The Return of the Native

by Thomas Hardy

  VII

  The Night of the Sixth of November

  Having resolved on flight Eustacia at times seemed anxious thatsomething should happen to thwart her own intention. The only eventthat could really change her position was the appearance of Clym. Theglory which had encircled him as her lover was departed now; yet somegood simple quality of his would occasionally return to her memory andstir a momentary throb of hope that he would again present himselfbefore her. But calmly considered it was not likely that such aseverance as now existed would ever close up: she would have to liveon as a painful object, isolated, and out of place. She had used tothink of the heath alone as an uncongenial spot to be in; she felt itnow of the whole world.

  Towards evening on the sixth her determination to go away againrevived. About four o'clock she packed up anew the few small articlesshe had brought in her flight from Alderworth, and also some belongingto her which had been left here: the whole formed a bundle not toolarge to be carried in her hand for a distance of a mile or two. Thescene without grew darker; mud-coloured clouds bellied downwards fromthe sky like vast hammocks slung across it, and with the increase ofnight a stormy wind arose; but as yet there was no rain.

  Eustacia could not rest indoors, having nothing more to do, and shewandered to and fro on the hill, not far from the house she was soonto leave. In these desultory ramblings she passed the cottage ofSusan Nunsuch, a little lower down than her grandfather's. The doorwas ajar, and a riband of bright firelight fell over the groundwithout. As Eustacia crossed the firebeams she appeared for aninstant as distinct as a figure in a phantasmagoria--a creature oflight surrounded by an area of darkness: the moment passed, and shewas absorbed in night again.

  A woman who was sitting inside the cottage had seen and recognizedher in that momentary irradiation. This was Susan herself, occupiedin preparing a posset for her little boy, who, often ailing, was nowseriously unwell. Susan dropped the spoon, shook her fist at thevanished figure, and then proceeded with her work in a musing, absentway.

  At eight o'clock, the hour at which Eustacia had promised to signalWildeve if ever she signalled at all, she looked around the premisesto learn if the coast was clear, went to the furze-rick, and pulledthence a long-stemmed bough of that fuel. This she carried to thecorner of the bank, and, glancing behind to see if the shutters wereall closed, she struck a light, and kindled the furze. When it wasthoroughly ablaze Eustacia took it by the stem and waved it in theair above her head till it had burned itself out.

  She was gratified, if gratification were possible to such a mood, byseeing a similar light in the vicinity of Wildeve's residence a minuteor two later. Having agreed to keep watch at this hour every night,in case she should require assistance, this promptness proved howstrictly he had held to his word. Four hours after the present time,that is, at midnight, he was to be ready to drive her to Budmouth, asprearranged.

  Eustacia returned to the house. Supper having been got over sheretired early, and sat in her bedroom waiting for the time to go by.The night being dark and threatening, Captain Vye had not strolled outto gossip in any cottage or to call at the inn, as was sometimes hiscustom on these long autumn nights; and he sat sipping grog alonedownstairs. About ten o'clock there was a knock at the door. Whenthe servant opened it the rays of the candle fell upon the form ofFairway.

  "I was a-forced to go to Lower Mistover tonight," he said, "and Mr.Yeobright asked me to leave this here on my way; but, faith, I put itin the lining of my hat, and thought no more about it till I got backand was hasping my gate before going to bed. So I have run back withit at once."

  He handed in a letter and went his way. The girl brought it to thecaptain, who found that it was directed to Eustacia. He turned itover and over, and fancied that the writing was her husband's, thoughhe could not be sure. However, he decided to let her have it at onceif possible, and took it upstairs for that purpose; but on reachingthe door of her room and looking in at the keyhole he found there wasno light within, the fact being that Eustacia, without undressing, hadflung herself upon the bed, to rest and gather a little strength forher coming journey. Her grandfather concluded from what he saw thathe ought not to disturb her; and descending again to the parlour heplaced the letter on the mantelpiece to give it to her in the morning.

  At eleven o'clock he went to bed himself, smoked for some time in hisbedroom, put out his light at half-past eleven, and then, as was hisinvariable custom, pulled up the blind before getting into bed, thathe might see which way the wind blew on opening his eyes in themorning, his bedroom window commanding a view of the flagstaff andvane. Just as he had lain down he was surprised to observe the whitepole of the staff flash into existence like a streak of phosphorusdrawn downwards across the shade of night without. Only oneexplanation met this--a light had been suddenly thrown upon the polefrom the direction of the house. As everybody had retired to rest theold man felt it necessary to get out of bed, open the window softly,and look to the right and left. Eustacia's bedroom was lighted up,and it was the shine from her window which had lighted the pole.Wondering what had aroused her, he remained undecided at the window,and was thinking of fetching the letter to slip it under her door,when he heard a slight brushing of garments on the partition dividinghis room from the passage.

  The captain concluded that Eustacia, feeling wakeful, had gone for abook, and would have dismissed the matter as unimportant if he had notalso heard her distinctly weeping as she passed.

  "She is thinking of that husband of hers," he said to himself. "Ah,the silly goose! she had no business to marry him. I wonder if thatletter is really his?"

  He arose, threw his boat-cloak round him, opened the door, and said,"Eustacia!" There was no answer. "Eustacia!" he repeated louder,"there is a letter on the mantelpiece for you."

  But no response was made to this statement save an imaginary one fromthe wind, which seemed to gnaw at the corners of the house, and thestroke of a few drops of rain upon the windows.

  He went on to the landing, and stood waiting nearly five minutes.Still she did not return. He went back for a light, and preparedto follow her; but first he looked into her bedroom. There, on theoutside of the quilt, was the impression of her form, showing that thebed had not been opened; and, what was more significant, she had nottaken her candlestick downstairs. He was now thoroughly alarmed; andhastily putting on his clothes he descended to the front door, whichhe himself had bolted and locked. It was now unfastened. There was nolonger any doubt that Eustacia had left the house at this midnighthour; and whither could she have gone? To follow her was almostimpossible. Had the dwelling stood in an ordinary road, two personssetting out, one in each direction, might have made sure of overtakingher; but it was a hopeless task to seek for anybody on a heath in thedark, the practicable directions for flight across it from any pointbeing as numerous as the meridians radiating from the pole. Perplexedwhat to do, he looked into the parlour, and was vexed to find that theletter still lay there untouched.