by Thomas Hardy
VIII
Firmness Is Discovered in a Gentle Heart
On that evening the interior of Blooms-End, though cosy andcomfortable, had been rather silent. Clym Yeobright was not at home.Since the Christmas party he had gone on a few days' visit to a friendabout ten miles off.
The shadowy form seen by Venn to part from Wildeve in the porch, andquickly withdraw into the house, was Thomasin's. On entering she threwdown a cloak which had been carelessly wrapped round her, and cameforward to the light, where Mrs. Yeobright sat at her work-table,drawn up within the settle, so that part of it projected into thechimney-corner.
"I don't like your going out after dark alone, Tamsin," said her auntquietly, without looking up from her work.
"I have only been just outside the door."
"Well?" inquired Mrs. Yeobright, struck by a change in the tone ofThomasin's voice, and observing her. Thomasin's cheek was flushed toa pitch far beyond that which it had reached before her troubles, andher eyes glittered.
"It was HE who knocked," she said.
"I thought as much."
"He wishes the marriage to be at once."
"Indeed! What--is he anxious?" Mrs. Yeobright directed a searchinglook upon her niece. "Why did not Mr. Wildeve come in?"
"He did not wish to. You are not friends with him, he says. He wouldlike the wedding to be the day after tomorrow, quite privately; at thechurch of his parish--not at ours."
"Oh! And what did you say?"
"I agreed to it," Thomasin answered firmly. "I am a practical womannow. I don't believe in hearts at all. I would marry him under anycircumstances since--since Clym's letter."
A letter was lying on Mrs. Yeobright's work-basket, and at Thomasin'sword her aunt reopened it, and silently read for the tenth time thatday:--
What is the meaning of this silly story that people are circulating about Thomasin and Mr. Wildeve? I should call such a scandal humiliating if there was the least chance of its being true. How could such a gross falsehood have arisen? It is said that one should go abroad to hear news of home, and I appear to have done it. Of course I contradict the tale everywhere; but it is very vexing, and I wonder how it could have originated. It is too ridiculous that such a girl as Thomasin could so mortify us as to get jilted on the wedding-day. What has she done?
"Yes," Mrs. Yeobright said sadly, putting down the letter. "If youthink you can marry him, do so. And since Mr. Wildeve wishes it tobe unceremonious, let it be that too. I can do nothing. It is all inyour own hands now. My power over your welfare came to an end when youleft this house to go with him to Anglebury." She continued, half inbitterness, "I may almost ask, why do you consult me in the matter atall? If you had gone and married him without saying a word to me, Icould hardly have been angry--simply because, poor girl, you can't doa better thing."
"Don't say that and dishearten me."
"You are right: I will not."
"I do not plead for him, aunt. Human nature is weak, and I am not ablind woman to insist that he is perfect. I did think so, but I don'tnow. But I know my course, and you know that I know it. I hope forthe best."
"And so do I, and we will both continue to," said Mrs. Yeobright,rising and kissing her. "Then the wedding, if it comes off, will beon the morning of the very day Clym comes home?"
"Yes. I decided that it ought to be over before he came. After thatyou can look him in the face, and so can I. Our concealments willmatter nothing."
Mrs. Yeobright moved her head in thoughtful assent, and presentlysaid, "Do you wish me to give you away? I am willing to undertakethat, you know, if you wish, as I was last time. After onceforbidding the banns I think I can do no less."
"I don't think I will ask you to come," said Thomasin reluctantly, butwith decision. "It would be unpleasant, I am almost sure. Better letthere be only strangers present, and none of my relations at all. Iwould rather have it so. I do not wish to do anything which may touchyour credit, and I feel that I should be uncomfortable if you werethere, after what has passed. I am only your niece, and there is nonecessity why you should concern yourself more about me."
"Well, he has beaten us," her aunt said. "It really seems as if hehad been playing with you in this way in revenge for my humbling himas I did by standing up against him at first."
"O no, aunt," murmured Thomasin.
They said no more on the subject then. Diggory Venn's knock came soonafter; and Mrs. Yeobright, on returning from her interview with himin the porch, carelessly observed, "Another lover has come to ask foryou."
"No?"
"Yes, that queer young man Venn."
"Asks to pay his addresses to me?"
"Yes; and I told him he was too late."
Thomasin looked silently into the candle-flame. "Poor Diggory!" shesaid, and then aroused herself to other things.
The next day was passed in mere mechanical deeds of preparation, boththe women being anxious to immerse themselves in these to escape theemotional aspect of the situation. Some wearing apparel and otherarticles were collected anew for Thomasin, and remarks on domesticdetails were frequently made, so as to obscure any inner misgivingsabout her future as Wildeve's wife.
The appointed morning came. The arrangement with Wildeve was thathe should meet her at the church to guard against any unpleasantcuriosity which might have affected them had they been seen walkingoff together in the usual country way.
Aunt and niece stood together in the bedroom where the bride wasdressing. The sun, where it could catch it, made a mirror ofThomasin's hair, which she always wore braided. It was braidedaccording to a calendric system: the more important the day the morenumerous the strands in the braid. On ordinary working-days shebraided it in threes; on ordinary Sundays in fours; at May-polings,gipsyings, and the like, she braided it in fives. Years ago she hadsaid that when she married she would braid it in sevens. She hadbraided it in sevens today.
"I have been thinking that I will wear my blue silk after all," shesaid. "It IS my wedding day, even though there may be somethingsad about the time. I mean," she added, anxious to correct anywrong impression, "not sad in itself, but in its having had greatdisappointment and trouble before it."
Mrs. Yeobright breathed in a way which might have been called a sigh."I almost wish Clym had been at home," she said. "Of course you chosethe time because of his absence."
"Partly. I have felt that I acted unfairly to him in not telling himall; but, as it was done not to grieve him, I thought I would carryout the plan to its end, and tell the whole story when the sky wasclear."
"You are a practical little woman," said Mrs. Yeobright, smiling."I wish you and he--no, I don't wish anything. There, it is nineo'clock," she interrupted, hearing a whizz and a dinging downstairs.
"I told Damon I would leave at nine," said Thomasin, hastening out ofthe room.
Her aunt followed. When Thomasin was going up the little walk fromthe door to the wicket-gate, Mrs. Yeobright looked reluctantly at her,and said, "It is a shame to let you go alone."
"It is necessary," said Thomasin.
"At any rate," added her aunt with forced cheerfulness, "I shall callupon you this afternoon, and bring the cake with me. If Clym hasreturned by that time he will perhaps come too. I wish to show Mr.Wildeve that I bear him no ill-will. Let the past be forgotten. Well,God bless you! There, I don't believe in old superstitions, but I'lldo it." She threw a slipper at the retreating figure of the girl, whoturned, smiled, and went on again.
A few steps further, and she looked back. "Did you call me, aunt?"she tremulously inquired. "Good-bye!"
Moved by an uncontrollable feeling as she looked upon Mrs. Yeobright'sworn, wet face, she ran back, when her aunt came forward, and they metagain. "O--Tamsie," said the elder, weeping, "I don't like to let yougo."
"I--I--am--" Thomasin began, giving way likewise. But, quelling hergrief, she said "Good-bye!" again and went on.
Then Mrs. Yeobright saw a little figure wending its way betweenthe scratching
furze-bushes, and diminishing far up the valley--apale-blue spot in a vast field of neutral brown, solitary andundefended except by the power of her own hope.
But the worst feature in the case was one which did not appear in thelandscape; it was the man.
The hour chosen for the ceremony by Thomasin and Wildeve had been sotimed as to enable her to escape the awkwardness of meeting her cousinClym, who was returning the same morning. To own to the partial truthof what he had heard would be distressing as long as the humiliatingposition resulting from the event was unimproved. It was only after asecond and successful journey to the altar that she could lift up herhead and prove the failure of the first attempt a pure accident.
She had not been gone from Blooms-End more than half an hour whenYeobright came by the meads from the other direction and entered thehouse.
"I had an early breakfast," he said to his mother after greeting her."Now I could eat a little more."
They sat down to the repeated meal, and he went on in a low, anxiousvoice, apparently imagining that Thomasin had not yet come downstairs,"What's this I have heard about Thomasin and Mr. Wildeve?"
"It is true in many points," said Mrs. Yeobright quietly; "but it isall right now, I hope." She looked at the clock.
"True?"
"Thomasin is gone to him today."
Clym pushed away his breakfast. "Then there is a scandal of somesort, and that's what's the matter with Thomasin. Was it this thatmade her ill?"
"Yes. Not a scandal: a misfortune. I will tell you all about it,Clym. You must not be angry, but you must listen, and you'll findthat what we have done has been done for the best."
She then told him the circumstances. All that he had known of theaffair before he returned from Paris was that there had existed anattachment between Thomasin and Wildeve, which his mother had at firstdiscountenanced, but had since, owing to the arguments of Thomasin,looked upon in a little more favourable light. When she, therefore,proceeded to explain all he was greatly surprised and troubled.
"And she determined that the wedding should be over before you cameback," said Mrs. Yeobright, "that there might be no chance of hermeeting you, and having a very painful time of it. That's why she hasgone to him; they have arranged to be married this morning."
"But I can't understand it," said Yeobright, rising. "'Tis so unlikeher. I can see why you did not write to me after her unfortunatereturn home. But why didn't you let me know when the wedding wasgoing to be--the first time?"
"Well, I felt vexed with her just then. She seemed to me to beobstinate; and when I found that you were nothing in her mind I vowedthat she should be nothing in yours. I felt that she was only myniece after all; I told her she might marry, but that I should take nointerest in it, and should not bother you about it either."
"It wouldn't have been bothering me. Mother, you did wrong."
"I thought it might disturb you in your business, and that you mightthrow up your situation, or injure your prospects in some way becauseof it, so I said nothing. Of course, if they had married at that timein a proper manner, I should have told you at once."
"Tamsin actually being married while we are sitting here!"
"Yes. Unless some accident happens again, as it did the first time.It may, considering he's the same man."
"Yes, and I believe it will. Was it right to let her go? SupposeWildeve is really a bad fellow?"
"Then he won't come, and she'll come home again."
"You should have looked more into it."
"It is useless to say that," his mother answered with an impatientlook of sorrow. "You don't know how bad it has been here with us allthese weeks, Clym. You don't know what a mortification anything ofthat sort is to a woman. You don't know the sleepless nights we'vehad in this house, and the almost bitter words that have passedbetween us since that Fifth of November. I hope never to pass sevensuch weeks again. Tamsin has not gone outside the door, and I havebeen ashamed to look anybody in the face; and now you blame me forletting her do the only thing that can be done to set that troublestraight."
"No," he said slowly. "Upon the whole I don't blame you. But justconsider how sudden it seems to me. Here was I, knowing nothing; andthen I am told all at once that Tamsie is gone to be married. Well,I suppose there was nothing better to do. Do you know, mother," hecontinued after a moment or two, looking suddenly interested in hisown past history, "I once thought of Tamsin as a sweetheart? Yes, Idid. How odd boys are! And when I came home and saw her this time sheseemed so much more affectionate than usual, that I was quite remindedof those days, particularly on the night of the party, when she wasunwell. We had the party just the same--was not that rather cruel toher?"
"It made no difference. I had arranged to give one, and it was notworth while to make more gloom than necessary. To begin by shuttingourselves up and telling you of Tamsin's misfortunes would have beena poor sort of welcome."
Clym remained thinking. "I almost wish you had not had that party,"he said; "and for other reasons. But I will tell you in a day or two.We must think of Tamsin now."
They lapsed into silence. "I'll tell you what," said Yeobright again,in a tone which showed some slumbering feeling still. "I don't thinkit kind to Tamsin to let her be married like this, and neither ofus there to keep up her spirits or care a bit about her. She hasn'tdisgraced herself, or done anything to deserve that. It is bad enoughthat the wedding should be so hurried and unceremonious, without ourkeeping away from it in addition. Upon my soul, 'tis almost a shame.I'll go."
"It is over by this time," said his mother with a sigh; "unless theywere late, or he--"
"Then I shall be soon enough to see them come out. I don't quite likeyour keeping me in ignorance, mother, after all. Really, I half hopehe has failed to meet her!"
"And ruined her character?"
"Nonsense: that wouldn't ruin Thomasin."
He took up his hat and hastily left the house. Mrs. Yeobright lookedrather unhappy, and sat still, deep in thought. But she was not longleft alone. A few minutes later Clym came back again, and in hiscompany came Diggory Venn.
"I find there isn't time for me to get there," said Clym.
"Is she married?" Mrs. Yeobright inquired, turning to the reddlemana face in which a strange strife of wishes, for and against, wasapparent.
Venn bowed. "She is, ma'am."
"How strange it sounds," murmured Clym.
"And he didn't disappoint her this time?" said Mrs. Yeobright.
"He did not. And there is now no slight on her name. I was hasteningath'art to tell you at once, as I saw you were not there."
"How came you to be there? How did you know it?" she asked.
"I have been in that neighbourhood for some time, and I saw them goin," said the reddleman. "Wildeve came up to the door, punctual asthe clock. I didn't expect it of him." He did not add, as he mighthave added, that how he came to be in that neighbourhood was not byaccident; that, since Wildeve's resumption of his right to Thomasin,Venn, with the thoroughness which was part of his character, haddetermined to see the end of the episode.
"Who was there?" said Mrs. Yeobright.
"Nobody hardly. I stood right out of the way, and she did not seeme." The reddleman spoke huskily, and looked into the garden.
"Who gave her away?"
"Miss Vye."
"How very remarkable! Miss Vye! It is to be considered an honour,I suppose?"
"Who's Miss Vye?" said Clym.
"Captain Vye's granddaughter, of Mistover Knap."
"A proud girl from Budmouth," said Mrs. Yeobright. "One not much tomy liking. People say she's a witch, but of course that's absurd."
The reddleman kept to himself his acquaintance with that fairpersonage, and also that Eustacia was there because he went to fetchher, in accordance with a promise he had given as soon as he learntthat the marriage was to take place. He merely said, in continuationof the story--
"I was sitting on the churchyard wall when they came up, one from oneway, the other from the o
ther; and Miss Vye was walking thereabouts,looking at the head-stones. As soon as they had gone in I went tothe door, feeling I should like to see it, as I knew her so well. Ipulled off my boots because they were so noisy, and went up into thegallery. I saw then that the parson and clerk were already there."
"How came Miss Vye to have anything to do with it, if she was only ona walk that way?"
"Because there was nobody else. She had gone into the church justbefore me, not into the gallery. The parson looked round beforebeginning, and as she was the only one near he beckoned to her, andshe went up to the rails. After that, when it came to signing thebook, she pushed up her veil and signed; and Tamsin seemed to thankher for her kindness." The reddleman told the tale thoughtfully,for there lingered upon his vision the changing colour of Wildeve,when Eustacia lifted the thick veil which had concealed her fromrecognition and looked calmly into his face. "And then," said Diggorysadly, "I came away, for her history as Tamsin Yeobright was over."
"I offered to go," said Mrs. Yeobright regretfully. "But she said itwas not necessary."
"Well, it is no matter," said the reddleman. "The thing is done atlast as it was meant to be at first, and God send her happiness. NowI'll wish you good morning."
He placed his cap on his head and went out.
From that instant of leaving Mrs. Yeobright's door, the reddleman wasseen no more in or about Egdon Heath for a space of many months. Hevanished entirely. The nook among the brambles where his van had beenstanding was as vacant as ever the next morning, and scarcely a signremained to show that he had been there, excepting a few straws, and alittle redness on the turf, which was washed away by the next storm ofrain.
The report that Diggory had brought of the wedding, correct as faras it went, was deficient in one significant particular, which hadescaped him through his being at some distance back in the church.When Thomasin was tremblingly engaged in signing her name Wildeve hadflung towards Eustacia a glance that said plainly, "I have punishedyou now." She had replied in a low tone--and he little thought howtruly--"You mistake; it gives me sincerest pleasure to see her yourwife today."
