I wonder such a nice-notioned fellow as Clym likes to come home into it.What a nunnywatch we were in, to be sure, when we heard they weren't married at all, after singing to 'em as man and wife that night! Be dazed if I should like a relation of mine to have been made such a fool of by a man.It makes the family look small.""Yes.Poor maid, her heart has ached enough about it.
Her health is suffering from it, I hear, for she will bide entirely indoors.We never see her out now, scampering over the furze with a face as red as a rose, as she used to do.""I've heard she wouldn't have Wildeve now if he asked her.""You have? 'Tis news to me."
While the furze-gatherers had desultorily conversed thus Eustacia's face gradually bent to the hearth in a profound reverie, her toe unconsciously tapping the dry turf which lay burning at her feet.
The subject of their discourse had been keenly interesting to her.A young and clever man was coming into that lonely heath from, of all contrasting places in the world, Paris.
It was like a man coming from heaven.More singular still, the heathmen had instinctively coupled her and this man together in their minds as a pair born for each other.
That five minutes of overhearing furnished Eustacia with visions enough to fill the whole blank afternoon.
Such sudden alternations from mental vacuity do sometimes occur thus quietly.She could never have believed in the morning that her colourless inner world would before night become as animated as water under a microscope, and that without the arrival of a single visitor.
The words of Sam and Humphrey on the harmony between the unknown and herself had on her mind the effect of the invading Bard's prelude in the Castle of Indolence, at which myriads of imprisoned shapes arose where had previously appeared the stillness of a void.
Involved in these imaginings she knew nothing of time.
When she became conscious of externals it was dusk.
The furze-rick was finished; the men had gone home.
Eustacia went upstairs, thinking that she would take a walk at this her usual time; and she determined that her walk should be in the direction of Blooms-End, the birthplace of young Yeobright and the present home of his mother.She had no reason for walking elsewhere, and why should she not go that way? The scene of the daydream is sufficient for a pilgrimage at nineteen.
To look at the palings before the Yeobrights'
house had the dignity of a necessary performance.
Strange that such a piece of idling should have seemed an important errand.
She put on her bonnet, and, leaving the house, descended the hill on the side towards Blooms-End, where she walked slowly along the valley for a distance of a mile and a half.
This brought her to a spot in which the green bottom of the dale began to widen, the furze bushes to recede yet further from the path on each side, till they were diminished to an isolated one here and there by the increasing fertility of the soil.Beyond the irregular carpet of grass was a row of white palings, which marked the verge of the heath in this latitude.They showed upon the dusky scene that they bordered as distinctly as white lace on velvet.Behind the white palings was a little garden;behind the garden an old, irregular, thatched house, facing the heath, and commanding a full view of the valley.
This was the obscure, removed spot to which was about to return a man whose latter life had been passed in the French capital--the centre and vortex of the fashionable world.
2 - The People at Blooms-End Make Ready All that afternoon the expected arrival of the subject of Eustacia's ruminations created a bustle of preparation at Blooms-End.Thomasin had been persuaded by her aunt, and by an instinctive impulse of loyalty towards her cousin Clym, to bestir herself on his account with an alacrity unusual in her during these most sorrowful days of her life.
At the time that Eustacia was listening to the rick-makers'
conversation on Clym's return, Thomasin was climbing into a loft over her aunt's fuelhouse, where the store-apples were kept, to search out the best and largest of them for the coming holiday-time.
The loft was lighted by a semicircular hole, through which the pigeons crept to their lodgings in the same high quarters of the premises; and from this hole the sun shone in a bright yellow patch upon the figure of the maiden as she knelt and plunged her naked arms into the soft brown fern, which, from its abundance, was used on Egdon in packing away stores of all kinds.
The pigeons were flying about her head with the greatest unconcern, and the face of her aunt was just visible above the floor of the loft, lit by a few stray motes of light, as she stood halfway up the ladder, looking at a spot into which she was not climber enough to venture.
"Now a few russets, Tamsin.He used to like them almost as well as ribstones."Thomasin turned and rolled aside the fern from another nook, where more mellow fruit greeted her with its ripe smell.
Before picking them out she stopped a moment.
"Dear Clym, I wonder how your face looks now?" she said, gazing abstractedly at the pigeon-hole.which admitted the sunlight so directly upon her brown hair and transparent tissues that it almost seemed to shine through her.
"If he could have been dear to you in another way,"said Mrs.Yeobright from the ladder, "this might have been a happy meeting.""Is there any use in saying what can do no good, Aunt?""Yes," said her aunt, with some warmth."To thoroughly fill the air with the past misfortune, so that other girls may take warning and keep clear of it."Thomasin lowered her face to the apples again.
