Far from the Madding Crowd

by Thomas Hardy

  CHAPTER XLVIII

  DOUBTS ARISE--DOUBTS LINGER

  Bathsheba underwent the enlargement of her husband's absence fromhours to days with a slight feeling of surprise, and a slight feelingof relief; yet neither sensation rose at any time far above thelevel commonly designated as indifference. She belonged to him: thecertainties of that position were so well defined, and the reasonableprobabilities of its issue so bounded that she could not speculate oncontingencies. Taking no further interest in herself as a splendidwoman, she acquired the indifferent feelings of an outsider incontemplating her probable fate as a singular wretch; for Bathshebadrew herself and her future in colours that no reality could exceedfor darkness. Her original vigorous pride of youth had sickened,and with it had declined all her anxieties about coming years, sinceanxiety recognizes a better and a worse alternative, and Bathshebahad made up her mind that alternatives on any noteworthy scale hadceased for her. Soon, or later--and that not very late--her husbandwould be home again. And then the days of their tenancy of the UpperFarm would be numbered. There had originally been shown by the agentto the estate some distrust of Bathsheba's tenure as James Everdene'ssuccessor, on the score of her sex, and her youth, and her beauty;but the peculiar nature of her uncle's will, his own frequenttestimony before his death to her cleverness in such a pursuit, andher vigorous marshalling of the numerous flocks and herds which camesuddenly into her hands before negotiations were concluded, had wonconfidence in her powers, and no further objections had been raised.She had latterly been in great doubt as to what the legal effects ofher marriage would be upon her position but no notice had been takenas yet of her change of name, and only one point was clear--that inthe event of her own or her husband's inability to meet the agent atthe forthcoming January rent-day, very little consideration would beshown, and, for that matter, very little would be deserved. Once outof the farm, the approach of poverty would be sure.

  Hence Bathsheba lived in a perception that her purposes were brokenoff. She was not a woman who could hope on without good materialsfor the process, differing thus from the less far-sighted andenergetic, though more petted ones of the sex, with whom hope goeson as a sort of clockwork which the merest food and shelter aresufficient to wind up; and perceiving clearly that her mistake hadbeen a fatal one, she accepted her position, and waited coldly forthe end.

  The first Saturday after Troy's departure she went to Casterbridgealone, a journey she had not before taken since her marriage. Onthis Saturday Bathsheba was passing slowly on foot through the crowdof rural business-men gathered as usual in front of the market-house,who were as usual gazed upon by the burghers with feelings thatthose healthy lives were dearly paid for by exclusion from possiblealdermanship, when a man, who had apparently been following her,said some words to another on her left hand. Bathsheba's ears werekeen as those of any wild animal, and she distinctly heard what thespeaker said, though her back was towards him.

  "I am looking for Mrs. Troy. Is that she there?"

  "Yes; that's the young lady, I believe," said the the personaddressed.

  "I have some awkward news to break to her. Her husband is drowned."

  As if endowed with the spirit of prophecy, Bathsheba gasped out, "No,it is not true; it cannot be true!" Then she said and heard no more.The ice of self-command which had latterly gathered over her wasbroken, and the currents burst forth again, and overwhelmed her. Adarkness came into her eyes, and she fell.

  But not to the ground. A gloomy man, who had been observing her fromunder the portico of the old corn-exchange when she passed throughthe group without, stepped quickly to her side at the moment of herexclamation, and caught her in his arms as she sank down.

  "What is it?" said Boldwood, looking up at the bringer of the bignews, as he supported her.

  "Her husband was drowned this week while bathing in Lulwind Cove.A coastguardsman found his clothes, and brought them into Budmouthyesterday."

  Thereupon a strange fire lighted up Boldwood's eye, and his faceflushed with the suppressed excitement of an unutterable thought.Everybody's glance was now centred upon him and the unconsciousBathsheba. He lifted her bodily off the ground, and smoothed downthe folds of her dress as a child might have taken a storm-beatenbird and arranged its ruffled plumes, and bore her along thepavement to the King's Arms Inn. Here he passed with her under thearchway into a private room; and by the time he had deposited--solothly--the precious burden upon a sofa, Bathsheba had opened hereyes. Remembering all that had occurred, she murmured, "I want to gohome!"

  Boldwood left the room. He stood for a moment in the passage torecover his senses. The experience had been too much for hisconsciousness to keep up with, and now that he had grasped it it hadgone again. For those few heavenly, golden moments she had been inhis arms. What did it matter about her not knowing it? She had beenclose to his breast; he had been close to hers.

  He started onward again, and sending a woman to her, went out toascertain all the facts of the case. These appeared to be limited towhat he had already heard. He then ordered her horse to be put intothe gig, and when all was ready returned to inform her. He foundthat, though still pale and unwell, she had in the meantime sent forthe Budmouth man who brought the tidings, and learnt from him allthere was to know.

  Being hardly in a condition to drive home as she had driven to town,Boldwood, with every delicacy of manner and feeling, offered to gether a driver, or to give her a seat in his phaeton, which was morecomfortable than her own conveyance. These proposals Bathshebagently declined, and the farmer at once departed.

  About half-an-hour later she invigorated herself by an effort, andtook her seat and the reins as usual--in external appearance muchas if nothing had happened. She went out of the town by a tortuousback street, and drove slowly along, unconscious of the road and thescene. The first shades of evening were showing themselves whenBathsheba reached home, where, silently alighting and leaving thehorse in the hands of the boy, she proceeded at once upstairs.Liddy met her on the landing. The news had preceded Bathsheba toWeatherbury by half-an-hour, and Liddy looked inquiringly into hermistress's face. Bathsheba had nothing to say.

  She entered her bedroom and sat by the window, and thought andthought till night enveloped her, and the extreme lines only of hershape were visible. Somebody came to the door, knocked, and openedit.

  "Well, what is it, Liddy?" she said.

  "I was thinking there must be something got for you to wear," saidLiddy, with hesitation.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Mourning."

  "No, no, no," said Bathsheba, hurriedly.

  "But I suppose there must be something done for poor--"

  "Not at present, I think. It is not necessary."

  "Why not, ma'am?"

  "Because he's still alive."

  "How do you know that?" said Liddy, amazed.

  "I don't know it. But wouldn't it have been different, or shouldn'tI have heard more, or wouldn't they have found him, Liddy?--or--Idon't know how it is, but death would have been different from howthis is. I am perfectly convinced that he is still alive!"

  Bathsheba remained firm in this opinion till Monday, when twocircumstances conjoined to shake it. The first was a short paragraphin the local newspaper, which, beyond making by a methodizingpen formidable presumptive evidence of Troy's death by drowning,contained the important testimony of a young Mr. Barker, M.D., ofBudmouth, who spoke to being an eyewitness of the accident, in aletter to the editor. In this he stated that he was passing over thecliff on the remoter side of the cove just as the sun was setting.At that time he saw a bather carried along in the current outside themouth of the cove, and guessed in an instant that there was but apoor chance for him unless he should be possessed of unusual muscularpowers. He drifted behind a projection of the coast, and Mr. Barkerfollowed along the shore in the same direction. But by the time thathe could reach an elevation sufficiently great to command a view ofthe sea beyond, dusk had set in, and n
othing further was to be seen.

  The other circumstance was the arrival of his clothes, when it becamenecessary for her to examine and identify them--though this hadvirtually been done long before by those who inspected the letters inhis pockets. It was so evident to her in the midst of her agitationthat Troy had undressed in the full conviction of dressing againalmost immediately, that the notion that anything but death couldhave prevented him was a perverse one to entertain.

  Then Bathsheba said to herself that others were assured in theiropinion strange that she should not be. A strange reflectionoccurred to her, causing her face to flush. Suppose that Troy hadfollowed Fanny into another world. Had he done this intentionally,yet contrived to make his death appear like an accident?Nevertheless, this thought of how the apparent might differ from thereal--made vivid by her bygone jealousy of Fanny, and the remorsehe had shown that night--did not blind her to the perception of alikelier difference, less tragic, but to herself far more disastrous.

  When alone late that evening beside a small fire, and much calmeddown, Bathsheba took Troy's watch into her hand, which had beenrestored to her with the rest of the articles belonging to him. Sheopened the case as he had opened it before her a week ago. There wasthe little coil of pale hair which had been as the fuze to this greatexplosion.

  "He was hers and she was his; they should be gone together," shesaid. "I am nothing to either of them, and why should I keepher hair?" She took it in her hand, and held it over the fire."No--I'll not burn it--I'll keep it in memory of her, poor thing!"she added, snatching back her hand.