by Thomas Hardy
VIII
Eustacia Hears of Good Fortune, and Beholds Evil
In the meantime Eustacia, left alone in her cottage at Alderworth,had become considerably depressed by the posture of affairs. Theconsequences which might result from Clym's discovery that his motherhad been turned from his door that day were likely to be disagreeable,and this was a quality in events which she hated as much as thedreadful.
To be left to pass the evening by herself was irksome to her at anytime, and this evening it was more irksome than usual by reason of theexcitements of the past hours. The two visits had stirred her intorestlessness. She was not wrought to any great pitch of uneasinessby the probability of appearing in an ill light in the discussionbetween Clym and his mother, but she was wrought to vexation; and herslumbering activities were quickened to the extent of wishing that shehad opened the door. She had certainly believed that Clym was awake,and the excuse would be an honest one as far as it went; but nothingcould save her from censure in refusing to answer at the first knock.Yet, instead of blaming herself for the issue she laid the fault uponthe shoulders of some indistinct, colossal Prince of the World, whohad framed her situation and ruled her lot.
At this time of the year it was pleasanter to walk by night than byday, and when Clym had been absent about an hour she suddenly resolvedto go out in the direction of Blooms-End, on the chance of meetinghim on his return. When she reached the garden gate she heard wheelsapproaching, and looking round beheld her grandfather coming up in hiscar.
"I can't stay a minute, thank ye," he answered to her greeting. "Iam driving to East Egdon; but I came round here just to tell you thenews. Perhaps you have heard--about Mr. Wildeve's fortune?"
"No," said Eustacia blankly.
"Well, he has come into a fortune of eleven thousand pounds--uncledied in Canada, just after hearing that all his family, whom he wassending home, had gone to the bottom in the _Cassiopeia_; so Wildevehas come into everything, without in the least expecting it."
Eustacia stood motionless awhile. "How long has he known of this?"she asked.
"Well, it was known to him this morning early, for I knew it at teno'clock, when Charley came back. Now, he is what I call a lucky man.What a fool you were, Eustacia!"
"In what way?" she said, lifting her eyes in apparent calmness.
"Why, in not sticking to him when you had him."
"Had him, indeed!"
"I did not know there had ever been anything between you till lately;and, faith, I should have been hot and strong against it if I hadknown; but since it seems that there was some sniffing between ye, whythe deuce didn't you stick to him?"
Eustacia made no reply, but she looked as if she could say as muchupon that subject as he if she chose.
"And how is your poor purblind husband?" continued the old man. "Nota bad fellow either, as far as he goes."
"He is quite well."
"It is a good thing for his cousin what-d'ye-call-her? By George, youought to have been in that galley, my girl! Now I must drive on. Doyou want any assistance? What's mine is yours, you know."
"Thank you, grandfather, we are not in want at present," she saidcoldly. "Clym cuts furze, but he does it mostly as a useful pastime,because he can do nothing else."
"He is paid for his pastime, isn't he? Three shillings a hundred, Iheard."
"Clym has money," she said, colouring, "but he likes to earn alittle."
"Very well; good night." And the captain drove on.
When her grandfather was gone Eustacia went on her way mechanically;but her thoughts were no longer concerning her mother-in-law and Clym.Wildeve, notwithstanding his complaints against his fate, had beenseized upon by destiny and placed in the sunshine once more. Eleventhousand pounds! From every Egdon point of view he was a rich man. InEustacia's eyes, too, it was an ample sum--one sufficient to supplythose wants of hers which had been stigmatized by Clym in his moreaustere moods as vain and luxurious. Though she was no lover ofmoney she loved what money could bring; and the new accessories sheimagined around him clothed Wildeve with a great deal of interest. Sherecollected now how quietly well-dressed he had been that morning: hehad probably put on his newest suit, regardless of damage by briarsand thorns. And then she thought of his manner towards herself.
"O I see it, I see it," she said. "How much he wishes he had me now,that he might give me all I desire!"
In recalling the details of his glances and words--at the timescarcely regarded--it became plain to her how greatly they had beendictated by his knowledge of this new event. "Had he been a man tobear a jilt ill-will he would have told me of his good fortune incrowing tones; instead of doing that he mentioned not a word, indeference to my misfortunes, and merely implied that he loved mestill, as one superior to him."
Wildeve's silence that day on what had happened to him was just thekind of behaviour calculated to make an impression on such a woman.Those delicate touches of good taste were, in fact, one of the strongpoints in his demeanour towards the other sex. The peculiarity ofWildeve was that, while at one time passionate, upbraiding, andresentful towards a woman, at another he would treat her withsuch unparalleled grace as to make previous neglect appear asno discourtesy, injury as no insult, interference as a delicateattention, and the ruin of her honour as excess of chivalry. Thisman, whose admiration today Eustacia had disregarded, whose goodwishes she had scarcely taken the trouble to accept, whom she hadshown out of the house by the back door, was the possessor of eleventhousand pounds--a man of fair professional education, and one whohad served his articles with a civil engineer.
So intent was Eustacia upon Wildeve's fortunes that she forgot howmuch closer to her own course were those of Clym; and instead ofwalking on to meet him at once she sat down upon a stone. She wasdisturbed in her reverie by a voice behind, and turning her headbeheld the old lover and fortunate inheritor of wealth immediatelybeside her.
She remained sitting, though the fluctuation in her look might havetold any man who knew her so well as Wildeve that she was thinking ofhim.
"How did you come here?" she said in her clear low tone. "I thoughtyou were at home."
"I went on to the village after leaving your garden; and now I havecome back again: that's all. Which way are you walking, may I ask?"
She waved her hand in the direction of Blooms-End. "I am going to meetmy husband. I think I may possibly have got into trouble whilst youwere with me today."
"How could that be?"
"By not letting in Mrs. Yeobright."
"I hope that visit of mine did you no harm."
"None. It was not your fault," she said quietly.
By this time she had risen; and they involuntarily sauntered ontogether, without speaking, for two or three minutes; when Eustaciabroke silence by saying, "I assume I must congratulate you."
"On what? O yes; on my eleven thousand pounds, you mean. Well, sinceI didn't get something else, I must be content with getting that."
"You seem very indifferent about it. Why didn't you tell me todaywhen you came?" she said in the tone of a neglected person. "I heardof it quite by accident."
"I did mean to tell you," said Wildeve. "But I--well, I will speakfrankly--I did not like to mention it when I saw, Eustacia, that yourstar was not high. The sight of a man lying wearied out with hardwork, as your husband lay, made me feel that to brag of my own fortuneto you would be greatly out of place. Yet, as you stood there besidehim, I could not help feeling too that in many respects he was aricher man than I."
At this Eustacia said, with slumbering mischievousness, "What, wouldyou exchange with him--your fortune for me?"
"I certainly would," said Wildeve.
"As we are imagining what is impossible and absurd, suppose we changethe subject?"
"Very well; and I will tell you of my plans for the future, if youcare to hear them. I shall permanently invest nine thousand pounds,keep one thousand as ready money, and with the remaining thousandtravel for a year or so."
"Travel? Wha
t a bright idea! Where will you go to?"
"From here to Paris, where I shall pass the winter and spring. ThenI shall go to Italy, Greece, Egypt, and Palestine, before the hotweather comes on. In the summer I shall go to America; and then, by aplan not yet settled, I shall go to Australia and round to India. Bythat time I shall have begun to have had enough of it. Then I shallprobably come back to Paris again, and there I shall stay as long asI can afford to."
"Back to Paris again," she murmured in a voice that was nearly a sigh.She had never once told Wildeve of the Parisian desires which Clym'sdescription had sown in her; yet here was he involuntarily in aposition to gratify them. "You think a good deal of Paris?" sheadded.
"Yes. In my opinion it is the central beauty-spot of the world."
"And in mine! And Thomasin will go with you?"
"Yes, if she cares to. She may prefer to stay at home."
"So you will be going about, and I shall be staying here!"
"I suppose you will. But we know whose fault that is."
"I am not blaming you," she said quickly.
"Oh, I thought you were. If ever you SHOULD be inclined to blame me,think of a certain evening by Rainbarrow, when you promised to meetme and did not. You sent me a letter; and my heart ached to read thatas I hope yours never will. That was one point of divergence. I thendid something in haste... But she is a good woman, and I will say nomore."
"I know that the blame was on my side that time," said Eustacia. "Butit had not always been so. However, it is my misfortune to be toosudden in feeling. O, Damon, don't reproach me any more--I can't bearthat."
They went on silently for a distance of two or three miles, whenEustacia said suddenly, "Haven't you come out of your way, Mr.Wildeve?"
"My way is anywhere tonight. I will go with you as far as the hillon which we can see Blooms-End, as it is getting late for you to bealone."
"Don't trouble. I am not obliged to be out at all. I think I wouldrather you did not accompany me further. This sort of thing wouldhave an odd look if known."
"Very well, I will leave you." He took her hand unexpectedly, andkissed it--for the first time since her marriage. "What light is thaton the hill?" he added, as it were to hide the caress.
She looked, and saw a flickering firelight proceeding from the openside of a hovel a little way before them. The hovel, which she hadhitherto always found empty, seemed to be inhabited now.
"Since you have come so far," said Eustacia, "will you see me safelypast that hut? I thought I should have met Clym somewhere about here,but as he doesn't appear I will hasten on and get to Blooms-End beforehe leaves."
They advanced to the turf-shed, and when they got near it thefirelight and the lantern inside showed distinctly enough the form ofa woman reclining on a bed of fern, a group of heath men and womenstanding around her. Eustacia did not recognize Mrs. Yeobright in thereclining figure, nor Clym as one of the standers-by till she cameclose. Then she quickly pressed her hand upon Wildeve's arm andsignified to him to come back from the open side of the shed into theshadow.
"It is my husband and his mother," she whispered in an agitated voice."What can it mean? Will you step forward and tell me?"
Wildeve left her side and went to the back wall of the hut. PresentlyEustacia perceived that he was beckoning to her, and she advanced andjoined him.
"It is a serious case," said Wildeve.
From their position they could hear what was proceeding inside.
"I cannot think where she could have been going," said Clym tosome one. "She had evidently walked a long way, but even when shewas able to speak just now she would not tell me where. What do youreally think of her?"
"There is a great deal to fear," was gravely answered, in a voicewhich Eustacia recognized as that of the only surgeon in the district."She has suffered somewhat from the bite of the adder; but it isexhaustion which has overpowered her. My impression is that her walkmust have been exceptionally long."
"I used to tell her not to overwalk herself this weather," said Clym,with distress. "Do you think we did well in using the adder's fat?"
"Well, it is a very ancient remedy--the old remedy of theviper-catchers, I believe," replied the doctor. "It is mentioned as aninfallible ointment by Hoffman, Mead, and I think the Abbe Fontana.Undoubtedly it was as good a thing as you could do; though I questionif some other oils would not have been equally efficacious."
"Come here, come here!" was then rapidly said in anxious female tones;and Clym and the doctor could be heard rushing forward from the backpart of the shed to where Mrs. Yeobright lay.
"Oh, what is it?" whispered Eustacia.
"'Twas Thomasin who spoke," said Wildeve. "Then they have fetchedher. I wonder if I had better go in--yet it might do harm."
For a long time there was utter silence among the group within; and itwas broken at last by Clym saying, in an agonized voice, "O Doctor,what does it mean?"
The doctor did not reply at once; ultimately he said, "She is sinkingfast. Her heart was previously affected, and physical exhaustion hasdealt the finishing blow."
Then there was a weeping of women, then waiting, then hushedexclamations, then a strange gasping sound, then a painful stillness.
"It is all over," said the doctor.
Further back in the hut the cotters whispered, "Mrs. Yeobright isdead."
Almost at the same moment the two watchers observed the form of asmall old-fashioned child entering at the open side of the shed.Susan Nunsuch, whose boy it was, went forward to the opening andsilently beckoned to him to go back.
"I've got something to tell 'ee, mother," he cried in a shrill tone."That woman asleep there walked along with me today; and she said Iwas to say that I had seed her, and she was a broken-hearted woman andcast off by her son, and then I came on home."
A confused sob as from a man was heard within, upon which Eustaciagasped faintly, "That's Clym--I must go to him--yet dare I do it?No: come away!"
When they had withdrawn from the neighbourhood of the shed she saidhuskily, "I am to blame for this. There is evil in store for me."
"Was she not admitted to your house after all?" Wildeve inquired.
"No; and that's where it all lies! Oh, what shall I do! I shall notintrude upon them: I shall go straight home. Damon, good-bye! Icannot speak to you any more now."
They parted company; and when Eustacia had reached the next hill shelooked back. A melancholy procession was wending its way by the lightof the lantern from the hut towards Blooms-End. Wildeve was nowhere tobe seen.
