse of a cake--not an old bride-cake surely?' + +'Yes, John, ours. 'Tis the very one that was made for our wedding +three years ago.' + +'Sakes alive! Why, time shuts up together, and all between then and +now seems not to have been! What became of that wedding-gown that +they were making in this room, I remember--a bluish, whitish, frothy +thing?' + +'I have that too.' + +'Really! . . . Why, Selina--' + +'Yes!' + +'Why not put it on now?' + +'Wouldn't it seem--. And yet, O how I should like to! It would +remind them all, if we told them what it was, how we really meant to +be married on that bygone day!' Her eyes were again laden with wet. + +'Yes . . . The pity that we didn't--the pity!' Moody mournfulness +seemed to hold silent awhile one not naturally taciturn. 'Well--will +you?' he said. + +'I will--the next dance, if mother don't mind.' + +Accordingly, just before the next figure was formed, Selina +disappeared, and speedily came downstairs in a creased and box-worn, +but still airy and pretty, muslin gown, which was indeed the very one +that had been meant to grace her as a bride three years before. + +'It is dreadfully old-fashioned,' she apologized. + +'Not at all. What a grand thought of mine! Now, let's to't again.' + +She explained to some of them, as he led her to the second dance, +what the frock had been meant for, and that she had put it on at his +request. And again athwart and around the room they went. + +'You seem the bride!' he said. + +'But I couldn't wear this gown to be married in now!' she replied, +ecstatically, 'or I shouldn't have put it on and made it dusty. It +is really too old-fashioned, and so folded and fretted out, you can't +think. That was with my taking it out so many times to look at. I +have never put it on--never--till now!' + +'Selina, I am thinking of giving up the army. Will you emigrate with +me to New Zealand? I've an uncle out there doing well, and he'd soon +help me to making a larger income. The English army is glorious, but +it ain't altogether enriching.' + +'Of course, anywhere that you decide upon. Is it healthy there for +Johnny?' + +'A lovely climate. And I shall never be happy in England . . . Aha!' +he concluded again, with a bitterness of unexpected strength, 'would +to Heaven I had come straight back here!' + +As the dance brought round one neighbour after another the re-united +pair were thrown into juxtaposition with Bob Heartall among the rest +who had been called in; one whose chronic expression was that he +carried inside him a joke on the point of bursting with its own +vastness. He took occasion now to let out a little of its quality, +shaking his head at Selina as he addressed her in an undertone - + +'This is a bit of a topper to the bridegroom, ho ho! 'Twill teach en +the liberty you'll expect when you've married en!' + +'What does he mean by a "topper,"' the sergeant-major asked, who, not +being of local extraction, despised the venerable local language, and +also seemed to suppose 'bridegroom' to be an anticipatory name for +himself. 'I only hope I shall never be worse treated than you've +treated me to-night!' + +Selina looked frightened. 'He didn't mean you, dear,' she said as +they moved on. 'We thought perhaps you knew what had happened, owing +to your coming just at this time. Had you--heard anything about-- +what I intended?' + +'Not a breath--how should I--away up in Yorkshire? It was by the +merest accident that I came just at this date to make peace with you +for my delay.' + +'I was engaged to be married to Mr. Bartholomew Miller. That's what +it is! I would have let 'ee know by letter, but there was no time, +only hearing from 'ee this afternoon . . . You won't desert me for +it, will you, John? Because, as you know, I quite supposed you dead, +and--and--' Her eyes were full of tears of trepidation, and he might +have felt a sob heaving within her. + + +IV + + +The soldier was silent during two or three double bars of the tune. +'When were you to have been married to the said Mr. Bartholomew +Miller?' he inquired. + +'Quite soon.' + +'How soon?' + +'Next week--O yes--just the same as it was with you and me. There's +a strange fate of interruption hanging over me, I sometimes think! +He had bought the licence, which I preferred so that it mightn't be +like--ours. But it made no difference to the fate of it.' + +'Had bought the licence! The devil!' + +'Don't be angry, dear John. I didn't know!' + +'No, no, I'm not angry.' + +'It was so kind of him, considering!' + +'Yes . . . I see, of course, how natural your action was--never +thinking of seeing me any more! Is it the Mr. Miller who is in this +dance?' + +'Yes.' + +Clark glanced round upon Bartholomew and was silent again, for some +little while, and she stole a look at him, to find that he seemed +changed. 'John, you look ill!' she almost sobbed. ''Tisn't me, is +it?' + +'O dear, no. Though I hadn't, somehow, expected it. I can't find +fault with you for a moment--and I don't . . . This is a deuce of a +long dance, don't you think? We've been at it twenty minutes if a +second, and the figure doesn't allow one much rest. I'm quite out of +breath.' + +'They like them so dreadfully long here. Shall we drop out? Or I'll +stop the fiddler.' + +'O no, no, I think I can finish. But although I look healthy enough +I have never been so strong as I formerly was, since that long +illness I had in the hospital at Scutari.' + +'And I knew nothing about it!' + +'You couldn't, dear, as I didn't write. What a fool I have been +altogether!' He gave a twitch, as of one in pain. 'I won't dance +again when this one is over. The fact is I have travelled a long way +to-day, and it seems to have knocked me up a bit.' + +There could be no doubt that the sergeant-major was unwell, and +Selina made herself miserable by still believing that her story was +the cause of his ailment. Suddenly he said in a changed voice, and +she perceived that he was paler than ever: 'I must sit down.' + +Letting go her waist he went quickly to the other room. She +followed, and found him in the nearest chair, his face bent down upon +his hands and arms, which were resting on the table. + +'What's the matter?' said her father, who sat there dozing by the +fire. + +'John isn't well . . . We are going to New Zealand when we are +married, father. A lovely country! John, would you like something +to drink?' + +'A drop o' that Schiedam of old Owlett's, that's under stairs, +perhaps,' suggested her father. 'Not that nowadays 'tis much better +than licensed liquor.' + +'John,' she said, putting her face close to his and pressing his arm. +'Will you have a drop of spirits or something?' + +He did not reply, and Selina observed that his ear and the side of +his face were quite white. Convinced that his illness was serious, a +growing dismay seized hold of her. The dance ended; her mother came +in, and learning what had happened, looked narrowly at the sergeant- +major. + +'We must not let him lie like that, lift him up,' she said. 'Let him +rest in the window-bench on some cushions.' + +They unfolded his arms and hands as they lay clasped upon the table, +and on lifting his head found his features to bear the very impress +of death itself. Bartholomew Miller, who had now come in, assisted +Mr. Paddock to make a comfortable couch in the window-seat, where +they stretched out Clark upon his back. + +Still he seemed unconscious. 'We must get a doctor,' said Selina. +'O, my dear John, how is it you be taken like this?' + +'My impression is that he's dead!' murmured Mr. Paddock. 'He don't +breathe enough to move a tomtit's feather.' + +There were plenty to volunteer to go for a doctor, but as it would be +at least an hour before he could get there the case seemed somewhat +hopeless. The dancing-party ended as unceremoniously as it had +begun; but the guests lingered round the premises till the doctor +should arrive. When he did come the sergeant-major's extremities +were already cold, and there was no doubt that death had overtaken +him almost at the moment that he had sat down. + +The medical practitioner quite refused to accept the unhappy Selina's +theory that her revelation had in any way induced Clark's sudden +collapse. Both he and the coroner afterwards, who found the +immediate cause to be heart-failure, held that such a supposition was +unwarranted by facts. They asserted that a long day's journey, a +hurried drive, and then an exhausting dance, were sufficient for such +a result upon a heart enfeebled by fatty degeneration after the +privations of a Crimean winter and other trying experiences, the +coincidence of the sad event with any disclosure of hers being a pure +accident. + +This conclusion, however, did not dislodge Selina's opinion that the +shock of her statement had been the immediate stroke which had felled +a constitution so undermined. + + +V + + +At this date the Casterbridge Barracks were cavalry quarters, their +adaptation to artillery having been effected some years later. It +had been owing to the fact that the --th Dragoons, in which John +Clark had served, happened to be lying there that Selina made his +acquaintance. At the time of his death the barracks were occupied by +the Scots Greys, but when the pathetic circumstances of the sergeant- +major's end became known in the town the officers of the Greys +offered the services of their fine reed and brass band, that he might +have a funeral marked by due military honours. His body was +accordingly removed to the barracks, and carried thence to the +churchyard in the Durnover quarter on the following afternoon, one of +the Greys' most ancient and docile chargers being blacked up to +represent Clark's horse on the occasion. + +Everybody pitied Selina, whose story was well known. She followed +the corpse as the only mourner, Clark having been without relations +in this part of the country, and a communication with his regiment +having brought none from a distance. She sat in a little shabby +brown-black mourning carriage, squeezing herself up in a corner to be +as much as possible out of sight during the slow and dramatic march +through the town to the tune from Saul. When the interment had taken +place, the volleys been fired, and the return journey begun, it was +with something like a shock that she found the military escort to be +moving at a quick march to the lively strains of 'Off she goes!' as +if all care for the sergeant-major was expected to be ended with the +late discharge of the carbines. It was, by chance, the very tune to +which they had been footing when he died, and unable to bear its +notes, she hastily told her driver to drop behind. The band and +military party diminished up the High Street, and Selina turned over +Swan bridge and homeward to Mellstock. + +Then recommenced for her a life whose incidents were precisely of a +suit with those which had preceded the soldier's return; but how +different in her appreciation of them! Her narrow miss of the +recovered respectability they had hoped for from that tardy event +worked upon her parents as an irritant, and after the first week or +two of her mourning her life with them grew almost insupportable. +She had impulsively taken to herself the weeds of a widow, for such +she seemed to herself to be, and clothed little Johnny in sables +likewise. This assumption of a moral relationship to the deceased, +which she asserted to be only not a legal one by two most unexpected +accidents, led the old people to indulge in sarcasm at her expense +whenever they beheld her attire, though all the while it cost them +more pain to utter than it gave her to hear it. Having become +accustomed by her residence at home to the business carried on by her +father, she surprised them one day by going off with the child to +Chalk-Newton, in the direction of the town of Ivell, and opening a +miniature fruit and vegetable shop, attending Ivell market with her +produce. Her business grew somewhat larger, and it was soon +sufficient to enable her to support herself and the boy in comfort. +She called herself 'Mrs. John Clark' from the day of leaving home, +and painted the name on her signboard--no man forbidding her. + +By degrees the pain of her state was forgotten in her new +circumstances, and getting to be generally accepted as the widow of a +sergeant-major of dragoons--an assumption which her modest and +mournful demeanour seemed to substantiate--her life became a placid +one, her mind being nourished by the melancholy luxury of dreaming +what might have been her future in New Zealand with John, if he had +only lived to take her there. Her only travels now were a journey to +Ivell on market-days, and once a fortnight to the churchyard in which +Clark lay, there to tend, with Johnny's assistance, as widows are +wont to do, the flowers she had planted upon his grave. + +On a day about eighteen months after his unexpected decease, Selina +was surprised in her lodging over her little shop by a visit from +Bartholomew Miller. He had called on her once or twice before, on +which occasions he had used without a word of comment the name by +which she was known. + +'I've come this time,' he said, 'less because I was in this direction +than to ask you, Mrs. Clark, what you mid well guess. I've come o' +purpose, in short.' + +She smiled. + +''Tis to ask me again to marry you?' + +'Yes, of course. You see, his coming back for 'ee proved what I +always believed of 'ee, though others didn't. There's nobody but +would be glad to welcome you to our parish again, now you've showed +your independence and acted up to your trust in his promise. Well, +my dear, will you come?' + +'I'd rather bide as Mrs. Clark, I think,' she answered. 'I am not +ashamed of my position at all; for I am John's widow in the eyes of +Heaven.' + +'I quite agree--that's why I've come. Still, you won't like to be +always straining at this shop-keeping and market-standing; and +'twould be better for Johnny if you had nothing to do but tend him.' + +He here touched the only weak spot in Selina's resistance to his +proposal--the good of the boy. To promote that there were other men +she might have married offhand without loving them if they had asked +her to; but though she had known the worthy speaker from her youth, +she could not for the moment fancy herself happy as Mrs. Miller. + +He paused awhile. 'I ought to tell 'ee, Mrs. Clark,' he said by and +by, 'that marrying is getting to be a pressing question with me. Not +on my own account at all. The truth is, that mother is growing old, +and I am away from home a good deal, so that it is almost necessary +there should be another person in the house with her besides me. +That's the practical consideration which forces me to think of taking +a wife, apart from my wish to take you; and you know there's nobody +in the world I care for so much.' + +She said something about there being far better women than she, and +other natural commonplaces; but assured him she was most grateful to +him for feeling what he felt, as indeed she sincerely was. However, +Selina would not consent to be the useful third person in his +comfortable home--at any rate just then. He went away, after taking +tea with her, without discerning much hope for him in her good-bye. + + +VI + + +After that evening she saw and heard nothing of him for a great +while. Her fortnightly journeys to the sergeant-major's grave were +continued, whenever weather did not hinder them; and Mr. Miller must +have known, she thought, of this custom of hers. But though the +churchyard was not nearly so far from his homestead as was her shop +at Chalk-Newton, he never appeared in the accidental way that lovers +use. + +An explanation was forthcoming in the shape of a letter from her +mother, who casually mentioned that Mr. Bartholomew Miller had gone +away to the other side of Shottsford-Forum to be married to a +thriving dairyman's daughter that he knew there. His chief motive, +it was reported, had been less one of love than a wish to provide a +companion for his aged mother. + +Selina was practical enough to know that she had lost a good and +possibly the only opportunity of settling in life after what had +happened, and for a moment she regretted her independence. But she +became calm on reflection, and to fortify herself in her course +started that afternoon to tend the sergeant-major's grave, in which +she took the same sober pleasure as at first. + +On reaching the churchyard and turning the corner towards the spot as +usual, she was surprised to perceive another woman, also apparently a +respectable widow, and with a tiny boy by her side, bending over +Clark's turf, and spudding up with the point of her umbrella some +ivy-roots that Selina had reverently planted there to form an +evergreen mantle over the mound. + +'What are you digging up my ivy for!' cried Selina, rushing forward +so excitedly that Johnny tumbled over a grave with the force of the +tug she gave his hand in her sudden start. + +'Your ivy?' said the respectable woman. + +'Why yes! I planted it there--on my husband's grave.' + +'YOUR husband's!' + +'Yes. The late Sergeant-Major Clark. Anyhow, as good as my husband, +for he was just going to be.' + +'Indeed. But who may be my husband, if not he? I am the only Mrs. +John Clark, widow of the late Sergeant-Major of Dragoons, and this is +his only son and heir.' + +'How can that be?' faltered Selina, her throat seeming to stick +together as she just began to perceive its possibility. 'He had +been--going to marry me twice--and we were going to New Zealand.' + +'Ah!--I remember about you,' returned the legitimate widow calmly and +not unkindly. 'You must be Selina; he spoke of you now and then, and +said that his relations with you would always be a weight on his +conscience. Well; the history of my life with him is soon told. +When he came back from the Crimea he became acquainted with me at my +home in the north, and we were married within a month of first +knowing each other. Unfortunately, after living together a few +months, we could not agree; and after a particularly sharp quarrel, +in which, perhaps, I was most in the wrong--as I don't mind owning +here by his graveside--he went away from me, declaring he would buy +his discharge and emigrate to New Zealand, and never come back to me +any more. The next thing I heard was that he had died suddenly at +Mellstock at some low carouse; and as he had left me in such anger to +live no more with me, I wouldn't come down to his funeral, or do +anything in relation to him. 'Twas temper, I know, but that was the +fact. Even if we had parted friends it would have been a serious +expense to travel three hundred miles to get there, for one who +wasn't left so very well off . . . I am sorry I pulled up your ivy- +roots; but that common sort of ivy is considered a weed in my part of +the country.' + +December 1899. + + + + +A TRYST AT AN ANCIENT EARTH WORK + + + + +At one's every step forward it rises higher against the south sky, +with an obtrusive personality that compels the senses to regard it +and consider. The eyes may bend in another direction, but never +without the consciousness of its heavy, high-shouldered presence at +its point of vantage. Across the intervening levels the gale races +in a straight line from the fort, as if breathed out of it +hitherward. With the shifting of the clouds the faces of the steeps +vary in colour and in shade, broad lights appearing where mist and +vagueness had prevailed, dissolving in their turn into melancholy +gray, which spreads over and eclipses the luminous bluffs. In this +so-thought immutable spectacle all is change. + +Out of the invisible marine region on the other side birds soar +suddenly into the air, and hang over the summits of the heights with +the indifference of long familiarity. Their forms are white against +the tawny concave of cloud, and the curves they exhibit in their +floating signify that they are sea-gulls which have journeyed inland +from expected stress of weather. As the birds rise behind the fort, +so do the clouds rise behind the birds, almost as it seems, stroking +with their bagging bosoms the uppermost flyers. + +The profile of the whole stupendous ruin, as seen at a distance of a +mile eastward, is cleanly cut as that of a marble inlay. It is +varied with protuberances, which from hereabouts have the animal +aspect of warts, wens, knuckles, and hips. It may indeed be likened +to an enormous many-limbed organism of an antediluvian time-- +partaking of the cephalopod in shape--lying lifeless, and covered +with a thin green cloth, which hides its substance, while revealing +its contour. This dull green mantle of herbage stretches down +towards the levels, where the ploughs have essayed for centuries to +creep up near and yet nearer to the base of the castle, but have +always stopped short before reaching it. The furrows of these +environing attempts show themselves distinctly, bending to the +incline as they trench upon it; mounting in steeper curves, till the +steepness baffles them, and their parallel threads show like the +striae of waves pausing on the curl. The peculiar place of which +these are some of the features is 'Mai-Dun,' 'The Castle of the Great +Hill,' said to be the Dunium of Ptolemy, the capital of the +Durotriges, which eventually came into Roman occupation, and was +finally deserted on their withdrawal from the island. + + +The evening is followed by a night on which an invisible moon bestows +a subdued, yet pervasive light--without radiance, as without +blackness. From the spot whereon I am ensconced in a cottage, a mile +away, the fort has now ceased to be visible; yet, as by day, to +anybody whose thoughts have been engaged with it and its barbarous +grandeurs of past time the form asserts its existence behind the +night gauzes as persistently as if it had a voice. Moreover, the +south-west wind continues to feed the intervening arable flats with +vapours brought directly from its sides. + +The midnight hour for which there has been occasion to wait at length +arrives, and I journey towards the stronghold in obedience to a +request urged earlier in the day. It concerns an appointment, which +I rather regret my decision to keep now that night is come. The +route thither is hedgeless and treeless--I need not add deserted. +The moonlight is sufficient to disclose the pale riband-like surface +of the way as it trails along between the expanses of darker fallow. +Though the road passes near the fortress it does not conduct directly +to its fronts. As the place is without an inhabitant, so it is +without a trackway. So presently leaving the macadamized road to +pursue its course elsewhither, I step off upon the fallow, and plod +stumblingly across it. The castle looms out off the shade by +degrees, like a thing waking up and asking what I want there. It is +now so enlarged by nearness that its whole shape cannot be taken in +at one view. The ploughed ground ends as the rise sharpens, the +sloping basement of grass begins, and I climb upward to invade Mai- +Dun. + +Impressive by day as this largest Ancient-British work in the kingdom +undoubtedly is, its impressiveness is increased now. After standing +still and spending a few minutes in adding its age to its size, and +its size to its solitude, it becomes appallingly mournful in its +growing closeness. A squally wind blows in the face with an impact +which proclaims that the vapours of the air sail low to-night. The +slope that I so laboriously clamber up the wind skips sportively +down. Its track can be discerned even in this light by the +undulations of the withered grass-bents--the only produce of this +upland summit except moss. Four minutes of ascent, and a vantage- +ground of some sort is gained. It is only the crest of the outer +rampart. Immediately within this a chasm gapes; its bottom is +imperceptible, but the counterscarp slopes not too steeply to admit +of a sliding descent if cautiously performed. The shady bottom, dank +and chilly, is thus gained, and reveals itself as a kind of winding +lane, wide enough for a waggon to pass along, floored with rank +herbage, and trending away, right and left, into obscurity, between +the concentric walls of earth. The towering closeness of these on +each hand, their impenetrability, and their ponderousness, are felt +as a physical pressure. The way is now up the second of them, which +stands steeper and higher than the first. To turn aside, as did +Christian's companion, from such a Hill Difficulty, is the more +natural tendency; but the way to the interior is upward. There is, +of course, an entrance to the fortress; but that lies far off on the +other side. It might possibly have been the wiser course to seek for +easier ingress there. + +However, being here, I ascend the second acclivity. The grass stems- +-the grey beard of the hill--sway in a mass close to my stooping +face. The dead heads of these various grasses--fescues, fox-tails, +and ryes--bob and twitch as if pulled by a string underground. From +a few thistles a whistling proceeds; and even the moss speaks, in its +humble way, under the stress of the blast. + +That the summit of the second line of defence has been gained is +suddenly made known by a contrasting wind from a new quarter, coming +over with the curve of a cascade. These novel gusts raise a sound +from the whole camp or castle, playing upon it bodily as upon a harp. +It is with some difficulty that a foothold can be preserved under +their sweep. Looking aloft for a moment I perceive that the sky is +much more overcast than it has been hitherto, and in a few instants a +dead lull in what is now a gale ensues with almost preternatural +abruptness. I take advantage of this to sidle down the second +counterscarp, but by the time the ditch is reached the lull reveals +itself to be but the precursor of a storm. It begins with a heave of +the whole atmosphere, like the sigh of a weary strong man on turning +to re-commence unusual exertion, just as I stand here in the second +fosse. That which now radiates from the sky upon the scene is not so +much light as vaporous phosphorescence. + +The wind, quickening, abandons the natural direction it has pursued +on the open upland, and takes the course of the gorge's length, +rushing along therein helter-skelter, and carrying thick rain upon +its back. The rain is followed by hailstones which fly through the +defile in battalions--rolling, hopping, ricochetting, snapping, +clattering down the shelving banks in an undefinable haze of +confusion. The earthen sides of the fosse seem to quiver under the +drenching onset, though it is practically no more to them than the +blows of Thor upon the giant of Jotun-land. It is impossible to +proceed further till the storm somewhat abates, and I draw up behind +a spur of the inner scarp, where possibly a barricade stood two +thousand years ago; and thus await events. + + +The roar of the storm can be heard travelling the complete circuit of +the castle--a measured mile--coming round at intervals like a +circumambulating column of infantry. Doubtless such a column has +passed this way in its time, but the only columns which enter in +these latter days are the columns of sheep and oxen that are +sometimes seen here now; while the only semblance of heroic voices +heard are the utterances of such, and of the many winds which make +their passage through the ravines. + +The expected lightning radiates round, and a rumbling as from its +subterranean vaults--if there are any--fills the castle. The +lightning repeats itself, and, coming after the aforesaid thoughts of +martial men, it bears a fanciful resemblance to swords moving in +combat. It has the very brassy hue of the ancient weapons that here +were used. The so sudden entry upon the scene of this metallic flame +is as the entry of a presiding exhibitor who unrolls the maps, +uncurtains the pictures, unlocks the cabinets, and effects a +transformation by merely exposing the materials of his science, +unintelligibly cloaked till then. The abrupt configuration of the +bluffs and mounds is now for the first time clearly revealed--mounds +whereon, doubtless, spears and shields have frequently lain while +their owners loosened their sandals and yawned and stretched their +arms in the sun. For the first time, too, a glimpse is obtainable of +the true entrance used by its occupants of old, some way ahead. + +There, where all passage has seemed to be inviolably barred by an +almost vertical facade, the ramparts are found to overlap each other +like loosely clasped fingers, between which a zigzag path may be +followed--a cunning construction that puzzles the uninformed eye. +But its cunning, even where not obscured by dilapidation, is now +wasted on the solitary forms of a few wild badgers, rabbits, and +hares. Men must have often gone out by those gates in the morning to +battle with the Roman legions under Vespasian; some to return no +more, others to come back at evening, bringing with them the noise of +their heroic deeds. But not a page, not a stone, has preserved their +fame. + + +Acoustic perceptions multiply to-night. We can almost hear the +stream of years that have borne those deeds away from us. Strange +articulations seem to float on the air from that point, the gateway, +where the animation in past times must frequently have concentrated +itself at hours of coming and going, and general excitement. There +arises an ineradicable fancy that they are human voices; if so, they +must be the lingering air-borne vibrations of conversations uttered +at least fifteen hundred years ago. The attention is attracted from +mere nebulous imaginings about yonder spot by a real moving of +something close at hand. + +I recognize by the now moderate flashes of lightning, which are +sheet-like and nearly continuous, that it is the gradual elevation of +a small mound of earth. At first no larger than a man's fist it +reaches the dimensions of a hat, then sinks a little and is still. +It is but the heaving of a mole who chooses such weather as this to +work in from some instinct that there will be nobody abroad to molest +him. As the fine earth lifts and lifts and falls loosely aside +fragments of burnt clay roll out of it--clay that once formed part of +cups or other vessels used by the inhabitants of the fortress. + +The violence of the storm has been counterbalanced by its +transitoriness. From being immersed in well-nigh solid media of +cloud and hail shot with lightning, I find myself uncovered of the +humid investiture and left bare to the mild gaze of the moon, which +sparkles now on every wet grass-blade and frond of moss. + +But I am not yet inside the fort, and the delayed ascent of the third +and last escarpment is now made. It is steeper than either. The +first was a surface to walk up, the second to stagger up, the third +can only be ascended on the hands and toes. On the summit obtrudes +the first evidence which has been met with in these precincts that +the time is really the nineteenth century; it is in the form of a +white notice-board on a post, and the wording can just be discerned +by the rays of the setting moon: + +CAUTION.--Any Person found removing Relics, Skeletons, Stones, +Pottery, Tiles, or other Material from this Earthwork, or cutting up +the Ground, will be Prosecuted as the Law directs. + +Here one observes a difference underfoot from what has gone before: +scraps of Roman tile and stone chippings protrude through the grass +in meagre quantity, but sufficient to suggest that masonry stood on +the spot. Before the eye stretches under the moonlight the interior +of the fort. So open and so large is it as to be practically an +upland plateau, and yet its area lies wholly within the walls of what +may be designated as one building. It is a long-violated retreat; +all its corner-stones, plinths, and architraves were carried away to +build neighbouring villages even before mediaeval or modern history +began. Many a block which once may have helped to form a bastion +here rests now in broken and diminished shape as part of the chimney- +corner of some shepherd's cottage within the distant horizon, and the +corner-stones of this heathen altar may form the base-course of some +adjoining village church. + +Yet the very bareness of these inner courts and wards, their +condition of mere pasturage, protects what remains of them as no +defences could do. Nothing is left visible that the hands can seize +on or the weather overturn, and a permanence of general outline at +least results, which no other condition could ensure. + +The position of the castle on this isolated hill bespeaks deliberate +and strategic choice exercised by some remote mind capable of +prospective reasoning to a far extent. The natural configuration of +the surrounding country and its bearing upon such a stronghold were +obviously long considered and viewed mentally before its extensive +design was carried into execution. Who was the man that said, 'Let +it be built here!'--not on that hill yonder, or on that ridge behind, +but on this best spot of all? Whether he were some great one of the +Belgae, or of the Durotriges, or the travelling engineer of Britain's +united tribes, must for ever remain time's secret; his form cannot be +realized, nor his countenance, nor the tongue that he spoke, when he +set down his foot with a thud and said, 'Let it be here!' + +Within the innermost enclosure, though it is so wide that at a +superficial glance the beholder has only a sense of standing on a +breezy down, the solitude is rendered yet more solitary by the +knowledge that between the benighted sojourner herein and all kindred +humanity are those three concentric walls of earth which no being +would think of scaling on such a night as this, even were he to hear +the most pathetic cries issuing hence that could be uttered by a +spectre-chased soul. I reach a central mound or platform--the crown +and axis of the whole structure. The view from here by day must be +of almost limitless extent. On this raised floor, dais, or rostrum, +harps have probably twanged more or less tuneful notes in celebration +of daring, strength, or cruelty; of worship, superstition, love, +birth, and death; of simple loving-kindness perhaps never. Many a +time must the king or leader have directed his keen eyes hence across +the open lands towards the ancient road, the Icening Way, still +visible in the distance, on the watch for armed companies approaching +either to succour or to attack. + +I am startled by a voice pronouncing my name. Past and present have +become so confusedly mingled under the associations of the spot that +for a time it has escaped my memory that this mound was the place +agreed on for the aforesaid appointment. I turn and behold my +friend. He stands with a dark lantern in his hand and a spade and +light pickaxe over his shoulder. He expresses both delight and +surprise that I have come. I tell him I had set out before the bad +weather began. + +He, to whom neither weather, darkness, nor difficulty seems to have +any relation or significance, so entirely is his soul wrapped up in +his own deep intentions, asks me to take the lantern and accompany +him. I take it and walk by his side. He is a man about sixty, small +in figure, with grey old-fashioned whiskers cut to the shape of a +pair of crumb-brushes. He is entirely in black broadcloth--or +rather, at present, black and brown, for he is bespattered with mud +from his heels to the crown of his low hat. He has no consciousness +of this--no sense of anything but his purpose, his ardour for which +causes his eyes to shine like those of a lynx, and gives his motions, +all the elasticity of an athlete's. + +'Nobody to interrupt us at this time of night!' he chuckles with +fierce enjoyment. + +We retreat a little way and find a sort of angle, an elevation in the +sod, a suggested squareness amid the mass of irregularities around. +Here, he tells me, if anywhere, the king's house stood. Three months +of measurement and calculation have confirmed him in this conclusion. + +He requests me now to open the lantern, which I do, and the light +streams out upon the wet sod. At last divining his proceedings I say +that I had no idea, in keeping the tryst, that he was going to do +more at such an unusual time than meet me for a meditative ramble +through the stronghold. I ask him why, having a practicable object, +he should have minded interruptions and not have chosen the day? He +informs me, quietly pointing to his spade, that it was because his +purpose is to dig, then signifying with a grim nod the gaunt notice- +post against the sky beyond. I inquire why, as a professed and well- +known antiquary with capital letters at the tail of his name, he did +not obtain the necessary authority, considering the stringent +penalties for this sort of thing; and he chuckles fiercely again with +suppressed delight, and says, 'Because they wouldn't have given it!' + +He at once begins cutting up the sod, and, as he takes the pickaxe to +follow on with, assures me that, penalty or no penalty, honest men or +marauders, he is sure of one thing, that we shall not be disturbed at +our work till after dawn. + +I remember to have heard of men who, in their enthusiasm for some +special science, art, or hobby, have quite lost the moral sense which +would restrain them from indulging it illegitimately; and I +conjecture that here, at last, is an instance of such an one. He +probably guesses the way my thoughts travel, for he stands up and +solemnly asserts that he has a distinctly justifiable intention in +this matter; namely, to uncover, to search, to verify a theory or +displace it, and to cover up again. He means to take away nothing-- +not a grain of sand. In this he says he sees no such monstrous sin. +I inquire if this is really a promise to me? He repeats that it is a +promise, and resumes digging. My contribution to the labour is that +of directing the light constantly upon the hole. When he has reached +something more than a foot deep he digs more cautiously, saying that, +be it much or little there, it will not lie far below the surface; +such things never are deep. A few minutes later the point of the +pickaxe clicks upon a stony substance. He draws the implement out as +feelingly as if it had entered a man's body. Taking up the spade he +shovels with care, and a surface, level as an altar, is presently +disclosed. His eyes flash anew; he pulls handfuls of grass and mops +the surface clean, finally rubbing it with his handkerchief. +Grasping the lantern from my hand he holds it close to the ground, +when the rays reveal a complete mosaic--a pavement of minute tesserae +of many colours, of intricate pattern, a work of much art, of much +time, and of much industry. He exclaims in a shout that he knew it +always--that it is not a Celtic stronghold exclusively, but also a +Roman; the former people having probably contributed little more than +the original framework which the latter took and adapted till it +became the present imposing structure. + +I ask, What if it is Roman? + +A great deal, according to him. That it proves all the world to be +wrong in this great argument, and himself alone to be right! Can I +wait while he digs further? + +I agree--reluctantly; but he does not notice my reluctance. At an +adjoining spot he begins flourishing the tools anew with the skill of +a navvy, this venerable scholar with letters after his name. +Sometimes he falls on his knees, burrowing with his hands in the +manner of a hare, and where his old-fashioned broadcloth touches the +sides of the hole it gets plastered with the damp earth. He +continually murmurs to himself how important, how very important, +this discovery is! He draws out an object; we wash it in the same +primitive way by rubbing it with the wet grass, and it proves to be a +semi-transparent bottle of iridescent beauty, the sight of which +draws groans of luxurious sensibility from the digger. Further and +further search brings out a piece of a weapon. It is strange indeed +that by merely peeling off a wrapper of modern accumulations we have +lowered ourselves into an ancient world. Finally a skeleton is +uncovered, fairly perfect. He lays it out on the grass, bone to its +bone. + +My friend says the man must have fallen fighting here, as this is no +place of burial. He turns again to the trench, scrapes, feels, till +from a corner he draws out a heavy lump--a small image four or five +inches high. We clean it as before. It is a statuette, apparently of +gold, or, more probably, of bronze-gilt--a figure of Mercury, +obviously, its head being surmounted with the petasus or winged hat, +the usual accessory of that deity. Further inspection reveals the +workmanship to be of good finish and detail, and, preserved by the +limy earth, to be as fresh in every line as on the day it left the +hands of its artificer. + +We seem to be standing in the Roman Forum and not on a hill in +Wessex. Intent upon this truly valuable relic of the old empire of +which even this remote spot was a component part, we do not notice +what is going on in the present world till reminded of it by the +sudden renewal of the storm. Looking up I perceive that the wide +extinguisher of cloud has again settled down upon the fortress-town, +as if resting upon the edge of the inner rampart, and shutting out +the moon. I turn my back to the tempest, still directing the light +across the hole. My companion digs on unconcernedly; he is living +two thousand years ago, and despises things of the moment as dreams. +But at last he is fairly beaten, and standing up beside me looks +round on what he has done. The rays of the lantern pass over the +trench to the tall skeleton stretched upon the grass on the other +side. The beating rain has washed the bones clean and smooth, and +the forehead, cheek-bones, and two-and-thirty teeth of the skull +glisten in the candle-shine as they lie. + +This storm, like the first, is of the nature of a squall, and it ends +as abruptly as the other. We dig no further. My friend says that it +is enough--he has proved his point. He turns to replace the bones in +the trench and covers them. But they fall to pieces under his touch: +the air has disintegrated them, and he can only sweep in the +fragments. The next act of his plan is more than difficult, but is +carried out. The treasures are inhumed again in their respective +holes: they are not ours. Each deposition seems to cost him a +twinge; and at one moment I fancied I saw him slip his hand into his +coat pocket. + +'We must re-bury them ALL,' say I. + +'O yes,' he answers with integrity. 'I was wiping my hand.' + +The beauties of the tesselated floor of the governor's house are once +again consigned to darkness; the trench is filled up; the sod laid +smoothly down; he wipes the perspiration from his forehead with the +same handkerchief he had used to mop the skeleton and tesserae clean; +and we make for the eastern gate of the fortress. + +Dawn bursts upon us suddenly as we reach the opening. It comes by +the lifting and thinning of the clouds that way till we are bathed in +a pink light. The direction of his homeward journey is not the same +as mine, and we part under the outer slope. + +Walking along quickly to restore warmth I muse upon my eccentric +friend, and cannot help asking myself this question: Did he really +replace the gilded image of the god Mercurius with the rest of the +treasures? He seemed to do so; and yet I could not testify to the +fact. Probably, however, he was as good as his word. + +* * * + +It was thus I spoke to myself, and so the adventure ended. But one +thing remains to be told, and that is concerned with seven years +after. Among the effects of my friend, at that time just deceased, +was found, carefully preserved, a gilt statuette representing +Mercury, labelled 'Debased Roman.' No record was attached to explain +how it came into his possession. The figure was bequeathed to the +Casterbridge Museum. + +Detroit Post, +March 1885. + + + + +WHAT THE SHEPHERD SAW: A TALE OF FOUR MOONLIGHT NIGHTS + + + + +The genial Justice of the Peace--now, alas, no more--who made himself +responsible for the facts of this story, used to begin in the good +old-fashioned way with a bright moonlight night and a mysterious +figure, an excellent stroke for an opening, even to this day, if well +followed up. + +The Christmas moon (he would say) was showing her cold face to the +upland, the upland reflecting the radiance in frost-sparkles so +minute as only to be discernible by an eye near at hand. This eye, +he said, was the eye of a shepherd lad, young for his occupation, who +stood within a wheeled hut of the kind commonly in use among sheep- +keepers during the early lambing season, and was abstractedly looking +through the loophole at the scene without. + +The spot was called Lambing Corner, and it was a sheltered portion of +that wide expanse of rough pastureland known as the Marlbury Downs, +which you directly traverse when following the turnpike-road across +Mid-Wessex from London, through Aldbrickham, in the direction of Bath +and Bristol. Here, where the hut stood, the land was high and dry, +open, except to the north, and commanding an undulating view for +miles. On the north side grew a tall belt of coarse furze, with +enormous stalks, a clump of the same standing detached in front of +the general mass. The clump was hollow, and the interior had been +ingeniously taken advantage of as a position for the before-mentioned +hut, which was thus completely screened from winds, and almost +invisible, except through the narrow approach. But the furze twigs +had been cut away from the two little windows of the hut, that the +occupier might keep his eye on his sheep. + +In the rear, the shelter afforded by the belt of furze bushes was +artificially improved by an inclosure of upright stakes, interwoven +with boughs of the same prickly vegetation, and within the inclosure +lay a renowned Marlbury-Down breeding flock of eight hundred ewes. + +To the south, in the direction of the young shepherd's idle gaze, +there rose one conspicuous object above the uniform moonlit plateau, +and only one. It was a Druidical trilithon, consisting of three +oblong stones in the form of a doorway, two on end, and one across as +a lintel. Each stone had been worn, scratched, washed, nibbled, +split, and otherwise attacked by ten thousand different weathers; but +now the blocks looked shapely and little the worse for wear, so +beautifully were they silvered over by the light of the moon. The +ruin was locally called the Devil's Door. + +An old shepherd presently entered the hut from the direction of the +ewes, and looked around in the gloom. 'Be ye sleepy?' he asked in +cross accents of the boy. + +The lad replied rather timidly in the negative. + +'Then,' said the shepherd, 'I'll get me home-along, and rest for a +few hours. There's nothing to be done here now as I can see. The +ewes can want no more tending till daybreak--'tis beyond the bounds +of reason that they can. But as the order is that one of us must +bide, I'll leave 'ee, d'ye hear. You can sleep by day, and I can't. +And you can be down to my house in ten minutes if anything should +happen. I can't afford 'ee candle; but, as 'tis Christmas week, and +the time that folks have hollerdays, you can enjoy yerself by falling +asleep a bit in the chair instead of biding awake all the time. But +mind, not longer at once than while the shade of the Devil's Door +moves a couple of spans, for you must keep an eye upon the ewes.' + +The boy made no definite reply, and the old man, stirring the fire in +the stove with his crook-stem, closed the door upon his companion and +vanished. + +As this had been more or less the course of events every night since +the season's lambing had set in, the boy was not at all surprised at +the charge, and amused himself for some time by lighting straws at +the stove. He then went out to the ewes and new-born lambs, re- +entered, sat down, and finally fell asleep. This was his customary +manner of performing his watch, for though special permission for +naps had this week been accorded, he had, as a matter of fact, done +the same thing on every preceding night, sleeping often till awakened +by a smack on the shoulder at three or four in the morning from the +crook-stem of the old man. + +It might have been about eleven o'clock when he awoke. He was so +surprised at awaking without, apparently, being called or struck, +that on second thoughts he assumed that somebody must have called him +in spite of appearances, and looked out of the hut window towards the +sheep. They all lay as quiet as when he had visited them, very +little bleating being audible, and no human soul disturbing the +scene. He next looked from the opposite window, and here the case +was different. The frost-facets glistened under the moon as before; +an occasional furze bush showed as a dark spot on the same; and in +the foreground stood the ghostly form of the trilithon. But in front +of the trilithon stood a man. + +That he was not the shepherd or any one of the farm labourers was +apparent in a moment's observation,--his dress being a dark suit, and +his figure of slender build and graceful carriage. He walked +backwards and forwards in front of the trilithon. + +The shepherd lad had hardly done speculating on the strangeness of +the unknown's presence here at such an hour, when he saw a second +figure crossing the open sward towards the locality of the trilithon +and furze-clump that screened the hut. This second personage was a +woman; and immediately on sight of her the male stranger hastened +forward, meeting her just in front of the hut window. Before she +seemed to be aware of his intention he clasped her in his arms. + +The lady released herself and drew back with some dignity. + +'You have come, Harriet--bless you for it!' he exclaimed, fervently. + +'But not for this,' she answered, in offended accents. And then, +more good-naturedly, 'I have come, Fred, because you entreated me so! +What can have been the object of your writing such a letter? I +feared I might be doing you grievous ill by staying away. How did +you come here?' + +'I walked all the way from my father's.' + +'Well, what is it? How have you lived since we last met?' + +'But roughly; you might have known that without asking. I have seen +many lands and many faces since I last walked these downs, but I have +only thought of you.' + +'Is it only to tell me this that you have summoned me so strangely?' + +A passing breeze blew away the murmur of the reply and several +succeeding sentences, till the man's voice again became audible in +the words, 'Harriet--truth between us two! I have heard that the +Duke does not treat you too well.' + +'He is warm-tempered, but he is a good husband.' + +'He speaks roughly to you, and sometimes even threatens to lock you +out of doors.' + +'Only once, Fred! On my honour, only once. The Duke is a fairly +good husband, I repeat. But you deserve punishment for this night's +trick of drawing me out. What does it mean?' + +'Harriet, dearest, is this fair or honest? Is it not notorious that +your life with him is a sad one--that, in spite of the sweetness of +your temper, the sourness of his embitters your days. I have come to +know if I can help you. You are a Duchess, and I am Fred Ogbourne; +but it is not impossible that I may be able to help you . . . By God! +the sweetness of that tongue ought to keep him civil, especially when +there is added to it the sweetness of that face!' + +'Captain Ogbourne!' she exclaimed, with an emphasis of playful fear. +'How can such a comrade of my youth behave to me as you do? Don't +speak so, and stare at me so! Is this really all you have to say? I +see I ought not to have come. 'Twas thoughtlessly done.' + +Another breeze broke the thread of discourse for a time. + +'Very well. I perceive you are dead and lost to me,' he could next +be heard to say, '"Captain Ogbourne" proves that. As I once loved +you I love you now, Harriet, without one jot of abatement; but you +are not the woman you were--you once were honest towards me; and now +you conceal your heart in made-up speeches. Let it be: I can never +see you again.' + +'You need not say that in such a tragedy tone, you silly. You may +see me in an ordinary way--why should you not? But, of course, not +in such a way as this. I should not have come now, if it had not +happened that the Duke is away from home, so that there is nobody to +check my erratic impulses.' + +'When does he return?' + +'The day after to-morrow, or the day after that.' + +'Then meet me again to-morrow night.' + +'No, Fred, I cannot.' + +'If you cannot to-morrow night, you can the night after; one of the +two before he comes please bestow on me. Now, your hand upon it! +To-morrow or next night you will see me to bid me farewell!' He +seized the Duchess's hand. + +'No, but Fred--let go my hand! What do you mean by holding me so? +If it be love to forget all respect to a woman's present position in +thinking of her past, then yours may be so, Frederick. It is not +kind and gentle of you to induce me to come to this place for pity of +you, and then to hold me tight here.' + +'But see me once more! I have come two thousand miles to ask it.' + +'O, I must not! There will be slanders--Heaven knows what! I cannot +meet you. For the sake of old times don't ask it.' + +'Then own two things to me; that you did love me once, and that your +husband is unkind to you often enough now to make you think of the +time when you cared for me.' + +'Yes--I own them both,' she answered faintly. 'But owning such as +that tells against me; and I swear the inference is not true.' + +'Don't say that; for you have come--let me think the reason of your +coming what I like to think it. It can do you no harm. Come once +more!' + +He still held her hand and waist. 'Very well, then,' she said. +'Thus far you shall persuade me. I will meet you to-morrow night or +the night after. Now, let me go.' + +He released her, and they parted. The Duchess ran rapidly down the +hill towards the outlying mansion of Shakeforest Towers, and when he +had watched her out of sight, he turned and strode off in the +opposite direction. All then was silent and empty as before. + +Yet it was only for a moment. When they had quite departed, another +shape appeared upon the scene. He came from behind the trilithon. +He was a man of stouter build than the first, and wore the boots and +spurs of a horseman. Two things were at once obvious from this +phenomenon: that he had watched the interview between the Captain +and the Duchess; and that, though he probably had seen every movement +of the couple, including the embrace, he had been too remote to hear +the reluctant words of the lady's conversation--or, indeed, any words +at all--so that the meeting must have exhibited itself to his eye as +the assignation of a pair of well-agreed lovers. But it was +necessary that several years should elapse before the shepherd-boy +was old enough to reason out this. + +The third individual stood still for a moment, as if deep in +meditation. He crossed over to where the lady and gentleman had +stood, and looked at the ground; then he too turned and went away in +a third direction, as widely divergent as possible from those taken +by the two interlocutors. His course was towards the highway; and a +few minutes afterwards the trot of a horse might have been heard upon +its frosty surface, lessening till it died away upon the ear. + +The boy remained in the hut, confronting the trilithon as if he +expected yet more actors on the scene, but nobody else appeared. How +long he stood with his little face against the loophole he hardly +knew; but he was rudely awakened from his reverie by a punch in his +back, and in the feel of it he familiarly recognized the stem of the +old shepherd's crook. + +'Blame thy young eyes and limbs, Bill Mills--now you have let the +fire out, and you know I want it kept in! I thought something would +go wrong with 'ee up here, and I couldn't bide in bed no more than +thistledown on the wind, that I could not! Well, what's happened, +fie upon 'ee?' + +'Nothing.' + +'Ewes all as I left 'em?' + +'Yes.' + +'Any lambs want bringing in?' + +'No.' + +The shepherd relit the fire, and went out among the sheep with a +lantern, for the moon was getting low. Soon he came in again. + +'Blame it all--thou'st say that nothing have happened; when one ewe +have twinned and is like to go off, and another is dying for want of +half an eye of looking to! I told 'ee, Bill Mills, if anything went +wrong to come down and call me; and this is how you have done it.' + +'You said I could go to sleep for a hollerday, and I did.' + +'Don't you speak to your betters like that, young man, or you'll come +to the gallows-tree! You didn't sleep all the time, or you wouldn't +have been peeping out of that there hole! Now you can go home, and +be up here again by breakfast-time. I be an old man, and there's old +men that deserve well of the world; but no I--must rest how I can!' + +The elder shepherd then lay down inside the hut, and the boy went +down the hill to the hamlet where he dwelt. + + + +SECOND NIGHT + + + +When the next night drew on the actions of the boy were almost enough +to show that he was thinking of the meeting he had witnessed, and of +the promise wrung from the lady that she would come there again. As +far as the sheep-tending arrangements were concerned, to-night was +but a repetition of the foregoing one. Between ten and eleven +o'clock the old shepherd withdrew as usual for what sleep at home he +might chance to get without interruption, making up the other +necessary hours of rest at some time during the day; the boy was left +alone. + +The frost was the same as on the night before, except perhaps that it +was a little more severe. The moon shone as usual, except that it +was three-quarters of an hour later in its course; and the boy's +condition was much the same, except that he felt no sleepiness +whatever. He felt, too, rather afraid; but upon the whole he +preferred witnessing an assignation of strangers to running the risk +of being discovered absent by the old shepherd. + +It was before the distant clock of Shakeforest Towers had struck +eleven that he observed the opening of the second act of this +midnight drama. It consisted in the appearance of neither lover nor +Duchess, but of the third figure--the stout man, booted and spurred-- +who came up from the easterly direction in which he had retreated the +night before. He walked once round the trilithon, and next advanced +towards the clump concealing the hut, the moonlight shining full upon +his face and revealing him to be the Duke. Fear seized upon the +shepherd-boy: the Duke was Jove himself to the rural population, +whom to offend was starvation, homelessness, and death, and whom to +look at was to be mentally scathed and dumbfoundered. He closed the +stove, so that not a spark of light appeared, and hastily buried +himself in the straw that lay in a corner. + +The Duke came close to the clump of furze and stood by the spot where +his wife and the Captain had held their dialogue; he examined the +furze as if searching for a hiding-place, and in doing so discovered +the hut. The latter he walked round and then looked inside; finding +it to all seeming empty, he entered, closing the door behind him and +taking his place at the little circular window against which the +boy's face had been pressed just before. + +The Duke had not adopted his measures too rapidly, if his object were +concealment. Almost as soon as he had stationed himself there eleven +o'clock struck, and the slender young man who had previously graced +the scene promptly reappeared from the north quarter of the down. +The spot of assignation having, by the accident of his running +forward on the foregoing night, removed itself from the Devil's Door +to the clump of furze, he instinctively came thither, and waited for +the Duchess where he had met her before. + +But a fearful surprise was in store for him to-night, as well as for +the trembling juvenile. At his appearance the Duke breathed more and +more quickly, his breathings being distinctly audible to the +crouching boy. The young man had hardly paused when the alert +nobleman softly opened the door of the hut, and, stepping round the +furze, came full upon Captain Fred. + +'You have dishonoured her, and you shall die the death you deserve!' +came to the shepherd's ears, in a harsh, hollow whisper through the +boarding of the hut. + +The apathetic and taciturn boy was excited enough to run the risk of +rising and looking from the window, but he could see nothing for the +intervening furze boughs, both the men having gone round to the side. +What took place in the few following moments he never exactly knew. +He discerned portion of a shadow in quick muscular movement; then +there was the fall of something on the grass; then there was +stillness. + +Two or three minutes later the Duke became visible round the corner +of the hut, dragging by the collar the now inert body of the second +man. The Duke dragged him across the open space towards the +trilithon. Behind this ruin was a hollow, irregular spot, overgrown +with furze and stunted thorns, and riddled by the old holes of +badgers, its former inhabitants, who had now died out or departed. +The Duke vanished into this depression with his burden, reappearing +after the lapse of a few seconds. When he came forth he dragged +nothing behind him. + +He returned to the side of the hut, cleansed something on the grass, +and again put himself on the watch, though not as before, inside the +hut, but without, on the shady side. 'Now for the second!' he said. + +It was plain, even to the unsophisticated boy, that he now awaited +the other person of the appointment--his wife, the Duchess--for what +purpose it was terrible to think. He seemed to be a man of such +determined temper that he would scarcely hesitate in carrying out a +course of revenge to the bitter end. Moreover--though it was what +the shepherd did not perceive--this was all the more probable, in +that the moody Duke was labouring under the exaggerated impression +which the sight of the meeting in dumb show had conveyed. + +The jealous watcher waited long, but he waited in vain. From within +the hut the boy could hear his occasional exclamations of surprise, +as if he were almost disappointed at the failure of his assumption +that his guilty Duchess would surely keep the tryst. Sometimes he +stepped from the shade of the furze into the moonlight, and held up +his watch to learn the time. + +About half-past eleven he seemed to give up expecting her. He then +went a second time to the hollow behind the trilithon, remaining +there nearly a quarter of an hour. From this place he proceeded +quickly over a shoulder of the declivity, a little to the left, +presently returning on horseback, which proved that his horse had +been tethered in some secret place down there. Crossing anew the +down between the hut and the trilithon, and scanning the precincts as +if finally to assure himself that she had not come, he rode slowly +downwards in the direction of Shakeforest Towers. + +The juvenile shepherd thought of what lay in the hollow yonder; and +no fear of the crook-stem of his superior officer was potent enough +to detain him longer on that hill alone. Any live company, even the +most terrible, was better than the company of the dead; so, running +with the speed of a hare in the direction pursued by the horseman, he +overtook the revengeful Duke at the second descent (where the great +western road crossed before you came to the old park entrance on that +side--now closed up and the lodge cleared away, though at the time it +was wondered why, being considered the most convenient gate of all). + +Once within the sound of the horse's footsteps, Bill Mills felt +comparatively comfortable; for, though in awe of the Duke because of +his position, he had no moral repugnance to his companionship on +account of the grisly deed he had committed, considering that +powerful nobleman to have a right to do what he chose on his own +lands. The Duke rode steadily on beneath his ancestral trees, the +hoofs of his horse sending up a smart sound now that he had reached +the hard road of the drive, and soon drew near the front door of his +house, surmounted by parapets with square-cut battlements that cast a +notched shade upon the gravelled terrace. These outlines were quite +familiar to little Bill Mills, though nothing within their boundary +had ever been seen by him. + +When the rider approached the mansion a small turret door was quickly +opened and a woman came out. As soon as she saw the horseman's +outlines she ran forward into the moonlight to meet him. + +'Ah dear--and are you come?' she said. 'I heard Hero's tread just +when you rode over the hill, and I knew it in a moment. I would have +come further if I had been aware--' + +'Glad to see me, eh?' + +'How can you ask that?' + +'Well; it is a lovely night for meetings.' + +'Yes, it is a lovely night.' + +The Duke dismounted and stood by her side. 'Why should you have been +listening at this time of night, and yet not expecting me?' he asked. + +'Why, indeed! There is a strange story attached to that, which I +must tell you at once. But why did you come a night sooner than you +said you would come? I am rather sorry--I really am!' (shaking her +head playfully) 'for as a surprise to you I had ordered a bonfire to +be built, which was to be lighted on your arrival to-morrow; and now +it is wasted. You can see the outline of it just out there.' + +The Duke looked across to a spot of rising glade, and saw the faggots +in a heap. He then bent his eyes with a bland and puzzled air on the +ground, 'What is this strange story you have to tell me that kept you +awake?' he murmured. + +'It is this--and it is really rather serious. My cousin Fred +Ogbourne--Captain Ogbourne as he is now--was in his boyhood a great +admirer of mine, as I think I have told you, though I was six years +his senior. In strict truth, he was absurdly fond of me.' + +'You have never told me of that before.' + +'Then it was your sister I told--yes, it was. Well, you know I have +not seen him for many years, and naturally I had quite forgotten his +admiration of me in old times. But guess my surprise when the day +before yesterday, I received a mysterious note bearing no address, +and found on opening it that it came from him. The contents +frightened me out of my wits. He had returned from Canada to his +father's house, and conjured me by all he could think of to meet him +at once. But I think I can repeat the exact words, though I will +show it to you when we get indoors. + + +"MY DEAR COUSIN HARRIET," the note said, "After this long absence you +will be surprised at my sudden reappearance, and more by what I am +going to ask. But if my life and future are of any concern to you at +all, I beg that you will grant my request. What I require of you, +is, dear Harriet, that you meet me about eleven to-night by the Druid +stones on Marlbury Downs, about a mile or more from your house. I +cannot say more, except to entreat you to come. I will explain all +when you are there. The one thing is, I want to see you. Come +alone. Believe me, I would not ask this if my happiness did not hang +upon it--God knows how entirely! I am too agitated to say more-- +Yours. FRED." + + +'That was all of it. Now, of course I ought have gone, as it turned +out, but that I did not think of then. I remembered his impetuous +temper, and feared that something grievous was impending over his +head, while he had not a friend in the world to help him, or any one +except myself to whom he would care to make his trouble known. So I +wrapped myself up and went to Marlbury Downs at the time he had +named. Don't you think I was courageous?' + +'Very.' + +'When I got there--but shall we not walk on; it is getting cold?' +The Duke, however, did not move. 'When I got there he came, of +course, as a full grown man and officer, and not as the lad that I +had known him. When I saw him I was sorry I had come. I can hardly +tell you how he behaved. What he wanted I don't know even now; it +seemed to be no more than the mere meeting with me. He held me by +the hand and waist--O so tight--and would not let me go till I had +promised to meet him again. His manner was so strange and passionate +that I was afraid of him in such a lonely place, and I promised to +come. Then I escaped--then I ran home--and that's all. When the +time drew on this evening for the appointment--which, of course, I +never intended to keep, I felt uneasy, lest when he found I meant to +disappoint him he would come on to the house; and that's why I could +not sleep. But you are so silent!' + +'I have had a long journey.' + +'Then let us get into the house. Why did you come alone and +unattended like this?' + +'It was my humour.' + +After a moment's silence, during which they moved on, she said, 'I +have thought of something which I hardly like to suggest to you. He +said that if I failed to come to-night he would wait again to-morrow +night. Now, shall we to-morrow night go to the hill together--just +to see if he is there; and if he is, read him a lesson on his +foolishness in nourishing this old passion, and sending for me so +oddly, instead of coming to the house?' + +'Why should we see if he's there?' said her husband moodily. + +'Because I think we ought to do something in it. Poor Fred! He +would listen to you if you reasoned with him, and set our positions +in their true light before him. It would be no more than Christian +kindness to a man who unquestionably is very miserable from some +cause or other. His head seems quite turned.' + +By this time they had reached the door, rung the bell, and waited. +All the house seemed to be asleep; but soon a man came to them, the +horse was taken away, and the Duke and Duchess went in. + + +THIRD NIGHT + + +There was no help for it. Bill Mills was obliged to stay on duty, in +the old shepherd's absence, this evening as before, or give up his +post and living. He thought as bravely as he could of what lay +behind the Devil's Door, but with no great success, and was therefore +in a measure relieved, even if awe-stricken, when he saw the forms of +the Duke and Duchess strolling across the frosted greensward. The +Duchess was a few yards in front of her husband and tripped on +lightly. + +'I tell you he has not thought it worth while to come again!' the +Duke insisted, as he stood still, reluctant to walk further. + +'He is more likely to come and wait all night; and it would be harsh +treatment to let him do it a second time.' + +'He is not here; so turn and come home.' + +'He seems not to be here, certainly; I wonder if anything has +happened to him. If it has, I shall never forgive myself!' + +The Duke, uneasily, 'O, no. He has some other engagement.' + +'That is very unlikely.' + +'Or perhaps he has found the distance too far.' + +'Nor is that probable.' + +'Then he may have thought better of it.' + +'Yes, he may have thought better of it; if, indeed, he is not here +all the time--somewhere in the hollow behind the Devil's Door. Let +us go and see; it will serve him right to surprise him.' + +'O, he's not there.' + +'He may be lying very quiet because of you,' she said archly. + +'O, no--not because of me!' + +'Come, then. I declare, dearest, you lag like an unwilling schoolboy +to-night, and there's no responsiveness in you! You are jealous of +that poor lad, and it is quite absurd of you.' + +'I'll come! I'll come! Say no more, Harriet!' And they crossed +over the green. + +Wondering what they would do, the young shepherd left the hut, and +doubled behind the belt of furze, intending to stand near the +trilithon unperceived. But, in crossing the few yards of open ground +he was for a moment exposed to view. + +'Ah, I see him at last!' said the Duchess. + +'See him!' said the Duke. 'Where?' + +'By the Devil's Door; don't you notice a figure there? Ah, my poor +lover-cousin, won't you catch it now?' And she laughed half- +pityingly. 'But what's the matter?' she asked, turning to her +husband. + +'It is not he!' said the Duke hoarsely. 'It can't be he!' + +'No, it is not he. It is too small for him. It is a boy.' + +'Ah, I thought so! Boy, come here.' + +The youthful shepherd advanced with apprehension. + +'What are you doing here?' + +'Keeping sheep, your Grace.' + +'Ah, you know me! Do you keep sheep here every night?' + +'Off and on, my Lord Duke.' + +'And what have you seen here to-night or last night?' inquired the +Duchess. 'Any person waiting or walking about?' + +The boy was silent. + +'He has seen nothing,' interrupted her husband, his eyes so +forbiddingly fixed on the boy that they seemed to shine like points +of fire. 'Come, let us go. The air is too keen to stand in long.' + +When they were gone the boy retreated to the hut and sheep, less +fearful now than at first--familiarity with the situation having +gradually overpowered his thoughts of the buried man. But he was not +to be left alone long. When an interval had elapsed of about +sufficient length for walking to and from Shakeforest Towers, there +appeared from that direction the heavy form of the Duke. He now came +alone. + +The nobleman, on his part, seemed to have eyes no less sharp than the +boy's, for he instantly recognized the latter among the ewes, and +came straight towards him. + +'Are you the shepherd lad I spoke to a short time ago?' + +'I be, my Lord Duke.' + +'Now listen to me. Her Grace asked you what you had seen this last +night or two up here, and you made no reply. I now ask the same +thing, and you need not be afraid to answer. Have you seen anything +strange these nights you have been watching here?' + +'My Lord Duke, I be a poor heedless boy, and what I see I don't bear +in mind.' + +'I ask you again,' said the Duke, coming nearer, 'have you seen +anything strange these nights you have been watching here?' + +'O, my Lord Duke! I be but the under-shepherd boy, and my father he +was but your humble Grace's hedger, and my mother only the cinder- +woman in the back-yard! I fall asleep when left alone, and I see +nothing at all!' + +The Duke grasped the boy by the shoulder, and, directly impending +over him, stared down into his face, 'Did you see anything strange +done here last night, I say?' + +'O, my Lord Duke, have mercy, and don't stab me!' cried the shepherd, +falling on his knees. 'I have never seen you walking here, or riding +here, or lying-in-wait for a man, or dragging a heavy load!' + +'H'm!' said his interrogator, grimly, relaxing his hold. 'It is well +to know that you have never seen those things. Now, which would you +rather--SEE ME DO THOSE THINGS NOW, or keep a secret all your life?' + +'Keep a secret, my Lord Duke!' + +'Sure you are able?' + +'O, your Grace, try me!' + +'Very well. And now, how do you like sheep-keeping?' + +'Not at all. 'Tis lonely work for them that think of spirits, and +I'm badly used.' + +'I believe you. You are too young for it. I must do something to +make you more comfortable. You shall change this smock-frock for a +real cloth jacket, and your thick boots for polished shoes. And you +shall be taught what you have never yet heard of; and be put to +school, and have bats and balls for the holidays, and be made a man +of. But you must never say you have been a shepherd boy, and watched +on the hills at night, for shepherd boys are not liked in good +company. + +'Trust me, my Lord Duke.' + +'The very moment you forget yourself, and speak of your shepherd +days--this year, next year, in school, out of school, or riding in +your carriage twenty years hence--at that moment my help will be +withdrawn, and smash down you come to shepherding forthwith. You +have parents, I think you say?' + +'A widowed mother only, my Lord Duke.' + +'I'll provide for her, and make a comfortable woman of her, until you +speak of--what?' + +'Of my shepherd days, and what I saw here.' + +'Good. If you do speak of it?' + +'Smash down she comes to widowing forthwith!' + +'That's well--very well. But it's not enough. Come here.' He took +the boy across to the trilithon, and made him kneel down. + +'Now, this was once a holy place,' resumed the Duke. 'An altar stood +here, erected to a venerable family of gods, who were known and +talked of long before the God we know now. So that an oath sworn +here is doubly an oath. Say this after me: "May all the host above- +-angels and archangels, and principalities and powers--punish me; may +I be tormented wherever I am--in the house or in the garden, in the +fields or in the roads, in church or in chapel, at home or abroad, on +land or at sea; may I be afflicted in eating and in drinking, in +growing up and in growing old, in living and dying, inwardly and +outwardly, and for always, if I ever speak of my life as a shepherd +boy, or of what I have seen done on this Marlbury Down. So be it, +and so let it be. Amen and amen." Now kiss the stone.' + +The trembling boy repeated the words, and kissed the stone, as +desired. + +The Duke led him off by the hand. That night the junior shepherd +slept in Shakeforest Towers, and the next day he was sent away for +tuition to a remote village. Thence he went to a preparatory +establishment, and in due course to a public school. + + +FOURTH NIGHT + + +On a winter evening many years subsequent to the above-mentioned +occurrences, the ci-devant shepherd sat in a well-furnished office in +the north wing of Shakeforest Towers in the guise of an ordinary +educated man of business. He appeared at this time as a person of +thirty-eight or forty, though actually he was several years younger. +A worn and restless glance of the eye now and then, when he lifted +his head to search for some letter or paper which had been mislaid, +seemed to denote that his was not a mind so thoroughly at ease as his +surroundings might have led an observer to expect. + +His pallor, too, was remarkable for a countryman. He was professedly +engaged in writing, but he shaped not word. He had sat there only a +few minutes, when, laying down his pen and pushing back his chair, he +rested a hand uneasily on each of the chair-arms and looked on the +floor. + +Soon he arose and left the room. His course was along a passage +which ended in a central octagonal hall; crossing this he knocked at +a door. A faint, though deep, voice told him to come in. The room +he entered was the library, and it was tenanted by a single person +only--his patron the Duke. + +During this long interval of years the Duke had lost all his +heaviness of build. He was, indeed, almost a skeleton; his white +hair was thin, and his hands were nearly transparent. 'Oh--Mills?' +he murmured. 'Sit down. What is it?' + +'Nothing new, your Grace. Nobody to speak of has written, and nobody +has called.' + +'Ah--what then? You look concerned.' + +'Old times have come to life, owing to something waking them.' + +'Old times be cursed--which old times are they?' + +'That Christmas week twenty-two years ago, when the late Duchess's +cousin Frederick implored her to meet him on Marlbury Downs. I saw +the meeting--it was just such a night as this--and I, as you know, +saw more. She met him once, but not the second time.' + +'Mills, shall I recall some words to you--the words of an oath taken +on that hill by a shepherd-boy?' + +'It is unnecessary. He has strenuously kept that oath and promise. +Since that night no sound of his shepherd life has crossed his lips-- +even to yourself. But do you wish to hear more, or do you not, your +Grace?' + +'I wish to hear no more,' said the Duke sullenly. + +'Very well; let it be so. But a time seems coming--may be quite near +at hand--when, in spite of my lips, that episode will allow itself to +go undivulged no longer.' + +'I wish to hear no more!' repeated the Duke. + +'You need be under no fear of treachery from me,' said the steward, +somewhat bitterly. 'I am a man to whom you have been kind--no patron +could have been kinder. You have clothed and educated me; have +installed me here; and I am not unmindful. But what of it--has your +Grace gained much by my stanchness? I think not. There was great +excitement about Captain Ogbourne's disappearance, but I spoke not a +word. And his body has never been found. For twenty-two years I +have wondered what you did with him. Now I know. A circumstance +that occurred this afternoon recalled the time to me most forcibly. +To make it certain to myself that all was not a dream, I went up +there with a spade; I searched, and saw enough to know that something +decays there in a closed badger's hole.' + +'Mills, do you think the Duchess guessed?' + +'She never did, I am sure, to the day of her death.' + +'Did you leave all as you found it on the hill?' + +'I did.' + +'What made you think of going up there this particular afternoon?' + +'What your Grace says you don't wish to be told.' + +The Duke was silent; and the stillness of the evening was so marked +that there reached their ears from the outer air the sound of a +tolling bell. + +'What is that bell tolling for?' asked the nobleman. + +'For what I came to tell you of, your Grace.' + +'You torment me it is your way!' said the Duke querulously. 'Who's +dead in the village?' + +'The oldest man--the old shepherd.' + +'Dead at last--how old is he?' + +'Ninety-four.' + +'And I am only seventy. I have four-and-twenty years to the good!' + +'I served under that old man when I kept sheep on Marlbury Downs. +And he was on the hill that second night, when I first exchanged +words with your Grace. He was on the hill all the time; but I did +not know he was there--nor did you.' + +'Ah!' said the Duke, starting up. 'Go on--I yield the point--you may +tell!' + +'I heard this afternoon that he was at the point of death. It was +that which set me thinking of that past time--and induced me to +search on the hill for what I have told you. Coming back I heard +that he wished to see the Vicar to confess to him a secret he had +kept for more than twenty years--"out of respect to my Lord the +Duke"--something that he had seen committed on Marlbury Downs when +returning to the flock on a December night twenty-two years ago. I +have thought it over. He had left me in charge that evening; but he +was in the habit of coming back suddenly, lest I should have fallen +asleep. That night I saw nothing of him, though he had promised to +return. He must have returned, and--found reason to keep in hiding. +It is all plain. The next thing is that the Vicar went to him two +hours ago. Further than that I have not heard.' + +'It is quite enough. I will see the Vicar at daybreak to-morrow.' + +'What to do?' + +'Stop his tongue for four-and-twenty years--till I am dead at ninety- +four, like the shepherd.' + +'Your Grace--while you impose silence on me, I will not speak, even +though nay neck should pay the penalty. I promised to be yours, and +I am yours. But is this persistence of any avail?' + +'I'll stop his tongue, I say!' cried the Duke with some of his old +rugged force. 'Now, you go home to bed, Mills, and leave me to +manage him.' + +The interview ended, and the steward withdrew. The night, as he had +said, was just such an one as the night of twenty-two years before, +and the events of the evening destroyed in him all regard for the +season as one of cheerfulness and goodwill. He went off to his own +house on the further verge of the park, where he led a lonely life, +scarcely calling any man friend. At eleven he prepared to retire to +bed--but did not retire. He sat down and reflected. Twelve o'clock +struck; he looked out at the colourless moon, and, prompted by he +knew not what, put on his hat and emerged into the air. Here William +Mills strolled on and on, till he reached the top of Marlbury Downs, +a spot he had not visited at this hour of the night during the whole +score-and-odd years. + +He placed himself, as nearly as he could guess, on the spot where the +shepherd's hut had stood. No lambing was in progress there now, and +the old shepherd who had used him so roughly had ceased from his +labours that very day. But the trilithon stood up white as ever; +and, crossing the intervening sward, the steward fancifully placed +his mouth against the stone. Restless and self-reproachful as he +was, he could not resist a smile as he thought of the terrifying oath +of compact, sealed by a kiss upon the stones of a Pagan temple. But +he had kept his word, rather as a promise than as a formal vow, with +much worldly advantage to himself, though not much happiness; till +increase of years had bred reactionary feelings which led him to +receive the news of to-night with emotions akin to relief. + +While leaning against the Devil's Door and thinking on these things, +he became conscious that he was not the only inhabitant of the down. +A figure in white was moving across his front with long, noiseless +strides. Mills stood motionless, and when the form drew quite near +he perceived it to be that of the Duke himself in his nightshirt-- +apparently walking in his sleep. Not to alarm the old man, Mills +clung close to the shadow of the stone. The Duke went straight on +into the hollow. There he knelt down, and began scratching the earth +with his hands like a badger. After a few minutes he arose, sighed +heavily, and retraced his steps as he had come. + +Fearing that he might harm himself, yet unwilling to arouse him, the +steward followed noiselessly. The Duke kept on his path unerringly, +entered the park, and made for the house, where he let himself in by +a window that stood open--the one probably by which he had come out. +Mills softly closed the window behind his patron, and then retired +homeward to await the revelations of the morning, deeming it +unnecessary to alarm the house. + +However, he felt uneasy during the remainder of the night, no less on +account of the Duke's personal condition than because of that which +was imminent next day. Early in the morning he called at Shakeforest +Towers. The blinds were down, and there was something singular upon +the porter's face when he opened the door. The steward inquired for +the Duke. + +The man's voice was subdued as he replied: 'Sir, I am sorry to say +that his Grace is dead! He left his room some time in the night, and +wandered about nobody knows where. On returning to the upper floor +he lost his balance and fell downstairs.' + +The steward told the tale of the Down before the Vicar had spoken. +Mills had always intended to do so after the death of the Duke. The +consequences to himself he underwent cheerfully; but his life was not +prolonged. He died, a farmer at the Cape, when still somewhat under +forty-nine years of age. + +The splendid Marlbury breeding flock is as renowned as ever, and, to +the eye, seems the same in every particular that it was in earlier +times; but the animals which composed it on the occasion of the +events gathered from the Justice are divided by many ovine +generations from its members now. Lambing Corner has long since +ceased to be used for lambing purposes, though the name still lingers +on as the appellation of the spot. This abandonment of site may be +partly owing to the removal of the high furze bushes which lent such +convenient shelter at that date. Partly, too, it may be due to +another circumstance. For it is said by present shepherds in that +district that during the nights of Christmas week flitting shapes are +seen in the open space around the trilithon, together with the gleam +of a weapon, and the shadow of a man dragging a burden into the +hollow. But of these things there is no certain testimony. + +Christmas 1881. + + + + +A COMMITTEE-MAN OF 'THE TERROR' + + + + +We had been talking of the Georgian glories of our old-fashioned +watering-place, which now, with its substantial russet-red and dun +brick buildings in the style of the year eighteen hundred, looks like +one side of a Soho or Bloomsbury Street transported to the shore, and +draws a smile from the modern tourist who has no eye for solidity of +build. The writer, quite a youth, was present merely as a listener. +The conversation proceeded from general subjects to particular, until +old Mrs. H--, whose memory was as perfect at eighty as it had ever +been in her life, interested us all by the obvious fidelity with +which she repeated a story many times related to her by her mother +when our aged friend was a girl--a domestic drama much affecting the +life of an acquaintance of her said parent, one Mademoiselle V--, a +teacher of French. The incidents occurred in the town during the +heyday of its fortunes, at the time of our brief peace with France in +1802-3. + +'I wrote it down in the shape of a story some years ago, just after +my mother's death,' said Mrs. H--. 'It is locked up in my desk there +now.' + +'Read it!' said we. + +'No,' said she; 'the light is bad, and I can remember it well enough, +word for word, flourishes and all.' We could not be choosers in the +circumstances, and she began. + + +'There are two in it, of course, the man and the woman, and it was on +an evening in September that she first got to know him. There had +not been such a grand gathering on the Esplanade all the season. His +Majesty King George the Third was present, with all the princesses +and royal dukes, while upwards of three hundred of the general +nobility and other persons of distinction were also in the town at +the time. Carriages and other conveyances were arriving every minute +from London and elsewhere; and when among the rest a shabby stage- +coach came in by a by-route along the coast from Havenpool, and drew +up at a second-rate tavern, it attracted comparatively little notice. + +'From this dusty vehicle a man alighted, left his small quantity of +luggage temporarily at the office, and walked along the street as if +to look for lodgings. + +'He was about forty-five--possibly fifty--and wore a long coat of +faded superfine cloth, with a heavy collar, and a hunched-up +neckcloth. He seemed to desire obscurity. + +'But the display appeared presently to strike him, and he asked of a +rustic he met in the street what was going on; his accent being that +of one to whom English pronunciation was difficult. + +'The countryman looked at him with a slight surprise, and said, "King +Jarge is here and his royal Cwort." + +'The stranger inquired if they were going to stay long. + +'"Don't know, Sir. Same as they always do, I suppose." + +'"How long is that?" + +'"Till some time in October. They've come here every summer since +eighty-nine." + +'The stranger moved onward down St. Thomas Street, and approached the +bridge over the harbour backwater, that then, as now, connected the +old town with the more modern portion. The spot was swept with the +rays of a low sun, which lit up the harbour lengthwise, and shone +under the brim of the man's hat and into his eyes as he looked +westward. Against the radiance figures were crossing in the opposite +direction to his own; among them this lady of my mother's later +acquaintance, Mademoiselle V--. She was the daughter of a good old +French family, and at that date a pale woman, twenty-eight or thirty +years of age, tall and elegant in figure, but plainly dressed and +wearing that evening (she said) a small muslin shawl crossed over the +bosom in the fashion of the time, and tied behind. + +'At sight of his face, which, as she used to tell us, was unusually +distinct in the peering sunlight, she could not help giving a little +shriek of horror, for a terrible reason connected with her history, +and after walking a few steps further, she sank down against the +parapet of the bridge in a fainting fit. + +'In his preoccupation the foreign gentleman had hardly noticed her, +but her strange collapse immediately attracted his attention. He +quickly crossed the carriageway, picked her up, and carried her into +the first shop adjoining the bridge, explaining that she was a lady +who had been taken ill outside. + +'She soon revived; but, clearly much puzzled, her helper perceived +that she still had a dread of him which was sufficient to hinder her +complete recovery of self-command. She spoke in a quick and nervous +way to the shopkeeper, asking him to call a coach. + +'This the shopkeeper did, Mademoiselle V-- and the stranger remaining +in constrained silence while he was gone. The coach came up, and +giving the man the address, she entered it and drove away. + +'"Who is that lady?" said the newly arrived gentleman. + +'"She's of your nation, as I should make bold to suppose," said the +shopkeeper. And he told the other that she was Mademoiselle V--, +governess at General Newbold's, in the same town. + +'"You have many foreigners here?" the stranger inquired. + +'"Yes, though mostly Hanoverians. But since the peace they are +learning French a good deal in genteel society, and French +instructors are rather in demand." + +'"Yes, I teach it," said the visitor. "I am looking for a tutorship +in an academy." + +'The information given by the burgess to the Frenchman seemed to +explain to the latter nothing of his countrywoman's conduct--which, +indeed, was the case--and he left the shop, taking his course again +over the bridge and along the south quay to the Old Rooms Inn, where +he engaged a bedchamber. + +'Thoughts of the woman who had betrayed such agitation at sight of +him lingered naturally enough with the newcomer. Though, as I +stated, not much less than thirty years of age, Mademoiselle V--, one +of his own nation, and of highly refined and delicate appearance, had +kindled a singular interest in the middle-aged gentleman's breast, +and her large dark eyes, as they had opened and shrunk from him, +exhibited a pathetic beauty to which hardly any man could have been +insensible. + +'The next day, having written some letters, he went out and made +known at the office of the town "Guide" and of the newspaper, that a +teacher of French and calligraphy had arrived, leaving a card at the +bookseller's to the same effect. He then walked on aimlessly, but at +length inquired the way to General Newbold's. At the door, without +giving his name, he asked to see Mademoiselle V--, and was shown into +a little back parlour, where she came to him with a gaze of surprise. + +'"My God! Why do you intrude here, Monsieur?" she gasped in French +as soon as she saw his face. + +'"You were taken ill yesterday. I helped you. You might have been +run over if I had not picked you up. It was an act of simple +humanity certainly; but I thought I might come to ask if you had +recovered?" + +'She had turned aside, and had scarcely heard a word of his speech. +"I hate you, infamous man!" she said. "I cannot bear your helping +me. Go away!" + +'"But you are a stranger to me." + +'"I know you too well!" + +'"You have the advantage then, Mademoiselle. I am a newcomer here. +I never have seen you before to my knowledge; and I certainly do not, +could not, hate you." + +'"Are you not Monsieur B--?" + +'He flinched. "I am--in Paris," he said. "But here I am Monsieur G- +-." + +'"That is trivial. You are the man I say you are." + +'"How did you know my real name, Mademoiselle?" + +'"I saw you in years gone by, when you did not see me. You were +formerly Member of the Committee of Public Safety, under the +Convention." + +"I was." + +'"You guillotined my father, my brother, my uncle--all my family, +nearly, and broke my mother's heart. They had done nothing but keep +silence. Their sentiments were only guessed. Their headless corpses +were thrown indiscriminately into the ditch of the Mousseaux +Cemetery, and destroyed with lime." + +'He nodded. + +'"You left me without a friend, and here I am now, alone in a foreign +land." + +'"I am sorry for you," said be. "Sorry for the consequence, not for +the intent. What I did was a matter of conscience, and, from a point +of view indiscernible by you, I did right. I profited not a +farthing. But I shall not argue this. You have the satisfaction of +seeing me here an exile also, in poverty, betrayed by comrades, as +friendless as yourself." + +'"It is no satisfaction to me, Monsieur." + +'"Well, things done cannot be altered. Now the question: are you +quite recovered?" + +'"Not from dislike and dread of you--otherwise, yes." + +'"Good morning, Mademoiselle." + +'"Good morning." + +'They did not meet again till one evening at the theatre (which my +mother's friend was with great difficulty induced to frequent, to +perfect herself in English pronunciation, the idea she entertained at +that time being to become a teacher of English in her own country +later on). She found him sitting next to her, and it made her pale +and restless. + +'"You are still afraid of me?" + +'"I am. O cannot you understand!" + +'He signified the affirmative. + +'"I follow the play with difficulty," he said, presently. + +'"So do I--NOW," said she. + +'He regarded her long, and she was conscious of his look; and while +she kept her eyes on the stage they filled with tears. Still she +would not move, and the tears ran visibly down her cheek, though the +play was a merry one, being no other than Mr. Sheridan's comedy of +"The Rivals," with Mr. S. Kemble as Captain Absolute. He saw her +distress, and that her mind was elsewhere; and abruptly rising from +his seat at candle-snuffing time he left the theatre. + +'Though he lived in the old town, and she in the new, they frequently +saw each other at a distance. One of these occasions was when she +was on the north side of the harbour, by the ferry, waiting for the +boat to take her across. He was standing by Cove Row, on the quay +opposite. Instead of entering the boat when it arrived she stepped +back from the quay; but looking to see if he remained she beheld him +pointing with his finger to the ferry-boat. + +'"Enter!" he said, in a voice loud enough to reach her. + +'Mademoiselle V-- stood still. + +'"Enter!" he said, and, as she did not move, he repeated the word a +third time. + +'She had really been going to cross, and now approached and stepped +down into the boat. Though she did not raise her eyes she knew that +he was watching her over. At the landing steps she saw from under +the brim of her hat a hand stretched down. The steps were steep and +slippery. + +'"No, Monsieur," she said. "Unless, indeed, you believe in God, and +repent of your evil past!" + +'"I am sorry you were made to suffer. But I only believe in the god +called Reason, and I do not repent. I was the instrument of a +national principle. Your friends were not sacrificed for any ends of +mine." + +'She thereupon withheld her hand, and clambered up unassisted. He +went on, ascending the Look-out Hill, and disappearing over the brow. +Her way was in the same direction, her errand being to bring home the +two young girls under her charge, who had gone to the cliff for an +airing. When she joined them at the top she saw his solitary figure +at the further edge, standing motionless against the sea. All the +while that she remained with her pupils he stood without turning, as +if looking at the frigates in the roadstead, but more probably in +meditation, unconscious where he was. In leaving the spot one of the +children threw away half a sponge-biscuit that she had been eating. +Passing near it he stooped, picked it up carefully, and put it in his +pocket. + +'Mademoiselle V-- came homeward, asking herself, "Can he be +starving?" + +'From that day he was invisible for so long a time that she thought +he had gone away altogether. But one evening a note came to her, and +she opened it trembling. + + +'"I am here ill," it said, "and, as you know, alone. There are one +or two little things I want done, in case my death should occur,--and +I should prefer not to ask the people here, if it could be avoided. +Have you enough of the gift of charity to come and carry out my +wishes before it is too late?" + + +'Now so it was that, since seeing him possess himself of the broken +cake, she had insensibly begun to feel something that was more than +curiosity, though perhaps less than anxiety, about this fellow- +countryman of hers; and it was not in her nervous and sensitive heart +to resist his appeal. She found his lodging (to which he had removed +from the Old Rooms inn for economy) to be a room over a shop, half- +way up the steep and narrow street of the old town, to which the +fashionable visitors seldom penetrated. With some misgiving she +entered the house, and was admitted to the chamber where he lay. + +'"You are too good, too good," he murmured. And presently, "You need +not shut the door. You will feel safer, and they will not understand +what we say." + +'"Are you in want, Monsieur? Can I give you--" + +'"No, no. I merely want you to do a trifling thing or two that I +have not strength enough to do myself. Nobody in the town but you +knows who I really am--unless you have told?" + +'"I have not told . . . I thought you MIGHT have acted from principle +in those sad days, even--" + +'"You are kind to concede that much. However, to the present. I was +able to destroy my few papers before I became so weak . . . But in +the drawer there you will find some pieces of linen clothing--only +two or three--marked with initials that may be recognized. Will you +rip them out with a penknife?" + +'She searched as bidden, found the garments, cut out the stitches of +the lettering, and replaced the linen as before. A promise to post, +in the event of his death, a letter he put in her hand, completed all +that he required of her. + +'He thanked her. "I think you seem sorry for me," he murmured. "And +I am surprised. You are sorry?" + +'She evaded the question. "Do you repent and believe?" she asked. + +'"No." + +'Contrary to her expectations and his own he recovered, though very +slowly; and her manner grew more distant thenceforward, though his +influence upon her was deeper than she knew. Weeks passed away, and +the month of May arrived. One day at this time she met him walking +slowly along the beach to the northward. + +'"You know the news?" he said. + +'"You mean of the rupture between France and England again?" + +'"Yes; and the feeling of antagonism is stronger than it was in the +last war, owing to Bonaparte's high-handed arrest of the innocent +English who were travelling in our country for pleasure. I feel that +the war will be long and bitter; and that my wish to live unknown in +England will be frustrated. See here." + +'He took from his pocket a piece of the single newspaper which +circulated in the county in those days, and she read - + + +"The magistrates acting under the Alien Act have been requested to +direct a very scrutinizing eye to the Academies in our towns and +other places, in which French tutors are employed, and to all of that +nationality who profess to be teachers in this country. Many of them +are known to be inveterate Enemies and Traitors to the nation among +whose people they have found a livelihood and a home." + + +'He continued: "I have observed since the declaration of war a +marked difference in the conduct of the rougher class of people here +towards me. If a great battle were to occur--as it soon will, no +doubt--feeling would grow to a pitch that would make it impossible +for me, a disguised man of no known occupation, to stay here. With +you, whose duties and antecedents are known, it may be less +difficult, but still unpleasant. Now I propose this. You have +probably seen how my deep sympathy with you has quickened to a warm +feeling; and what I say is, will you agree to give me a title to +protect you by honouring me with your hand? I am older than you, it +is true, but as husband and wife we can leave England together, and +make the whole world our country. Though I would propose Quebec, in +Canada, as the place which offers the best promise of a home." + +'"My God! You surprise me!" said she. + +'"But you accept my proposal?" + +'"No, no!" + +'"And yet I think you will, Mademoiselle, some day!" + +'"I think not." + +'"I won't distress you further now." + +'"Much thanks . . . I am glad to see you looking better, Monsieur; I +mean you are looking better." + +'"Ah, yes. I am improving. I walk in the sun every day." + +'And almost every day she saw him--sometimes nodding stiffly only, +sometimes exchanging formal civilities. "You are not gone yet," she +said on one of these occasions. + +'"No. At present I don't think of going without you." + +'"But you find it uncomfortable here?" + +'"Somewhat. So when will you have pity on me?" + +'She shook her head and went on her way. Yet she was a little moved. +"He did it on principle," she would murmur. "He had no animosity +towards them, and profited nothing!" + +'She wondered how he lived. It was evident that he could not be so +poor as she had thought; his pretended poverty might be to escape +notice. She could not tell, but she knew that she was dangerously +interested in him. + +'And he still mended, till his thin, pale face became more full and +firm. As he mended she had to meet that request of his, advanced +with even stronger insistency. + +'The arrival of the King and Court for the season as usual brought +matters to a climax for these two lonely exiles and fellow country- +people. The King's awkward preference for a part of the coast in +such dangerous proximity to France made it necessary that a strict +military vigilance should be exercised to guard the royal residents. +Half-a-dozen frigates were every night posted in a line across the +bay, and two lines of sentinels, one at the water's edge and another +behind the Esplanade, occupied the whole sea-front after eight every +night. The watering-place was growing an inconvenient residence even +for Mademoiselle V-- herself, her friendship for this strange French +tutor and writing-master who never had any pupils having been +observed by many who slightly knew her. The General's wife, whose +dependent she was, repeatedly warned her against the acquaintance; +while the Hanoverian and other soldiers of the Foreign Legion, who +had discovered the nationality of her friend, were more aggressive +than the English military gallants who made it their business to +notice her. + +'In this tense state of affairs her answers became more agitated. "O +Heaven, how can I marry you!" she would say. + +'"You will; surely you will!" he answered again. "I don't leave +without you. And I shall soon be interrogated before the magistrates +if I stay here; probably imprisoned. You will come?" + +'She felt her defences breaking down. Contrary to all reason and +sense of family honour she was, by some abnormal craving, inclining +to a tenderness for him that was founded on its opposite. Sometimes +her warm sentiments burnt lower than at others, and then the enormity +of her conduct showed itself in more staring hues. + +'Shortly after this he came with a resigned look on his face. "It is +as I expected," he said. "I have received a hint to go. In good +sooth, I am no Bonapartist--I am no enemy to England; but the +presence of the King made it impossible for a foreigner with no +visible occupation, and who may be a spy, to remain at large in the +town. The authorities are civil, but firm. They are no more than +reasonable. Good. I must go. You must come also." + +'She did not speak. But she nodded assent, her eyes drooping. + +'On her way back to the house on the Esplanade she said to herself, +"I am glad, I am glad! I could not do otherwise. It is rendering +good for evil!" But she knew how she mocked herself in this, and +that the moral principle had not operated one jot in her acceptance +of him. In truth she had not realized till now the full presence of +the emotion which had unconsciously grown up in her for this lonely +and severe man, who, in her tradition, was vengeance and irreligion +personified. He seemed to absorb her whole nature, and, absorbing, +to control it. + +'A day or two before the one fixed for the wedding there chanced to +come to her a letter from the only acquaintance of her own sex and +country she possessed in England, one to whom she had sent +intelligence of her approaching marriage, without mentioning with +whom. This friend's misfortunes had been somewhat similar to her +own, which fact had been one cause of their intimacy; her friend's +sister, a nun of the Abbey of Montmartre, having perished on the +scaffold at the hands of the same Comite de Salut Public which had +numbered Mademoiselle V--'s affianced among its members. The writer +had felt her position much again of late, since the renewal of the +war, she said; and the letter wound up with a fresh denunciation of +the authors of their mutual bereavement and subsequent troubles. + +'Coming just then, its contents produced upon Mademoiselle V-- the +effect of a pail of water upon a somnambulist. What had she been +doing in betrothing herself to this man! Was she not making herself +a parricide after the event? At this crisis in her feelings her +lover called. He beheld her trembling, and, in reply to his +question, she told him of her scruples with impulsive candour. + +'She had not intended to do this, but his attitude of tender command +coerced her into frankness. Thereupon he exhibited an agitation +never before apparent in him. He said, "But all that is past. You +are the symbol of Charity, and we are pledged to let bygones be." + +'His words soothed her for the moment, but she was sadly silent, and +he went away. + +'That night she saw (as she firmly believed to the end of her life) a +divinely sent vision. A procession of her lost relatives--father, +brother, uncle, cousin--seemed to cross her chamber between her bed +and the window, and when she endeavoured to trace their features she +perceived them to be headless, and that she had recognized them by +their familiar clothes only. In the morning she could not shake off +the effects of this appearance on her nerves. All that day she saw +nothing of her wooer, he being occupied in making arrangements for +their departure. It grew towards evening--the marriage eve; but, in +spite of his re-assuring visit, her sense of family duty waxed +stronger now that she was left alone. Yet, she asked herself, how +could she, alone and unprotected, go at this eleventh hour and +reassert to an affianced husband that she could not and would not +marry him while admitting at the same time that she loved him? The +situation dismayed her. She had relinquished her post as governess, +and was staying temporarily in a room near the coach-office, where +she expected him to call in the morning to carry out the business of +their union and departure. + +'Wisely or foolishly, Mademoiselle V-- came to a resolution: that +her only safety lay in flight. His contiguity influenced her too +sensibly; she could not reason. So packing up her few possessions +and placing on the table the small sum she owed, she went out +privately, secured a last available seat in the London coach, and, +almost before she had fully weighed her action, she was rolling out +of the town in the dusk of the September evening. + +'Having taken this startling step she began to reflect upon her +reasons. He had been one of that tragic Committee the sound of whose +name was a horror to the civilized world; yet he had been only one of +several members, and, it seemed, not the most active. He had marked +down names on principle, had felt no personal enmity against his +victims, and had enriched himself not a sou out of the office he had +held. Nothing could change the past. Meanwhile he loved her, and +her heart inclined to as much of him as she could detach from that +past. Why not, as he had suggested, bury memories, and inaugurate a +new era by this union? In other words, why not indulge her +tenderness, since its nullification could do no good. + +'Thus she held self-communion in her seat in the coach, passing +through Casterbridge, and Shottsford, and on to the White Hart at +Melchester, at which place the whole fabric of her recent intentions +crumbled down. Better be staunch having got so far; let things take +their course, and marry boldly the man who had so impressed her. How +great he was; how small was she! And she had presumed to judge him! +Abandoning her place in the coach with the precipitancy that had +characterized her taking it, she waited till the vehicle had driven +off, something in the departing shapes of the outside passengers +against the starlit sky giving her a start, as she afterwards +remembered. Presently the down coach, "The Morning Herald," entered +the city, and she hastily obtained a place on the top. + +'"I'll be firm--I'll be his--if it cost me my immortal soul!" she +said. And with troubled breathings she journeyed back over the road +she had just traced. + +'She reached our royal watering-place by the time the day broke, and +her first aim was to get back to the hired room in which her last few +days had been spent. When the landlady appeared at the door in +response to Mademoiselle V--'s nervous summons, she explained her +sudden departure and return as best she could; and no objection being +offered to her re-engagement of the room for one day longer she +ascended to the chamber and sat down panting. She was back once +more, and her wild tergiversations were a secret from him whom alone +they concerned. + +'A sealed letter was on the mantelpiece. "Yes, it is directed to +you, Mademoiselle," said the woman who had followed her. "But we +were wondering what to do with it. A town messenger brought it after +you had gone last night." + +'When the landlady had left, Mademoiselle V-- opened the letter and +read - + + +"MY DEAR AND HONOURED FRIEND.--You have been throughout our +acquaintance absolutely candid concerning your misgivings. But I +have been reserved concerning mine. That is the difference between +us. You probably have not guessed that every qualm you have felt on +the subject of our marriage has been paralleled in my heart to the +full. Thus it happened that your involuntary outburst of remorse +yesterday, though mechanically deprecated by me in your presence, was +a last item in my own doubts on the wisdom of our union, giving them +a force that I could no longer withstand. I came home; and, on +reflection, much as I honour and adore you, I decide to set you free. + +"As one whose life has been devoted, and I may say sacrificed, to the +cause of Liberty, I cannot allow your judgment (probably a permanent +one) to be fettered beyond release by a feeling which may be +transient only. + +"It would be no less than excruciating to both that I should announce +this decision to you by word of mouth. I have therefore taken the +less painful course of writing. Before you receive this I shall have +left the town by the evening coach for London, on reaching which city +my movements will be revealed to none. + +"Regard me, Mademoiselle, as dead, and accept my renewed assurances +of respect, remembrance, and affection." + + +'When she had recovered from her shock of surprise and grief, she +remembered that at the starting of the coach out of Melchester before +dawn, the shape of a figure among the outside passengers against the +starlit sky had caused her a momentary start, from its resemblance to +that of her friend. Knowing nothing of each other's intentions, and +screened from each other by the darkness, they had left the town by +the same conveyance. "He, the greater, persevered; I, the smaller, +returned!" she said. + +'Recovering from her stupor, Mademoiselle V-- bethought herself again +of her employer, Mrs. Newbold, whom recent events had estranged. To +that lady she went with a full heart, and explained everything. Mrs. +Newbold kept to herself her opinion of the episode, and reinstalled +the deserted bride in her old position as governess to the family. + +'A governess she remained to the end of her days. After the final +peace with France she became acquainted with my mother, to whom by +degrees she imparted these experiences of hers. As her hair grew +white, and her features pinched, Mademoiselle V-- would wonder what +nook of the world contained her lover, if he lived, and if by any +chance she might see him again. But when, some time in the +'twenties, death came to her, at no great age, that outline against +the stars of the morning remained as the last glimpse she ever +obtained of her family's foe and her once affianced husband.' + +1895. + + + + +MASTER JOHN HORSELEIGH, KNIGHT + + + + +In the earliest and mustiest volume of the Havenpool marriage +registers (said the thin-faced gentleman) this entry may still be +read by any one curious enough to decipher the crabbed handwriting of +the date. I took a copy of it when I was last there; and it runs +thus (he had opened his pocket-book, and now read aloud the extract; +afterwards handing round the book to us, wherein we saw transcribed +the following) - + + +Mastr John Horseleigh, Knyght, of the p'ysshe of Clyffton was maryd +to Edith the wyffe late off John Stocker, m'chawnte of Havenpool the +xiiij daje of December be p'vylegge gevyn by our sup'me hedd of the +chyrche of Ingelonde Kynge Henry the viii th 1539. + + +Now, if you turn to the long and elaborate pedigree of the ancient +family of the Horseleighs of Clyfton Horseleigh, you will find no +mention whatever of this alliance, notwithstanding the privilege +given by the Sovereign and head of the Church; the said Sir John +being therein chronicled as marrying, at a date apparently earlier +than the above, the daughter and heiress of Richard Phelipson, of +Montislope, in Nether Wessex, a lady who outlived him, of which +marriage there were issue two daughters and a son, who succeeded him +in his estates. How are we to account for these, as it would seem, +contemporaneous wives? A strange local tradition only can help us, +and this can be briefly told. + +One evening in the autumn of the year 1540 or 1541, a young sailor, +whose Christian name was Roger, but whose surname is not known, +landed at his native place of Havenpool, on the South Wessex coast, +after a voyage in the Newfoundland trade, then newly sprung into +existence. He returned in the ship Primrose with a cargo of 'trayne +oyle brought home from the New Founde Lande,' to quote from the town +records of the date. During his absence of two summers and a winter, +which made up the term of a Newfoundland 'spell,' many unlooked-for +changes had occurred within the quiet little seaport, some of which +closely affected Roger the sailor. At the time of his departure his +only sister Edith had become the bride of one Stocker, a respectable +townsman, and part owner of the brig in which Roger had sailed; and +it was to the house of this couple, his only relatives, that the +young man directed his steps. On trying the door in Quay Street he +found it locked, and then observed that the windows were boarded up. +Inquiring of a bystander, he learnt for the first time of the death +of his brother-in-law, though that event had taken place nearly +eighteen months before. + +'And my sister Edith?' asked Roger. + +'She's married again--as they do say, and hath been so these twelve +months. I don't vouch for the truth o't, though if she isn't she +ought to be.' + +Roger's face grew dark. He was a man with a considerable reserve of +strong passion, and he asked his informant what he meant by speaking +thus. + +The man explained that shortly after the young woman's bereavement a +stranger had come to the port. He had seen her moping on the quay, +had been attracted by her youth and loneliness, and in an +extraordinarily brief wooing had completely fascinated her--had +carried her off, and, as was reported, had married her. Though he +had come by water, he was supposed to live no very great distance off +by land. They were last heard of at Oozewood, in Upper Wessex, at +the house of one Wall, a timber-merchant, where, he believed, she +still had a lodging, though her husband, if he were lawfully that +much, was but an occasional visitor to the place. + +'The stranger?' asked Roger. 'Did you see him? What manner of man +was he?' + +'I liked him not,' said the other. 'He seemed of that kind that hath +something to conceal, and as he walked with her he ever and anon +turned his head and gazed behind him, as if he much feared an +unwelcome pursuer. But, faith,' continued he, 'it may have been the +man's anxiety only. Yet did I not like him.' + +'Was he older than my sister?' Roger asked. + +'Ay--much older; from a dozen to a score of years older. A man of +some position, maybe, playing an amorous game for the pleasure of the +hour. Who knoweth but that he have a wife already? Many have done +the thing hereabouts of late.' + +Having paid a visit to the graves of his relatives, the sailor next +day went along the straight road which, then a lane, now a highway, +conducted to the curious little inland town named by the Havenpool +man. It is unnecessary to describe Oozewood on the South-Avon. It +has a railway at the present day; but thirty years of steam traffic +past its precincts have hardly modified its original features. +Surrounded by a sort of fresh-water lagoon, dividing it from meadows +and coppice, its ancient thatch and timber houses have barely made +way even in the front street for the ubiquitous modern brick and +slate. It neither increases nor diminishes in size; it is difficult +to say what the inhabitants find to do, for, though trades in +woodware are still carried on, there cannot be enough of this class +of work nowadays to maintain all the householders, the forests around +having been so greatly thinned and curtailed. At the time of this +tradition the forests were dense, artificers in wood abounded, and +the timber trade was brisk. Every house in the town, without +exception, was of oak framework, filled in with plaster, and covered +with thatch, the chimney being the only brick portion of the +structure. Inquiry soon brought Roger the sailor to the door of +Wall, the timber-dealer referred to, but it was some time before he +was able to gain admission to the lodging of his sister, the people +having plainly received directions not to welcome strangers. + +She was sitting in an upper room on one of the lath-backed, willow- +bottomed 'shepherd's' chairs, made on the spot then as to this day, +and as they were probably made there in the days of the Heptarchy. +In her lap was an infant, which she had been suckling, though now it +had fallen asleep; so had the young mother herself for a few minutes, +under the drowsing effects of solitude. Hearing footsteps on the +stairs, she awoke, started up with a glad cry, and ran to the door, +opening which she met her brother on the threshold. + +'O, this is merry; I didn't expect 'ee!' she said. 'Ah, Roger--I +thought it was John.' Her tones fell to disappointment. + +The sailor kissed her, looked at her sternly for a few moments, and +pointing to the infant, said, 'You mean the father of this?' + +'Yes, my husband,' said Edith. + +'I hope so,' he answered. + +'Why, Roger, I'm married--of a truth am I!' she cried. + +'Shame upon 'ee, if true! If not true, worse. Master Stocker was an +honest man, and ye should have respected his memory longer. Where is +thy husband?' + +'He comes often. I thought it was he now. Our marriage has to be +kept secret for a while--it was done privily for certain reasons; but +we was married at church like honest folk--afore God we were, Roger, +six months after poor Stocker's death.' + +''Twas too soon,' said Roger. + +'I was living in a house alone; I had nowhere to go to. You were far +over sea in the New Found Land, and John took me and brought me +here.' + +'How often doth he come?' says Roger again. + +'Once or twice weekly,' says she. + +'I wish th' 'dst waited till I returned, dear Edy,' he said. 'It mid +be you are a wife--I hope so. But, if so, why this mystery? Why +this mean and cramped lodging in this lonely copse-circled town? Of +what standing is your husband, and of where?' + +'He is of gentle breeding--his name is John. I am not free to tell +his family-name. He is said to be of London, for safety' sake; but +he really lives in the county next adjoining this.' + +'Where in the next county?' + +'I do not know. He has preferred not to tell me, that I may not have +the secret forced from me, to his and my hurt, by bringing the +marriage to the ears of his kinsfolk and friends.' + +Her brother's face flushed. 'Our people have been honest townsmen, +well-reputed for long; why should you readily take such humbling from +a sojourner of whom th' 'st know nothing?' + +They remained in constrained converse till her quick ear caught a +sound, for which she might have been waiting--a horse's footfall. +'It is John!' said she. 'This is his night--Saturday.' + +'Don't be frightened lest he should find me here!' said Roger. 'I am +on the point of leaving. I wish not to be a third party. Say +nothing at all about my visit, if it will incommode you so to do. I +will see thee before I go afloat again.' + +Speaking thus he left the room, and descending the staircase let +himself out by the front door, thinking he might obtain a glimpse of +the approaching horseman. But that traveller had in the meantime +gone stealthily round to the back of the homestead, and peering along +the pinion-end of the house Roger discerned him unbridling and +haltering his horse with his own hands in the shed there. + +Roger retired to the neighbouring inn called the Black Lamb, and +meditated. This mysterious method of approach determined him, after +all, not to leave the place till he had ascertained more definite +facts of his sister's position--whether she were the deluded victim +of the stranger or the wife she obviously believed herself to be. +Having eaten some supper, he left the inn, it being now about eleven +o'clock. He first looked into the shed, and, finding the horse still +standing there, waited irresolutely near the door of his sister's +lodging. Half an hour elapsed, and, while thinking he would climb +into a loft hard by for a night's rest, there seemed to be a movement +within the shutters of the sitting-room that his sister occupied. +Roger hid himself behind a faggot-stack near the back door, rightly +divining that his sister's visitor would emerge by the way he had +entered. The door opened, and the candle she held in her hand +lighted for a moment the stranger's form, showing it to be that of a +tall and handsome personage, about forty years of age, and apparently +of a superior position in life. Edith was assisting him to cloak +himself, which being done he took leave of her with a kiss and left +the house. From the door she watched him bridle and saddle his +horse, and having mounted and waved an adieu to her as she stood +candle in hand, he turned out of the yard and rode away. + +The horse which bore him was, or seemed to be, a little lame, and +Roger fancied from this that the rider's journey was not likely to be +a long one. Being light of foot he followed apace, having no great +difficulty on such a still night in keeping within earshot some few +miles, the horseman pausing more than once. In this pursuit Roger +discovered the rider to choose bridle-tracks and open commons in +preference to any high road. The distance soon began to prove a more +trying one than he had bargained for; and when out of breath and in +some despair of being able to ascertain the man's identity, he +perceived an ass standing in the starlight under a hayrick, from +which the animal was helping itself to periodic mouthfuls. + +The story goes that Roger caught the ass, mounted, and again resumed +the trail of the unconscious horseman, which feat may have been +possible to a nautical young fellow, though one can hardly understand +how a sailor would ride such an animal without bridle or saddle, and +strange to his hands, unless the creature were extraordinarily +docile. This question, however, is immaterial. Suffice it to say +that at dawn the following morning Roger beheld his sister's lover or +husband entering the gates of a large and well-timbered park on the +south-western verge of the White Hart Forest (as it was then called), +now known to everybody as the Vale of Blackmoor. Thereupon the +sailor discarded his steed, and finding for himself an obscurer +entrance to the same park a little further on, he crossed the grass +to reconnoitre. + +He presently perceived amid the trees before him a mansion which, new +to himself, was one of the best known in the county at that time. Of +this fine manorial residence hardly a trace now remains; but a +manuscript dated some years later than the events we are regarding +describes it in terms from which the imagination may construct a +singularly clear and vivid picture. This record presents it as +consisting of 'a faire yellow freestone building, partly two and +partly three storeys; a faire halle and parlour, both waynscotted; a +faire dyning roome and withdrawing roome, and many good lodgings; a +kitchen adjoyninge backwarde to one end of the dwelling-house, with a +faire passage from it into the halle, parlour, and dyninge roome, and +sellars adjoyninge. + +'In the front of the house a square greene court, and a curious +gatehouse with lodgings in it, standing with the front of the house +to the south; in a large outer court three stables, a coach-house, a +large barne, and a stable for oxen and kyne, and all houses +necessary. + +'Without the gatehouse, paled in, a large square greene, in which +standeth a faire chappell; of the south-east side of the greene +court, towards the river, a large garden. + +'Of the south-west side of the greene court is a large bowling +greene, with fower mounted walks about it, all walled about with a +batteled wall, and sett with all sorts of fruit; and out of it into +the feildes there are large walks under many tall elmes orderly +planted.' + +Then follows a description of the orchards and gardens; the servants' +offices, brewhouse, bakehouse, dairy, pigeon-houses, and corn-mill; +the river and its abundance of fish; the warren, the coppices, the +walks; ending thus - + +'And all the country north of the house, open champaign, sandy +feildes, very dry and pleasant for all kindes of recreation, +huntinge, and hawkinge, and profitble for tillage . . . The house +hath a large prospect east, south, and west, over a very large and +pleasant vale . . . is seated from the good markett towns of Sherton +Abbas three miles, and Ivel a mile, that plentifully yield all manner +of provision; and within twelve miles of the south sea.' + +It was on the grass before this seductive and picturesque structure +that the sailor stood at gaze under the elms in the dim dawn of +Sunday morning, and saw to his surprise his sister's lover and horse +vanish within the court of the building. + +Perplexed and weary, Roger slowly retreated, more than ever convinced +that something was wrong in his sister's position. He crossed the +bowling green to the avenue of elms, and, bent on further research, +was about to climb into one of these, when, looking below, he saw a +heap of hay apparently for horses or deer. Into this he crept, and, +having eaten a crust of bread which he had hastily thrust into his +pocket at the inn, he curled up and fell asleep, the hay forming a +comfortable bed, and quite covering him over. + +He slept soundly and long, and was awakened by the sound of a bell. +On peering from the hay he found the time had advanced to full day; +the sun was shining brightly. The bell was that of the 'faire +chappell' on the green outside the gatehouse, and it was calling to +matins. Presently the priest crossed the green to a little side-door +in the chancel, and then from the gateway of the mansion emerged the +household, the tall man whom Roger had seen with his sister on the +previous night, on his arm being a portly dame, and, running beside +the pair, two little girls and a boy. These all entered the chapel, +and the bell having ceased and the environs become clear, the sailor +crept out from his hiding. + +He sauntered towards the chapel, the opening words of the service +being audible within. While standing by the porch he saw a belated +servitor approaching from the kitchen-court to attend the service +also. Roger carelessly accosted him, and asked, as an idle wanderer, +the name of the family he had just seen cross over from the mansion. + +'Od zounds! if ye modden be a stranger here in very truth, goodman. +That wer Sir John and his dame, and his children Elizabeth, Mary, and +John.' + +'I be from foreign parts. Sir John what d'ye call'n?' + +'Master John Horseleigh, Knight, who had a'most as much lond by +inheritance of his mother as 'a had by his father, and likewise some +by his wife. Why, bain't his arms dree goolden horses' heads, and +idden his lady the daughter of Master Richard Phelipson, of +Montislope, in Nether Wessex, known to us all?' + +'It mid be so, and yet it mid not. However, th' 'lt miss thy prayers +for such an honest knight's welfare, and I have to traipse seaward +many miles.' + +He went onward, and as he walked continued saying to himself, 'Now to +that poor wronged fool Edy. The fond thing! I thought it; 'twas too +quick--she was ever amorous. What's to become of her! God wot! How +be I going to face her with the news, and how be I to hold it from +her? To bring this disgrace on my father's honoured name, a double- +tongued knave!' He turned and shook his fist at the chapel and all +in it, and resumed his way. + +Perhaps it was owing to the perplexity of his mind that, instead of +returning by the direct road towards his sister's obscure lodging in +the next county, he followed the highway to Casterbridge, some +fifteen miles off, where he remained drinking hard all that afternoon +and evening, and where he lay that and two or three succeeding +nights, wandering thence along the Anglebury road to some village +that way, and lying the Friday night after at his native place of +Havenpool. The sight of the familiar objects there seems to have +stirred him anew to action, and the next morning he was observed +pursuing the way to Oozewood that he had followed on the Saturday +previous, reckoning, no doubt, that Saturday night would, as before, +be a time for finding Sir John with his sister again. + +He delayed to reach the place till just before sunset. His sister +was walking in the meadows at the foot of the garden, with a +nursemaid who carried the baby, and she looked up pensively when he +approached. Anxiety as to her position had already told upon her +once rosy cheeks and lucid eyes. But concern for herself and child +was displaced for the moment by her regard of Roger's worn and +haggard face. + +'Why--you are sick, Roger--you are tired! Where have you been these +many days? Why not keep me company a bit--my husband is much away? +And we have hardly spoke at all of dear father and of your voyage to +the New Land. Why did you go away so suddenly? There is a spare +chamber at my lodging.' + +'Come indoors,' he said. 'We'll talk now--talk a good deal. As for +him [nodding to the child], better heave him into the river; better +for him and you!' + +She forced a laugh, as if she tried to see a good joke in the remark, +and they went silently indoors. + +'A miserable hole!' said Roger, looking round the room. + +'Nay, but 'tis very pretty!' + +'Not after what I've seen. Did he marry 'ee at church in orderly +fashion?' + +'He did sure--at our church at Havenpool.' + +'But in a privy way?' + +'Ay--because of his friends--it was at night-time.' + +'Ede, ye fond one--for all that he's not thy husband! Th' 'rt not +his wife; and the child is a bastard. He hath a wife and children of +his own rank, and bearing his name; and that's Sir John Horseleigh, +of Clyfton Horseleigh, and not plain Jack, as you think him, and your +lawful husband. The sacrament of marriage is no safeguard nowadays. +The King's new-made headship of the Church hath led men to practise +these tricks lightly.' + +She had turned white. 'That's not true, Roger!' she said. 'You are +in liquor, my brother, and you know not what you say! Your seafaring +years have taught 'ee bad things!' + +'Edith--I've seen them; wife and family--all. How canst--' + +They were sitting in the gathered darkness, and at that moment steps +were heard without. 'Go out this way,' she said. 'It is my husband. +He must not see thee in this mood. Get away till to-morrow, Roger, +as you care for me.' + +She pushed her brother through a door leading to the back stairs, and +almost as soon as it was closed her visitor entered. Roger, however, +did not retreat down the stairs; he stood and looked through the +bobbin-hole. If the visitor turned out to be Sir John, he had +determined to confront him. + +It was the knight. She had struck a light on his entry, and he +kissed the child, and took Edith tenderly by the shoulders, looking +into her face. + +'Something's gone awry wi' my dear!' he said. 'What is it? What's +the matter?' + +'O, Jack!' she cried. 'I have heard such a fearsome rumour--what +doth it mean? He who told me is my best friend. He must be +deceived! But who deceived him, and why? Jack, I was just told that +you had a wife living when you married me, and have her still!' + +'A wife?--H'm.' + +'Yes, and children. Say no, say no!' + +'By God! I have no lawful wife but you; and as for children, many or +few, they are all bastards, save this one alone!' + +'And that you be Sir John Horseleigh of Clyfton?' + +'I mid be. I have never said so to 'ee.' + +'But Sir John is known to have a lady, and issue of her!' + +The knight looked down. 'How did thy mind get filled with such as +this?' he asked. + +'One of my kindred came.' + +'A traitor! Why should he mar our life? Ah! you said you had a +brother at sea--where is he now?' + +'Here!' came from close behind him. And flinging open the door, +Roger faced the intruder. 'Liar!' he said, 'to call thyself her +husband!' + +Sir John fired up, and made a rush at the sailor, who seized him by +the collar, and in the wrestle they both fell, Roger under. But in a +few seconds he contrived to extricate his right arm, and drawing from +his belt a knife which he wore attached to a cord round his neck he +opened it with his teeth, and struck it into the breast of Sir John +stretched above him. Edith had during these moments run into the +next room to place the child in safety, and when she came back the +knight was relaxing his hold on Roger's throat. He rolled over upon +his back and groaned. + +The only witness of the scene save the three concerned was the +nursemaid, who had brought in the child on its father's arrival. She +stated afterwards that nobody suspected Sir John had received his +death wound; yet it was so, though he did not die for a long while, +meaning thereby an hour or two; that Mistress Edith continually +endeavoured to staunch the blood, calling her brother Roger a wretch, +and ordering him to get himself gone; on which order he acted, after +a gloomy pause, by opening the window, and letting himself down by +the sill to the ground. + +It was then that Sir John, in difficult accents, made his dying +declaration to the nurse and Edith, and, later, the apothecary; which +was to this purport, that the Dame Horseleigh who passed as his wife +at Clyfton, and who had borne him three children, was in truth and +deed, though unconsciously, the wife of another man. Sir John had +married her several years before, in the face of the whole county, as +the widow of one Decimus Strong, who had disappeared shortly after +her union with him, having adventured to the North to join the revolt +of the Nobles, and on that revolt being quelled retreated across the +sea. Two years ago, having discovered this man to be still living in +France, and not wishing to disturb the mind and happiness of her who +believed herself his wife, yet wishing for legitimate issue, Sir John +had informed the King of the facts, who had encouraged him to wed +honestly, though secretly, the young merchant's widow at Havenpool; +she being, therefore, his lawful wife, and she only. That to avoid +all scandal and hubbub he had purposed to let things remain as they +were till fair opportunity should arise of making the true case known +with least pain to all parties concerned, but that, having been thus +suspected and attacked by his own brother-in-law, his zest for such +schemes and for all things had died out in him, and he only wished to +commend his soul to God. + +That night, while the owls were hooting from the forest that +encircled the sleeping townlet, and the South-Avon was gurgling +through the wooden piles of the bridge, Sir John died there in the +arms of his wife. She concealed nothing of the cause of her +husband's death save the subject of the quarrel, which she felt it +would be premature to announce just then, and until proof of her +status should be forthcoming. But before a month had passed, it +happened, to her inexpressible sorrow, that the child of this +clandestine union fell sick and died. From that hour all interest in +the name and fame of the Horseleighs forsook the younger of the twain +who called themselves wives of Sir John, and, being careless about +her own fame, she took no steps to assert her claims, her legal +position having, indeed, grown hateful to her in her horror at the +tragedy. And Sir William Byrt, the curate who had married her to her +husband, being an old man and feeble, was not disinclined to leave +the embers unstirred of such a fiery matter as this, and to assist +her in letting established things stand. Therefore, Edith retired +with the nurse, her only companion and friend, to her native town, +where she lived in absolute obscurity till her death in middle age. +Her brother was never seen again in England. + +A strangely corroborative sequel to the story remains to be told. +Shortly after the death of Sir John Horseleigh, a soldier of fortune +returned from the Continent, called on Dame Horseleigh the +fictitious, living in widowed state at Clyfton Horseleigh, and, after +a singularly brief courtship, married her. The tradition at +Havenpool and elsewhere has ever been that this man was already her +husband, Decimus Strong, who remarried her for appearance' sake only. + +The illegitimate son of this lady by Sir John succeeded to the +estates and honours, and his son after him, there being nobody on the +alert to investigate their pretensions. Little difference would it +have made to the present generation, however, had there been such a +one, for the family in all its branches, lawful and unlawful, has +been extinct these many score years, the last representative but one +being killed at the siege of Sherton Castle, while attacking in the +service of the Parliament, and the other being outlawed later in the +same century for a debt of ten pounds, and dying in the county jail. +The mansion house and its appurtenances were, as I have previously +stated, destroyed, excepting one small wing, which now forms part of +a farmhouse, and is visible as you pass along the railway from +Casterbridge to Ivel. The outline of the old bowling-green is also +distinctly to be seen. + +This, then, is the reason why the only lawful marriage of Sir John, +as recorded in the obscure register at Havenpool, does not appear in +the pedigree of the house of Horseleigh. + +Spring 1893. + + + + +THE DUKE'S REAPPEARANCE--A FAMILY TRADITION + + + + +According to the kinsman who told me the story, Christopher Swetman's +house, on the outskirts of King's-Hintock village, was in those days +larger and better kept than when, many years later, it was sold to +the lord of the manor adjoining; after having been in the Swetman +family, as one may say, since the Conquest. + +Some people would have it to be that the thing happened at the house +opposite, belonging to one Childs, with whose family the Swetmans +afterwards intermarried. But that it was at the original homestead +of the Swetmans can be shown in various ways; chiefly by the unbroken +traditions of the family, and indirectly by the evidence of the walls +themselves, which are the only ones thereabout with windows mullioned +in the Elizabethan manner, and plainly of a date anterior to the +event; while those of the other house might well have been erected +fifty or eighty years later, and probably were; since the choice of +Swetman's house by the fugitive was doubtless dictated by no other +circumstance than its then suitable loneliness. + +It was a cloudy July morning just before dawn, the hour of two having +been struck by Swetman's one-handed clock on the stairs, that is +still preserved in the family. Christopher heard the strokes from +his chamber, immediately at the top of the staircase, and overlooking +the front of the house. He did not wonder that he was sleepless. +The rumours and excitements which had latterly stirred the +neighbourhood, to the effect that the rightful King of England had +landed from Holland, at a port only eighteen miles to the south-west +of Swetman's house, were enough to make wakeful and anxious even a +contented yeoman like him. Some of the villagers, intoxicated by the +news, had thrown down their scythes, and rushed to the ranks of the +invader. Christopher Swetman had weighed both sides of the question, +and had remained at home. + +Now as he lay thinking of these and other things he fancied that he +could hear the footfall of a man on the road leading up to his house- +-a byway, which led scarce anywhere else; and therefore a tread was +at any time more apt to startle the inmates of the homestead than if +it had stood in a thoroughfare. The footfall came opposite the gate, +and stopped there. One minute, two minutes passed, and the +pedestrian did not proceed. Christopher Swetman got out of bed, and +opened the casement. 'Hoi! who's there?' cries he. + +'A friend,' came from the darkness. + +'And what mid ye want at this time o' night?' says Swetman. + +'Shelter. I've lost my way.' + +'What's thy name?' + +There came no answer. + +'Be ye one of King Monmouth's men?' + +'He that asks no questions will hear no lies from me. I am a +stranger; and I am spent, and hungered. Can you let me lie with you +to-night?' + +Swetman was generous to people in trouble, and his house was roomy. +'Wait a bit,' he said, 'and I'll come down and have a look at thee, +anyhow.' + +He struck a light, put on his clothes, and descended, taking his +horn-lantern from a nail in the passage, and lighting it before +opening the door. The rays fell on the form of a tall, dark man in +cavalry accoutrements and wearing a sword. He was pale with fatigue +and covered with mud, though the weather was dry. + +'Prithee take no heed of my appearance,' said the stranger. 'But let +me in.' + +That his visitor was in sore distress admitted of no doubt, and the +yeoman's natural humanity assisted the other's sad importunity and +gentle voice. Swetman took him in, not without a suspicion that this +man represented in some way Monmouth's cause, to which he was not +unfriendly in his secret heart. At his earnest request the new-comer +was given a suit of the yeoman's old clothes in exchange for his own, +which, with his sword, were hidden in a closet in Swetman's chamber; +food was then put before him and a lodging provided for him in a room +at the back. + +Here he slept till quite late in the morning, which was Sunday, the +sixth of July, and when he came down in the garments that he had +borrowed he met the household with a melancholy smile. Besides +Swetman himself, there were only his two daughters, Grace and Leonard +(the latter was, oddly enough, a woman's name here), and both had +been enjoined to secrecy. They asked no questions and received no +information; though the stranger regarded their fair countenances +with an interest almost too deep. Having partaken of their usual +breakfast of ham and cider he professed weariness and retired to the +chamber whence he had come. + +In a couple of hours or thereabout he came down again, the two young +women having now gone off to morning service. Seeing Christopher +bustling about the house without assistance, he asked if he could do +anything to aid his host. + +As he seemed anxious to hide all differences and appear as one of +themselves, Swetman set him to get vegetables from the garden and +fetch water from Buttock's Spring in the dip near the house (though +the spring was not called by that name till years after, by the way). + +'And what can I do next?' says the stranger when these services had +been performed. + +His meekness and docility struck Christopher much, and won upon him. +'Since you be minded to,' says the latter, 'you can take down the +dishes and spread the table for dinner. Take a pewter plate for +thyself, but the trenchers will do for we.' + +But the other would not, and took a trencher likewise, in doing which +he spoke of the two girls and remarked how comely they were. + +This quietude was put an end to by a stir out of doors, which was +sufficient to draw Swetman's attention to it, and he went out. Farm +hands who had gone off and joined the Duke on his arrival had begun +to come in with news that a midnight battle had been fought on the +moors to the north, the Duke's men, who had attacked, being entirely +worsted; the Duke himself, with one or two lords and other friends, +had fled, no one knew whither. + +'There has been a battle,' says Swetman, on coming indoors after +these tidings, and looking earnestly at the stranger. + +'May the victory be to the rightful in the end, whatever the issue +now,' says the other, with a sorrowful sigh. + +'Dost really know nothing about it?' said Christopher. 'I could have +sworn you was one from that very battle!' + +'I was here before three o' the clock this morning; and these men +have only arrived now.' + +'True,' said the yeoman. 'But still, I think--' + +'Do not press your question,' the stranger urged. 'I am in a strait, +and can refuse a helper nothing; such inquiry is, therefore, unfair.' + +'True again,' said Swetman, and held his tongue. + +The daughters of the house returned from church, where the service +had been hurried by reason of the excitement. To their father's +questioning if they had spoken of him who sojourned there they +replied that they had said never a word; which, indeed, was true, as +events proved. + +He bade them serve the dinner; and, as the visitor had withdrawn +since the news of the battle, prepared to take a platter to him +upstairs. But he preferred to come down and dine with the family. + +During the afternoon more fugitives passed through the village, but +Christopher Swetman, his visitor, and his family kept indoors. In +the evening, however, Swetman came out from his gate, and, harkening +in silence to these tidings and more, wondered what might be in store +for him for his last night's work. + +He returned homeward by a path across the mead that skirted his own +orchard. Passing here, he heard the voice of his daughter Leonard +expostulating inside the hedge, her words being: 'Don't ye, sir; +don't! I prithee let me go!' + +'Why, sweetheart?' + +'Because I've a-promised another!' + +Peeping through, as he could not help doing, he saw the girl +struggling in the arms of the stranger, who was attempting to kiss +her; but finding her resistance to be genuine, and her distress +unfeigned, he reluctantly let her go. + +Swetman's face grew dark, for his girls were more to him than +himself. He hastened on, meditating moodily all the way. He entered +the gate, and made straight for the orchard. When he reached it his +daughter had disappeared, but the stranger was still standing there. + +'Sir!' said the yeoman, his anger having in no wise abated, 'I've +seen what has happened! I have taken 'ee into my house, at some +jeopardy to myself; and, whoever you be, the least I expected of 'ee +was to treat the maidens with a seemly respect. You have not done +it, and I no longer trust you. I am the more watchful over them in +that they are motherless; and I must ask 'ee to go after dark this +night!' + +The stranger seemed dazed at discovering what his impulse had brought +down upon his head, and his pale face grew paler. He did not reply +for a time. When he did speak his soft voice was thick with feeling. + +'Sir,' says he, 'I own that I am in the wrong, if you take the matter +gravely. We do not what we would but what we must. Though I have +not injured your daughter as a woman, I have been treacherous to her +as a hostess and friend in need. I'll go, as you say; I can do no +less. I shall doubtless find a refuge elsewhere.' + +They walked towards the house in silence, where Swetman insisted that +his guest should have supper before departing. By the time this was +eaten it was dusk and the stranger announced that he was ready. + +They went upstairs to where the garments and sword lay hidden, till +the departing one said that on further thought he would ask another +favour: that he should be allowed to retain the clothes he wore, and +that his host would keep the others and the sword till he, the +speaker, should come or send for them. + +'As you will,' said Swetman. 'The gain is on my side; for those +clouts were but kept to dress a scarecrow next fall.' + +'They suit my case,' said the stranger sadly. 'However much they may +misfit me, they do not misfit my sorry fortune now!' + +'Nay, then,' said Christopher relenting, 'I was too hasty. Sh'lt +bide!' + +But the other would not, saying that it was better that things should +take their course. Notwithstanding that Swetman importuned him, he +only added, 'If I never come again, do with my belongings as you +list. In the pocket you will find a gold snuff-box, and in the +snuff-box fifty gold pieces.' + +'But keep 'em for thy use, man!' said the yeoman. + +'No,' says the parting guest; 'they are foreign pieces and would harm +me if I were taken. Do as I bid thee. Put away these things again +and take especial charge of the sword. It belonged to my father's +father and I value it much. But something more common becomes me +now.' + +Saying which, he took, as he went downstairs, one of the ash sticks +used by Swetman himself for walking with. The yeoman lighted him out +to the garden hatch, where he disappeared through Clammers Gate by +the road that crosses King's-Hintock Park to Evershead. + +Christopher returned to the upstairs chamber, and sat down on his bed +reflecting. Then he examined the things left behind, and surely +enough in one of the pockets the gold snuff-box was revealed, +containing the fifty gold pieces as stated by the fugitive. The +yeoman next looked at the sword which its owner had stated to have +belonged to his grandfather. It was two-edged, so that he almost +feared to handle it. On the blade was inscribed the words 'ANDREA +FERARA,' and among the many fine chasings were a rose and crown, the +plume of the Prince of Wales, and two portraits; portraits of a man +and a woman, the man's having the face of the first King Charles, and +the woman's, apparently, that of his Queen. + +Swetman, much awed and surprised, returned the articles to the +closet, and went downstairs pondering. Of his surmise he said +nothing to his daughters, merely declaring to them that the gentleman +was gone; and never revealing that he had been an eye-witness of the +unpleasant scene in the orchard that was the immediate cause of the +departure. + +Nothing occurred in Hintock during the week that followed, beyond the +fitful arrival of more decided tidings concerning the utter defeat of +the Duke's army and his own disappearance at an early stage of the +battle. Then it was told that Monmouth was taken, not in his own +clothes but in the disguise of a countryman. He had been sent to +London, and was confined in the Tower. + +The possibility that his guest had been no other than the Duke made +Swetman unspeakably sorry now; his heart smote him at the thought +that, acting so harshly for such a small breach of good faith, he +might have been the means of forwarding the unhappy fugitive's +capture. On the girls coming up to him he said, 'Get away with ye, +wenches: I fear you have been the ruin of an unfortunate man!' + +On the Tuesday night following, when the yeoman was sleeping as usual +in his chamber, he was, he said, conscious of the entry of some one. +Opening his eyes, he beheld by the light of the moon, which shone +upon the front of his house, the figure of a man who seemed to be the +stranger moving from the door towards the closet. He was dressed +somewhat differently now, but the face was quite that of his late +guest in its tragical pensiveness, as was also the tallness of his +figure. He neared the closet; and, feeling his visitor to be within +his rights, Christopher refrained from stirring. The personage +turned his large haggard eyes upon the bed where Swetman lay, and +then withdrew from their hiding the articles that belonged to him, +again giving a hard gaze at Christopher as he went noiselessly out of +the chamber with his properties on his arm. His retreat down the +stairs was just audible, and also his departure by the side door, +through which entrance or exit was easy to those who knew the place. + +Nothing further happened, and towards morning Swetman slept. To +avoid all risk he said not a word to the girls of the visit of the +night, and certainly not to any one outside the house; for it was +dangerous at that time to avow anything. + +Among the killed in opposing the recent rising had been a younger +brother of the lord of the manor, who lived at King's-Hintock Court +hard by. Seeing the latter ride past in mourning clothes next day, +Swetman ventured to condole with him. + +'He'd no business there!' answered the other. His words and manner +showed the bitterness that was mingled with his regret. 'But say no +more of him. You know what has happened since, I suppose?' + +'I know that they say Monmouth is taken, Sir Thomas, but I can't +think it true,' answered Swetman. + +'O zounds! 'tis true enough,' cried the knight, 'and that's not all. +The Duke was executed on Tower Hill two days ago.' + +'D'ye say it verily?' says Swetman. + +'And a very hard death he had, worse luck for 'n,' said Sir Thomas. +'Well, 'tis over for him and over for my brother. But not for the +rest. There'll be searchings and siftings down here anon; and happy +is the man who has had nothing to do with this matter!' + +Now Swetman had hardly heard the latter words, so much was he +confounded by the strangeness of the tidings that the Duke had come +to his death on the previous Tuesday. For it had been only the night +before this present day of Friday that he had seen his former guest, +whom he had ceased to doubt could be other than the Duke, come into +his chamber and fetch away his accoutrements as he had promised. + +'It couldn't have been a vision,' said Christopher to himself when +the knight had ridden on. 'But I'll go straight and see if the +things be in the closet still; and thus I shall surely learn if +'twere a vision or no.' + +To the closet he went, which he had not looked into since the +stranger's departure. And searching behind the articles placed to +conceal the things hidden, he found that, as he had never doubted, +they were gone. + +When the rumour spread abroad in the West that the man beheaded in +the Tower was not indeed the Duke, but one of his officers taken +after the battle, and that the Duke had been assisted to escape out +of the country, Swetman found in it an explanation of what so deeply +mystified him. That his visitor might have been a friend of the +Duke's, whom the Duke had asked to fetch the things in a last +request, Swetman would never admit. His belief in the rumour that +Monmouth lived, like that of thousands of others, continued to the +end of his days. + + +Such, briefly, concluded my kinsman, is the tradition which has been +handed down in Christopher Swetman's family for the last two hundred +years. + + + + +A MERE INTERLUDE + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + +The traveller in school-books, who vouched in dryest tones for the +fidelity to fact of the following narrative, used to add a ring of +truth to it by opening with a nicety of criticism on the heroine's +personality. People were wrong, he declared, when they surmised that +Baptista Trewthen was a young woman with scarcely emotions or +character. There was nothing in her to love, and nothing to hate--so +ran the general opinion. That she showed few positive qualities was +true. The colours and tones which changing events paint on the faces +of active womankind were looked for in vain upon hers. But still +waters run deep; and no crisis had come in the years of her early +maidenhood to demonstrate what lay hidden within her, like metal in a +mine. + +She was the daughter of a small farmer in St. Maria's, one of the +Isles of Lyonesse beyond Off-Wessex, who had spent a large sum, as +there understood, on her education, by sending her to the mainland +for two years. At nineteen she was entered at the Training College +for Teachers, and at twenty-one nominated to a school in the country, +near Tor-upon-Sea, whither she proceeded after the Christmas +examination and holidays. + +The months passed by from winter to spring and summer, and Baptista +applied herself to her new duties as best she could, till an +uneventful year had elapsed. Then an air of abstraction pervaded her +bearing as she walked to and fro, twice a day, and she showed the +traits of a person who had something on her mind. A widow, by name +Mrs. Wace, in whose house Baptista Trewthen had been provided with a +sitting-room and bedroom till the school-house should be built, +noticed this change in her youthful tenant's manner, and at last +ventured to press her with a few questions. + +'It has nothing to do with the place, nor with you,' said Miss +Trewthen. + +'Then it is the salary?' + +'No, nor the salary.' + +'Then it is something you have heard from home, my dear.' + +Baptista was silent for a few moments. 'It is Mr. Heddegan,' she +murmured. 'Him they used to call David Heddegan before he got his +money.' + +'And who is the Mr. Heddegan they used to call David?' + +'An old bachelor at Giant's Town, St. Maria's, with no relations +whatever, who lives about a stone's throw from father's. When I was +a child he used to take me on his knee and say he'd marry me some +day. Now I am a woman the jest has turned earnest, and he is anxious +to do it. And father and mother says I can't do better than have +him.' + +'He's well off?' + +'Yes--he's the richest man we know--as a friend and neighbour.' + +'How much older did you say he was than yourself?' + +'I didn't say. Twenty years at least.' + +'And an unpleasant man in the bargain perhaps?' + +'No--he's not unpleasant.' + +'Well, child, all I can say is that I'd resist any such engagement if +it's not palatable to 'ee. You are comfortable here, in my little +house, I hope. All the parish like 'ee: and I've never been so +cheerful, since my poor husband left me to wear his wings, as I've +been with 'ee as my lodger.' + +The schoolmistress assured her landlady that she could return the +sentiment. 'But here comes my perplexity,' she said. 'I don't like +keeping school. Ah, you are surprised--you didn't suspect it. +That's because I've concealed my feeling. Well, I simply hate +school. I don't care for children--they are unpleasant, troublesome +little things, whom nothing would delight so much as to hear that you +had fallen down dead. Yet I would even put up with them if it was +not for the inspector. For three months before his visit I didn't +sleep soundly. And the Committee of Council are always changing the +Code, so that you don't know what to teach, and what to leave +untaught. I think father and mother are right. They say I shall +never excel as a schoolmistress if I dislike the work so, and that +therefore I ought to get settled by marrying Mr. Heddegan. Between +us two, I like him better than school; but I don't like him quite so +much as to wish to marry him.' + +These conversations, once begun, were continued from day to day; till +at length the young girl's elderly friend and landlady threw in her +opinion on the side of Miss Trewthen's parents. All things +considered, she declared, the uncertainty of the school, the labour, +Baptista's natural dislike for teaching, it would be as well to take +what fate offered, and make the best of matters by wedding her +father's old neighbour and prosperous friend. + +The Easter holidays came round, and Baptista went to spend them as +usual in her native isle, going by train into Off-Wessex and crossing +by packet from Pen-zephyr. When she returned in the middle of April +her face wore a more settled aspect. + +'Well?' said the expectant Mrs. Wace. + +'I have agreed to have him as my husband,' said Baptista, in an off- +hand way. 'Heaven knows if it will be for the best or not. But I +have agreed to do it, and so the matter is settled.' + +Mrs. Wace commended her; but Baptista did not care to dwell on the +subject; so that allusion to it was very infrequent between them. +Nevertheless, among other things, she repeated to the widow from time +to time in monosyllabic remarks that the wedding was really +impending; that it was arranged for the summer, and that she had +given notice of leaving the school at the August holidays. Later on +she announced more specifically that her marriage was to take place +immediately after her return home at the beginning of the month +aforesaid. + +She now corresponded regularly with Mr. Heddegan. Her letters from +him were seen, at least on the outside, and in part within, by Mrs. +Wace. Had she read more of their interiors than the occasional +sentences shown her by Baptista she would have perceived that the +scratchy, rusty handwriting of Miss Trewthen's betrothed conveyed +little more matter than details of their future housekeeping, and his +preparations for the same, with innumerable 'my dears' sprinkled in +disconnectedly, to show the depth of his affection without the +inconveniences of syntax. + + + +CHAPTER II + + + +It was the end of July--dry, too dry, even for the season, the +delicate green herbs and vegetables that grew in this favoured end of +the kingdom tasting rather of the watering-pot than of the pure fresh +moisture from the skies. Baptista's boxes were packed, and one +Saturday morning she departed by a waggonette to the station, and +thence by train to Pen-zephyr, from which port she was, as usual, to +cross the water immediately to her home, and become Mr. Heddegan's +wife on the Wednesday of the week following. + +She might have returned a week sooner. But though the wedding day +had loomed so near, and the banns were out, she delayed her departure +till this last moment, saying it was not necessary for her to be at +home long beforehand. As Mr. Heddegan was older than herself, she +said, she was to be married in her ordinary summer bonnet and grey +silk frock, and there were no preparations to make that had not been +amply made by her parents and intended husband. + +In due time, after a hot and tedious journey, she reached Pen-zephyr. +She here obtained some refreshment, and then went towards the pier, +where she learnt to her surprise that the little steamboat plying +between the town and the islands had left at eleven o'clock; the +usual hour of departure in the afternoon having been forestalled in +consequence of the fogs which had for a few days prevailed towards +evening, making twilight navigation dangerous. + +This being Saturday, there was now no other boat till Tuesday, and it +became obvious that here she would have to remain for the three days, +unless her friends should think fit to rig out one of the island' +sailing-boats and come to fetch her--a not very likely contingency, +the sea distance being nearly forty miles. + +Baptista, however, had been detained in Pen-zephyr on more than one +occasion before, either on account of bad weather or some such reason +as the present, and she was therefore not in any personal alarm. +But, as she was to be married on the following Wednesday, the delay +was certainly inconvenient to a more than ordinary degree, since it +would leave less than a day's interval between her arrival and the +wedding ceremony. + +Apart from this awkwardness she did not much mind the accident. It +was indeed curious to see how little she minded. Perhaps it would +not be too much to say that, although she was going to do the +critical deed of her life quite willingly, she experienced an +indefinable relief at the postponement of her meeting with Heddegan. +But her manner after making discovery of the hindrance was quiet and +subdued, even to passivity itself; as was instanced by her having, at +the moment of receiving information that the steamer had sailed, +replied 'Oh,' so coolly to the porter with her luggage, that he was +almost disappointed at her lack of disappointment. + +The question now was, should she return again to Mrs. Wace, in the +village of Lower Wessex, or wait in the town at which she had +arrived. She would have preferred to go back, but the distance was +too great; moreover, having left the place for good, and somewhat +dramatically, to become a bride, a return, even for so short a space, +would have been a trifle humiliating. + +Leaving, then, her boxes at the station, her next anxiety was to +secure a respectable, or rather genteel, lodging in the popular +seaside resort confronting her. To this end she looked about the +town, in which, though she had passed through it half-a-dozen times, +she was practically a stranger. + +Baptista found a room to suit her over a fruiterer's shop; where she +made herself at home, and set herself in order after her journey. An +early cup of tea having revived her spirits she walked out to +reconnoitre. + +Being a schoolmistress she avoided looking at the schools, and having +a sort of trade connection with books, she avoided looking at the +booksellers; but wearying of the other shops she inspected the +churches; not that for her own part she cared much about +ecclesiastical edifices; but tourists looked at them, and so would +she--a proceeding for which no one would have credited her with any +great originality, such, for instance, as that she subsequently +showed herself to possess. The churches soon oppressed her. She +tried the Museum, but came out because it seemed lonely and tedious. + +Yet the town and the walks in this land of strawberries, these +headquarters of early English flowers and fruit, were then, as +always, attractive. From the more picturesque streets she went to +the town gardens, and the Pier, and the Harbour, and looked at the +men at work there, loading and unloading as in the time of the +Phoenicians. + +'Not Baptista? Yes, Baptista it is!' + +The words were uttered behind her. Turning round she gave a start, +and became confused, even agitated, for a moment. Then she said in +her usual undemonstrative manner, 'O--is it really you, Charles?' + +Without speaking again at once, and with a half-smile, the new-comer +glanced her over. There was much criticism, and some resentment-- +even temper--in his eye. + +'I am going home,' continued she. 'But I have missed the boat.' + +He scarcely seemed to take in the meaning of this explanation, in the +intensity of his critical survey. 'Teaching still? What a fine +schoolmistress you make, Baptista, I warrant!' he said with a slight +flavour of sarcasm, which was not lost upon her. + +'I know I am nothing to brag of,' she replied. 'That's why I have +given up.' + +'O--given up? You astonish me.' + +'I hate the profession.' + +'Perhaps that's because I am in it.' + +'O no, it isn't. But I am going to enter on another life altogether. +I am going to be married next week to Mr. David Heddegan.' + +The young man--fortified as he was by a natural cynical pride and +passionateness--winced at this unexpected reply, notwithstanding. + +'Who is Mr. David Heddegan?' he asked, as indifferently as lay in his +power. + +She informed him the bearer of the name was a general merchant of +Giant's Town, St. Maria's island--her father's nearest neighbour and +oldest friend. + +'Then we shan't see anything more of you on the mainland?' inquired +the schoolmaster. + +'O, I don't know about that,' said Miss Trewthen. + +'Here endeth the career of the belle of the boarding-school your +father was foolish enough to send you to. A "general merchant's" +wife in the Lyonesse Isles. Will you sell pounds of soap and +pennyworths of tin tacks, or whole bars of saponaceous matter, and +great tenpenny nails?' + +'He's not in such a small way as that!' she almost pleaded. 'He owns +ships, though they are rather little ones!' + +'O, well, it is much the same. Come, let us walk on; it is tedious +to stand still. I thought you would be a failure in education,' he +continued, when she obeyed him and strolled ahead. 'You never showed +power that way. You remind me much of some of those women who think +they are sure to be great actresses if they go on the stage, because +they have a pretty face, and forget that what we require is acting. +But you found your mistake, didn't you?' + +'Don't taunt me, Charles.' It was noticeable that the young +schoolmaster's tone caused her no anger or retaliatory passion; far +otherwise: there was a tear in her eye. 'How is it you are at Pen- +zephyr?' she inquired. + +'I don't taunt you. I speak the truth, purely in a friendly way, as +I should to any one I wished well. Though for that matter I might +have some excuse even for taunting you. Such a terrible hurry as +you've been in. I hate a woman who is in such a hurry.' + +'How do you mean that?' + +'Why--to be somebody's wife or other--anything's wife rather than +nobody's. You couldn't wait for me, O, no. Well, thank God, I'm +cured of all that!' + +'How merciless you are!' she said bitterly. 'Wait for you? What +does that mean, Charley? You never showed--anything to wait for-- +anything special towards me.' + +'O come, Baptista dear; come!' + +'What I mean is, nothing definite,' she expostulated. 'I suppose you +liked me a little; but it seemed to me to be only a pastime on your +part, and that you never meant to make an honourable engagement of +it.' + +'There, that's just it! You girls expect a man to mean business at +the first look. No man when he first becomes interested in a woman +has any definite scheme of engagement to marry her in his mind, +unless he is meaning a vulgar mercenary marriage. However, I DID at +last mean an honourable engagement, as you call it, come to that.' + +'But you never said so, and an indefinite courtship soon injures a +woman's position and credit, sooner than you think.' + +'Baptista, I solemnly declare that in six months I should have asked +you to marry me.' + +She walked along in silence, looking on the ground, and appearing +very uncomfortable. Presently he said, 'Would you have waited for me +if you had known?' To this she whispered in a sorrowful whisper, +'Yes!' + +They went still farther in silence--passing along one of the +beautiful walks on the outskirts of the town, yet not observant of +scene or situation. Her shoulder and his were close together, and he +clasped his fingers round the small of her arm--quite lightly, and +without any attempt at impetus; yet the act seemed to say, 'Now I +hold you, and my will must be yours.' + +Recurring to a previous question of hers he said, 'I have merely run +down here for a day or two from school near Trufal, before going off +to the north for the rest of my holiday. I have seen my relations at +Redrutin quite lately, so I am not going there this time. How little +I thought of meeting you! How very different the circumstances would +have been if, instead of parting again as we must in half-an-hour or +so, possibly for ever, you had been now just going off with me, as my +wife, on our honeymoon trip. Ha--ha--well--so humorous is life!' + +She stopped suddenly. 'I must go back now--this is altogether too +painful, Charley! It is not at all a kind mood you are in to-day.' + +'I don't want to pain you--you know I do not,' he said more gently. +'Only it just exasperates me--this you are going to do. I wish you +would not.' + +'What?' + +'Marry him. There, now I have showed you my true sentiments.' + +'I must do it now,' said she. + +'Why?' he asked, dropping the off-hand masterful tone he had hitherto +spoken in, and becoming earnest; still holding her arm, however, as +if she were his chattel to be taken up or put down at will. 'It is +never too late to break off a marriage that's distasteful to you. +Now I'll say one thing; and it is truth: I wish you would marry me +instead of him, even now, at the last moment, though you have served +me so badly.' + +'O, it is not possible to think of that!' she answered hastily, +shaking her head. 'When I get home all will be prepared--it is ready +even now--the things for the party, the furniture, Mr. Heddegan's new +suit, and everything. I should require the courage of a tropical +lion to go home there and say I wouldn't carry out my promise!' + +'Then go, in Heaven's name! But there would be no necessity for you +to go home and face them in that way. If we were to marry, it would +have to be at once, instantly; or not at all. I should think your +affection not worth the having unless you agreed to come back with me +to Trufal this evening, where we could be married by licence on +Monday morning. And then no Mr. David Heddegan or anybody else could +get you away from me.' + +'I must go home by the Tuesday boat,' she faltered. 'What would they +think if I did not come?' + +'You could go home by that boat just the same. All the difference +would be that I should go with you. You could leave me on the quay, +where I'd have a smoke, while you went and saw your father and mother +privately; you could then tell them what you had done, and that I was +waiting not far off; that I was a school-master in a fairly good +position, and a young man you had known when you were at the Training +College. Then I would come boldly forward; and they would see that +it could not be altered, and so you wouldn't suffer a lifelong misery +by being the wife of a wretched old gaffer you don't like at all. +Now, honestly; you do like me best, don't you, Baptista?' + +'Yes.' + +'Then we will do as I say.' + +She did not pronounce a clear affirmative. But that she consented to +the novel proposition at some moment or other of that walk was +apparent by what occurred a little later. + + + +CHAPTER III + + + +An enterprise of such pith required, indeed, less talking than +consideration. The first thing they did in carrying it out was to +return to the railway station, where Baptista took from her luggage a +small trunk of immediate necessaries which she would in any case have +required after missing the boat. That same afternoon they travelled +up the line to Trufal. + +Charles Stow (as his name was), despite his disdainful indifference +to things, was very careful of appearances, and made the journey +independently of her though in the same train. He told her where she +could get board and lodgings in the city; and with merely a distant +nod to her of a provisional kind, went off to his own quarters, and +to see about the licence. + +On Sunday she saw him in the morning across the nave of the pro- +cathedral. In the afternoon they walked together in the fields, +where he told her that the licence would be ready next day, and would +be available the day after, when the ceremony could be performed as +early after eight o'clock as they should choose. + +His courtship, thus renewed after an interval of two years, was as +impetuous, violent even, as it was short. The next day came and +passed, and the final arrangements were made. Their agreement was to +get the ceremony over as soon as they possibly could the next +morning, so as to go on to Pen-zephyr at once, and reach that place +in time for the boat's departure the same day. It was in obedience +to Baptista's earnest request that Stow consented thus to make the +whole journey to Lyonesse by land and water at one heat, and not +break it at Pen-zephyr; she seemed to be oppressed with a dread of +lingering anywhere, this great first act of disobedience to her +parents once accomplished, with the weight on her mind that her home +had to be convulsed by the disclosure of it. To face her +difficulties over the water immediately she had created them was, +however, a course more desired by Baptista than by her lover; though +for once he gave way. + +The next morning was bright and warm as those which had preceded it. +By six o'clock it seemed nearly noon, as is often the case in that +part of England in the summer season. By nine they were husband and +wife. They packed up and departed by the earliest train after the +service; and on the way discussed at length what she should say on +meeting her parents, Charley dictating the turn of each phrase. In +her anxiety they had travelled so early that when they reached Pen- +zephyr they found there were nearly two hours on their hands before +the steamer's time of sailing. + +Baptista was extremely reluctant to be seen promenading the streets +of the watering-place with her husband till, as above stated, the +household at Giant's Town should know the unexpected course of events +from her own lips; and it was just possible, if not likely, that some +Lyonessian might be prowling about there, or even have come across +the sea to look for her. To meet any one to whom she was known, and +to have to reply to awkward questions about the strange young man at +her side before her well-framed announcement had been delivered at +proper time and place, was a thing she could not contemplate with +equanimity. So, instead of looking at the shops and harbour, they +went along the coast a little way. + +The heat of the morning was by this time intense. They clambered up +on some cliffs, and while sitting there, looking around at St. +Michael's Mount and other objects, Charles said to her that he +thought he would run down to the beach at their feet, and take just +one plunge into the sea. + +Baptista did not much like the idea of being left alone; it was +gloomy, she said. But he assured her he would not be gone more than +a quarter of an hour at the outside, and she passively assented. + +Down he went, disappeared, appeared again, and looked back. Then he +again proceeded, and vanished, till, as a small waxen object, she saw +him emerge from the nook that had screened him, cross the white +fringe of foam, and walk into the undulating mass of blue. Once in +the water he seemed less inclined to hurry than before; he remained a +long time; and, unable either to appreciate his skill or criticize +his want of it at that distance, she withdrew her eyes from the spot, +and gazed at the still outline of St. Michael's--now beautifully +toned in grey. + +Her anxiety for the hour of departure, and to cope at once with the +approaching incidents that she would have to manipulate as best she +could, sent her into a reverie. It was now Tuesday; she would reach +home in the evening--a very late time they would say; but, as the +delay was a pure accident, they would deem her marriage to Mr. +Heddegan to-morrow still practicable. Then Charles would have to be +produced from the background. It was a terrible undertaking to think +of, and she almost regretted her temerity in wedding so hastily that +morning. The rage of her father would be so crushing; the reproaches +of her mother so bitter; and perhaps Charles would answer hotly, and +perhaps cause estrangement till death. There had obviously been no +alarm about her at St. Maria's, or somebody would have sailed across +to inquire for her. She had, in a letter written at the beginning of +the week, spoken of the hour at which she intended to leave her +country schoolhouse; and from this her friends had probably perceived +that by such timing she would run a risk of losing the Saturday boat. +She had missed it, and as a consequence sat here on the shore as Mrs. +Charles Stow. + +This brought her to the present, and she turned from the outline of +St. Michael's Mount to look about for her husband's form. He was, as +far as she could discover, no longer in the sea. Then he was +dressing. By moving a few steps she could see where his clothes lay. +But Charles was not beside them. + +Baptista looked back again at the water in bewilderment, as if her +senses were the victim of some sleight of hand. Not a speck or spot +resembling a man's head or face showed anywhere. By this time she +was alarmed, and her alarm intensified when she perceived a little +beyond the scene of her husband's bathing a small area of water, the +quality of whose surface differed from that of the surrounding +expanse as the coarse vegetation of some foul patch in a mead differs +from the fine green of the remainder. Elsewhere it looked flexuous, +here it looked vermiculated and lumpy, and her marine experiences +suggested to her in a moment that two currents met and caused a +turmoil at this place. + +She descended as hastily as her trembling limbs would allow. The way +down was terribly long, and before reaching the heap of clothes it +occurred to her that, after all, it would be best to run first for +help. Hastening along in a lateral direction she proceeded inland +till she met a man, and soon afterwards two others. To them she +exclaimed, 'I think a gentleman who was bathing is in some danger. I +cannot see him as I could. Will you please run and help him, at +once, if you will be so kind?' + +She did not think of turning to show them the exact spot, indicating +it vaguely by the direction of her hand, and still going on her way +with the idea of gaining more assistance. When she deemed, in her +faintness, that she had carried the alarm far enough, she faced about +and dragged herself back again. Before reaching the now dreaded spot +she met one of the men. + +'We can see nothing at all, Miss,' he declared. + +Having gained the beach, she found the tide in, and no sign of +Charley's clothes. The other men whom she had besought to come had +disappeared, it must have been in some other direction, for she had +not met them going away. They, finding nothing, had probably thought +her alarm a mere conjecture, and given up the quest. + +Baptista sank down upon the stones near at hand. Where Charley had +undressed was now sea. There could not be the least doubt that he +was drowned, and his body sucked under by the current; while his +clothes, lying within high-water mark, had probably been carried away +by the rising tide. + +She remained in a stupor for some minutes, till a strange sensation +succeeded the aforesaid perceptions, mystifying her intelligence, and +leaving her physically almost inert. With his personal +disappearance, the last three days of her life with him seemed to be +swallowed up, also his image, in her mind's eye, waned curiously, +receded far away, grew stranger and stranger, less and less real. +Their meeting and marriage had been so sudden, unpremeditated, +adventurous, that she could hardly believe that she had played her +part in such a reckless drama. Of all the few hours of her life with +Charles, the portion that most insisted in coming back to memory was +their fortuitous encounter on the previous Saturday, and those bitter +reprimands with which he had begun the attack, as it might be called, +which had piqued her to an unexpected consummation. + +A sort of cruelty, an imperiousness, even in his warmth, had +characterized Charles Stow. As a lover he had ever been a bit of a +tyrant; and it might pretty truly have been said that he had stung +her into marriage with him at last. Still more alien from her life +did these reflections operate to make him; and then they would be +chased away by an interval of passionate weeping and mad regret. +Finally, there returned upon the confused mind of the young wife the +recollection that she was on her way homeward, and that the packet +would sail in three-quarters of an hour. + +Except the parasol in her hand, all she possessed was at the station +awaiting her onward journey. + +She looked in that direction; and, entering one of those +undemonstrative phases so common with her, walked quietly on. + +At first she made straight for the railway; but suddenly turning she +went to a shop and wrote an anonymous line announcing his death by +drowning to the only person she had ever heard Charles mention as a +relative. Posting this stealthily, and with a fearful look around +her, she seemed to acquire a terror of the late events, pursuing her +way to the station as if followed by a spectre. + +When she got to the office she asked for the luggage that she had +left there on the Saturday as well as the trunk left on the morning +just lapsed. All were put in the boat, and she herself followed. +Quickly as these things had been done, the whole proceeding, +nevertheless, had been almost automatic on Baptista's part, ere she +had come to any definite conclusion on her course. + +Just before the bell rang she heard a conversation on the pier, which +removed the last shade of doubt from her mind, if any had existed, +that she was Charles Stow's widow. The sentences were but +fragmentary, but she could easily piece them out. + +'A man drowned--swam out too far--was a stranger to the place--people +in boat--saw him go down--couldn't get there in time.' + +The news was little more definite than this as yet; though it may as +well be stated once for all that the statement was true. Charley, +with the over-confidence of his nature, had ventured out too far for +his strength, and succumbed in the absence of assistance, his +lifeless body being at that moment suspended in the transparent mid- +depths of the bay. His clothes, however, had merely been gently +lifted by the rising tide, and floated into a nook hard by, where +they lay out of sight of the passers-by till a day or two after. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + + +In ten minutes they were steaming out of the harbour for their voyage +of four or five hours, at whose ending she would have to tell her +strange story. + +As Pen-zephyr and all its environing scenes disappeared behind +Mousehole and St. Clement's Isle, Baptista's ephemeral, meteor-like +husband impressed her yet more as a fantasy. She was still in such a +trance-like state that she had been an hour on the little packet-boat +before she became aware of the agitating fact that Mr. Heddegan was +on board with her. Involuntarily she slipped from her left hand the +symbol of her wifehood. + +'Hee-hee! Well, the truth is, I wouldn't interrupt 'ee. "I reckon +she don't see me, or won't see me," I said, "and what's the hurry? +She'll see enough o' me soon!" I hope ye be well, mee deer?' + +He was a hale, well-conditioned man of about five and fifty, of the +complexion common to those whose lives are passed on the bluffs and +beaches of an ocean isle. He extended the four quarters of his face +in a genial smile, and his hand for a grasp of the same magnitude. +She gave her own in surprised docility, and he continued: 'I +couldn't help coming across to meet 'ee. What an unfortunate thing +you missing the boat and not coming Saturday! They meant to have +warned 'ee that the time was changed, but forgot it at the last +moment. The truth is that I should have informed 'ee myself; but I +was that busy finishing up a job last week, so as to have this week +free, that I trusted to your father for attending to these little +things. However, so plain and quiet as it is all to be, it really do +not matter so much as it might otherwise have done, and I hope ye +haven't been greatly put out. Now, if you'd sooner that I should not +be seen talking to 'ee--if 'ee feel shy at all before strangers--just +say. I'll leave 'ee to yourself till we get home.' + +'Thank you much. I am indeed a little tired, Mr. Heddegan.' + +He nodded urbane acquiescence, strolled away immediately, and +minutely inspected the surface of the funnel, till some female +passengers of Giant's Town tittered at what they must have thought a +rebuff--for the approaching wedding was known to many on St. Maria's +Island, though to nobody elsewhere. Baptista coloured at their +satire, and called him back, and forced herself to commune with him +in at least a mechanically friendly manner. + +The opening event had been thus different from her expectation, and +she had adumbrated no act to meet it. Taken aback she passively +allowed circumstances to pilot her along; and so the voyage was made. + +It was near dusk when they touched the pier of Giant's Town, where +several friends and neighbours stood awaiting them. Her father had a +lantern in his hand. Her mother, too, was there, reproachfully glad +that the delay had at last ended so simply. Mrs. Trewthen and her +daughter went together along the Giant's Walk, or promenade, to the +house, rather in advance of her husband and Mr. Heddegan, who talked +in loud tones which reached the women over their shoulders. + +Some would have called Mrs. Trewthen a good mother; but though well +meaning she was maladroit, and her intentions missed their mark. +This might have been partly attributable to the slight deafness from +which she suffered. Now, as usual, the chief utterances came from +her lips. + +'Ah, yes, I'm so glad, my child, that you've got over safe. It is +all ready, and everything so well arranged, that nothing but +misfortune could hinder you settling as, with God's grace, becomes +'ee. Close to your mother's door a'most, 'twill be a great blessing, +I'm sure; and I was very glad to find from your letters that you'd +held your word sacred. That's right--make your word your bond +always. Mrs. Wace seems to be a sensible woman. I hope the Lord +will do for her as he's doing for you no long time hence. And how +did 'ee get over the terrible journey from Tor-upon-Sea to Pen- +zephyr? Once you'd done with the railway, of course, you seemed +quite at home. Well, Baptista, conduct yourself seemly, and all will +be well.' + +Thus admonished, Baptista entered the house, her father and Mr. +Heddegan immediately at her back. Her mother had been so didactic +that she had felt herself absolutely unable to broach the subjects in +the centre of her mind. + +The familiar room, with the dark ceiling, the well-spread table, the +old chairs, had never before spoken so eloquently of the times ere +she knew or had heard of Charley Stow. She went upstairs to take off +her things, her mother remaining below to complete the disposition of +the supper, and attend to the preparation of to-morrow's meal, +altogether composing such an array of pies, from pies of fish to pies +of turnips, as was never heard of outside the Western Duchy. +Baptista, once alone, sat down and did nothing; and was called before +she had taken off her bonnet. + +'I'm coming,' she cried, jumping up, and speedily disapparelling +herself, brushed her hair with a few touches and went down. + +Two or three of Mr. Heddegan's and her father's friends had dropped +in, and expressed their sympathy for the delay she had been subjected +to. The meal was a most merry one except to Baptista. She had +desired privacy, and there was none; and to break the news was +already a greater difficulty than it had been at first. Everything +around her, animate and inanimate, great and small, insisted that she +had come home to be married; and she could not get a chance to say +nay. + +One or two people sang songs, as overtures to the melody of the +morrow, till at length bedtime came, and they all withdrew, her +mother having retired a little earlier. When Baptista found herself +again alone in her bedroom the case stood as before: she had come +home with much to say, and she had said nothing. + +It was now growing clear even to herself that Charles being dead, she +had not determination sufficient within her to break tidings which, +had he been alive, would have imperatively announced themselves. And +thus with the stroke of midnight came the turning of the scale; her +story should remain untold. It was not that upon the whole she +thought it best not to attempt to tell it; but that she could not +undertake so explosive a matter. To stop the wedding now would cause +a convulsion in Giant's Town little short of volcanic. Weakened, +tired, and terrified as she had been by the day's adventures, she +could not make herself the author of such a catastrophe. But how +refuse Heddegan without telling? It really seemed to her as if her +marriage with Mr. Heddegan were about to take place as if nothing had +intervened. + +Morning came. The events of the previous days were cut off from her +present existence by scene and sentiment more completely than ever. +Charles Stow had grown to be a special being of whom, owing to his +character, she entertained rather fearful than loving memory. +Baptista could hear when she awoke that her parents were already +moving about downstairs. But she did not rise till her mother's +rather rough voice resounded up the staircase as it had done on the +preceding evening. + +'Baptista! Come, time to be stirring! The man will be here, by +heaven's blessing, in three-quarters of an hour. He has looked in +already for a minute or two--and says he's going to the church to see +if things be well forward.' + +Baptista arose, looked out of the window, and took the easy course. +When she emerged from the regions above she was arrayed in her new +silk frock and best stockings, wearing a linen jacket over the former +for breakfasting, and her common slippers over the latter, not to +spoil the new ones on the rough precincts of the dwelling. + +It is unnecessary to dwell at any great length on this part of the +morning's proceedings. She revealed nothing; and married Heddegan, +as she had given her word to do, on that appointed August day. + + + +CHAPTER V + + + +Mr. Heddegan forgave the coldness of his bride's manner during and +after the wedding ceremony, full well aware that there had been +considerable reluctance on her part to acquiesce in this neighbourly +arrangement, and, as a philosopher of long standing, holding that +whatever Baptista's attitude now, the conditions would probably be +much the same six months hence as those which ruled among other +married couples. + +An absolutely unexpected shock was given to Baptista's listless mind +about an hour after the wedding service. They had nearly finished +the mid-day dinner when the now husband said to her father, 'We think +of starting about two. And the breeze being so fair we shall bring +up inside Pen-zephyr new pier about six at least.' + +'What--are we going to Pen-zephyr?' said Baptista. 'I don't know +anything of it.' + +'Didn't you tell her?' asked her father of Heddegan. + +It transpired that, owing to the delay in her arrival, this proposal +too, among other things, had in the hurry not been mentioned to her, +except some time ago as a general suggestion that they would go +somewhere. Heddegan had imagined that any trip would be pleasant, +and one to the mainland the pleasantest of all. + +She looked so distressed at the announcement that her husband +willingly offered to give it up, though he had not had a holiday off +the island for a whole year. Then she pondered on the inconvenience +of staying at Giant's Town, where all the inhabitants were bonded, by +the circumstances of their situation, into a sort of family party, +which permitted and encouraged on such occasions as these oral +criticism that was apt to disturb the equanimity of newly married +girls, and would especially worry Baptista in her strange situation. +Hence, unexpectedly, she agreed not to disorganize her husband's +plans for the wedding jaunt, and it was settled that, as originally +intended, they should proceed in a neighbour's sailing boat to the +metropolis of the district. + +In this way they arrived at Pen-zephyr without difficulty or mishap. +Bidding adieu to Jenkin and his man, who had sailed them over, they +strolled arm in arm off the pier, Baptista silent, cold, and +obedient. Heddegan had arranged to take her as far as Plymouth +before their return, but to go no further than where they had landed +that day. Their first business was to find an inn; and in this they +had unexpected difficulty, since for some reason or other--possibly +the fine weather--many of the nearest at hand were full of tourists +and commercial travellers. He led her on till he reached a tavern +which, though comparatively unpretending, stood in as attractive a +spot as any in the town; and this, somewhat to their surprise after +their previous experience, they found apparently empty. The +considerate old man, thinking that Baptista was educated to artistic +notions, though he himself was deficient in them, had decided that it +was most desirable to have, on such an occasion as the present, an +apartment with 'a good view' (the expression being one he had often +heard in use among tourists); and he therefore asked for a favourite +room on the first floor, from which a bow-window protruded, for the +express purpose of affording such an outlook. + +The landlady, after some hesitation, said she was sorry that +particular apartment was engaged; the next one, however, or any other +in the house, was unoccupied. + +'The gentleman who has the best one will give it up to-morrow, and +then you can change into it,' she added, as Mr. Heddegan hesitated +about taking the adjoining and less commanding one. + +'We shall be gone to-morrow, and shan't want it,' he said. + +Wishing not to lose customers, the landlady earnestly continued that +since he was bent on having the best room, perhaps the other +gentleman would not object to move at once into the one they +despised, since, though nothing could be seen from the window, the +room was equally large. + +'Well, if he doesn't care for a view,' said Mr. Heddegan, with the +air of a highly artistic man who did. + +'O no--I am sure he doesn't,' she said. 'I can promise that you +shall have the room you want. If you would not object to go for a +walk for half an hour, I could have it ready, and your things in it, +and a nice tea laid in the bow-window by the time you come back?' + +This proposal was deemed satisfactory by the fussy old tradesman, and +they went out. Baptista nervously conducted him in an opposite +direction to her walk of the former day in other company, showing on +her wan face, had he observed it, how much she was beginning to +regret her sacrificial step for mending matters that morning. + +She took advantage of a moment when her husband's back was turned to +inquire casually in a shop if anything had been heard of the +gentleman who was sucked down in the eddy while bathing. + +The shopman said, 'Yes, his body has been washed ashore,' and had +just handed Baptista a newspaper on which she discerned the heading, +'A Schoolmaster drowned while bathing,' when her husband turned to +join her. She might have pursued the subject without raising +suspicion; but it was more than flesh and blood could do, and +completing a small purchase almost ran out of the shop. + +'What is your terrible hurry, mee deer?' said Heddegan, hastening +after. + +'I don't know--I don't want to stay in shops,' she gasped. + +'And we won't,' he said. 'They are suffocating this weather. Let's +go back and have some tay!' + +They found the much desired apartment awaiting their entry. It was a +sort of combination bed and sitting-room, and the table was prettily +spread with high tea in the bow-window, a bunch of flowers in the +midst, and a best-parlour chair on each side. Here they shared the +meal by the ruddy light of the vanishing sun. But though the view +had been engaged, regardless of expense, exclusively for Baptista's +pleasure, she did not direct any keen attention out of the window. +Her gaze as often fell on the floor and walls of the room as +elsewhere, and on the table as much as on either, beholding nothing +at all. + +But there was a change. Opposite her seat was the door, upon which +her eyes presently became riveted like those of a little bird upon a +snake. For, on a peg at the back of the door, there hung a hat; such +a hat--surely, from its peculiar make, the actual hat--that had been +worn by Charles. Conviction grew to certainty when she saw a railway +ticket sticking up from the band. Charles had put the ticket there-- +she had noticed the act. + +Her teeth almost chattered; she murmured something incoherent. Her +husband jumped up and said, 'You are not well! What is it? What +shall I get 'ee?' + +'Smelling salts!' she said, quickly and desperately; 'at that +chemist's shop you were in just now.' + +He jumped up like the anxious old man that he was, caught up his own +hat from a back table, and without observing the other hastened out +and downstairs. + +Left alone she gazed and gazed at the back of the door, then +spasmodically rang the bell. An honest-looking country maid-servant +appeared in response. + +'A hat!' murmured Baptista, pointing with her finger. 'It does not +belong to us.' + +'O yes, I'll take it away,' said the young woman with some hurry. +'It belongs to the other gentleman.' + +She spoke with a certain awkwardness, and took the hat out of the +room. Baptista had recovered her outward composure. 'The other +gentleman?' she said. 'Where is the other gentleman?' + +'He's in the next room, ma'am. He removed out of this to oblige +'ee.' + +'How can you say so? I should hear him if he were there,' said +Baptista, sufficiently recovered to argue down an apparent untruth. + +'He's there,' said the girl, hardily. + +'Then it is strange that he makes no noise,' said Mrs. Heddegan, +convicting the girl of falsity by a look. + +'He makes no noise; but it is not strange,' said the servant. + +All at once a dread took possession of the bride's heart, like a cold +hand laid thereon; for it flashed upon her that there was a +possibility of reconciling the girl's statement with her own +knowledge of facts. + +'Why does he make no noise?' she weakly said. + +The waiting-maid was silent, and looked at her questioner. 'If I +tell you, ma'am, you won't tell missis?' she whispered. + +Baptista promised. + +'Because he's a-lying dead!' said the girl. 'He's the schoolmaster +that was drownded yesterday.' + +'O!' said the bride, covering her eyes. 'Then he was in this room +till just now?' + +'Yes,' said the maid, thinking the young lady's agitation natural +enough. 'And I told missis that I thought she oughtn't to have done +it, because I don't hold it right to keep visitors so much in the +dark where death's concerned; but she said the gentleman didn't die +of anything infectious; she was a poor, honest, innkeeper's wife, she +says, who had to get her living by making hay while the sun sheened. +And owing to the drownded gentleman being brought here, she said, it +kept so many people away that we were empty, though all the other +houses were full. So when your good man set his mind upon the room, +and she would have lost good paying folk if he'd not had it, it +wasn't to be supposed, she said, that she'd let anything stand in the +way. Ye won't say that I've told ye, please, m'm? All the linen has +been changed, and as the inquest won't be till to-morrow, after you +are gone, she thought you wouldn't know a word of it, being strangers +here.' + +The returning footsteps of her husband broke off further narration. +Baptista waved her hand, for she could not speak. The waiting-maid +quickly withdrew, and Mr. Heddegan entered with the smelling salts +and other nostrums. + +'Any better?' he questioned. + +'I don't like the hotel,' she exclaimed, almost simultaneously. 'I +can't bear it--it doesn't suit me!' + +'Is that all that's the matter?' he returned pettishly (this being +the first time of his showing such a mood). 'Upon my heart and life +such trifling is trying to any man's temper, Baptista! Sending me +about from here to yond, and then when I come back saying 'ee don't +like the place that I have sunk so much money and words to get for +'ee. 'Od dang it all, 'tis enough to--But I won't say any more at +present, mee deer, though it is just too much to expect to turn out +of the house now. We shan't get another quiet place at this time of +the evening--every other inn in the town is bustling with rackety +folk of one sort and t'other, while here 'tis as quiet as the grave-- +the country, I would say. So bide still, d'ye hear, and to-morrow we +shall be out of the town altogether--as early as you like.' + +The obstinacy of age had, in short, overmastered its complaisance, +and the young woman said no more. The simple course of telling him +that in the adjoining room lay a corpse which had lately occupied +their own might, it would have seemed, have been an effectual one +without further disclosure, but to allude to that subject, however it +was disguised, was more than Heddegan's young wife had strength for. +Horror broke her down. In the contingency one thing only presented +itself to her paralyzed regard--that here she was doomed to abide, in +a hideous contiguity to the dead husband and the living, and her +conjecture did, in fact, bear itself out. That night she lay between +the two men she had married--Heddegan on the one hand, and on the +other through the partition against which the bed stood, Charles +Stow. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + + +Kindly time had withdrawn the foregoing event three days from the +present of Baptista Heddegan. It was ten o'clock in the morning; she +had been ill, not in an ordinary or definite sense, but in a state of +cold stupefaction, from which it was difficult to arouse her so much +as to say a few sentences. When questioned she had replied that she +was pretty well. + +Their trip, as such, had been something of a failure. They had gone +on as far as Falmouth, but here he had given way to her entreaties to +return home. This they could not very well do without repassing +through Pen-zephyr, at which place they had now again arrived. + +In the train she had seen a weekly local paper, and read there a +paragraph detailing the inquest on Charles. It was added that the +funeral was to take place at his native town of Redrutin on Friday. + +After reading this she had shown no reluctance to enter the fatal +neighbourhood of the tragedy, only stipulating that they should take +their rest at a different lodging from the first; and now +comparatively braced up and calm--indeed a cooler creature altogether +than when last in the town, she said to David that she wanted to walk +out for a while, as they had plenty of time on their hands. + +'To a shop as usual, I suppose, mee deer?' + +'Partly for shopping,' she said. 'And it will be best for you, dear, +to stay in after trotting about so much, and have a good rest while I +am gone.' + +He assented; and Baptista sallied forth. As she had stated, her +first visit was made to a shop, a draper's. Without the exercise of +much choice she purchased a black bonnet and veil, also a black stuff +gown; a black mantle she already wore. These articles were made up +into a parcel which, in spite of the saleswoman's offers, her +customer said she would take with her. Bearing it on her arm she +turned to the railway, and at the station got a ticket for Redrutin. + +Thus it appeared that, on her recovery from the paralyzed mood of the +former day, while she had resolved not to blast utterly the happiness +of her present husband by revealing the history of the departed one, +she had also determined to indulge a certain odd, inconsequent, +feminine sentiment of decency, to the small extent to which it could +do no harm to any person. At Redrutin she emerged from the railway +carriage in the black attire purchased at the shop, having during the +transit made the change in the empty compartment she had chosen. The +other clothes were now in the bandbox and parcel. Leaving these at +the cloak-room she proceeded onward, and after a wary survey reached +the side of a hill whence a view of the burial ground could be +obtained. + +It was now a little before two o'clock. While Baptista waited a +funeral procession ascended the road. Baptista hastened across, and +by the time the procession entered the cemetery gates she had +unobtrusively joined it. + +In addition to the schoolmaster's own relatives (not a few), the +paragraph in the newspapers of his death by drowning had drawn +together many neighbours, acquaintances, and onlookers. Among them +she passed unnoticed, and with a quiet step pursued the winding path +to the chapel, and afterwards thence to the grave. When all was +over, and the relatives and idlers had withdrawn, she stepped to the +edge of the chasm. From beneath her mantle she drew a little bunch +of forget-me-nots, and dropped them in upon the coffin. In a few +minutes she also turned and went away from the cemetery. By five +o'clock she was again in Pen-zephyr. + +'You have been a mortal long time!' said her husband, crossly. 'I +allowed you an hour at most, mee deer.' + +'It occupied me longer,' said she. + +'Well--I reckon it is wasting words to complain. Hang it, ye look so +tired and wisht that I can't find heart to say what I would!' + +'I am--weary and wisht, David; I am. We can get home to-morrow for +certain, I hope?' + +'We can. And please God we will!' said Mr. Heddegan heartily, as if +he too were weary of his brief honeymoon. 'I must be into business +again on Monday morning at latest.' + +They left by the next morning steamer, and in the afternoon took up +their residence in their own house at Giant's Town. + +The hour that she reached the island it was as if a material weight +had been removed from Baptista's shoulders. Her husband attributed +the change to the influence of the local breezes after the hot-house +atmosphere of the mainland. However that might be, settled here, a +few doors from her mother's dwelling, she recovered in no very long +time much of her customary bearing, which was never very +demonstrative. She accepted her position calmly, and faintly smiled +when her neighbours learned to call her Mrs. Heddegan, and said she +seemed likely to become the leader of fashion in Giant's Town. + +Her husband was a man who had made considerably more money by trade +than her father had done: and perhaps the greater profusion of +surroundings at her command than she had heretofore been mistress of, +was not without an effect upon her. One week, two weeks, three weeks +passed; and, being pre-eminently a young woman who allowed things to +drift, she did nothing whatever either to disclose or conceal traces +of her first marriage; or to learn if there existed possibilities-- +which there undoubtedly did--by which that hasty contract might +become revealed to those about her at any unexpected moment. + +While yet within the first month of her marriage, and on an evening +just before sunset, Baptista was standing within her garden adjoining +the house, when she saw passing along the road a personage clad in a +greasy black coat and battered tall hat, which, common enough in the +slums of a city, had an odd appearance in St. Maria's. The tramp, as +he seemed to be, marked her at once--bonnetless and unwrapped as she +was her features were plainly recognizable--and with an air of +friendly surprise came and leant over the wall. + +'What! don't you know me?' said he. + +She had some dim recollection of his face, but said that she was not +acquainted with him. + +'Why, your witness to be sure, ma'am. Don't you mind the man that +was mending the church-window when you and your intended husband +walked up to be made one; and the clerk called me down from the +ladder, and I came and did my part by writing my name and +occupation?' + +Baptista glanced quickly around; her husband was out of earshot. +That would have been of less importance but for the fact that the +wedding witnessed by this personage had not been the wedding with Mr. +Heddegan, but the one on the day previous. + +'I've had a misfortune since then, that's pulled me under,' continued +her friend. 'But don't let me damp yer wedded joy by naming the +particulars. Yes, I've seen changes since; though 'tis but a short +time ago--let me see, only a month next week, I think; for 'twere the +first or second day in August.' + +'Yes--that's when it was,' said another man, a sailor, who had come +up with a pipe in his mouth, and felt it necessary to join in +(Baptista having receded to escape further speech). 'For that was +the first time I set foot in Giant's Town; and her husband took her +to him the same day.' + +A dialogue then proceeded between the two men outside the wall, which +Baptista could not help hearing. + +'Ay, I signed the book that made her one flesh,' repeated the decayed +glazier. 'Where's her goodman?' + +'About the premises somewhere; but you don't see 'em together much,' +replied the sailor in an undertone. 'You see, he's older than she.' + +'Older? I should never have thought it from my own observation,' +said the glazier. 'He was a remarkably handsome man.' + +'Handsome? Well, there he is--we can see for ourselves.' + +David Heddegan had, indeed, just shown himself at the upper end of +the garden; and the glazier, looking in bewilderment from the husband +to the wife, saw the latter turn pale. + +Now that decayed glazier was a far-seeing and cunning man--too far- +seeing and cunning to allow himself to thrive by simple and +straightforward means--and he held his peace, till he could read more +plainly the meaning of this riddle, merely adding carelessly, 'Well-- +marriage do alter a man, 'tis true. I should never ha' knowed him!' + +He then stared oddly at the disconcerted Baptista, and moving on to +where he could again address her, asked her to do him a good turn, +since he once had done the same for her. Understanding that he meant +money, she handed him some, at which he thanked her, and instantly +went away. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + + +She had escaped exposure on this occasion; but the incident had been +an awkward one, and should have suggested to Baptista that sooner or +later the secret must leak out. As it was, she suspected that at any +rate she had not heard the last of the glazier. + +In a day or two, when her husband had gone to the old town on the +other side of the island, there came a gentle tap at the door, and +the worthy witness of her first marriage made his appearance a second +time. + +'It took me hours to get to the bottom of the mystery--hours!' he +said with a gaze of deep confederacy which offended her pride very +deeply. 'But thanks to a good intellect I've done it. Now, ma'am, +I'm not a man to tell tales, even when a tale would be so good as +this. But I'm going back to the mainland again, and a little +assistance would be as rain on thirsty ground.' + +'I helped you two days ago,' began Baptista. + +'Yes--but what was that, my good lady? Not enough to pay my passage +to Pen-zephyr. I came over on your account, for I thought there was +a mystery somewhere. Now I must go back on my own. Mind this-- +'twould be very awkward for you if your old man were to know. He's a +queer temper, though he may be fond.' + +She knew as well as her visitor how awkward it would be; and the +hush-money she paid was heavy that day. She had, however, the +satisfaction of watching the man to the steamer, and seeing him +diminish out of sight. But Baptista perceived that the system into +which she had been led of purchasing silence thus was one fatal to +her peace of mind, particularly if it had to be continued. + +Hearing no more from the glazier she hoped the difficulty was past. +But another week only had gone by, when, as she was pacing the +Giant's Walk (the name given to the promenade), she met the same +personage in the company of a fat woman carrying a bundle. + +'This is the lady, my dear,' he said to his companion. 'This, ma'am, +is my wife. We've come to settle in the town for a time, if so be we +can find room.' + +'That you won't do,' said she. 'Nobody can live here who is not +privileged.' + +'I am privileged,' said the glazier, 'by my trade.' + +Baptista went on, but in the afternoon she received a visit from the +man's wife. This honest woman began to depict, in forcible colours, +the necessity for keeping up the concealment. + +'I will intercede with my husband, ma'am,' she said. 'He's a true +man if rightly managed; and I'll beg him to consider your position. +'Tis a very nice house you've got here,' she added, glancing round, +'and well worth a little sacrifice to keep it.' + +The unlucky Baptista staved off the danger on this third occasion as +she had done on the previous two. But she formed a resolve that, if +the attack were once more to be repeated she would face a revelation- +-worse though that must now be than before she had attempted to +purchase silence by bribes. Her tormentors, never believing her +capable of acting upon such an intention, came again; but she shut +the door in their faces. They retreated, muttering something; but +she went to the back of the house, where David Heddegan was. + +She looked at him, unconscious of all. The case was serious; she +knew that well; and all the more serious in that she liked him better +now than she had done at first. Yet, as she herself began to see, +the secret was one that was sure to disclose itself. Her name and +Charles's stood indelibly written in the registers; and though a +month only had passed as yet it was a wonder that his clandestine +union with her had not already been discovered by his friends. Thus +spurring herself to the inevitable, she spoke to Heddegan. + +'David, come indoors. I have something to tell you.' + +He hardly regarded her at first. She had discerned that during the +last week or two he had seemed preoccupied, as if some private +business harassed him. She repeated her request. He replied with a +sigh, 'Yes, certainly, mee deer.' + +When they had reached the sitting-room and shut the door she +repeated, faintly, 'David, I have something to tell you--a sort of +tragedy I have concealed. You will hate me for having so far +deceived you; but perhaps my telling you voluntarily will make you +think a little better of me than you would do otherwise.' + +'Tragedy?' he said, awakening to interest. 'Much you can know about +tragedies, mee deer, that have been in the world so short a time!' + +She saw that he suspected nothing, and it made her task the harder. +But on she went steadily. 'It is about something that happened +before we were married,' she said. + +'Indeed!' + +'Not a very long time before--a short time. And it is about a +lover,' she faltered. + +'I don't much mind that,' he said mildly. 'In truth, I was in hopes +'twas more.' + +'In hopes!' + +'Well, yes.' + +This screwed her up to the necessary effort. 'I met my old +sweetheart. He scorned me, chid me, dared me, and I went and married +him. We were coming straight here to tell you all what we had done; +but he was drowned; and I thought I would say nothing about him: and +I married you, David, for the sake of peace and quietness. I've +tried to keep it from you, but have found I cannot. There--that's +the substance of it, and you can never, never forgive me, I am sure!' + +She spoke desperately. But the old man, instead of turning black or +blue, or slaying her in his indignation, jumped up from his chair, +and began to caper around the room in quite an ecstatic emotion. + +'O, happy thing! How well it falls out!' he exclaimed, snapping his, +fingers over his head. 'Ha-ha--the knot is cut--I see a way out of +my trouble--ha-ha!' She looked at him without uttering a sound, +till, as he still continued smiling joyfully, she said, 'O--what do +you mean! Is it done to torment me?' + +'No--no! O, mee deer, your story helps me out of the most heart- +aching quandary a poor man ever found himself in! You see, it is +this--I'VE got a tragedy, too; and unless you had had one to tell, I +could never have seen my way to tell mine!' + +'What is yours--what is it?' she asked, with altogether a new view of +things. + +'Well--it is a bouncer; mine is a bouncer!' said he, looking on the +ground and wiping his eyes. + +'Not worse than mine?' + +'Well--that depends upon how you look at it. Yours had to do with +the past alone; and I don't mind it. You see, we've been married a +month, and it don't jar upon me as it would if we'd only been married +a day or two. Now mine refers to past, present, and future; so that- +-' + +'Past, present, and future!' she murmured. 'It never occurred to me +that YOU had a tragedy, too.' + +'But I have!' he said, shaking his head. 'In fact, four.' + +'Then tell 'em!' cried the young woman. + +'I will--I will. But be considerate, I beg 'ee, mee deer. Well--I +wasn't a bachelor when I married 'ee, any more than you were a +spinster. Just as you was a widow-woman, I was a widow-man. + +'Ah!' said she, with some surprise. 'But is that all?--then we are +nicely balanced,' she added, relieved. + +'No--it is not all. There's the point. I am not only a widower.' + +'O, David!' + +'I am a widower with four tragedies--that is to say, four strapping +girls--the eldest taller than you. Don't 'ee look so struck--dumb- +like! It fell out in this way. I knew the poor woman, their mother, +in Pen-zephyr for some years; and--to cut a long story short--I +privately married her at last, just before she died. I kept the +matter secret, but it is getting known among the people here by +degrees. I've long felt for the children--that it is my duty to have +them here, and do something for them. I have not had courage to +break it to 'ee, but I've seen lately that it would soon come to your +ears, and that hev worried me.' + +'Are they educated?' said the ex-schoolmistress. + +'No. I am sorry to say they have been much neglected; in truth, they +can hardly read. And so I thought that by marrying a young +schoolmistress I should get some one in the house who could teach +'em, and bring 'em into genteel condition, all for nothing. You see, +they are growed up too tall to be sent to school.' + +'O, mercy!' she almost moaned. 'Four great girls to teach the +rudiments to, and have always in the house with me spelling over +their books; and I hate teaching, it kills me. I am bitterly +punished--I am, I am!' + +'You'll get used to 'em, mee deer, and the balance of secrets--mine +against yours--will comfort your heart with a sense of justice. I +could send for 'em this week very well--and I will! In faith, I +could send this very day. Baptista, you have relieved me of all my +difficulty!' + +Thus the interview ended, so far as this matter was concerned. +Baptista was too stupefied to say more, and when she went away to her +room she wept from very mortification at Mr. Heddegan's duplicity. +Education, the one thing she abhorred; the shame of it to delude a +young wife so! + +The next meal came round. As they sat, Baptista would not suffer her +eyes to turn towards him. He did not attempt to intrude upon her +reserve, but every now and then looked under the table and chuckled +with satisfaction at the aspect of affairs. 'How very well matched +we be!' he said, comfortably. + +Next day, when the steamer came in, Baptista saw her husband rush +down to meet it; and soon after there appeared at her door four tall, +hipless, shoulderless girls, dwindling in height and size from the +eldest to the youngest, like a row of Pan pipes; at the head of them +standing Heddegan. He smiled pleasantly through the grey fringe of +his whiskers and beard, and turning to the girls said, 'Now come +forrard, and shake hands properly with your stepmother.' + +Thus she made their acquaintance, and he went out, leaving them +together. On examination the poor girls turned out to be not only +plain-looking, which she could have forgiven, but to have such a +lamentably meagre intellectual equipment as to be hopelessly +inadequate as companions. Even the eldest, almost her own age, could +only read with difficulty words of two syllables; and taste in dress +was beyond their comprehension. In the long vista of future years +she saw nothing but dreary drudgery at her detested old trade without +prospect of reward. + +She went about quite despairing during the next few days--an +unpromising, unfortunate mood for a woman who had not been married +six weeks. From her parents she concealed everything. They had been +amongst the few acquaintances of Heddegan who knew nothing of his +secret, and were indignant enough when they saw such a ready-made +household foisted upon their only child. But she would not support +them in their remonstrances. + +'No, you don't yet know all,' she said. + +Thus Baptista had sense enough to see the retributive fairness of +this issue. For some time, whenever conversation arose between her +and Heddegan, which was not often, she always said, 'I am miserable, +and you know it. Yet I don't wish things to be otherwise.' + +But one day when he asked, 'How do you like 'em now?' her answer was +unexpected. 'Much better than I did,' she said, quietly. 'I may +like them very much some day.' + +This was the beginning of a serener season for the chastened spirit +of Baptista Heddegan. She had, in truth, discovered, underneath the +crust of uncouthness and meagre articulation which was due to their +Troglodytean existence, that her unwelcomed daughters had natures +that were unselfish almost to sublimity. The harsh discipline +accorded to their young lives before their mother's wrong had been +righted, had operated less to crush them than to lift them above all +personal ambition. They considered the world and its contents in a +purely objective way, and their own lot seemed only to affect them as +that of certain human beings among the rest, whose troubles they knew +rather than suffered. + +This was such an entirely new way of regarding life to a woman of +Baptista's nature, that her attention, from being first arrested by +it, became deeply interested. By imperceptible pulses her heart +expanded in sympathy with theirs. The sentences of her tragi-comedy, +her life, confused till now, became clearer daily. That in humanity, +as exemplified by these girls, there was nothing to dislike, but +infinitely much to pity, she learnt with the lapse of each week in +their company. She grew to like the girls of unpromising exterior, +and from liking she got to love them; till they formed an unexpected +point of junction between her own and her husband's interests, +generating a sterling friendship at least, between a pair in whose +existence there had threatened to be neither friendship nor love. + +October, 1885. + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg eText A Changed Man and Other Tales + diff --git a/old/chgmn10.zip b/old/chgmn10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c872c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/chgmn10.zip |