by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER XIX.
Instead of resuming his investigation of South's brain, which perhapswas not so interesting under the microscope as might have been expectedfrom the importance of that organ in life, Fitzpiers reclined andruminated on the interview. Grace's curious susceptibility to hispresence, though it was as if the currents of her life were disturbedrather than attracted by him, added a special interest to her generalcharm. Fitzpiers was in a distinct degree scientific, being ready andzealous to interrogate all physical manifestations, but primarily hewas an idealist. He believed that behind the imperfect lay theperfect; that rare things were to be discovered amid a bulk ofcommonplace; that results in a new and untried case might be differentfrom those in other cases where the conditions had been preciselysimilar. Regarding his own personality as one of unboundedpossibilities, because it was his own--notwithstanding that the factorsof his life had worked out a sorry product for thousands--he sawnothing but what was regular in his discovery at Hintock of analtogether exceptional being of the other sex, who for nobody elsewould have had any existence.
One habit of Fitzpiers's--commoner in dreamers of more advanced agethan in men of his years--was that of talking to himself. He pacedround his room with a selective tread upon the more prominent blooms ofthe carpet, and murmured, "This phenomenal girl will be the light of mylife while I am at Hintock; and the special beauty of the situation isthat our attitude and relations to each other will be purely spiritual.Socially we can never be intimate. Anything like matrimonialintentions towards her, charming as she is, would be absurd. Theywould spoil the ethereal character of my regard. And, indeed, I haveother aims on the practical side of my life."
Fitzpiers bestowed a regulation thought on the advantageous marriage hewas bound to make with a woman of family as good as his own, and ofpurse much longer. But as an object of contemplation for the present,as objective spirit rather than corporeal presence, Grace Melbury wouldserve to keep his soul alive, and to relieve the monotony of his days.
His first notion--acquired from the mere sight of her withoutconverse--that of an idle and vulgar flirtation with atimber-merchant's pretty daughter, grated painfully upon him now thathe had found what Grace intrinsically was. Personal intercourse withsuch as she could take no lower form than intellectual communion, andmutual explorations of the world of thought. Since he could not callat her father's, having no practical views, cursory encounters in thelane, in the wood, coming and going to and from church, or in passingher dwelling, were what the acquaintance would have to feed on.
Such anticipated glimpses of her now and then realized themselves inthe event. Rencounters of not more than a minute's duration,frequently repeated, will build up mutual interest, even an intimacy,in a lonely place. Theirs grew as imperceptibly as the tree-twigsbudded. There never was a particular moment at which it could be saidthey became friends; yet a delicate understanding now existed betweentwo who in the winter had been strangers.
Spring weather came on rather suddenly, the unsealing of buds that hadlong been swollen accomplishing itself in the space of one warm night.The rush of sap in the veins of the trees could almost be heard. Theflowers of late April took up a position unseen, and looked as if theyhad been blooming a long while, though there had been no trace of themthe day before yesterday; birds began not to mind getting wet. In-doorpeople said they had heard the nightingale, to which out-door peoplereplied contemptuously that they had heard him a fortnight before.
The young doctor's practice being scarcely so large as a Londonsurgeon's, he frequently walked in the wood. Indeed such practice ashe had he did not follow up with the assiduity that would have beennecessary for developing it to exceptional proportions. One day, bookin hand, he walked in a part of the wood where the trees were mainlyoaks. It was a calm afternoon, and there was everywhere around thatsign of great undertakings on the part of vegetable nature which is aptto fill reflective human beings who are not undertaking much themselveswith a sudden uneasiness at the contrast. He heard in the distance acurious sound, something like the quack of a duck, which, though it wascommon enough here about this time, was not common to him.
Looking through the trees Fitzpiers soon perceived the origin of thenoise. The barking season had just commenced, and what he had heardwas the tear of the ripping tool as it ploughed its way along thesticky parting between the trunk and the rind. Melbury did a largebusiness in bark, and as he was Grace's father, and possibly might befound on the spot, Fitzpiers was attracted to the scene even more thanhe might have been by its intrinsic interest. When he got nearer herecognized among the workmen the two Timothys, and Robert Creedle, whoprobably had been "lent" by Winterborne; Marty South also assisted.
Each tree doomed to this flaying process was first attacked by Creedle.With a small billhook he carefully freed the collar of the tree fromtwigs and patches of moss which incrusted it to a height of a foot ortwo above the ground, an operation comparable to the "little toilet" ofthe executioner's victim. After this it was barked in its erectposition to a point as high as a man could reach. If a fine product ofvegetable nature could ever be said to look ridiculous it was the casenow, when the oak stood naked-legged, and as if ashamed, till theaxe-man came and cut a ring round it, and the two Timothys finished thework with the crosscut-saw.
As soon as it had fallen the barkers attacked it like locusts, and in ashort time not a particle of rind was left on the trunk and largerlimbs. Marty South was an adept at peeling the upper parts, and thereshe stood encaged amid the mass of twigs and buds like a great bird,running her tool into the smallest branches, beyond the farthest pointsto which the skill and patience of the men enabled them toproceed--branches which, in their lifetime, had swayed high above thebulk of the wood, and caught the latest and earliest rays of the sunand moon while the lower part of the forest was still in darkness.
"You seem to have a better instrument than they, Marty," said Fitzpiers.
"No, sir," she said, holding up the tool--a horse's leg-bone fittedinto a handle and filed to an edge--"'tis only that they've lesspatience with the twigs, because their time is worth more than mine."
A little shed had been constructed on the spot, of thatched hurdles andboughs, and in front of it was a fire, over which a kettle sung.Fitzpiers sat down inside the shelter, and went on with his reading,except when he looked up to observe the scene and the actors. Thethought that he might settle here and become welded in with this sylvanlife by marrying Grace Melbury crossed his mind for a moment. Whyshould he go farther into the world than where he was? The secret ofquiet happiness lay in limiting the ideas and aspirations; these men'sthoughts were conterminous with the margin of the Hintock woodlands,and why should not his be likewise limited--a small practice among thepeople around him being the bound of his desires?
Presently Marty South discontinued her operations upon the quiveringboughs, came out from the reclining oak, and prepared tea. When it wasready the men were called; and Fitzpiers being in a mood to join, satdown with them.
The latent reason of his lingering here so long revealed itself whenthe faint creaking of the joints of a vehicle became audible, and oneof the men said, "Here's he." Turning their heads they saw Melbury'sgig approaching, the wheels muffled by the yielding moss.
The timber-merchant was on foot leading the horse, looking back atevery few steps to caution his daughter, who kept her seat, where andhow to duck her head so as to avoid the overhanging branches. Theystopped at the spot where the bark-ripping had been temporarilysuspended; Melbury cursorily examined the heaps of bark, and drawingnear to where the workmen were sitting down, accepted their shoutedinvitation to have a dish of tea, for which purpose he hitched thehorse to a bough. Grace declined to take any of their beverage, andremained in her place in the vehicle, looking dreamily at the sunlightthat came in thin threads through the hollies with which the oaks wereinterspersed.
When Melbury stepped up close to the shelter, he for the first timeperceived that the do
ctor was present, and warmly appreciatedFitzpiers's invitation to sit down on the log beside him.
"Bless my heart, who would have thought of finding you here," he said,obviously much pleased at the circumstance. "I wonder now if mydaughter knows you are so nigh at hand. I don't expect she do."
He looked out towards the gig wherein Grace sat, her face still turnedin the opposite direction. "She doesn't see us. Well, never mind: lether be."
Grace was indeed quite unconscious of Fitzpiers's propinquity. She wasthinking of something which had little connection with the scene beforeher--thinking of her friend, lost as soon as found, Mrs. Charmond; ofher capricious conduct, and of the contrasting scenes she was possiblyenjoying at that very moment in other climes, to which Grace herselfhad hoped to be introduced by her friend's means. She wondered if thispatronizing lady would return to Hintock during the summer, and whetherthe acquaintance which had been nipped on the last occasion of herresidence there would develop on the next.
Melbury told ancient timber-stories as he sat, relating them directlyto Fitzpiers, and obliquely to the men, who had heard them oftenbefore. Marty, who poured out tea, was just saying, "I think I'll takeout a cup to Miss Grace," when they heard a clashing of thegig-harness, and turning round Melbury saw that the horse had becomerestless, and was jerking about the vehicle in a way which alarmed itsoccupant, though she refrained from screaming. Melbury jumped upimmediately, but not more quickly than Fitzpiers; and while her fatherran to the horse's head and speedily began to control him, Fitzpierswas alongside the gig assisting Grace to descend. Her surprise at hisappearance was so great that, far from making a calm and independentdescent, she was very nearly lifted down in his arms. He relinquishedher when she touched ground, and hoped she was not frightened.
"Oh no, not much," she managed to say. "There was no danger--unless hehad run under the trees where the boughs are low enough to hit my head."
"Which was by no means an impossibility, and justifies any amount ofalarm."
He referred to what he thought he saw written in her face, and shecould not tell him that this had little to do with the horse, but muchwith himself. His contiguity had, in fact, the same effect upon her ason those former occasions when he had come closer to her thanusual--that of producing in her an unaccountable tendency totearfulness. Melbury soon put the horse to rights, and seeing thatGrace was safe, turned again to the work-people. His daughter'snervous distress had passed off in a few moments, and she said quitegayly to Fitzpiers as she walked with him towards the group, "There'sdestiny in it, you see. I was doomed to join in your picnic, althoughI did not intend to do so."
Marty prepared her a comfortable place, and she sat down in the circle,and listened to Fitzpiers while he drew from her father and thebark-rippers sundry narratives of their fathers', their grandfathers',and their own adventures in these woods; of the mysterious sights theyhad seen--only to be accounted for by supernatural agency; of whitewitches and black witches; and the standard story of the spirits of thetwo brothers who had fought and fallen, and had haunted Hintock Housetill they were exorcised by the priest, and compelled to retreat to aswamp in this very wood, whence they were returning to their oldquarters at the rate of a cock's stride every New-year's Day, oldstyle; hence the local saying, "On New-year's tide, a cock's stride."
It was a pleasant time. The smoke from the little fire of peeledsticks rose between the sitters and the sunlight, and behind its blueveil stretched the naked arms of the prostrate trees. The smell of theuncovered sap mingled with the smell of the burning wood, and thesticky inner surface of the scattered bark glistened as it revealed itspale madder hues to the eye. Melbury was so highly satisfied at havingFitzpiers as a sort of guest that he would have sat on for any lengthof time, but Grace, on whom Fitzpiers's eyes only too frequentlyalighted, seemed to think it incumbent upon her to make a show ofgoing; and her father thereupon accompanied her to the vehicle.
As the doctor had helped her out of it he appeared to think that he hadexcellent reasons for helping her in, and performed the attentionlingeringly enough.
"What were you almost in tears about just now?" he asked, softly.
"I don't know," she said: and the words were strictly true.
Melbury mounted on the other side, and they drove on out of the grove,their wheels silently crushing delicate-patterned mosses, hyacinths,primroses, lords-and-ladies, and other strange and ordinary plants, andcracking up little sticks that lay across the track. Their wayhomeward ran along the crest of a lofty hill, whence on the right theybeheld a wide valley, differing both in feature and atmosphere fromthat of the Hintock precincts. It was the cider country, which met thewoodland district on the axis of this hill. Over the vale the air wasblue as sapphire--such a blue as outside that apple-valley was neverseen. Under the blue the orchards were in a blaze of bloom, some ofthe richly flowered trees running almost up to where they drove along.Over a gate which opened down the incline a man leaned on his arms,regarding this fair promise so intently that he did not observe theirpassing.
"That was Giles," said Melbury, when they had gone by.
"Was it? Poor Giles," said she.
"All that blooth means heavy autumn work for him and his hands. If noblight happens before the setting the apple yield will be such as wehave not had for years."
Meanwhile, in the wood they had come from, the men had sat on so longthat they were indisposed to begin work again that evening; they werepaid by the ton, and their time for labor was as they chose. Theyplaced the last gatherings of bark in rows for the curers, which ledthem farther and farther away from the shed; and thus they graduallywithdrew as the sun went down.
Fitzpiers lingered yet. He had opened his book again, though he couldhardly see a word in it, and sat before the dying fire, scarcelyknowing of the men's departure. He dreamed and mused till hisconsciousness seemed to occupy the whole space of the woodland around,so little was there of jarring sight or sound to hinder perfect unitywith the sentiment of the place. The idea returned upon him ofsacrificing all practical aims to live in calm contentment here, andinstead of going on elaborating new conceptions with infinite pains, toaccept quiet domesticity according to oldest and homeliest notions.These reflections detained him till the wood was embrowned with thecoming night, and the shy little bird of this dusky time had begun topour out all the intensity of his eloquence from a bush not very faroff.
Fitzpiers's eyes commanded as much of the ground in front as was open.Entering upon this he saw a figure, whose direction of movement wastowards the spot where he sat. The surgeon was quite shrouded fromobservation by the recessed shadow of the hut, and there was no reasonwhy he should move till the stranger had passed by. The shape resolveditself into a woman's; she was looking on the ground, and walkingslowly as if searching for something that had been lost, her coursebeing precisely that of Mr. Melbury's gig. Fitzpiers by a sort ofdivination jumped to the idea that the figure was Grace's; her nearerapproach made the guess a certainty.
Yes, she was looking for something; and she came round by the prostratetrees that would have been invisible but for the white nakedness whichenabled her to avoid them easily. Thus she approached the heap ofashes, and acting upon what was suggested by a still shining ember ortwo, she took a stick and stirred the heap, which thereupon burst intoa flame. On looking around by the light thus obtained she for thefirst time saw the illumined face of Fitzpiers, precisely in the spotwhere she had left him.
Grace gave a start and a scream: the place had been associated with himin her thoughts, but she had not expected to find him there still.Fitzpiers lost not a moment in rising and going to her side.
"I frightened you dreadfully, I know," he said. "I ought to havespoken; but I did not at first expect it to be you. I have beensitting here ever since."
He was actually supporting her with his arm, as though under theimpression that she was quite overcome, and in danger of falling. Assoon as she could collect her ideas she gently with
drew from his grasp,and explained what she had returned for: in getting up or down from thegig, or when sitting by the hut fire, she had dropped her purse.
"Now we will find it," said Fitzpiers.
He threw an armful of last year's leaves on to the fire, which made theflame leap higher, and the encompassing shades to weave themselves intoa denser contrast, turning eve into night in a moment. By thisradiance they groped about on their hands and knees, till Fitzpiersrested on his elbow, and looked at Grace. "We must always meet in oddcircumstances," he said; "and this is one of the oddest. I wonder ifit means anything?"
"Oh no, I am sure it doesn't," said Grace in haste, quickly assuming anerect posture. "Pray don't say it any more."
"I hope there was not much money in the purse," said Fitzpiers, risingto his feet more slowly, and brushing the leaves from his trousers.
"Scarcely any. I cared most about the purse itself, because it wasgiven me. Indeed, money is of little more use at Hintock than onCrusoe's island; there's hardly any way of spending it."
They had given up the search when Fitzpiers discerned something by hisfoot. "Here it is," he said, "so that your father, mother, friend, orADMIRER will not have his or her feelings hurt by a sense of yournegligence after all."
"Oh, he knows nothing of what I do now."
"The admirer?" said Fitzpiers, slyly.
"I don't know if you would call him that," said Grace, with simplicity."The admirer is a superficial, conditional creature, and this person isquite different."
"He has all the cardinal virtues."
"Perhaps--though I don't know them precisely."
"You unconsciously practise them, Miss Melbury, which is better.According to Schleiermacher they are Self-control, Perseverance,Wisdom, and Love; and his is the best list that I know."
"I am afraid poor--" She was going to say that she fearedWinterborne--the giver of the purse years before--had not muchperseverance, though he had all the other three; but she determined togo no further in this direction, and was silent.
These half-revelations made a perceptible difference in Fitzpiers. Hissense of personal superiority wasted away, and Grace assumed in hiseyes the true aspect of a mistress in her lover's regard.
"Miss Melbury," he said, suddenly, "I divine that this virtuous man youmention has been refused by you?"
She could do no otherwise than admit it.
"I do not inquire without good reason. God forbid that I should kneelin another's place at any shrine unfairly. But, my dear Miss Melbury,now that he is gone, may I draw near?"
"I--I can't say anything about that!" she cried, quickly. "Because whena man has been refused you feel pity for him, and like him more thanyou did before."
This increasing complication added still more value to Grace in thesurgeon's eyes: it rendered her adorable. "But cannot you say?" hepleaded, distractedly.
"I'd rather not--I think I must go home at once."
"Oh yes," said Fitzpiers. But as he did not move she felt it awkwardto walk straight away from him; and so they stood silently together. Adiversion was created by the accident of two birds, that had eitherbeen roosting above their heads or nesting there, tumbling one over theother into the hot ashes at their feet, apparently engrossed in adesperate quarrel that prevented the use of their wings. They speedilyparted, however, and flew up, and were seen no more.
"That's the end of what is called love!" said some one.
The speaker was neither Grace nor Fitzpiers, but Marty South, whoapproached with her face turned up to the sky in her endeavor to tracethe birds. Suddenly perceiving Grace, she exclaimed, "Oh, MissMelbury! I have been following they pigeons, and didn't see you. Andhere's Mr. Winterborne!" she continued, shyly, as she looked towardsFitzpiers, who stood in the background.
"Marty," Grace interrupted. "I want you to walk home with me--willyou? Come along." And without lingering longer she took hold of Marty'sarm and led her away.
They went between the spectral arms of the peeled trees as they lay,and onward among the growing trees, by a path where there were no oaks,and no barking, and no Fitzpiers--nothing but copse-wood, betweenwhich the primroses could be discerned in pale bunches. "I didn't knowMr. Winterborne was there," said Marty, breaking the silence when theyhad nearly reached Grace's door.
"Nor was he," said Grace.
"But, Miss Melbury, I saw him."
"No," said Grace. "It was somebody else. Giles Winterborne is nothingto me."
