by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER VII
RECOGNITION--A TIMID GIRL
Bathsheba withdrew into the shade. She scarcely knew whether most tobe amused at the singularity of the meeting, or to be concerned atits awkwardness. There was room for a little pity, also for a verylittle exultation: the former at his position, the latter at her own.Embarrassed she was not, and she remembered Gabriel's declaration oflove to her at Norcombe only to think she had nearly forgotten it.
"Yes," she murmured, putting on an air of dignity, and turning againto him with a little warmth of cheek; "I do want a shepherd. But--"
"He's the very man, ma'am," said one of the villagers, quietly.
Conviction breeds conviction. "Ay, that 'a is," said a second,decisively.
"The man, truly!" said a third, with heartiness.
"He's all there!" said number four, fervidly.
"Then will you tell him to speak to the bailiff," said Bathsheba.
All was practical again now. A summer eve and loneliness would havebeen necessary to give the meeting its proper fulness of romance.
The bailiff was pointed out to Gabriel, who, checking the palpitationwithin his breast at discovering that this Ashtoreth of strangereport was only a modification of Venus the well-known and admired,retired with him to talk over the necessary preliminaries of hiring.
The fire before them wasted away. "Men," said Bathsheba, "you shalltake a little refreshment after this extra work. Will you come tothe house?"
"We could knock in a bit and a drop a good deal freer, Miss, if so beye'd send it to Warren's Malthouse," replied the spokesman.
Bathsheba then rode off into the darkness, and the men straggled onto the village in twos and threes--Oak and the bailiff being left bythe rick alone.
"And now," said the bailiff, finally, "all is settled, I think, aboutyour coming, and I am going home-along. Good-night to ye, shepherd."
"Can you get me a lodging?" inquired Gabriel.
"That I can't, indeed," he said, moving past Oak as a Christian edgespast an offertory-plate when he does not mean to contribute. "If youfollow on the road till you come to Warren's Malthouse, where theyare all gone to have their snap of victuals, I daresay some of 'emwill tell you of a place. Good-night to ye, shepherd."
The bailiff who showed this nervous dread of loving his neighbour ashimself, went up the hill, and Oak walked on to the village, stillastonished at the reencounter with Bathsheba, glad of his nearness toher, and perplexed at the rapidity with which the unpractised girl ofNorcombe had developed into the supervising and cool woman here. Butsome women only require an emergency to make them fit for one.
Obliged, to some extent, to forgo dreaming in order to find the way,he reached the churchyard, and passed round it under the wall whereseveral ancient trees grew. There was a wide margin of grass alonghere, and Gabriel's footsteps were deadened by its softness, even atthis indurating period of the year. When abreast of a trunk whichappeared to be the oldest of the old, he became aware that a figurewas standing behind it. Gabriel did not pause in his walk, and inanother moment he accidentally kicked a loose stone. The noise wasenough to disturb the motionless stranger, who started and assumeda careless position.
It was a slim girl, rather thinly clad.
"Good-night to you," said Gabriel, heartily.
"Good-night," said the girl to Gabriel.
The voice was unexpectedly attractive; it was the low and dulcet notesuggestive of romance; common in descriptions, rare in experience.
"I'll thank you to tell me if I'm in the way for Warren's Malthouse?"Gabriel resumed, primarily to gain the information, indirectly to getmore of the music.
"Quite right. It's at the bottom of the hill. And do you know--"The girl hesitated and then went on again. "Do you know how latethey keep open the Buck's Head Inn?" She seemed to be won byGabriel's heartiness, as Gabriel had been won by her modulations.
"I don't know where the Buck's Head is, or anything about it. Do youthink of going there to-night?"
"Yes--" The woman again paused. There was no necessity for anycontinuance of speech, and the fact that she did add more seemed toproceed from an unconscious desire to show unconcern by making aremark, which is noticeable in the ingenuous when they are acting bystealth. "You are not a Weatherbury man?" she said, timorously.
"I am not. I am the new shepherd--just arrived."
"Only a shepherd--and you seem almost a farmer by your ways."
"Only a shepherd," Gabriel repeated, in a dull cadence of finality.His thoughts were directed to the past, his eyes to the feet of thegirl; and for the first time he saw lying there a bundle of somesort. She may have perceived the direction of his face, for she saidcoaxingly,--
"You won't say anything in the parish about having seen me here, willyou--at least, not for a day or two?"
"I won't if you wish me not to," said Oak.
"Thank you, indeed," the other replied. "I am rather poor, and Idon't want people to know anything about me." Then she was silentand shivered.
"You ought to have a cloak on such a cold night," Gabriel observed."I would advise 'ee to get indoors."
"O no! Would you mind going on and leaving me? I thank you much forwhat you have told me."
"I will go on," he said; adding hesitatingly,--"Since you are notvery well off, perhaps you would accept this trifle from me. It isonly a shilling, but it is all I have to spare."
"Yes, I will take it," said the stranger gratefully.
She extended her hand; Gabriel his. In feeling for each other's palmin the gloom before the money could be passed, a minute incidentoccurred which told much. Gabriel's fingers alighted on the youngwoman's wrist. It was beating with a throb of tragic intensity. Hehad frequently felt the same quick, hard beat in the femoral arteryof his lambs when overdriven. It suggested a consumption too greatof a vitality which, to judge from her figure and stature, wasalready too little.
"What is the matter?"
"Nothing."
"But there is?"
"No, no, no! Let your having seen me be a secret!"
"Very well; I will. Good-night, again."
"Good-night."
The young girl remained motionless by the tree, and Gabriel descendedinto the village of Weatherbury, or Lower Longpuddle as it wassometimes called. He fancied that he had felt himself in thepenumbra of a very deep sadness when touching that slight and fragilecreature. But wisdom lies in moderating mere impressions, andGabriel endeavoured to think little of this.
