Far from the Madding Crowd

by Thomas Hardy

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  THE HOLLOW AMID THE FERNS

  The hill opposite Bathsheba's dwelling extended, a mile off, into anuncultivated tract of land, dotted at this season with tall thicketsof brake fern, plump and diaphanous from recent rapid growth, andradiant in hues of clear and untainted green.

  At eight o'clock this midsummer evening, whilst the bristling ballof gold in the west still swept the tips of the ferns with its long,luxuriant rays, a soft brushing-by of garments might have been heardamong them, and Bathsheba appeared in their midst, their soft,feathery arms caressing her up to her shoulders. She paused, turned,went back over the hill and half-way to her own door, whence she casta farewell glance upon the spot she had just left, having resolvednot to remain near the place after all.

  She saw a dim spot of artificial red moving round the shoulder of therise. It disappeared on the other side.

  She waited one minute--two minutes--thought of Troy's disappointmentat her non-fulfilment of a promised engagement, till she again ranalong the field, clambered over the bank, and followed the originaldirection. She was now literally trembling and panting at this hertemerity in such an errant undertaking; her breath came and wentquickly, and her eyes shone with an infrequent light. Yet go shemust. She reached the verge of a pit in the middle of the ferns.Troy stood in the bottom, looking up towards her.

  "I heard you rustling through the fern before I saw you," he said,coming up and giving her his hand to help her down the slope.

  The pit was a saucer-shaped concave, naturally formed, with a topdiameter of about thirty feet, and shallow enough to allow thesunshine to reach their heads. Standing in the centre, the skyoverhead was met by a circular horizon of fern: this grew nearly tothe bottom of the slope and then abruptly ceased. The middle withinthe belt of verdure was floored with a thick flossy carpet of mossand grass intermingled, so yielding that the foot was half-buriedwithin it.

  "Now," said Troy, producing the sword, which, as he raised it intothe sunlight, gleamed a sort of greeting, like a living thing,"first, we have four right and four left cuts; four right and fourleft thrusts. Infantry cuts and guards are more interesting thanours, to my mind; but they are not so swashing. They have sevencuts and three thrusts. So much as a preliminary. Well, next, ourcut one is as if you were sowing your corn--so." Bathsheba saw asort of rainbow, upside down in the air, and Troy's arm was stillagain. "Cut two, as if you were hedging--so. Three, as if you werereaping--so. Four, as if you were threshing--in that way. Then thesame on the left. The thrusts are these: one, two, three, four,right; one, two, three, four, left." He repeated them. "Have 'emagain?" he said. "One, two--"

  She hurriedly interrupted: "I'd rather not; though I don't mind yourtwos and fours; but your ones and threes are terrible!"

  "Very well. I'll let you off the ones and threes. Next, cuts,points and guards altogether." Troy duly exhibited them. "Thenthere's pursuing practice, in this way." He gave the movements asbefore. "There, those are the stereotyped forms. The infantry havetwo most diabolical upward cuts, which we are too humane to use.Like this--three, four."

  "How murderous and bloodthirsty!"

  "They are rather deathly. Now I'll be more interesting, and let yousee some loose play--giving all the cuts and points, infantry andcavalry, quicker than lightning, and as promiscuously--with justenough rule to regulate instinct and yet not to fetter it. You aremy antagonist, with this difference from real warfare, that I shallmiss you every time by one hair's breadth, or perhaps two. Mind youdon't flinch, whatever you do."

  "I'll be sure not to!" she said invincibly.

  He pointed to about a yard in front of him.

  Bathsheba's adventurous spirit was beginning to find some grains ofrelish in these highly novel proceedings. She took up her positionas directed, facing Troy.

  "Now just to learn whether you have pluck enough to let me do what Iwish, I'll give you a preliminary test."

  He flourished the sword by way of introduction number two, and thenext thing of which she was conscious was that the point and blade ofthe sword were darting with a gleam towards her left side, just aboveher hip; then of their reappearance on her right side, emerging asit were from between her ribs, having apparently passed through herbody. The third item of consciousness was that of seeing the samesword, perfectly clean and free from blood held vertically in Troy'shand (in the position technically called "recover swords"). All wasas quick as electricity.

  "Oh!" she cried out in affright, pressing her hand to her side. "Haveyou run me through?--no, you have not! Whatever have you done!"

  "I have not touched you," said Troy, quietly. "It was mere sleightof hand. The sword passed behind you. Now you are not afraid, areyou? Because if you are I can't perform. I give my word that I willnot only not hurt you, but not once touch you."

  "I don't think I am afraid. You are quite sure you will not hurtme?"

  "Quite sure."

  "Is the sword very sharp?"

  "O no--only stand as still as a statue. Now!"

  In an instant the atmosphere was transformed to Bathsheba's eyes.Beams of light caught from the low sun's rays, above, around, infront of her, well-nigh shut out earth and heaven--all emitted inthe marvellous evolutions of Troy's reflecting blade, which seemedeverywhere at once, and yet nowhere specially. These circling gleamswere accompanied by a keen rush that was almost a whistling--alsospringing from all sides of her at once. In short, she was enclosedin a firmament of light, and of sharp hisses, resembling a sky-fullof meteors close at hand.

  Never since the broadsword became the national weapon had there beenmore dexterity shown in its management than by the hands of SergeantTroy, and never had he been in such splendid temper for theperformance as now in the evening sunshine among the ferns withBathsheba. It may safely be asserted with respect to the closenessof his cuts, that had it been possible for the edge of the sword toleave in the air a permanent substance wherever it flew past, thespace left untouched would have been almost a mould of Bathsheba'sfigure.

  Behind the luminous streams of this _aurora militaris_, she could seethe hue of Troy's sword arm, spread in a scarlet haze over the spacecovered by its motions, like a twanged harpstring, and behind allTroy himself, mostly facing her; sometimes, to show the rear cuts,half turned away, his eye nevertheless always keenly measuringher breadth and outline, and his lips tightly closed in sustainedeffort. Next, his movements lapsed slower, and she could see themindividually. The hissing of the sword had ceased, and he stoppedentirely.

  "That outer loose lock of hair wants tidying," he said, before shehad moved or spoken. "Wait: I'll do it for you."

  An arc of silver shone on her right side: the sword had descended.The lock dropped to the ground.

  "Bravely borne!" said Troy. "You didn't flinch a shade's thickness.Wonderful in a woman!"

  "It was because I didn't expect it. Oh, you have spoilt my hair!"

  "Only once more."

  "No--no! I am afraid of you--indeed I am!" she cried.

  "I won't touch you at all--not even your hair. I am only going tokill that caterpillar settling on you. Now: still!"

  It appeared that a caterpillar had come from the fern and chosen thefront of her bodice as his resting place. She saw the point glistentowards her bosom, and seemingly enter it. Bathsheba closed her eyesin the full persuasion that she was killed at last. However, feelingjust as usual, she opened them again.

  "There it is, look," said the sergeant, holding his sword before hereyes.

  The caterpillar was spitted upon its point.

  "Why, it is magic!" said Bathsheba, amazed.

  "Oh no--dexterity. I merely gave point to your bosom where thecaterpillar was, and instead of running you through checked theextension a thousandth of an inch short of your surface."

  "But how could you chop off a curl of my hair with a sword that hasno edge?"

  "No edge! This sword will shave like a razor. Look here."
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  He touched the palm of his hand with the blade, and then, lifting it,showed her a thin shaving of scarf-skin dangling therefrom.

  "But you said before beginning that it was blunt and couldn't cutme!"

  "That was to get you to stand still, and so make sure of your safety.The risk of injuring you through your moving was too great not toforce me to tell you a fib to escape it."

  She shuddered. "I have been within an inch of my life, and didn'tknow it!"

  "More precisely speaking, you have been within half an inch of beingpared alive two hundred and ninety-five times."

  "Cruel, cruel, 'tis of you!"

  "You have been perfectly safe, nevertheless. My sword never errs."And Troy returned the weapon to the scabbard.

  Bathsheba, overcome by a hundred tumultuous feelings resulting fromthe scene, abstractedly sat down on a tuft of heather.

  "I must leave you now," said Troy, softly. "And I'll venture to takeand keep this in remembrance of you."

  She saw him stoop to the grass, pick up the winding lock which hehad severed from her manifold tresses, twist it round his fingers,unfasten a button in the breast of his coat, and carefully putit inside. She felt powerless to withstand or deny him. He wasaltogether too much for her, and Bathsheba seemed as one who, facinga reviving wind, finds it blow so strongly that it stops the breath.He drew near and said, "I must be leaving you."

  He drew nearer still. A minute later and she saw his scarlet formdisappear amid the ferny thicket, almost in a flash, like a brandswiftly waved.

  That minute's interval had brought the blood beating into her face,set her stinging as if aflame to the very hollows of her feet, andenlarged emotion to a compass which quite swamped thought. It hadbrought upon her a stroke resulting, as did that of Moses in Horeb,in a liquid stream--here a stream of tears. She felt like one whohas sinned a great sin.

  The circumstance had been the gentle dip of Troy's mouth downwardsupon her own. He had kissed her.