by Thomas Hardy
IV
Rough Coercion Is Employed
Those words of Thomasin, which seemed so little, but meant so much,remained in the ears of Diggory Venn: "Help me to keep him home in theevenings."
On this occasion Venn had arrived on Egdon Heath only to cross to theother side: he had no further connection with the interests of theYeobright family, and he had a business of his own to attend to. Yethe suddenly began to feel himself drifting into the old track ofmanoeuvring on Thomasin's account.
He sat in his van and considered. From Thomasin's words and mannerhe had plainly gathered that Wildeve neglected her. For whom couldhe neglect her if not for Eustacia? Yet it was scarcely crediblethat things had come to such a head as to indicate that Eustaciasystematically encouraged him. Venn resolved to reconnoitre somewhatcarefully the lonely road which led along the vale from Wildeve'sdwelling to Clym's house at Alderworth.
At this time, as had been seen, Wildeve was quite innocent of anypredetermined act of intrigue, and except at the dance on the greenhe had not once met Eustacia since her marriage. But that the spiritof intrigue was in him had been shown by a recent romantic habit ofhis: a habit of going out after dark and strolling towards Alderworth,there looking at the moon and stars, looking at Eustacia's house, andwalking back at leisure.
Accordingly, when watching on the night after the festival, thereddleman saw him ascend by the little path, lean over the front gateof Clym's garden, sigh, and turn to go back again. It was plain thatWildeve's intrigue was rather ideal than real. Venn retreated beforehim down the hill to a place where the path was merely a deep groovebetween the heather; here he mysteriously bent over the ground for afew minutes, and retired. When Wildeve came on to that spot his anklewas caught by something, and he fell headlong.
As soon as he had recovered the power of respiration he sat up andlistened. There was not a sound in the gloom beyond the spiritlessstir of the summer wind. Feeling about for the obstacle which hadflung him down, he discovered that two tufts of heath had been tiedtogether across the path, forming a loop, which to a traveller wascertain overthrow. Wildeve pulled off the string that bound them, andwent on with tolerable quickness. On reaching home he found the cordto be of a reddish colour. It was just what he had expected.
Although his weaknesses were not specially those akin to physicalfear, the species of _coup-de-Jarnac_ from one he knew too welltroubled the mind of Wildeve. But his movements were unalteredthereby. A night or two later he again went along the vale toAlderworth, taking the precaution of keeping out of any path. Thesense that he was watched, that craft was employed to circumvent hiserrant tastes, added piquancy to a journey so entirely sentimental,so long as the danger was of no fearful sort. He imagined that Vennand Mrs. Yeobright were in league, and felt that there was a certainlegitimacy in combating such a coalition.
The heath tonight appeared to be totally deserted: and Wildeve, afterlooking over Eustacia's garden gate for some little time, with a cigarin his mouth, was tempted by the fascination that emotional smugglinghad for his nature to advance towards the window, which was not quiteclosed, the blind being only partly drawn down. He could see intothe room, and Eustacia was sitting there alone. Wildeve contemplatedher for a minute, and then retreating into the heath beat the fernslightly, whereupon moths flew out alarmed. Securing one, he returnedto the window, and holding the moth to the chink, opened his hand.The moth made towards the candle upon Eustacia's table, hovered roundit two or three times, and flew into the flame.
Eustacia started up. This had been a well-known signal in old timeswhen Wildeve had used to come secretly wooing to Mistover. She atonce knew that Wildeve was outside, but before she could considerwhat to do her husband came in from upstairs. Eustacia's face burntcrimson at the unexpected collision of incidents, and filled it withan animation that it too frequently lacked.
"You have a very high colour, dearest," said Yeobright, when he cameclose enough to see it. "Your appearance would be no worse if it werealways so."
"I am warm," said Eustacia. "I think I will go into the air for a fewminutes."
"Shall I go with you?"
"O no. I am only going to the gate."
She arose, but before she had time to get out of the room a loudrapping began upon the front door.
"I'll go--I'll go," said Eustacia in an unusually quick tone for her;and she glanced eagerly towards the window whence the moth had flown;but nothing appeared there.
"You had better not at this time of the evening," he said. Clymstepped before her into the passage, and Eustacia waited, hersomnolent manner covering her inner heat and agitation.
She listened, and Clym opened the door. No words were utteredoutside, and presently he closed it and came back, saying, "Nobodywas there. I wonder what that could have meant?"
He was left to wonder during the rest of the evening, for noexplanation offered itself, and Eustacia said nothing, the additionalfact that she knew of only adding more mystery to the performance.
Meanwhile a little drama had been acted outside which saved Eustaciafrom all possibility of compromising herself that evening at least.While Wildeve had been preparing his moth-signal another person hadcome behind him up to the gate. This man, who carried a gun in hishand, looked on for a moment at the other's operation by the window,walked up to the house, knocked at the door, and then vanished roundthe corner and over the hedge.
"Damn him!" said Wildeve. "He has been watching me again."
As his signal had been rendered futile by this uproarious rappingWildeve withdrew, passed out at the gate, and walked quickly downthe path without thinking of anything except getting away unnoticed.Half-way down the hill the path ran near a knot of stunted hollies,which in the general darkness of the scene stood as the pupil in ablack eye. When Wildeve reached this point a report startled his ear,and a few spent gunshots fell among the leaves around him.
There was no doubt that he himself was the cause of that gun'sdischarge; and he rushed into the clump of hollies, beating the bushesfuriously with his stick; but nobody was there. This attack was amore serious matter than the last, and it was some time before Wildeverecovered his equanimity. A new and most unpleasant system of menacehad begun, and the intent appeared to be to do him grievous bodilyharm. Wildeve had looked upon Venn's first attempt as a species ofhorse-play, which the reddleman had indulged in for want of knowingbetter; but now the boundary line was passed which divides theannoying from the perilous.
Had Wildeve known how thoroughly in earnest Venn had become hemight have been still more alarmed. The reddleman had been almostexasperated by the sight of Wildeve outside Clym's house, and he wasprepared to go to any lengths short of absolutely shooting him, toterrify the young innkeeper out of his recalcitrant impulses. Thedoubtful legitimacy of such rough coercion did not disturb the mindof Venn. It troubles few such minds in such cases, and sometimes thisis not to be regretted. From the impeachment of Strafford to FarmerLynch's short way with the scamps of Virginia there have been manytriumphs of justice which are mockeries of law.
About half a mile below Clym's secluded dwelling lay a hamlet wherelived one of the two constables who preserved the peace in the parishof Alderworth, and Wildeve went straight to the constable's cottage.Almost the first thing that he saw on opening the door was theconstable's truncheon hanging to a nail, as if to assure him thathere were the means to his purpose. On inquiry, however, of theconstable's wife he learnt that the constable was not at home.Wildeve said he would wait.
The minutes ticked on, and the constable did not arrive. Wildevecooled down from his state of high indignation to a restlessdissatisfaction with himself, the scene, the constable's wife, and thewhole set of circumstances. He arose and left the house. Altogether,the experience of that evening had had a cooling, not to say achilling, effect on misdirected tenderness, and Wildeve was in nomood to ramble again to Alderworth after nightfall in hope of a strayglance from Eustacia.
Thus far the reddleman had been tolerably successful i
n his rudecontrivances for keeping down Wildeve's inclination to rove in theevening. He had nipped in the bud the possible meeting betweenEustacia and her old lover this very night. But he had notanticipated that the tendency of his action would be to divertWildeve's movement rather than to stop it. The gambling with theguineas had not conduced to make him a welcome guest to Clym; but tocall upon his wife's relative was natural, and he was determined tosee Eustacia. It was necessary to choose some less untoward hour thanten o'clock at night. "Since it is unsafe to go in the evening," hesaid, "I'll go by day."
Meanwhile Venn had left the heath and gone to call upon Mrs.Yeobright, with whom he had been on friendly terms since she hadlearnt what a providential countermove he had made towards therestitution of the family guineas. She wondered at the lateness ofhis call, but had no objection to see him.
He gave her a full account of Clym's affliction, and of the state inwhich he was living; then, referring to Thomasin, touched gently uponthe apparent sadness of her days. "Now, ma'am, depend upon it," hesaid, "you couldn't do a better thing for either of 'em than to makeyourself at home in their houses, even if there should be a littlerebuff at first."
"Both she and my son disobeyed me in marrying; therefore I haveno interest in their households. Their troubles are of their ownmaking." Mrs. Yeobright tried to speak severely; but the account ofher son's state had moved her more than she cared to show.
"Your visits would make Wildeve walk straighter than he is inclinedto do, and might prevent unhappiness down the heath."
"What do you mean?"
"I saw something tonight out there which I didn't like at all. I wishyour son's house and Mr. Wildeve's were a hundred miles apart insteadof four or five."
"Then there WAS an understanding between him and Clym's wife when hemade a fool of Thomasin!"
"We'll hope there's no understanding now."
"And our hope will probably be very vain. O Clym! O Thomasin!"
"There's no harm done yet. In fact, I've persuaded Wildeve to mindhis own business."
"How?"
"O, not by talking--by a plan of mine called the silent system."
"I hope you'll succeed."
"I shall if you help me by calling and making friends with your son.You'll have a chance then of using your eyes."
"Well, since it has come to this," said Mrs. Yeobright sadly, "I willown to you, reddleman, that I thought of going. I should be muchhappier if we were reconciled. The marriage is unalterable, my lifemay be cut short, and I should wish to die in peace. He is my onlyson; and since sons are made of such stuff I am not sorry I have noother. As for Thomasin, I never expected much from her; and she hasnot disappointed me. But I forgave her long ago; and I forgive himnow. I'll go."
At this very time of the reddleman's conversation with Mrs. Yeobrightat Blooms-End another conversation on the same subject was languidlyproceeding at Alderworth.
All the day Clym had borne himself as if his mind were too full of itsown matter to allow him to care about outward things, and his wordsnow showed what had occupied his thoughts. It was just after themysterious knocking that he began the theme. "Since I have been awaytoday, Eustacia, I have considered that something must be done to healup this ghastly breach between my dear mother and myself. It troublesme."
"What do you propose to do?" said Eustacia abstractedly, for she couldnot clear away from her the excitement caused by Wildeve's recentmanoeuvre for an interview.
"You seem to take a very mild interest in what I propose, little ormuch," said Clym, with tolerable warmth.
"You mistake me," she answered, reviving at his reproach. "I am onlythinking."
"What of?"
"Partly of that moth whose skeleton is getting burnt up in the wick ofthe candle," she said slowly. "But you know I always take an interestin what you say."
"Very well, dear. Then I think I must go and call upon her."... Hewent on with tender feeling: "It is a thing I am not at all too proudto do, and only a fear that I might irritate her has kept me away solong. But I must do something. It is wrong in me to allow this sortof thing to go on."
"What have you to blame yourself about?"
"She is getting old, and her life is lonely, and I am her only son."
"She has Thomasin."
"Thomasin is not her daughter; and if she were that would not excuseme. But this is beside the point. I have made up my mind to go toher, and all I wish to ask you is whether you will do your best tohelp me--that is, forget the past; and if she shows her willingness tobe reconciled, meet her half-way by welcoming her to our house, or byaccepting a welcome to hers?"
At first Eustacia closed her lips as if she would rather do anythingon the whole globe than what he suggested. But the lines of her mouthsoftened with thought, though not so far as they might have softened;and she said, "I will put nothing in your way; but after what haspassed it is asking too much that I go and make advances."
"You never distinctly told me what did pass between you."
"I could not do it then, nor can I now. Sometimes more bitterness issown in five minutes than can be got rid of in a whole life; and thatmay be the case here." She paused a few moments, and added, "If youhad never returned to your native place, Clym, what a blessing itwould have been for you!... It has altered the destinies of--"
"Three people."
"Five," Eustacia thought; but she kept that in.
