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LI B R.AR.Y 
 OF THE 
 I UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 V. I 
 
 BftRE BOOK ROOM 
 
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 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
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THK 
 
 RETURN OF THE NATIVE 
 
 FIRST VOLUME 
 
SKETOH MAP OF THE SCEISOE OP THE STOUT 
 
THE 
 
 RETURN OF THE NATIVE 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS HARDY 
 
 Al'THOK f)K 
 
 ( ,. 
 
 KAK FROM THE MADDING CROWD' 'a i'AIK OF BLUE EYES ETC. 
 
 ' To sorrow 
 
 I bade good morrow, 
 And thought to leave her far away behind ; 
 
 But cheerly, cheerly, 
 
 She loves me dearly ; 
 She is so constant to me, and so kind. 
 
 I would deceive her, 
 
 And so leave her. 
 But ah ! she is so constant and so kind 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES— VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 1878 
 
 [A U riglits reserved\ 
 

 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 BOOK FIRST. 
 THE THREE WOMEN. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A Face on which Time makes but little 
 
 Impression. . . • • 3 
 11. Humanity appears upon the scene, 
 
 hand in hand with trouble . 1 3 
 
 III. The Custom of the Country . . 27 
 
 IV. The Halt on the Turnpike-road . 73 
 V. Perplexity among Honest People . . 85 
 
 VI. The Figure against the Sky . .114 
 
 VII. Queen of Night . . . . 145 
 
VI CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 VIII. Those who are found where there 
 
 IS SAID TO BE Nobody . . .160 
 
 IX. Love leads a shrewd Man into Stra- 
 tegy . . . . . 172 
 
 X. A desperate Attempt at Persuasion . 193 
 
 XI. The Dishonesty of an Honest Woman 213 
 
 BOOK SECOND. 
 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 I. Tidings of the Comer . . . 235 
 
 II. The People at Blooms-End make ready 246 
 
 III. How a little Sound produced a great 
 
 Dream ..... 256 
 
 IV. EUSTACIA IS LED ON TO AN AdVENTURE . 266 
 
 V. Through the Moonlight . . . 288 
 
BOOK FIRST. 
 
 THE THREE WOMEN 
 
 VOL. T. 1? 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 A FACE ON WHICH TIME MAKES BUT LITTLE 
 IMPRESSION. 
 
 A Saturday afternoon In November was 
 approaching the time of twilight, and the 
 vast tract of unenclosed wild known as 
 Egdon Heath embrowned Itself moment b}' 
 moment. Overhead the hollow stretch of 
 whitish cloud shutting out the sky was as 
 a tent which had the whole heath for its floor. 
 The heaven being spread with this pallid 
 screen, the earth with the darkest vegetation, 
 their meeting-line at the horizon was clearly 
 marked. In such contrast the heath wore 
 the appearance of an instalment of night 
 which had taken up Its place before its as- 
 tronomical hour was come : darkness had to 
 a great extent arrived hereon, while day 
 
 B 2 
 
4 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 Stood distinct in the sky. Looking upwards, 
 a furze-cutter would have been incHned to 
 continue work ; looking down, he would have 
 decided to finish his faggot and go home. 
 The distant rims of the world and of the 
 firmament seemed to be a division in time no 
 less than a division in matter. The face of 
 the heath by Its mere complexion added 
 half-an-hour to eve ; it could in like manner 
 retard the dawn, sadden noon, anticipate the 
 frowning of storms scarcely generated, and 
 intensify the opacity of a moonless midnight 
 to a cause of shaking and dread. 
 
 In fact, precisely at this transitional point 
 of its nightly roll into darkness the great and 
 particular glory of the Egdon waste began, 
 and nobody could be said to understand the 
 heath who had not been there at such a time. 
 It could best be felt when It could not clearly 
 be seen. Its complete effect and explanation 
 lay in this and the succeeding hours before 
 the next dawn : then, and only then, did it 
 tell Its true tale. The spot was, Indeed, a 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 5 
 
 near relation of night, and when night showed 
 itself an apparent tendency to gravitate to- 
 gether could be perceived in its shades and 
 the scene. The sombre stretch of rounds 
 and hollows seemed to rise and meet the 
 evening gloom in pure sympathy, the heath 
 exhaling darkness as rapidly as the heavens 
 precipitated it. The obscurity in the air and 
 the obscurity in the land closed together in a 
 black fraternisation towards which each ad- 
 vanced half-way. 
 
 The place became full of a watchful in- 
 tentness now. When other things sank 
 brooding to sleep, the heath appeared slowly 
 to awake and listen. Every night its Titanic 
 form seemed to await something ; but it had 
 waited thus, unmoved, during so many cen- 
 turies, through the crises of so many things, 
 that it could only be imagined to awai: one 
 last crisis — the final overthrow. 
 
 It was a spot which returned upon the 
 memory of those who loved it with an aspect 
 of peculiar and kindly congruity. Smiling 
 
6 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 champaigns of flowers and fruit hardly do 
 this, for they are permanently harmonious 
 only with an existence of better reputation 
 as to its issues than the present. Tv/ilight 
 combined with the scenery of Egdon Heath 
 to evolve a thing majestic without severity, 
 impressive without showiness, emphatic in its 
 admonitions, grand in its simplicity. The 
 qualifications which frequently invest the 
 facade of a prison with far more dignity than 
 is found in the facade of a palace double its 
 size lent to this heath a sublimity in which 
 spots renowned for mere prettiness are 
 utterly wanting. Gay prospects wed happily 
 with gay times ; but alas, if times be not gay ! 
 Men have oftener suffered from the mockery 
 of a place too smiling for their reason than 
 from the oppression of surroundings over- 
 sadly tinged. Haggard Egdon appealed to 
 a subtler and scarcer instinct, to a more 
 recently learnt emotion, than that which 
 responds to the sort of beauty called charm- 
 ing. 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 7 
 
 Indeed, It is a question if the exclusive 
 reign of this orthodox beauty Is not approach- 
 ing Its last quarter. The new Vale of Tempe 
 may be a gaunt waste In Thule : human 
 souls may find themselves In closer and 
 closer harmony with external things wearing 
 a sombreness distasteful to our race when 
 it was young. The time seems near, If It 
 has not actually arrived, when the mournful 
 sublimity of a moor, a sea, or a mountain 
 will be all of nature that Is absolutely In 
 keeping with the moods of the more think- 
 ing among mankind. And ultimately, to the 
 co'mmonest tourist, spots like Iceland may 
 become what the vineyards and myrtle- 
 gardens of South Europe are to him now ; 
 and Heidelberg and Baden be passed un- 
 heeded as he hastens from the Alps to the 
 sand-dunes of Schevenlngen. 
 
 The most thorough-going ascetic could 
 feel that he had a natural right to wander 
 on Egdon : he was keeping within the line 
 of legitimate indulgence when he laid himself 
 
8 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 open to influences such as these. Colours 
 and beauties so far subdued were, at least, 
 the birthright of all, Only in summer days 
 of highest feather did its mood touch the 
 level of gaiety. Intensity was more usually 
 reached by way of the solemn than by way 
 of the brilliant, and such a sort of intensity 
 was often arrived at during winter darkness, 
 tempests, and mists. Then Egdon was 
 aroused to reciprocity. The storm was its 
 lover ; and the wind was its friend. Then 
 it became the home of strange phantoms ; 
 and it was found to be the hitherto unrecog- 
 nised original of those wild regions of ob- 
 scurity which are vaguely felt to be com- 
 passing us about in midnight dreams of flight 
 and disaster, and are never thought of after 
 the dream till revived by scenes like this. 
 
 It was at present a place perfectly ac- 
 cordant with man's nature — neither ghastly, 
 hateful, nor ugly : neither commonplace, un- 
 meaning, nor tame ; but, like man, slighted 
 and enduring ; and withal singularly colossal 
 
THE THREE WOiMEX. 9 
 
 and mysterious in its swarthy monotony. 
 As with some persons who have long lived 
 apart, solitude seemed to look out of its 
 countenance. It had a lonely face, suggest- 
 ing tragical possibilities. 
 
 This obscure, obsolete, superseded country 
 figures in Domesday. Its condition is re- 
 corded therein as that of heathy, furzy, 
 briary wilderness — ' Bruaria.' Then follows 
 the length and breadth in leagues ; anci, 
 though some uncertainty exists as to the 
 exact extent of this ancient lineal measure, 
 it appears from the figures that the area of 
 Egdon down to the present day has but 
 little diminished. ' Turbaria Bruaria ' — the 
 rio^ht of cuttinof heath-turf — occurs in charters 
 relating to the district. ' Overgrown with 
 heth and mosse,' says Leland of the same 
 dark sweep of country. 
 
 Here at least were intelligible facts re- 
 garding landscape — far-reaching proofs pro- 
 ductive of genuine satisfaction. The un- 
 tameable, Ishmaelitish thing that Egdon now 
 
lO THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 was It always had been. Civilisation was its 
 enemy. Ever since the beginning of vege- 
 tation its soil had worn the same antique 
 brown dress, the natural and invariable 
 garment of the formation. In its venerable 
 one coat lay a certain vein of satire on 
 human vanity in clothes. A person on a 
 heath in raiment of modern cut and colours 
 wears more or less an anomalous look. We 
 seem to want the oldest and simplest human 
 clothing where the clothing of the . earth is 
 so primitive. 
 
 To recline on a stump of thorn in the 
 central valley of Egdon, between afternoon 
 and night, as now, where the eye could 
 reach nothing of the world outside the 
 summits and shoulders of heathland which 
 filled the whole circumference of its glance, 
 and to know that everything around and 
 underneath had been from prehistoric times 
 as unaltered as the stars overhead, gave 
 ballast to the mind adrift on change, and 
 harassed by the irrepressible New. . The 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. II 
 
 great inviolate place had an ancient per- 
 manence which the sea cannot claim. Who 
 can say of a particular sea that it is old ? 
 Distilled by the sun, kneaded by the moon, it 
 is renewed in a year, in a day, or in an hour. 
 The sea changed, the fields changed, the 
 rivers, the villages, and the people changed, 
 yet Egdon remained. Those surfaces were 
 neither so steep as to be destructible by 
 weather, nor so flat as to be the victims of 
 floods and deposits. With the exception of 
 an aged highway, and a still more aged 
 barrow presently to be referred to — them- 
 selves almost crystallised to natural products 
 by long continuance — even the trifling irregu- 
 larities were not caused by pickaxe, plough, 
 or spade, but remained as the very finger- 
 touches of the last geological change. 
 
 The above-mentioned highway traversed 
 in a curved line the lower levels of the 
 heath, from one horizon to another. In 
 many portions of its course it overlaid an 
 old vicinal way, which branched from the 
 
12 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 great Western road of the Romans, the Via 
 Icenlana, or Ikenild Street, hard by. On 
 the evening under consideration it would 
 have been noticed that, though- the gloom 
 had increased sufficiently to confuse the 
 minor features of the heath, the white sur- 
 face of the road remained almost as clear 
 as ever. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 HUMANITY APPEARS UPON THE SCENE, HAND 
 IN HAND WITH TROUBLE. 
 
 Along the road walked an old man. He 
 was white-headed as a mountain, bowed in 
 the shoulders, and faded in general aspect. 
 He wore a glazed hat, an ancient boat-cloak, 
 and shoes ; his brass buttons bearing an 
 anchor upon their face. In his hand was a 
 silver-headed walking-stick, which he used as 
 a veritable third leg, perseveringly dotting 
 the ground with its point at every few inches 
 interval. One would have said that he had 
 been, in his day, a naval officer of some order 
 or other. 
 
 Before him stretched the long, laborious 
 road, dry, empty, and white. It was quite 
 
14 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 open to the heath on each side, and bisected 
 that vast dark surface like the parting-line 
 on a head of raven hair, diminishing and 
 bending away on the furthest horizon. 
 
 The old man frequently stretched his eyes 
 ahead to gaze over the tract that he had yet 
 to traverse. At length he discerned, a long 
 distance In front of him, a moving spot, 
 which appeared to be a vehicle, and it proved 
 to be going the same way as that In which 
 he himself was journeying. It was the 
 single atom of life that the scene contained, 
 and It only served to render the general 
 loneliness more evident. Its rate"of advance 
 was slow, and the old man gained upon It 
 sensibly. 
 
 When he drew nearer he perceived It to 
 be a spring van, ordinary in shape, but sin- 
 gular in colour, this being a lurid red. The 
 driver walked beside It. Like his van, he 
 was completely red. One dye of that tinc- 
 ture covered his clothes, the cap upon his 
 head, his boots, his face, his hands. He was 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 5 
 
 not temporarily overlaid with the colour : it 
 permeated him. 
 
 The old man knew the meaning of this. 
 The traveller with the cart was a reddleman 
 — a person whose vocation it was to supply 
 farmers with redding for their sheep. He 
 was one of a class rapidly becoming extinct 
 in Wessex, filling at present in the rural 
 world the place which, during the last cen- 
 tury, the dodo occupied in the world of 
 animals. He is a curious, interesting, and 
 nearly perished link between obsolete forms 
 of life and those which generally prevail. 
 
 The decayed officer, by degrees, came 
 up alongside his fellow-wayfarer, and wished 
 him good evening. The reddleman turned his 
 head, and replied in sad and occupied tones. 
 He was young, and his face, if not exactly 
 handsome, approached so near to handsome 
 that nobody would have contradicted an 
 assertion that it really was so in its natural 
 colour. His eye, which glared so strangely 
 through his stain, was in itself attractive — 
 
1 6 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 keen as that of a bird of prey, and blue as 
 autumn mist. He had neither whisker nor 
 moustache, which allowed the soft curves of 
 the lower part of his face to be apparent. 
 His lips were thin, and though, as it seemed, 
 compressed by thought, there was a pleasant 
 twitch at their corners now and then. He was 
 clothed throughout in a tight-fitting suit of 
 corduroy, excellent in quality, not much worn, 
 and well chosen for its purpose ; but deprived 
 of its original colour by his trade. It showed 
 to advantage the good shape of his figure. 
 A certain well-to-do air about the man sug- 
 gested that he was not poor for his degree. 
 The natural query of an observer would have 
 been. Why should such a promising being as 
 this have hidden his prepossessing exterior 
 by adopting that singular occupation ? 
 
 After replying to the old man's greeting 
 he showed no inclination to continue in talk, 
 although they still walked side by side, for 
 the elder traveller seemed to desire company. 
 There were no sounds but that of the boom- 
 
TPIE THREE WOMEN. 1 7 
 
 ing wind upon the stretch of tawny herbage 
 around them, the cracking wheels, the tread 
 of the men, and the footsteps of the two 
 shaggy ponies which drew the van. They 
 were small, hardy animals, of a breed be- 
 tween Galloway and Exmoor, and were 
 known as ' heath-croppers ' here. 
 
 Now, as they thus pursued their way, the 
 reddleman occasionally left his companion's 
 side, and, stepping behind the van, looked into 
 its interior through a small window. The 
 look was always anxious. He w^ould then 
 return to the old man, who made another 
 remark about the state of the country, to 
 which the reddleman again abstractedly re- 
 plied, and then again they would lapse into 
 silence. The silence conveyed to neither 
 any sense of awkwardness ; in these lonely 
 places wayfarers, after a first greeting, fre- 
 quently plod on for miles without speech ; con- 
 tiguity amounts to a tacit conversation where, 
 otherwise than in cities, such contiguity can 
 be put an end to on the merest inclination, 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
1 8 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 and where not to put an end to It is inter- 
 course in itself. 
 
 Possibly these two might not have spoken 
 again till their parting, had it not been for 
 the reddleman's visits to his van. When he 
 returned from his fifth time of looking in the 
 old man said, ' You have something inside 
 there besides your load ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Somebody who wants looking after ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 Not long after this a faint cry sounded 
 from the interior. The reddleman hastened 
 to the back, looked in, and came away again. 
 
 ' You have a child there, my man ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir, I have a woman.' 
 
 ' The deuce you have ! Why did she cry 
 out?' 
 
 ' Oh, she has fallen asleep, and not being 
 used to travelling, she's uneasy, and keeps 
 dreaming.' 
 
 * A young woman ? ' 
 
 ^ Yes, a young woman.' 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 9 
 
 ' That would have interested me forty 
 years ago. Perhaps she's your wife ? ' 
 
 ' My wife ! ' said the other bitterly. ' She's 
 above mating with such as I. But there's no 
 reason why I should tell you about that' 
 
 ' That's true. And there's no reason why 
 you should not. What harm can I do to you 
 or to her ? ' 
 
 The reddleman looked In the old man's 
 face. ' Well, sir,' he said at last, ' I knew 
 her before to-day, though perhaps it would 
 have been better if I had not. But she's 
 nothing to me, and I am nothing to her ; 
 and she wouldn't have been in m}^ van 
 if any better carriage had been there to 
 take her.' 
 
 ' Where, may I ask ? ' 
 
 ' At Southerton.' 
 
 ' I know the town well. What was she 
 doinof there ? ' 
 
 'Oh, not much — to gossip about. How- 
 ever, she's tired to death now, and not at all 
 well, and that's what makes her so restless. 
 
 C 2 
 
20 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 She dropped ofif into a nap about an hour 
 ago, and 'twill do her good.' 
 
 * A nice-looking girl, no doubt ? ' 
 
 * You would say so.' 
 
 The other traveller turned his eyes with 
 interest towards the van window, and, with- 
 out withdrawing them, said, ' I presume I 
 might look in upon her ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said the reddleman, abruptly. ' It 
 is getting too dark for you to see much of 
 her ; and, more than that, I have no right to 
 allow you. Thank God she sleeps so well : 
 I hope she won't wake till she's home.' 
 
 ' Who is she ? • One of the neighbour- 
 hood ? ' 
 
 ' 'TIs no matter who, excuse me.' 
 
 * It is not that girl of Blooms-end, who 
 has been talked about more or less lately ? 
 If so, I know her; and I can guess what has 
 happened.' 
 
 * 'TIs no matter. . . . Now, sir, I am 
 sorry to say that we shall soon have to part 
 company. My ponies are tired, and I have 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 21 
 
 further to go, and I am going to rest them 
 under this bank, for an hour.' 
 
 The elder traveller nodded his head in- 
 differently, and the reddleman turned his 
 horses and van in upon the turf, saying, 
 ' Good-night.' The old man replied, and 
 proceeded on his way as before. 
 
 The reddleman watched his form as it 
 diminished to a speck on the road and be- 
 came absorbed in the thickening films of 
 night. He then took some hay from a truss 
 which was slung up under the van, and, 
 throwing a portion of it in front of the horses, 
 made a pad of the rest, which he laid on the 
 ground beside his vehicle. Upon this he sat 
 down, leaning his back against the wheel. 
 From the interior a low soft breathine came 
 to his ear. It appeared to satisfy him, and 
 he musingly surveyed the scene, as if con- 
 sidering the next step that he should take. 
 
 To do things musingly, and by small de- 
 grees, seemed, indeed, to be a duty in the 
 Egdon valleys at this transitional hour, for 
 
22 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 there was that in the condition of the heath 
 itself which resembled protracted and halting 
 dubiousness. It was the quality of the re- 
 pose appertaining to the scene. This was 
 not the repose of actual stagnation, but the 
 apparent repose of Incredible slowness. A 
 condition of healthy life so nearly resembling 
 the torpor of death is a noticeable thing of its 
 sort ; to exhibit the inertness of the desert, 
 and at the same time to be exercising powers 
 akin to those of the meadow, and even of the 
 forest, awakened in those who thought of it 
 the attentiveness usually engendered by un- 
 derstatement and reserve. 
 
 The scene before the reddlemans eyes 
 was a gradual series of ascents from the level 
 of the road backward into the heart of the 
 heath. It embraced hillocks, pits, ridges, 
 acclivities, one behind the other, till all was 
 finished by a high hill cutting against the still 
 light sky. The traveller's eye hovered about 
 these things for a time, and finally settled 
 upon one noteworthy object up there. It 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 23 
 
 was a barrow. This bossy projection of 
 earth above its natural level occupied the 
 loftiest ground of the loneliest height that the 
 heath contained. Although from the vale it 
 appeared but as a wart on an Atlantean brow, 
 its actual bulk was great. It formed the pole 
 and axis of this heathery world. 
 
 As the resting man looked at the barrow 
 he became aware that its summit, hitherto 
 the highest object in the whole pros- 
 pect round, was surmounted by something 
 higher. What the barrow was to the hill 
 supporting it the object was to the barrow. 
 It rose from the semi-globular mound like a 
 spike from a helmet. The first instinct of an 
 imaginative stranger might have been to sup- 
 pose it the person of one of the Celts who 
 built the barrow, so far had all of modern 
 date withdrawn from the scene. It seemed 
 a sort of last man among them, musing for 
 a moment before dropping into eternal night 
 with the rest of his race. 
 
 There the form stood, motionless as the 
 
24 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 hill beneath. Above the plain rose the hill, 
 above the hill rose the barrow, above the 
 barrow rose the figure. Above the figure 
 was nothing that could be mapped elsewhere 
 than on a celestial globe. 
 
 Such a perfect, delicate, and necessary 
 finish did the figure give to the dark pile of 
 hills that it seemed to be the only obvious 
 justification of their outline. Without it, 
 there was the dome without the lantern ; 
 with It, the architectural demands of the 
 mass were satisfied. The scene was 
 strangely homogeneous. The vale, the 
 upland, the barrow, and the figure above 
 it, all of these amounted only to unity. 
 Looking at this or that member of the 
 group was not observing a complete thing, 
 but a fraction of a thing. 
 
 The form was so much like an organic 
 part of the entire motionless structure that 
 to see it move would have impressed the 
 mind as a strange phenomenon. Immobility 
 being the chief characteristic of that whole 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 25 
 
 which the person formed portion of, the dis- 
 continuance of ImmoblHty In any quarter 
 suggested confusion. 
 
 Yet that is what happened. The figure 
 perceptibly gave up Its fixity, shifted a step 
 or two, and turned round. As If alarmed, 
 it descended on the right side of the barrow, 
 with the glide of a water-drop down a bud, 
 and then vanished. The movement had 
 been sufficient to show more clearly the 
 characteristics of the figure ; It was a wo- 
 man's. 
 
 The reason of her sudden displacement 
 now appeared. With her dropping out of 
 sight on the right side a new-comer, bear- 
 ing a burden, protruded Into the sky on 
 the left side, ascended the tumulus, and de- 
 posited the burden on the top. A second 
 followed, then a third, a fourth, a fifth, and 
 ultimately the whole barrow was peopled 
 with burdened figures. 
 
 The only intelligible meaning In this 
 sky-backed pantomime of silhouettes was 
 
26 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 that the woman had no relation to the 
 party which had taken her place, was sedu- 
 lously avoiding these, and had come thither 
 for another object than theirs. The imagi- 
 nation of the observer clung by preference 
 to that vanished, solitary figure, as to some- 
 thing more interesting, more important, more 
 likely to have a history worth knowing than 
 these new-comers, and unconsciously re- 
 garded them as intruders. But they re- 
 mained, and established themselves ; and 
 the lonely person who hitherto had been 
 queen of the solitude did not at present 
 seem likely to return. 
 
27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY. 
 
 Had a looker-on been posted in the imme- 
 diate vicinity of the barrow he would have 
 learned that these persons were boys and 
 men of the neighbouring hamlets. Each, as 
 he ascended the barrow, had been heavily 
 laden with furze-faggots, carried upon the 
 shoulder by means of a long stake sharp- 
 ened at each end for impaling them easily 
 — two in front and two behind. They came 
 from a part of the heath a quarter of a 
 mile to the rear, where furze almost exclu- 
 sively prevailed as a product. 
 
 Every individual was so involved in 
 furze by his method of carrying the faggots 
 that he appeared like a bush on legs till he 
 had thrown them down. The party had 
 
2 8 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 marched in trail, like a travelling flock of 
 sheep; that is to say, the strongest first, 
 the weak and vounor behind. 
 
 The loads were all laid together, and 
 a pyramid of furze thirty feet in circumfer- 
 ence now occupied the crown of the tumu- 
 lus, which was known as Blackbarrow for 
 many miles round. Some made themselves 
 busy with matches, and in selecting the 
 driest tufts of furze, others in loosening 
 the bramble bonds which held the faggots 
 together. Others, again, while this was in 
 progress, lifted their eyes and swept the 
 vast expanse of country commanded by their 
 position, now lying nearly obliterated by 
 shade. In the valleys of the heath nothing- 
 save its own wild face was visible at any 
 time of day ; but this spot commanded a 
 horizon enclosing a tract of far extent, and 
 in many cases lying beyond the heath 
 country. None of its features could be 
 seen now, but the whole made itself felt as 
 a vague stretch of remoteness. 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 29 
 
 While the men and lads were building 
 the pile a change took place in the mass of 
 shade which denoted the distant landscape. 
 Red suns and tufts of fire one by one began 
 to arise, flecking the whole country round. 
 They were the bonfires of other parishes and 
 hamlets that were engaged in the same sort 
 of commemoration. Some were distant, and 
 stood in a dense atmosphere, so that bundles 
 of pale straw-like beams radiated around 
 them in the shape of a fan. Some were large 
 and near, glowing scarlet-red from the shade, 
 like wounds in a black hide. Some were 
 Maenades, with winy faces and blown hair. 
 These tinctured the silent bosom of the 
 clouds above them and lit up their ephemeral 
 caves, which seemed thenceforth to become 
 scalding caldrons. Perhaps as many as 
 thirty bonfires could be counted within the 
 whole bounds of the district ; and as the hour 
 may be told on a clockface when the figures 
 themselves are invisible, so did the men re- 
 cognise the locality of each fire by Its angle 
 
30 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 and direction, though nothing of the scenery 
 could be viewed. 
 
 The first tall flame from Blackbarrow 
 sprang Into the sky, attracting all eyes that 
 had been fixed on the distant conflagrations 
 back to their own attempt in the same kind. 
 The cheerful blaze streaked the Inner surface 
 of the human circle — now increased by other 
 stragglers, male and female — with its own 
 gold livery, and even overlaid the dark turf 
 around with a lively lumlnousness, which 
 softened off into obscurity where the barrow 
 rounded downwards out of sight. It showed 
 the barrow to be the segment of a globe, as 
 perfect as on the day when it was thrown up, 
 even the little ditch remaining from which 
 the earth was dug. Not a plough had ever 
 disturbed a grain of that stubborn soil. In the 
 heath s barrenness to the farmer lay its fer- 
 tility to the historian. There had been no ob- 
 literation because there had been no tending. 
 
 It was as if the bonfire-makers were 
 standing in some radiant upper storey of the 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 3 1 
 
 world, detached from and Independent of the 
 dark stretches below. The heath down 
 there was now a vast abyss, and no longer 
 a continuation of what they stood on ; for 
 their eyes, adapted to the blaze, could see 
 nothing of the deeps beyond its influence. 
 Occasionally, it is true, a more vigorous flare 
 than usual from their faQ^o-ots sent dartine 
 lights like aides-de-camp down the inclines 
 to some distant bush, pool, or patch of white 
 sand, kindling these to replies of the same 
 colour, till all was lost in darkness again. 
 Then the whole black phenomenon beneath 
 represented Limbo as viewed from the brink 
 by the sublime Florentine in his vision, and 
 the muttered articulations of the wind in the 
 hollows were as complaints and petitions 
 from the ' souls of mighty worth ' suspended 
 therein. 
 
 It was as if these men and boys had 
 suddenly dived into past ages and fetched 
 therefrom an hour and deed which had be- 
 fore been familiar with this spot. The ashes 
 
32 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 of the original British pyre which blazed 
 from that summit lay fresh and undisturbed 
 in the barrow beneath their tread. The 
 flames from funeral piles long ago kindled 
 there had shone down upon the lowlands as 
 these were shining now. Festival fires to 
 Thor and Woden had followed on the same 
 ground and duly had their day. Indeed, it 
 is pretty well known that such blazes as this 
 the heathmen were now enjoying are rather 
 the lineal descendants from jumbled Druid- 
 ical rites and Saxon ceremonies than the 
 invention of popular feeling about Gun- 
 powder Plot. 
 
 Moreover to light a fire is the instinctive 
 and resistant act of man when, at the winter 
 ingress, the curfew is sounded throughout 
 Nature. It indicates a spontaneous, Prome- 
 thean rebelliousness against the fiat that this 
 recurrent season shall bring foul times, cold 
 darkness, misery and death. Black chaos 
 comes, and the fettered gods of the earth 
 say, Let there be light. 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 33 
 
 The brilliant lights and sooty shades 
 which struggled upon the skin and clothes 
 of the individuals standinof round caused 
 their lineaments and general contours to be 
 drawn with Dureresque vigour and dash. 
 Yet the permanent moral expression of each 
 face it was impossible to discover, for as 
 the nimble flames towered, nodded, and 
 swooped through the surrounding air the 
 blots of shade and flakes of light upon the 
 countenances of the group changed shape 
 and position endlessly, x^ll was unstable ; 
 quivering as leaves, evanescent as lightning. 
 Shadowy eye-sockets deep as those of a 
 death's head suddenly turned into pits of 
 lustre : a lantern-jaw was cavernous, then it 
 was shining ; wrinkles were emphasized to 
 ravines, or obliterated entirely by a changed 
 ray. Nostrils were dark wells ; sinews in old 
 necks were gilt mouldings ; things with no 
 particular polish on them were glazed ; bright 
 objects, such as the tip of a furze-hook one 
 of the men carried, were as glass ; eyeballs 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 flowed like little lanterns. Those whom 
 Nature had depicted as merely quaint be- 
 came grotesque, the grotesque became pre- 
 ternatural ; for all was in extremity. 
 
 Hence it may be that the face of an old 
 man, who had like others been called to the 
 heights by the rising flames, was not really 
 the mere nose and chin that it appeared to 
 be, but an appreciable quantity of human 
 countenance. He stood complacently sun- 
 ning himself in the heat. With a speaker, 
 or stake, he tossed the outlying scraps of fuel 
 into the conflagration, looking at the midst 
 of the pile, occasionally lifting his eyes to 
 measure the height of the flame, or to follow 
 the great sparks which rose with it and 
 sailed away into darkness. The beaming 
 sight, and the penetrating warmth, seemed 
 to breed in him a cumulative cheerfulness, 
 which soon amounted to delight. With his 
 stick in his hand he began to jig a private 
 minuet, a bunch of copper seals shining and 
 swinging like a pendulum from under his 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 35 
 
 waistcoat : he also began to sing, in the voice 
 of a bee up a flue : — 
 
 ' The king' call'd down' his no'-bles all', 
 By one', by two', by three' ; 
 Earl Mar'-shal, I'll' go shrive' the queen', 
 And thou' sbalt wend' with me'. 
 
 A boon', a boon', quoth Earl' Mar-shal', 
 
 And fell' on his bend'-ded knee', 
 That what'-so-e'er' the queen' shall say', 
 
 No harm' there -of may be'.' 
 
 Want of breath prevented a continuance 
 of the song; and the breakdown attracted 
 the attention of a firm-standina- man of middle 
 age, who kept each corner of his crescent- 
 shaped mouth rigorously drawn back into his 
 cheek, as if to do away with any suspicion of 
 mirthfulness which might erroneously have 
 attached to him. 
 
 * A fair stave, Grandfer Cantle ; but I am 
 afeard 'tis too much for the mouldy weasand 
 of such a old man as you,' he said to the 
 wrinkled reveller. ' Dostn't wish th' wast 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 three sixes again, Grandfer, as you was when 
 you first learnt to sing It ? ' 
 
 ' Hey ? ' said Grandfer Cantle, stopping 
 In his dance. 
 
 ' Dostn't wish wast young again ? I say. 
 There's a hole in thy poor bellows nowadays 
 seemingly.' 
 
 ' But there's eood art In me. If I couldn't 
 make a little wind go a long ways I should 
 seem no younger than the most aged man, 
 should I, Timothy ? ' 
 
 ' And how about the new-married folks 
 down there at the Oulet Woman Inn ?' the 
 other inquired, pointing towards a dim light 
 In the direction of the distant highway, but 
 considerably to the east of where the reddle- 
 man was at that moment resting. ' What's 
 the rights of the matter about 'em ? You 
 ought to know, being an understanding man.' 
 
 ' But a little rakish, hey ? I own to It. 
 Master Cantle is that, or he's nothing. Yet 
 'tis a gay fault, neighbour Fairway, that age 
 will cure.' 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 2)7 
 
 * I heard that they were coming home 
 to-night. By this time they must have come. 
 What besides } ' 
 
 ' The next thing is for us to go and wish 
 'em joy, I suppose.' 
 
 * Well, no.' 
 
 * No ? Now, I thought we must. / must, 
 or 'twould be very unlike me — the first in 
 every spree that's going : — 
 
 ' Do thou' put on' a fri'-ar's coat', 
 
 And I'lr put on' a-no'ther, 
 And we' will to' Queen Ele'-anor go', 
 Like Fri'-ar and' his bro'-ther.' 
 
 * I met Mis'ess Yeobright, the young bride's 
 aunt, last night, and she told me that her son 
 Clym was coming home a Christmas. Won- 
 derful clever, 'a b'lieve — ah, I should like to 
 have all that's under that young man's hair. 
 Well, then I spoke to her in my well-known 
 merry way, and she said, " O that what's 
 shaped so venerable should talk like a fool ! " 
 — that's what she said to me. I don't care 
 for her, be j owned if I do, and so I told her. 
 
38 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 " Be jowned if I care for 'ee," I said. I had 
 her there — hey ? ' 
 
 ' I rather think she had you,' said Fair- 
 way. 
 
 ' No,' said Grandfer Cantle, his coun- 
 tenance sHghtly flagging. ' 'Tisn't so bad as 
 that with me ? ' 
 
 * Seemingly 'tis ; however, is it because 
 of the wedding that Clym is coming home a' 
 Christmas — to make a new arrangement be- 
 cause his mother is now left in the house 
 alone ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes — that's it. But, Timothy, 
 hearken to me,' said the Grandfer, earnestly. 
 ^ Though known as such a joker I be an 
 understanding man if you catch me serious, 
 and I am serious now. I can tell 'ee lots 
 about the married couple. Yes, this morning 
 at six o'clock they went up the country to do 
 the job, and neither veil nor mark have been 
 seen of 'em since, though I reckon that this 
 afternoon has brought 'em home again, man 
 and woman — wife, that is. Isn't it spoke like 
 
THE THREE ^YOMEN. 39 
 
 a man, Timothy, and wasn't Mis'ess Yeo- 
 bright wrong about me ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, it wilt do. I didn't know the two 
 had walked together since last fall, when her 
 mother forbad the banns. How lonof has 
 this new set-to been in mano^linof then ? Do 
 you know^ Humphrey ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, how long ? ' said Grandfer Cantle, 
 smartly, likewise turning to Humphrey. ' I 
 ask that question.' 
 
 ' Ever since her aunt altered her mind, 
 and said she might hae the man after all,' 
 replied Humphrey, without removing his 
 eyes from the fire. He was a somewhat 
 solemn young fellow, and carried the hook 
 and leather gloves of a furze-cutter, his legs, 
 by reason of that occupation, being sheathed 
 in bulging leggings as stiff as the Philistine's 
 greaves of brass. ' That's why they went 
 away to be married, I count. You see, after 
 kicking up such a nunnywatch and forbidding 
 the banns 'twould have made Mis'ess Yeo- 
 bright seem foolish-like to have a banging 
 
40 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 wedding in the same parish all as if she'd 
 never gainsaid it all.' 
 
 ' Exactly — seem foolish-like ; and that's 
 very bad for the poor things that be so, 
 though I only guess as much, to be sure/ 
 said Grandfer Cantle, still strenuously pre- 
 serving a sensible bearing and mien. 
 
 ' Ah, well, I was at church that day,' said 
 Fairway, ' which was a very curious thing to 
 happen.' 
 
 'If'twasn't my name's Simple,' said the 
 Grandfer, emphatically. ' I han't been there 
 to-year ; and now the winter is a coming on 
 I won't say I shall.' 
 
 * I ha n't been these three years,' said 
 Humphrey; 'for I'm so dead sleepy of a 
 Sunday ; and 'tis so terrible far to get there ; 
 and when you do get there 'tis such a mortal 
 poor chance that you'll be chose for up above, 
 when so many baint, that I bide at home and 
 don't go at all.' 
 
 ' I not only happened to be there,' said 
 Fairway, with a fresh collection of emphasis. 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 4 1 
 
 'but I was sitting in the same pew as Mis'ess 
 Yeobright. And though you may not see it 
 as such, It fairly made my blood run cold to 
 hear her. Yes, it Is a curious thing ; but it 
 made my blood run cold, for I was close at 
 her elbow.' The speaker looked round upon 
 the bystanders, now drawing closer to hear him, 
 with his lips gathered tighter than ever In the 
 rigorousness of his descriptive moderation. 
 
 ' 'Tis a serious job to have things happen 
 to ee there,' said a woman behind. 
 
 ' " Ye are to declare it," were the parson's 
 words, Fairway continued. * And then up 
 stood a woman at my side — a touching of 
 me. "Well, be damned if there isn't Mis'ess 
 Yeobright a standing up," I said to myself. 
 Yes, neighbours, though I was in the temple 
 of prayer that's what I said. 'Tis against 
 my conscience to curse and swear in com- 
 pany, and I hope any woman here will over- 
 look it. Still what I did say I did say, and 
 'twould be a lie if I didn't own it.' 
 
 ' So 'twould, neighbour Fairway.' 
 
42 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' '' Be damned if there Isn't Mis'ess Yeo- 
 bright a standing up," I said,' the narrator 
 repeated, giving out the bad word with the 
 same passionless severity of face as before, 
 which proved how entirely necessity and not 
 gusto had to with the iteration. ' And the 
 next thing I heard was, '' I forbid the banns," 
 from her. '' I'll speak to you after the ser- 
 vice," says the parson, in quite a homely 
 way — yes, turning all at once into a common 
 man no holler than you or I. Ah, her face 
 was pale! Maybe you can call to mind that 
 monument in church — the cross-legged soldier 
 that have had his nose knocked away by the 
 school-children ? Well, he would about have 
 matched that woman's face, when she said, 
 '' I forbid the banns." ' 
 
 The audience cleared their throats and 
 tossed a few stalks into the fire, not because 
 these deeds were urgent, but to give them- 
 selves time to weigh the moral of the story. 
 
 ' I'm sure when I heard they'd been for- 
 bid I felt as glad as if anybody had gied 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 43 
 
 me sixpence,' said an earnest voice — that of 
 Oily Dowden, a woman who lived by making 
 heath brooms, or besoms. Her nature was 
 to be civil to enemies as well as to friends, 
 and grateful to all the world for letting her 
 remain alive. 
 
 ' And now the maid have married him 
 just the same,' said Humphrey. 
 
 ' After that Mis'ess Yeobright came round 
 and was quite agreeable,' Fairway resumed, 
 with an unheeding air, which tended to show 
 that his words, though apparently an appen- 
 dage to Humphrey's, were actually the result 
 of independent reflection. 
 
 ' Supposing they were ashamed, I don't 
 see why they shouldn't have done it here- 
 right,' said a wide-spread woman whose stays 
 creaked like shoes whenever she stooped or 
 turned. ' 'Tis well to call the neighbours 
 toQ^ether and to hae a ofood racket once now 
 and then ; and it may as well be when there's 
 a wedding as at tide-times. I don't care for 
 close ways.' 
 
44 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 'Ah, now, you'd hardly beHeve it, but I 
 don't care for gay weddings,' said Timothy 
 Fairway, his eyes again travelling round. 
 ' I hardly blame Thomasin Yeobright and 
 neighbour Wildeve for doing it quiet, if I 
 must own it. A wedding at home means 
 five and six-handed reels by the hour ; and 
 they do a man's legs no good when he's over 
 forty.' 
 
 ' True. Once at the woman's house you 
 can hardly say nay to being one in a jig, 
 knowing all the time that you be expected to 
 make yourself worth your victuals.' 
 
 * You be bound to dance at Christmas 
 because 'tis the time o' year ; you must dance 
 at weddings because 'tis the time of life. At 
 christenings folk will even smuggle in a reel 
 or two, if 'tis no further on than the first or 
 second chiel. And this is not naming the 
 songs you've got to sing .... For my part I 
 like a good hearty funeral as well as any- 
 thing. You've as splendid victuals and drink 
 as at other parties, and even better. And it 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 45 
 
 don't wear your legs to stumps in talking 
 over a poor fellow's ways as it do to stand 
 up in hornpipes.' 
 
 * Nine folks out of ten would own 'twas 
 going too far to dance then, I suppose ? ' said 
 Grandfer Cantle, inquiringly. 
 
 " * 'Tis the only sort of party a staid man 
 can feel safe at after the mug have been 
 round a few times.' 
 
 ' Well, I can't understand a lady-like little 
 body like Tamsin Yeobright caring to be 
 married in such a mean way,' said Susan 
 Nunsuch, the wide woman, who preferred 
 the original subject. ' 'Tis worse than the 
 poorest do. And I shouldn't have cared 
 about the man, though some may say he's 
 good-looking.' 
 
 ' To give him his due he's a clever, 
 learned fellow in his way — a'most as clever as 
 Clym Yeobright used to be. He was brought 
 up to better things than keeping the Quiet 
 Woman. An engineer — that's what the man 
 was, as we know ; but he threw away his 
 
46 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 chance, and so 'a took a public-house to live. 
 His learning was no use to him at all.' 
 
 ' Very often the case,' said Oily, the 
 besom-maker. ' And yet how people do 
 strive after it and get it ! The class of folk 
 that couldn't use to make a round O to save 
 their bones from the pit of salvation can 
 write their names now without a sputter of 
 the pen, oftentimes without a single blot : 
 what do I say ? — why, almost without a desk 
 to lean their stomachs and elbows upon.' 
 
 ' True : 'tis amazing what a polish the 
 world have been brought to, as you say,' said 
 Humphrey. 
 
 ' Why, afore I went a soldier in the Bang- 
 up Locals (as we were called), in the year 
 four,' chimed in Grandfer Cantle, brightly, 
 ' I didn't know no more what the world was 
 like than the commonest man among ye. 
 And now, jown it all, I won't say what I baint 
 fit for, hey ? ' 
 
 ' Coulds't sign the book no doubt,' said 
 Fairway, ' if wast young enough to join hands 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 47 
 
 with a woman again, like Wilcleve and 
 Mis'ess Tamsin, which is more than Humph 
 there could do, for he follows his father in 
 learning. Ah, Humph, well I can mind 
 when I was married how I saw thy father's 
 mark staring me in the face as I went to put 
 down my name. He and your mother were 
 the couple married just afore we were, and 
 there stood thy father's cross with arms 
 stretched out like a great banging scarecrow. 
 
 What a terrible black cross that was thy 
 
 father's very likeness in en ! To save my 
 soul I couldn't help laughing when I saw en, 
 though all the time I was as hot as dogdays, 
 what with the marrying, and what with the 
 woman hanging to me, and what with Jack 
 Changley and a lot more chaps grinnino- at 
 me through church window. But the next 
 moment a strawmote would have knocked me 
 down, for I called to mind that if thy father 
 and mother had had high words once, they'd 
 been at it twenty times since they'd been 
 man and wife, and I saw myself as the next 
 
48 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 poor stunpoll to get Into the same mess. . . . 
 Ah — well, what a day 'twas ! ' 
 
 ' Wildeve is older than Tamsin Yeobrlght 
 by a good-few summers. A pretty maid too 
 she is. A young woman with a home must 
 be a fool to tear her smock for a man like 
 that.' 
 
 The speaker, a peat or turf-cutter, who 
 had newly joined the group, carried across 
 his shoulder the singular heart-shaped spade 
 of large dimensions used in that species of 
 labour ; and its well -whetted edge gleamed 
 like a silver bow in the beams of the fire. 
 
 'A hundred maidens would have had him 
 if he'd asked 'em,' said the wide woman. 
 
 ' Dids't ever know a man, neighbour, that 
 no woman at all would marry ? ' inquired 
 Humphrey. 
 
 ' I never did,' said the turf-cutter. 
 
 ' Nor I,' said another. 
 
 ' Nor I,' said Grandfer Cantle. 
 
 ' Well, now, I did once,' said Timothy 
 Fairway, adding more firmness to one of his 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 49 
 
 leg's. ' I did know of such a man. But only 
 once, mind.' He gave his throat a thorough 
 rake round, as if It were the duty of every 
 person not to be mistaken through thickness 
 of voice. ' Yes, I knew of such a man,' he 
 said. 
 
 ' And what ghastly galllcrow might the 
 poor fellow have been like, Master Fairway ? * 
 asked the turf-cutter. 
 
 ' Well, 'a was neither a deaf man, nor a 
 dumb man, nor a blind man.' 
 
 * Is he known in these parts ? ' said Oily 
 Dowden. 
 
 ' Hardly,' said Timothy; 'but I name no 
 name .... Come, keep the fire up there, 
 youngsters.' 
 
 'Whatever is Christian Cantle's teeth 
 a-chattering for ? ' said a boy from amid the 
 smoke and shades on the other side of the 
 blaze. ' Be ye a-cold. Christian ? ' 
 
 A thin jibbering voice was heard to reply, 
 ' No not at all.' 
 
 * Come forward, Christian, and show your- 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 self. I didn't know you were here,' said 
 Fairway, with a humane look across towards 
 that quarter. 
 
 Thus requested, a faltering man, with 
 reedy hair, no shoulders, and a great quantity 
 of wrist and ankle beyond his clothes, ad- 
 vanced a step or two by his own will, and was 
 pushed by the will of others half-a-dozen steps 
 more. He was Grandfer Cantle's youngest son. 
 
 ' What be ye quaking for. Christian ? * 
 said the turf-cutter, kindly. 
 
 ' I'm the m.an.' 
 
 ' What man ? ' 
 
 * The man no woman will marry.' 
 
 ' The deuce you be! ' said Timothy Fair- 
 way,^enlarging his gaze to cover Christian s 
 whole surface and a great deal more ; Grand- 
 fer Cantle meanwhile staring as a hen stares 
 at the duck she has hatched. 
 
 * Yes, I be he ; and it makes me afeard,' 
 said Christian. ' D'ye think 'twill hurt me ? 
 I shall always say I don't care, and swear 
 to it, though I do care all the while.' 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 5 I 
 
 ' Well, be damned if this isn't the queer- 
 est start ever I know'd,' said Mr. Fairway. 
 ' I didn't mean you at all. There's another 
 in the country, then ! Why did ye reveal 
 yer misfortune. Christian ?' 
 
 ' 'Twas to be if 'twas, I suppose. I can't 
 help it, can I ?' He turned upon them his 
 painfully circular eyes, surrounded by con- 
 centric lines like targets. 
 
 ' No, that's true. But 'tis a melancholy 
 thing, and my blood ran cold when you 
 spoke, for I felt there were two poor fellows 
 where I had thought only one. 'Tis a sad 
 thing for ye. Christian. How'st know the 
 women won't hae thee ? ' 
 
 ' I've asked 'em.' 
 
 ' Sure I should never have thought you 
 had the face. Well, and what did the last 
 one say to ye ? Nothing that can't be got 
 over, perhaps, after all ? ' 
 
 ' *' Get out of my sight, you slack 
 twisted, slim-looking fool," was the woman's 
 words to me.' 
 
 E 2 
 
52 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' Not encouraging, I own/ said Fairway. 
 ' '' Get out of my sight, you slack-twisted, 
 slim-looking fool," is rather a hard way of 
 saying No. But even that might be over- 
 come by time and patience, so as to let a 
 few grey hairs show themselves in the hussy's 
 head. How old be you, Christian ? ' 
 
 ' Thirty-one last tatie-digging, Mister 
 Fairway.' 
 
 ' Not a boy — not a boy. Still there's 
 
 hope yet.' 
 
 ' That's my age by baptism, because 
 that's put down in the great book of the 
 judgment-day that they keep down in church 
 vestry ; but mother told me I was born 
 some time afore I was christened.' 
 
 ^ Ah!' 
 
 * But she couldn't tell when, to save her 
 life, except that there was no moon.' 
 
 ' No moon : that's bad. Hey, neigh- 
 bours, that's bad for him ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, 'tis bad,' said Grandfer Cantle, 
 shaking his head. 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 53 
 
 ' Mother know'd 'twas no moon, for she 
 asked another woman that had an almanac, 
 as she did whenever a boy was born to 
 her, because of the saying, '* No moon, 
 no man," which made her afeard every 
 manchild she had. Do ye really think it 
 serious, Mister Fairway, that there was no 
 moon ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; '' No moon, no man." 'Tis one 
 of the truest sayings ever spit out. The 
 boy never comes to anything that's born at 
 new moon. A bad job for thee. Christian, 
 that you should have showed your nose 
 then of all days in the month.' 
 
 ' I suppose the moon was terrible full 
 when you were born ? ' said Christian, with 
 a look of hopeless admiration at Fairway. 
 
 ' Well, 'a was not new,' Mr. Fairway 
 replied, with a disinterested gaze. 
 
 ' I'd sooner go without drink at Lammas- 
 tide than be a man of no moon,' continued 
 Christian, in the same shattered recitative. 
 * 'Tis said I be only the rames of a man, 
 
54 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 and no good in the world at all; and. I sup- 
 pose that's the cause o't' 
 
 ' Ay,' said Grandfer Cantle, somewhat 
 subdued in spirit; ' and yet his mother cried 
 for scores of hours when a was a boy, for 
 fear he should outgrow himself and go for 
 a soldier.' 
 
 ' Well, there's many just as bad as he/ 
 said Fairway. ' Wethers must live their 
 time as well as other sheep, poor soul.' 
 
 ' So perhaps I shall rub on? Ought I 
 to be afeard o' night's, Master Fairway } ' 
 
 ' You'll have to lie alone all your life; 
 and 'tis not to married couples but to single 
 sleepers that a ghost shows himself when 'a 
 do come. One has been seen lately, too, 
 A very strange one.' 
 
 ' No — don't talk about it if 'tis agreeable 
 of ye not to. 'Twill make my skin crawl 
 when I think of it in bed alone. But you 
 will — ah, you will, I know, Timothy; and 
 I shall dream all night o't ! A very strange 
 one? What sort of a spirit did ye mean 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 55 
 
 when ye said, a very strange one, Timothy ? 
 — no, no — don t tell me.' 
 
 ' I don't half believe in spirits myself. 
 But I think it ghostly enough — what I was 
 told. 'Twas a little boy that saw it.' 
 
 ' What was it like ? — no, don't ' 
 
 ' A red one. Yes, most ghosts be 
 white ; but this is as if it had been dipped 
 in blood.' 
 
 Christian drew a deep breath without 
 letting it expand his body, and Humphrey 
 said, ' Where have it been seen ? ' 
 
 * Not exactly here ; but in this same 
 heath. But 'tisn't a thing to talk about. 
 What do ye say,' continued Fairway in 
 brisker tones, and turning upon them as 
 if the idea had not been Grandfer Cantle's ; 
 ' what do ye say to giving the new man and 
 wife a bit of a song to-night afore we go 
 to bed — being their wedding day ? When 
 folks are just married 'tis as well to look 
 glad o't, since looking sorry won't unjoin 
 'em. I am no drinker, as we know, but 
 
56 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 when the womenfolk and youngsters have 
 gone home we can drop down across to 
 the Quiet Woman, and strike up a ballet 
 in front of the married folks' door. 'Twill 
 please the young wife, and that's what I 
 should like to do, for many's the skinful 
 I've had at her hands when she lived with 
 her aunt at Blooms-End.' 
 
 ' Hey ? And so we will ! ' said Grandfer 
 Cantle, turning so briskly that his copper 
 seals swung extravagantly. * I'm as dry as 
 a kex with biding up here in the wind, and 
 I haven't seen the colour of drink since 
 nammet-time to-day. 'Tis said that the 
 last brew at the Woman is very pretty 
 drinking. And, neighbours, if we should be 
 a little late in the finishing, why, to-morrow's 
 Sunday, and we can sleep it off ? ' 
 
 ' Grandfer Cantle ! you take things very 
 careless for an old man,' said the wide 
 woman. 
 
 ' I take things careless ; I do — too care- 
 less to please the women ! Klk ! I'll sing 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 5/ 
 
 the "Jovial Crew," or any other song, when 
 a weak old man would cry his eyes out. 
 Jown it ; I am up for anything : 
 
 * The king' look'd o'-ver his left' shoul-der', 
 
 And a grim' look look'-ed hee', 
 Earl Mar'-shal, he said', but for' my oath', 
 Or hang'-ed thou' should'st bee'.' 
 
 ' Well, that's what we'll do,' said Fairway. 
 ' We'll give 'em a song, an it please the 
 Lord. What's the good of Thomasin's 
 cousin Clym acoming home after the deed's 
 done ? He should have come afore, if so be 
 he wanted to stop it, and marry her himself 
 
 ' Perhaps he's coming to bide with his 
 mother a little time, as she must feel lonely 
 now the maid's gone.' 
 
 ' Now, 'tis very odd, but I never feel 
 lonely — no, not at all,' said Grandfer Cantle. 
 'I'm as brave in the night-time as an ad- 
 miral ! ' 
 
 The bonfire was by this time beginning 
 to sink low, for the fuel had not been of 
 that substantial sort which can support a 
 
58 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 blaze long-. Most of the other fires within 
 the wide horizon were also dwindling weak. 
 Attentive observation of their brightness, 
 colour, and length of existence would have 
 revealed the quality of the material burnt ; 
 and through that, to some extent, the natural 
 produce of the district in which each bonfire 
 was situate. The clear, kingly effulgence 
 that had characterised the majority expressed 
 a heath and furze country like their own, 
 which in one direction extended an unlimited 
 number of miles : the rapid flares and ex- 
 tinctions at other points of the compass 
 showed the lightest of fuel — straw, bean- 
 stalks, and the usual waste from arable land. 
 The most enduring of all — steady unaltering 
 eyes like planets — signified wood, such as 
 hazel branches, thorn -faggots, and stout billets. 
 Fires of the last-mentioned materials were 
 rare, and, though comparatively small in 
 magnitude beside the transient blazes, now 
 began to get the best of them by mere long- 
 continuance. The great ones had perished, 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 59 
 
 but these remained. They occupied the 
 remotest visible positions — sky-backed sum- 
 mits rising out of rich coppice and plantation- 
 districts to the north, where the soil was 
 different, and heath foreign and strange. 
 
 Save one ; and this was the nearest of 
 any, the moon of the whole shining throng. 
 It lay in a direction precisely opposite to 
 that of the little window in the vale below. 
 Its nearness was such that, notwithstanding 
 its actual dimension — not one quarter the 
 probable size of the others — its glow infi- 
 nitely transcended theirs. 
 
 This quiet eye had attracted attention 
 from time to time ; and when their own fire 
 had become sunken and dim it attracted 
 more ; for though some even of the wood 
 fires more recently lighted had reached their 
 decline, no change was perceptible here. 
 
 ' To be sure, how near that fire is,' said 
 Fairway. ' Seemingly, I can see a fellow 
 of some sort walking round it. Little and 
 good must be said of that fire, surely.' 
 
6o THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' I can throw a stone there,' said a boy. 
 
 ' And so can I ! ' said Grandfer Cantle. 
 
 'No, no, you can't, my sonnies. That 
 fire is not much less than a mile and half 
 off, for all that 'a seems so near.' 
 
 ' 'Tis in the heath, but not furze,' said the 
 turf-cutter. 
 
 ' 'Tis cleft-wood, that's what 'tis,' said 
 Timothy Fairway. ' Nothing would burn 
 like that except clean timber. And 'tis on 
 the knap afore the old captain's house at 
 Mistover. Such a queer mortal as that man 
 is ! To have a little fire inside your own 
 bank and ditch, that nobody else may enjoy 
 it or come anigh it ! And what a zany an 
 old chap must be, to light a bonfire when 
 there's no youngsters to please.' 
 
 * Cap'n Drew has been for a long walk 
 to-day, and is quite tired out,' said Grandfer 
 Cantle, ' so 'tisn't likely to be he.' 
 
 ' And he would hardly afford good fuel 
 like that,' said the wide woman. 
 
 *Then it must be his grand-daughter,' 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 6 1 
 
 said Fairway. ' Not that a body of her age 
 can want a fire much.' 
 
 * She is very strange in her ways, Hving 
 up there by herself, and such things please 
 her/ said Susan. 
 
 ' She's a well-favoured maid enough,' said 
 Humphrey the furze-cutter ; ' especially when 
 she's got one of her dandy gowns on.' 
 
 ' That's true,' said Fairway. ' Well ; let 
 her bonfire burn an 'twill. Ours is well-nigh 
 out by the look o't.' 
 
 * How dark 'tis now the fire's eone 
 down ! ' said Christian Cantle, looking behind 
 him with his hare eyes. ' Don't ye think 
 we'd better get home-along, neighbours ? 
 The heth isn't haunted, I know ; but we'd 
 
 better get home Ah, what was 
 
 that?' 
 
 ' Only the wind,' said the turf-cutter. 
 
 * I don't think fifth-of- Novembers oueht 
 to be kept up by night except in towns. It 
 should be by day in outstep, ill-accounted 
 places like this ! ' 
 
62 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' Nonsense, Christian. Lift up your 
 spirits like a man ! Susy, dear, you and I 
 will have a jig — hey, my honey ? before 'tis 
 quite too dark to see how well-favoured j^ou 
 be still, though so many summers have passed 
 since your husband, a son of a gun, snapped 
 you up from me.' 
 
 This was addressed to Susan Nunsuch ; 
 and the next circumstance of which the be- 
 holders were conscious was a vision of the 
 matron's broad form whisking off towards the 
 space whereon the fire had been kindled. 
 She was lifted bodily by Mr. Fairway's arm, 
 which had been flung round her waist before 
 she had become aware of his intention. The 
 site of the fire was now merely a circle of 
 ashes flecked with red embers and sparks, 
 the furze having burnt completely away. 
 Once within the circle he whirled her round 
 and round in a dance. She was a woman 
 noisily constructed ; in addition to her en- 
 closing framework of whalebone and lath, 
 she wore pattens summer and winter, in wet 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 63 
 
 weather and in dry, to preserve her boots 
 from wear ; and when Fairway began to 
 jump about with her, the cHcking of the 
 pattens, the creaking of the stays, and her 
 screams of surprise, formed a very audible 
 concert. 
 
 * I'll crack thy numskull for thee, you 
 mandy chap,' said Mrs. Nunsuch, as she 
 helplessly danced round with him, her feet 
 playing like drumsticks among the sparks. 
 * My ancles were all in a fever afore, from 
 walking through that prickly furze, and now 
 you must make 'em worse with these 
 vlankers ! ' 
 
 The vagary of Timothy Fairway was in- 
 fectious. The turf-cutter seized old Oily 
 Dowden, and, somewhat more gently, pous- 
 setted with her likewise. The young men 
 were not slow to imitate the example of their 
 elders, and seized the maids ; Grandfer 
 Cantle and his stick jigged in the form of a 
 three-legged object among the rest ; and in 
 half a minute all that could be seen on Black- 
 
64 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 barrow was a whirling of dark shapes amid 
 a boiling confusion of sparks, which leapt 
 around the dancers as high as their waists. 
 The chief noises were women's shrill cries, 
 men's laughter, Susan's stays and pattens, 
 old Oily Dowden's ' heu-heu-heu ! ' and the 
 strumming of the wind upon the furze-bushes, 
 which formed a kind of tune to the demoniac 
 measure they trod. Christian alone stood 
 aloof, uneasily rocking himself as he mur- 
 mured, ' They ought not to do It — how the 
 vlankers do fly ! 'tis tempting the wicked 
 one, 'tis.' 
 
 ' What was that ? ' said one of the lads, 
 stopping. 
 
 * Ah — where ? ' said Christian, hastily 
 closing up to the rest. 
 
 The dancers all lessened their speed. 
 
 ' 'Twas behind you, Christian, that I 
 heard It — down there.' 
 
 ' Yes — .'tis behind me ! ' Christian said. 
 ' Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John ; bless the 
 bed that I He on ; four angels guard * 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 65 
 
 ' Hold your tongue. What is it ? ' said 
 Fairway. 
 
 ' Hoi-i-i-i !' cried a voice from the darkness. 
 
 ' Halloo-0-0-0 ! ' said Fairway. 
 
 ' Is there any cart-track up across here to 
 Mis'ess Yeobright's, of Blooms-End ? ' came 
 to them in the same voice, as a long, slim, 
 indistinct figure approached the barrow. 
 
 ' Ought we not to run home as hard as 
 we can, neighbours, as 'tis getting late ? ' 
 said Christian. ' Not run away from one an- 
 other, you know ; run close together, I mean.' 
 
 ' Scrape up a few stray locks of furze, and 
 make a blaze, so that we can see who the 
 man is,' said Fairway. 
 
 When the flame arose it revealed a young 
 man in tight raiment, and red from top to 
 toe. ' Is there a track across here to Mis'ess 
 Yeobright's house ? ' he repeated. 
 
 ' Ay — keep along the path down there.' 
 
 ' I mean a way two horses and a van can 
 travel over ? ' 
 
 ' Well, yes ; you can get up the vale 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 below here with time. The track Is rough, 
 but if you've got a Hght your horses may 
 pick along wi' care. Have ye brought your 
 cart far up, neighbour reddleman ? ' 
 
 ' I've left it in the bottom, about half a 
 mile back. I stepped on in front to make 
 sure of the way, as 'tis night-time, and I 
 han't been here for so long.' 
 
 ' Oh, well, you can get up,' said Fairway. 
 * What a turn it did give me when I saw 
 him ! ' he added, to the whole group, the 
 reddleman included. ' Lord's sake, I thought, 
 whatever fiery mommet is this come to 
 trouble us ? No slight to your looks, reddle- 
 man, for ye baint bad-looking in the ground- 
 work, though the finish is queer My mean- 
 ing Is just to say how curious I felt. I half- 
 thought 'twas the devil or the red s^host the 
 boy told of.' 
 
 ' It gled me a turn likewise,' said Susan 
 Nunsuch, ' for I had a dream last night of a 
 death's head.' 
 
 ' Don't ye talk o't no more,' said Chris- 
 
THE THREE WOiMEN. (j^ 
 
 tian. * If he had a handkerchief over his 
 head he'd look for all the world like the 
 Devil in the picture of the Temptation.' 
 
 ' Well, thank you for telling me,' said 
 the young reddleman, smiling faintly. ' And 
 good-night t'ye all.' 
 
 He withdrew from their sight down the 
 barrow. 
 
 ' I fancy I've seen that young man's face 
 before,' said Humphrey. ' But where, or how, 
 or what his name is, I don't know.' 
 
 The reddleman had not been gone more 
 than a few minutes when another person ap- 
 proached the partially revived bonfire. It 
 proved to be a well-known and respected 
 widow of the neio^hbourhood, of a standino- 
 which can only be expressed by the word 
 genteel. Her face, encom.passed by the 
 blackness of the receding heath, showed 
 whitely, and without half-lights, like a cameo. 
 
 She was a woman of middle-age, with 
 well-formed features of the type usually 
 found where perspicacity is the prominent 
 
 F 2 
 
68 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 quality enthroned within. At moments she 
 seemed to be regarding issues from a Nebo 
 denied to others around. She had some- 
 thing of an estranged mien : the sohtude ex- 
 haled from the heath was concentrated in 
 this face that had risen from it. The air 
 with which she looked at the heathmen be- 
 tokened a certain unconcern at their pre- 
 sence, or at what might be their opinions of 
 her for walking in that lonely spot at such an 
 hour, thus indirectly implying that in some 
 respect or other they were not up to her 
 level. The explanation lay in the fact that 
 though her husband had been a small farmer 
 she herself was a curate's daughter, who had 
 once dreamt of doing better things. 
 
 Persons with any weight of character 
 carry, like planets, their atmospheres along 
 with them in their orbits ; and the matron 
 who entered now upon the scene could, and 
 usually did, bring her own tone into a com- 
 pany. Her normal manner among the heath- 
 folk had that reticence which results from 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 69 
 
 the consciousness of superior communicative 
 power. But the effect of coming into society 
 and Hght after lonely wandering* in darkness 
 is a sociability in the comer above its usual 
 pitch, expressed in the features even more 
 than in the words. 
 
 ' Why, 'tis Mis'ess Yeobright,' said Fair- 
 way. ' Mis'ess Yeobright, not ten minutes 
 ago a man was here asking for you — a red- 
 dleman.' 
 
 * What did he want ? ' said she. 
 ' He didn't tell us.' 
 
 ' Something to sell, I suppose ; what it 
 can be I am at a loss to understand.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear that your son Mr. 
 Clym is coming home at Christmas, ma'am,' 
 said Sam, the turf-cutter. ' What a dog he 
 used to be for bonfires ! ' 
 
 ' Yes. I believe he is coming,' she said. 
 
 ' He must be a fine fellow by this time,' 
 said Fairwa)\ 
 
 * He is a man now,' she replied, quietly. 
 
 ' Tis very lonesome for 'ee in the heth to- 
 
70 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 night, mis'ess,' said Christian, coming from 
 the seclusion he had hitherto maintained. 
 * Mind you don't get lost. Egdon Heth is 
 a bad place to get lost in, and the winds do 
 huffle queerer to-night than ever I heard 'em 
 afore. Them that know Egdon best have 
 been pixy-led here at times.' 
 
 ' Is that you, Christian ?' said Mrs. Yeo- 
 bright. ' What made you hide away from 
 me ?' 
 
 ' ' Twas that I didn't know you in this 
 liofht, mis'ess ; and beinof a man of the mourn- 
 fullest make, I was scared a little, that's all. 
 Oftentimes if you could see how terrible down 
 I get in my mind, 'twould make 'ee quite 
 nervous for fear I should die by my hand.' 
 
 ' You don't take after your father,' said 
 Mrs. Yeobright, looking towards the fire, 
 where Grandfer Cantle, with some want of 
 originality, was dancing by himself among 
 the sparks, as the others had done before. 
 
 ' Now, Grandfer,' said Timothy Fairway, 
 * we are ashamed of ye. A reverent old pa- 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. yi 
 
 triarch man as you be — seventy if a day — to 
 go hornpiping like that by yourself ! ' 
 
 ' A harrowing old man, Mis'ess Yeo- 
 bright,' said Christian, despondingly. ' I 
 wouldn't live with him a week, so playward 
 as he is, if I could get away.' 
 
 * 'T would be more seemly in ye to stand 
 still and welcome Mis'ess Yeobright, and 
 you the venerablest here, Grand fer Cantle, 
 said the besom-woman. 
 
 ' Faith, and so it would,' said the reveller, 
 checking himself repentantly. ' iVe such a 
 bad memory, Mis'ess Yeobright, that I for- 
 get how I'm looked up to by the rest of 'em. 
 My spirits must be wonderful good, you'll 
 say ? But not always. 'Tis a weight upon 
 a man to be looked up to as commander, and 
 I often feel it.' 
 
 ' I am sorry to stop the talk,' said Mrs. 
 Yeobrio^ht. ' But I must be leaving you 
 now. I am crossing the heath towards my 
 niece's new home, who is returning to-niofht 
 with her husband ; and hearing Olly's voice 
 
72 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 I came up here to ask her if she would soon 
 be going home ; I should like her to walk 
 with me, as her way is mine.' 
 
 * Ay, sure, ma'am, I'm just thinking of 
 moving,' said Oily. 
 
 * Why, you'll be safe to meet the reddle- 
 man that I told ye of,' said Fairway. ' He's 
 only gone back to get his van. We heard 
 that your niece and her husband were 
 coming straight home as soon as they were 
 married, and we are going down there 
 shortly, to give 'em a song o' welcome.' 
 
 ' Thank you indeed,' said Mrs. Yeobright. 
 
 ' But we shall take a shorter cut through 
 the furze than you can go with long clothes ; 
 so we won't trouble you to wait.' 
 
 ' Very well — are you ready. Oily ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, ma'am. And there's alio;ht shininof 
 from your niece's window, see. It will help 
 to keep us in the path.' 
 
 She indicated the faint light at the bottom 
 of the valley which Fairway had pointed out ; 
 and the two women descended the barrow. 
 
7o 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE HALT ON THE TURNPIKE-ROAD. 
 
 Down, downward they went, and yet further 
 down — their descent at each step seeming 
 to outmeasure their advance. Their skirts 
 were scratched noisily by the furze, their 
 shoulders brushed by the ferns, which, though 
 dead and dry, stood erect as when alive, no 
 sufficient winter weather having as yet ar- 
 rived to beat them down. Their Tartarean 
 situation might by some have been called an 
 imprudent one for two unattended women. 
 But these shaggy recesses were at all seasons 
 a familiar surrounding to Oily and Mrs. Yeo- 
 bright ; and the addition of darkness lends 
 no frightfulness to the face of a friend. 
 
 ' And so Tamsin has married him at last,' 
 said Oily, when the incline had become so 
 
74 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 much less steep that their footsteps no longer 
 required undivided attention. 
 
 Mrs. Yeobright answered slowly, ' Yes : 
 at last' 
 
 ' How you will miss her — living with ye 
 as a daughter, as she always have.' 
 
 ' I do miss her.' 
 
 Oily, though without the tact to perceive 
 when remarks were untimely, was saved by 
 her very simplicity from rendering them 
 offensive. Questions that would have been 
 resented in others she could ask with im- 
 punity. This accounted for Mrs. Yeobright's 
 acquiescence in the revival of an evidently 
 sore subject. 
 
 ' I was quite strook to hear you'd agreed 
 to it, ma'am, that I was,' continued the besom - 
 maker. 
 
 ' You were not more struck by it 
 than I should have been last year this time, 
 Oily! There are a good many sides to that 
 wedding. I could not tell you all of them, 
 even if I tried.' 
 
THE THREE \VOMEN. 75 
 
 * I felt myself that he was hardly solid- 
 going enough to mate with your family. 
 Keeping an inn — what is it ? But 'as clever, 
 that's true, and they say he was an engineer- 
 ing gentleman once, but has come down by 
 being too outwardly given.' 
 
 ' I saw that, upon the whole, it would be 
 better she should marry where she wished.' 
 
 ' Poor little thing, her feelings got the 
 better of her, no doubt. 'Tis nature. Well, 
 they may call him what they will — he've 
 several acres of heth ground broke up here, 
 besides the public-house, and the heth-crop- 
 pers, and his manners be quite like a gentle- 
 man's. And what's done cannot be undone.' 
 
 ' It cannot,' said Mrs. Yeobright. ' See, 
 here's the waggon -track at last. Now we 
 shall get along better.' 
 
 The wedding subject was no further dwelt 
 upon ; and soon a faint diverging path was 
 reached, where they parted company, Oily 
 first begging her companion to remind Mr. 
 Wildeve that he had not sent her sick hus- 
 
76 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 band the bottle of wine promised on the 
 occasion of his marriage. The besom-maker 
 turned to the left towards her own house, 
 behind a spur of the hill, and Mrs. Yeobright 
 followed the straight track, which further on 
 joined the highway by the Quiet Woman 
 Inn, whither she supposed her niece to have 
 returned with Wildeve from their wedding 
 at Southerton that day. 
 
 She first reached Wildeve's Patch, as it 
 was called, a plot of land redeemed from the 
 heath, and after long and laborious years 
 brought into cultivation. The man who had 
 discovered that it could be broken up died of 
 the labour : the man who succeeded him in 
 possession ruined himself in fertilising it. 
 Wildeve came like Amerigo Vespucci, and 
 received the honours due to those who had 
 gone before. 
 
 When Mrs. Yeobright had drawn near to 
 the inU; and was about to enter, she saw a 
 horse and vehicle some two hundred yards 
 beyond it, coming towards her, a man walk- 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. "]"] 
 
 ine aloneside with a lantern in his hand. It 
 was soon evident that this was the reddleman 
 who had inquired for her. Instead of enter- 
 ing the inn at once, she walked by it and 
 towards the van. 
 
 The conveyance came close, and the man 
 was about to pass her with little notice, when 
 she turned to him and said, ' I think you have 
 been Inquiring for me ? I am Mrs. Yeobright 
 of Blooms-End.' 
 
 The reddleman started, and held up his 
 finger. He stopped the horses, and beckoned 
 to her to withdraw with him a few yards 
 aside, which she did, wondering. 
 
 ' You don't know me, ma'am, I suppose ? ' 
 he said. 
 
 *I do not,' said she. 'Why, yes, I do! 
 You are young Venn — your father was a 
 dairyman somewhere here ? ' 
 
 'Yes; and I knew your niece. Miss 
 Tamsin, a little. I have something bad to 
 tell you.' 
 
 ' About her — no ? She has just come 
 
yS THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 home, I believe, with her husband. They 
 arranged to return this afternoon — to the 
 inn beyond here ? ' 
 
 ' She's not there.' 
 
 ' How do you know ? ' 
 
 ' Because she's here. She's in my van,' 
 he added slowly. 
 
 ' What new trouble has come ? ' murmured 
 Mrs. Yeobright, putting her hand over her 
 eyes. 
 
 ' I can't explain much, ma'am. All I 
 know is that, as I was going along the road 
 this morning, about a mile out of Southerton, 
 I heard something trotting after me like a 
 doe, and looking round there she was, white 
 as death itself. " O Diggory Venn ! " she 
 said, " I thought 'twas you : will you help 
 me ? I am in trouble." ' 
 
 ' How did she know your Christian name ?' 
 said Mrs. Yeobright doubtingly. 
 
 ' I had met her as a lad before I went 
 away in this trade. She asked then if she 
 mig-ht ride, and then down she fell in a faint. 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 79 
 
 I picked her up and put her in, and there she 
 has been ever since. She has cried a good 
 deal, but she has hardly spoke ; all she has 
 told me being that she was to have been 
 married this morning. I tried to get her to 
 eat something, but she couldn't ; and at last 
 she fell asleep.' 
 
 ' Let me see her at once,' said Mrs. Yeo- 
 bright, hastening towards the van. 
 
 The reddleman followed with the lantern, 
 and, stepping up first, assisted Mrs. Yeobright 
 to mount beside him. On the door beine 
 opened she perceived at the end of the van 
 an extemporised couch, around which was 
 hung apparently all the drapery that the 
 reddleman possessed, to keep the occupant 
 of the little couch from all contact with the 
 red materials of his trade. A young girl 
 lay thereon, covered with a cloak. She was 
 asleep, and the light of the lantern fell upon 
 her features. 
 
 It was a fair, sweet, and honest country 
 face, reposing in a nest of wavy chestnut 
 
8o THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 hair. It was between pretty and beautiful. 
 Though her eyes were closed, one could 
 easily imagine the light necessarily shining in 
 them as the culmination of the luminous work- 
 manship around. The groundwork of the 
 face was hopefulness ; but over It now lay 
 like a foreign substance a film of anxiety and 
 grief. The grief had been there so shortly 
 as to have abstracted nothing of the bloom : 
 It had as yet but given a dignity to what it 
 might eventually undermine. The scarlet of 
 her lips had not had time to abate, and just 
 now It appeared still more intense by the 
 absence of the neighbouring and more tran- 
 sient colour of her cheek. The lips fre- 
 quendy parted, with a murmur of words. She 
 seemed to belong rightly to a madrigal — 
 to require viewing through rhyme and har- 
 mony. 
 
 One thine at least was obvious : she was 
 not made to be looked at thus. The reddle- 
 man had appeared conscious of as much, 
 and, while Mrs. Yeobrlght looked in upon 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 8 1 
 
 her, he cast his eyes aside with a deh'cacy 
 which well became him. The sleeper appa- 
 rently thought so too, for the next moment 
 she opened her eyes. 
 
 The lips then parted with something of 
 anticipation, something more of doubt ; and 
 her several thoughts and fractions of thoughts, 
 as signalled by the changes on her face du- 
 ring those first few instants, were exhibited by 
 the light to the utmost nicety. An ingenuous, 
 transparent life was disclosed : it was as if the 
 flow of her existence could be seen passing 
 within. She understood the scene in a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 ' O yes, it is I, aunt,' she cried. * I know 
 how frightened you are, and how you cannot 
 believe it ; but all the same, it is I who have 
 come home like this.' 
 
 ' Tamsin, Tamsin ! ' said Mrs. Yeobright, 
 stooping over the young woman and kissing 
 hen ' O my dear girl ! ' 
 
 Thomasin was now on the verge of a sob ; 
 
 VOL. T. G 
 
82 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 but by an unexpected self-command she 
 uttered no sound. With a gentle panting 
 breath she sat upright. 
 
 * I did not expect to see you in this state, 
 anymore than you me/ she went on quickly. 
 ' Where am I, aunt ? ' 
 
 ' Nearly home, my dear. In Egdon 
 Bottom. What dreadful thing is it ? ' 
 
 ' ril tell you in a moment. So near are 
 we ? Then I will get out and walk. I want 
 to go home by the path.' 
 
 * But this kind man who has done so much 
 will, I am sure, take you right on to my 
 house ? ' said the aunt, turning to the reddle- 
 man, who had withdrawn from the front of the 
 van on the awakening of the girl, and stood 
 in the road. 
 
 ' Why should you think it necessary to 
 ask me ? — I will, of course,' said he. 
 
 ' He is indeed kind,' murmured Thomasin. 
 * I was once acquainted with him, aunt, and 
 when I saw him to-day I thought I should 
 prefer his van to any conveyance of a 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 83 
 
 Stranger. But I'll walk now. Redclleman, 
 stop the horses, please.' 
 
 The man regarded her with tender reluc- 
 tance, but stopped them. 
 
 Aunt and niece then descended from the 
 van, Mrs. Yeobright saying to its ow^ner, ' I 
 quite recognise you now. What made you 
 change from the nice business your father left, 
 you ? ' 
 
 'Well, I did,' he said, and looked at 
 Thomasin, who blushed a little. ' Then 
 you'll not be wanting me any more to- 
 night, ma'am ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Yeobright glanced around at the 
 dark sky, at the hills, at the perishing bon- 
 fires, and at the lighted wdndow of the inn 
 they had neared. ' I think not,' she said, 
 ' since Thomasin wishes to walk. We can 
 soon run up the path and reach home : we 
 know it well.' 
 
 And after a few further words they 
 parted, the reddleman moving onwards wath 
 his van, and the two women remaining 
 
 G 2 
 
84 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 Standing in the road. As soon as the vehicle 
 and its driver had withdrawn so far as to be 
 beyond all possible reach of her voice Mrs. 
 Yeobright turned to her niece. 
 
 ' Now, Thomasin/ she said sternly, 
 * what's the meaning of this disgraceful per- 
 formance ? ' 
 
8^ 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PERPLEXITY AMONG HONEST PEOPLE. 
 
 TiiOMASiN looked as if quite overcome by 
 her aunt's change of manner. * It means just 
 what it seems to mean : I am — not married/ 
 she rephed faintly. ' Excuse me — for humi- 
 liating you, aunt, by this mishap : I am sorry 
 for it. But I cannot help it.' 
 
 * Me ? Think of yourself first.' 
 
 * It was nobody's fault. When we got 
 there the parson wouldn't marry us because 
 of some trifling irregularity in the licence.' 
 
 ' What irregularity } ' 
 
 * I don't know. Mr. Wildeve can explain. 
 I did not think when I went away this morn- 
 ing that I should come back like this.' It 
 being dark, Thomasin allowed her emotion 
 
86 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 to escape her by the silent way of tears, 
 which could roll down her cheek unseen. 
 
 ' I could almost say that it serves you 
 right — if I did not feel that you don't deserve 
 it,' continued Mrs. Yeobright, who, possess- 
 ing two distinct moods in close contiguity, a 
 gentle mood and an angry, flew from one to 
 the other without the least warning. ' Re- 
 member, Thomasin, this business was none of 
 my seeking ; from the very first, when you 
 began to feel foolish about that man, I warned 
 you he would not make you happy. I felt it 
 so strongly that I did what I would never 
 have believed myself capable of doing — stood 
 up In the church, and made myself the public 
 talk for weeks. But having once consented, 
 I don't submit to these fancies without good 
 reason. Marry him you must after this.' 
 
 ' Do you think I wish to do otherwise for 
 one moment ? ' said Thomasin, with a heavy 
 sigh. ' I know how wTong it was of me to 
 love him, but don't pain me by talking like 
 that, aunt ! You would not have had me 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. Sy 
 
 Stay there with him, would you ? — and your 
 house is the only home I have to return to. 
 He says we can be married in a day or two.' 
 ' I wish he had never seen you.' 
 ' Very well ; then I will be the miserablest 
 woman in the world, and not let him see me 
 again. No, I won't have him!' 
 
 ' It is too late to speak so. Come with 
 me. I am going to the inn to see if he has 
 returned. Of course I shall get to the bottom 
 of this story at once. Mr. Wildeve must 
 not suppose he can play tricks upon me, or 
 any belonging to me.' 
 
 ' It was not that. The licence was wTong, 
 and he couldn't get another the same day. 
 He will tell you in a moment how it was, if 
 he's come.' 
 
 ' Why didn't he bring you back ? ' 
 ' That was me,' again sobbed Thomasin. 
 ' When I found we could not be married I 
 didn't like to come back with him, and I was 
 very ill. Then I saw Diggory Venn, and 
 was oflad to o^et him to take me home. I 
 
88 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 cannot explain it any better, and you must be 
 angry with me if you will.' 
 
 ' I shall see about that,' said Mrs. Yeo- 
 bright ; and they turned towards the inn, 
 known in the neiMibourhood as the Ouiet 
 Woman, the sign of which represented the 
 figure of a matron carrying her head under 
 her arm. The front of the house was towards 
 the heath and Blackbarrow, whose dark shape 
 seemed to threaten it from the sky. Upon 
 the door was a neglected brass plate, bearing 
 the unexpected inscription, 'Mr. Wildeve, 
 Engineer ' — a useless yet cherished relic from 
 the time when he had been started in that 
 profession in an office at Budmouth by those 
 who had hoped much from him, and had been 
 disappointed. The garden was at the back, 
 and behind this ran a still deep stream, form- 
 ing the margin of the heath in this direction, 
 meadow-land appearing beyond the stream. 
 
 But the thick obscurity permitted only 
 sky-lines to be visible of any scene at present. 
 The water at the back of the house could be 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 89 
 
 heard, idly spinning whirlpools in its creep 
 between the rows of dry feather-headed reeds 
 which formed a stockade along each bank. 
 Their presence was denoted by sounds as 
 of a congregation praying humbly, produced 
 by their rubbing against each other in the 
 slow wind. 
 
 The window, whence the candlelight had 
 shone up the vale to the eyes of the bonfire 
 group, was uncurtained, but the sill lay too 
 high for a pedestrian on the outside to look 
 over it into the room. A vast shadow, in 
 which could be dimly traced portions of a 
 masculine contour, blotted half the ceiling. 
 
 ' He seems to be at home,' said Mrs. 
 Yeobright. 
 
 ' Must I come in too, aunt ? ' asked 
 Thomasin faintly. ' I suppose not ; it would 
 be wrong.' 
 
 * You must come, certainly — to confront 
 him, so that he may make no false representa- 
 tions to me. We shall not be five minutes 
 in the house, and then we'll walk home.' 
 
90 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 Entering the open passage, she tapped 
 at the door of the private parlour, unfastened 
 it, and looked in. 
 
 The back and shoulders of a man came 
 between Mrs. Yeobright's eyes and the fire. 
 Wildeve, whose form it w^as, immediately 
 turned, arose, and advanced to meet his 
 visitors. 
 
 He was quite a young man, and of the 
 two properties, form and motion, the latter 
 first attracted the eye in him. The grace 
 of his movement was singular : it was the 
 pantomimic expression of a lady-killing ca- 
 reer. Next came into notice the more 
 material qualities, among which was a pro- 
 fuse crop of hair impending over the top 
 of his face, lending to his forehead the 
 high-cornered outline of an Early Gothic 
 shield; and a neck which was smooth and 
 round as a cylinder. The lower half of 
 his figure was of light build. Altogether 
 he was one in whom no man would have 
 seen anything to admire, and in whom no 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 9 1 
 
 woman would have seen anything to dis- 
 like. 
 
 He discerned the young girl's form in 
 the passage, and said, ' Thomasin, then, 
 has reached home. How could you leave 
 me in that way, darling?' And turning 
 to Mrs. Yeobright: 'It was useless to 
 argue w^ith her. She would go, and go 
 alone.' 
 
 ' But what's the meaning of it all ? ' 
 demanded Mrs. Yeobright haughtily. 
 
 ' Take a seat,' said Wildeve, placing 
 chairs for the two women. ' Well, it was 
 a very stupid mistake, but such mistakes 
 will happen. The licence was useless at 
 Southerton. It was made out for Bud- 
 mouth, but as I didn't read it I wasn't 
 aw^are of that' 
 
 ' But you had been staying at South- 
 erton ? ' 
 
 ' No. I had been at Budmouth — till 
 two days ago — and that was where I had 
 intended to take her : but w^hen I came to 
 
92 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 fetch her we decided upon Southerton, 
 forgetting that a new Hcence would be 
 necessary. There was not time to get to 
 Budmouth afterwards.' 
 
 * I think you are ver}' much to blame/ 
 said Mrs. Yeobrieht. 
 
 ' It was quite my fault we chose South 
 erton,' Thomasin pleaded. ' I proposed it 
 because I was not known there.' 
 
 ' I know so well that I am to blame 
 that you need not remind me of it,' replied 
 Wildeve shortly. 
 
 ' Such things don't happen for nothing/ 
 said the aunt. ' It is a great slight to me 
 and my family; and when it gets known 
 there will be a very unpleasant time for 
 us. How can she look her friends in the 
 face to-morrow.^ It is a very great injury, 
 and one I cannot easily forgive. It may 
 even reflect on her character.' 
 
 ' Nonsense,' said Wildeve, with some 
 anger. 
 
 Thomasin's large eyes had flown from 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 93 
 
 the face of one to the face of the other 
 during this discussion, and she now said 
 anxiously, ' Will you allow me, aunt, to 
 talk it over alone with Damon for five 
 minutes ? Will you, Damon ? ' 
 
 * Certainly, dear,' said Wildeve, ' if your 
 aunt will excuse us.' He led her into an 
 adjoining room, leaving Mrs. Yeobright by 
 the fire. 
 
 As soon as they were alone, and the 
 door closed, Thomasin said, turning up her 
 pale, tearful face to him, ' It is killing me, 
 this, Damon ! I did not mean to part 
 from you in anger at Southerton this 
 morning ; but I was frightened, and hardly 
 knew what I said. I do not let aunt know 
 how much I have suffered to-day ; and it 
 is so hard to command my face and voice, 
 and to smile as if it were a slio^ht thine 
 to me ; but I try to do so, that she may 
 not be still more indignant with you. I 
 know you could not help it, dear, what- 
 ever aunt may think.' 
 
94 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' She is very unpleasant.' 
 
 ' Yes,' Thomasin murmured, ' and I sup- 
 pose I seem so now Damon, what 
 
 do you mean to do about me ? ' 
 
 ' Do about you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. Those who don't like you whis- 
 per things which at moments make me 
 doubt you. We mean to marry, I suppose, 
 don't we ? ' 
 
 ' Of course we do. We have only to 
 go to Budmouth on Monday, and we may 
 marry at once.' 
 
 ' Then do let us go ! — Oh, Damon, what 
 you make me say ! ' She hid her blush- 
 ing face in her handkerchief. ' Here am 
 I, asking you to marry me ; when by 
 rights you ought to be on your knees im- 
 ploring me, your cruel mistress, not to 
 refuse you, and saying it would break 
 your heart if I did. I used to think it 
 would be pretty and sweet like that ; but 
 how different ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, real life is never at all like that.' 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 95 
 
 ' But I don't care personally if it never 
 takes place,' she added, with a little dignity ; 
 ' no, I can live without you. It is aunt I 
 think of. She is so proud, and thinks so 
 much of her family respectability, that she 
 v/ill be cut down with mortification if this 
 story should get abroad before — it is 
 done. My cousin Clym, too, will be much 
 wounded.' 
 
 * Then he will be very unreasonable. In 
 fact, you are all rather unreasonable.' 
 
 ' Thomasin coloured a little, and not with 
 love. But w^hatever the momentary feeling 
 which caused that flush in her, it w^ent as it 
 came, and she humbly said, ' I never mean to 
 be, if I can help it. I merely feel that you 
 have my aunt to some extent in your power 
 at last.' 
 
 ' As a matter of justice it is almost due 
 to me,' said Wildeve. ' Think what I have 
 ofone throuo^h to win her consent ; the insult 
 that it is to any man to have the banns for- 
 bidden : the double insult to a man unlucky 
 
96 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 enough to be cursed with sensitiveness, and 
 blue demons, and heaven knows what, as 
 T am. I can never forget those banns. A 
 harsher man would rejoice now in the power 
 I have of turning upon your aunt by going 
 no further in the business.' 
 
 She looked wistfully at him with her 
 sorrowful eyes as he said those words, and 
 her aspect showed that more than one person 
 in the room could deplore the possession of 
 sensitiveness. Seeing that she was really 
 suffering, he seemed disturbed and added, 
 ' This is merely a reflection, you know. I 
 have not the least intention to refuse to 
 complete the marriage, Tamsie mine — I 
 could not bear it/ 
 
 ' You could not, I know ! ' said the fair 
 girl, brightening. ' You, who cannot bear the 
 sight of pain in even an insect, or any dis- 
 agreeable sound, or unpleasant smell even, 
 Avill not long cause pain to me and mine.' 
 
 ' I will not, if I can help it.' 
 
 * Your hand upon it, Damon.' 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 97 
 
 He carelessly gave her his hand. 
 
 * Ah, by my crown, what's that ? ' he said 
 suddenly. 
 
 There fell upon their ears the sound of 
 numerous voices singing in front of the house. 
 Among these, two made themselves promi- 
 nent by their peculiarity : one was a very 
 strong bass, the other a wheezy thin piping. 
 Thomasin recognised them as belonging to 
 Timothy Fairway and Grandfer Cantle re- 
 spectively. 
 
 ' What does it mean — it is not skimmity- 
 riding, I hope ? ' she said, with a frightened 
 gaze at Wildeve. 
 
 ' Of course not ; no, it is that the heath- 
 folk have come to sing to us a welcome. 
 This is intolerable ! ' He began pacing 
 about, the men outside singing cheerily : — 
 
 He told' her that she' was the joy' of his Hfe', 
 And if she'd con-sent' he would make' her his wife' ; 
 She could' not refuse' him ; to church' so they went', 
 Young Will' was for-got', and young Sue' was con-tent'; 
 And then' was she kiss'd' and set down' on his knee', 
 No man' in the world' was so lov'-ing as he' ! 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 Mrs. Yeob right burst In from the outer 
 room. ' Thomasin, Thomasln ! ' she said, 
 looking Indignantly at Wildeve ; ' here's a 
 pretty exposure ! let us escape at once. 
 Come ! ' 
 
 It ^vas, however, too late to get away by 
 the passage. A rugged knocking had begun 
 upon the door of the front room. Wildeve, 
 w^ho had gone to the window, came back. 
 
 * Stop ! ' he said imperiously, putting his 
 hand upon Mrs. Yeobrlght s arm. ' We are 
 regularly besieged. There are fifty of them 
 out there if there's one. You stay in this 
 room with Thomasln ; I'll go out and face 
 them. You must stay now, for my sake, till 
 they are gone, so that it may seem as If all 
 was right. Come, Tamsie, dear, don't go 
 making a scene — we must marry after this ; 
 that you can see as well as I. Sit still, that's 
 all — and don't speak much. I'll manage 
 them. Blundering fools ! ' 
 
 He pressed the agitated girl into a seat, 
 returned to the outer room and opened the 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 99 
 
 door. Immediately outside, in the passage, 
 appeared Grandfer Cantle singing in concert 
 with those still standing in front of the house. 
 He came into the room and nodded ab- 
 stractedly to Wildeve, his lips still parted, 
 and his features excruciatingly strained in 
 the emission of the chorus. This being 
 ended, he said heartily, ' Here's welcome to 
 the new-made couple, and God bless 'em ! ' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Wildeve, with dry 
 resentment, his face as gloomy as a thunder- 
 storm. 
 
 At the Grandfer's heels now came the 
 rest of the group, which included Fairway, 
 Christian, Sam the turf-cutter, Humphrey, and 
 a dozen others. All smiled upon Wildeve, 
 and upon his tables and chairs likewise, from 
 a general sense of friendliness towards the 
 articles as well as towards their owner. 
 
 'We be not here afore Mrs. Yeobright 
 
 after all,' said Fairway, recognising the 
 
 matron's bonnet through the glass partition 
 
 which divided the public apartment they had 
 
 H 2 
 
lOO THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 entered from the room where the women 
 sat. ' We struck down across, d'ye see, Mr. 
 Wildeve, and she went round by the path.' 
 
 ' And I see the young bride's Httle head ! ' 
 said Grandfer Cantle, peeping in the same 
 direction, and discerning Thomasin, who was 
 waiting beside her aunt in a miserable and 
 awkward way. ' Not quite settled down yet 
 — well, well there's plenty of time.' 
 
 Wildeve made no reply ; and probably 
 feeling that the sooner he treated them the 
 sooner they would go, he produced a stone 
 jar which threw a warm halo over matters at 
 once. 
 
 ' That's a drop of the right sort, I can 
 see,' said Grandfer Cantle, with the air of a 
 man too well-mannered to show any hurry to 
 taste it. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Wildeve, ' 'tis some old mead. 
 I hope you will like it.' 
 
 ' O ay,' replied the guests in the hearty 
 tones natural when the words demanded by 
 politeness coincide with those of deepest 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. lOI 
 
 feeling. * There isn't a prettier drink under 
 the sun.' 
 
 ' I'll take my oath there isn't,' added 
 Grandfer Cantle. ' All that can be said 
 against mead is that 'tis rather heady, and 
 apt to lie about a man a good while. But to- 
 morrow's Sunday, thank God.' 
 
 ' I feel'd for all the world like some bold 
 soldier after I had had some once,' said 
 Christian. 
 
 * You shall feel so again,' said Wildeve, 
 with condescension. ' Cups or glasses, gen- 
 tlemen ? ' 
 
 * Well, if you don't mind, we'll have the 
 beaker, and pass 'en round : 'tis better than 
 heling it out in dribbles.' 
 
 ' J own the slippery glasses,' said Grandfer 
 Cantle. ' What's the good of a thing that 
 you can't put down in the ashes to warm, 
 hey, neighbours, that's what I ask ? ' 
 
 ' Right, Grandfer,' said Sam ; and the 
 mead then circulated. 
 
 'Well,' said Timothy Fairway, feeling 
 
I02 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 demands upon his praise in some form or 
 other, ' 'tis a worthy thing to be married, Mr. 
 Wildeve ; and the woman you've got is a 
 dimant, so says I. Yes,' he continued, to 
 Grandfer Cantle, raising his voice so as to be 
 heard through the partition ; ' her father 
 [incHning his head towards the inner room] 
 was as gfood a feller as ever lived. He 
 always had his great indignation ready against 
 anything underhand.' 
 
 ' Is that sort of firearm very dangerous ? ' 
 said Christian. 
 
 ' And there were few in these parts that 
 were up-sides with him,' said Sam. ' When- 
 ever a club walked he'd play the clarinet in 
 the band that marched before 'em as if he'd 
 never touched anything but a clarinet all his 
 life. And then, when they got to church- 
 door he'd throw down the clarinet, mount the 
 gallery, snatch up the bass-viol, and rozum 
 away as if he'd never played anything but a 
 bass-viol. Folk would say — folk that knowed 
 what a true stave was — " Surely, surely that's 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. IO3 
 
 never the same man that I seed hanclHng the 
 clarinet so masterly by now ! " ' 
 
 ' I can mind it,' said the furze- cutter. 
 * 'Twas a wonderful thing that one body 
 could hold it all and never mix the fin- 
 o-erinQ^.' 
 
 o o 
 
 * There Avas Flychett church likewise/ 
 F'airway recommenced, as one opening a new 
 vein of the same mine of interest. 
 
 Wildeve breathed the breath of one in- 
 tolerably bored, and glanced through the 
 partition at the prisoners. 
 
 ' He used to walk over there of a Sunday 
 afternoon to visit his old acquaintance An- 
 drew Brown, the first clarinet there ; a good 
 man enough, but rather screechy in his music, 
 if you can mind ? ' 
 
 ' 'A was.' 
 
 * And neio^hbour Yeobrieht would take 
 Andrey s place for some part of the service, 
 to let Andrey have a bit of a nap, as any 
 friend would naturally do.' 
 
 * As any friend would,' said Grandfer 
 
I04 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 Cantle, the other Hsteners expressing the 
 same accord by the shorter way of nodding 
 their heads. 
 
 ' No sooner was Andrey asleep and the 
 first whiff of neighbour Yeobright's wind had 
 got inside Andrey's clarinet than everyone in 
 church feeled in a moment there was a great 
 soul among 'em. All heads would turn, and 
 they'd say, '* Ah, I thought 'twas he ! " One 
 Sunday I can well mind — a bass-viol day 
 that time, and Yeobright had brought his 
 own. 'Twas the Hundred-and-thirty- third to 
 '* Lydia ; " and when they'd come to, " Ran 
 down his beard and o'er his robes its costly 
 moisture shed," neighbour Yeobright, who 
 had just warmed to his work, drove his bow 
 into them strings that glorious grand that he 
 e'en a'most sawed the bass-viol into two 
 pieces. Every winder in church rattled as if 
 'twere a thunder-storm. Old Passon Gibbons 
 lifted his hands in his great holy surplice as 
 natural as if he'd been in human clothes, and 
 seemed to say to hisself, *' O for such a man 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. IO5 
 
 in our parish ! " But not a soul In Flychett 
 could hold a candle to Yeobrlght.' 
 
 ' Was It quite safe when the winders 
 shook ? ' Christian inquired. 
 
 He received no answer ; all for the 
 moment sitting rapt In admiration of the 
 performance described. As with Farinelli's 
 singing before the princesses, Sheridan's 
 renowned Begum Speech, and other such 
 examples, the fortunate condition of its being 
 for ever lost to the world invested the 
 deceased Mr. Yeobright's toicr de force on 
 that memorable afternoon with a cumulative 
 glory which comparative criticism, had that 
 been possible, might considerably have shorn 
 down. 
 
 ' He was the last you'd have expected to 
 drop off in the prime of life,' said Hum- 
 phrey. 
 
 * Ah, well : he was looking for the earth 
 some months afore he went. At that time 
 women used to run for smocks and gown- 
 pieces at Greenhlll Fair, and my wife that 
 
I06 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 is now, being a long-legged slittering maid 
 hardly husband-high, went with the rest of 
 the maidens, for 'a was a good runner afore 
 she got so heavy. When she came home I 
 said — we were then just beginning to walk 
 together — *' What have ye got, my honey ? " 
 " I've won — well, I've won — a gown-piece," 
 says she, her colours coming up in a moment. 
 'Tis t'other thing for a crown, I thought ; 
 and so it turned out. Ay, when I think 
 what she'll say to me now without a mossel 
 of red in her face, it do seem strange that 'a 
 wouldn't say such a little thing then. 
 However, then she went on, and that's what 
 made me bring up the story, ''Well, what- 
 ever clothes I've won, white or figured, for 
 eyes to see or for eyes not to see," ('a could 
 do a pretty stroke of modesty in those days), 
 *' I'd sooner have lost it than have seen what 
 I have. Poor Mr. Yeobright was took ill 
 directly he reached the fair ground, and was 
 forced to m home a^ain." That was the last 
 
 o o 
 
 time he ever went out of the parish.' 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. IO7 
 
 ' 'A faltered on from one day to another, 
 and then we heard he was gone.' 
 
 ' D'ye think he had great pain when 'a 
 died ? ' said Christian. 
 
 * O no : quite different. Nor any pain of 
 mind. He was lucky enough to be God 
 A'mighty's own man.' 
 
 ' And other folk — d'ye think 'twill be 
 much pain to 'em, Master Fairway ? ' 
 
 ' That depends on whether they be 
 afeard.' 
 
 * I baint afeard at all, I thank God ! ' said 
 Christian strenuously. ' I'm glad I bain't, for 
 then 'twon't pain me. . . I don't think I be 
 afeard — or if I be I can't help it, and I don't 
 deserve to suffer. I wish I was not afeard 
 at all.' 
 
 There was a solemn silence, and looking 
 from the window, which was unshuttered 
 and unblinded, Timothy said, 'Well, what a 
 fess little bonfire that one is, out by Cap'n 
 Drew's ! 'Tis burning just the same now 
 as ever, upon my life.' 
 
I08 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 All glances went through the window, 
 and nobody noticed that Wildeve disguised 
 a brief, tell-tale look. Far away up the 
 sombre valley of heath, and to the right of 
 Blackbarrow, could Indeed be seen the light, 
 small, but steady and persistent as before. 
 
 ' It was lighted before ours was,' Falrv/ay 
 continued ; ' and yet every one In the country 
 round Is out afore 'n.' 
 
 ' Perhaps there's meaning In It ! ' mur- 
 mured Christian. 
 
 ' How meaning ? ' said Wildeve sharply. 
 
 Christian was too scattered to reply, and 
 Timothy helped him. 
 
 ' He means, sir, that the lonesome dark- 
 eyed creature up there that some say is a 
 witch — ever I should call a fine young woman 
 such a name — Is always up to some odd con- 
 ceit or other ; and so perhaps 'tis she.' 
 
 'I'd be very glad to ask her In wedlock, 
 if she'd hae me, and take the risk of her 
 wild dark eyes ill-wishing me,' said Grandter 
 Cantle staunchly. 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. IO9 
 
 ' Don't ye say It, father ! ' implored 
 Christian. 
 
 ' Well, be dazed if he who do marry the 
 maid won't hae an uncommon picture for his 
 best parlour,' said Fairway in a liquid tone, 
 placing down the cup of mead at the end 
 of a good pull. 
 
 'And a partner as deep as the North 
 Star,' said Sam, taking up the cup and 
 finlshlnor the little that remained. 
 
 ' Well, really, now I think we must be 
 moving,' said Humphrey, observing the 
 emptiness of the vessel. 
 
 ' But we'll gle 'em another song ? ' said 
 Grandfer Cande. * I'm as full of notes as a 
 bird.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Grandfer,' said Wildeve. 
 * But we will not trouble you now. Some 
 other day must do for that— when I have a 
 party.' 
 
 ' Be jown'd if I don't learn ten new sones 
 for t, or I won't learn a line ! ' said Grandfer 
 Cande. 'And you may be sure I won't 
 
no THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 disappoint ye by biding away, Mr. Wild- 
 eve.' 
 
 ^ I quite believe you,' said that gentle- 
 man. 
 
 All then took their leave, wishing their 
 entertainer long life and happiness as a 
 married man, with recapitulations which 
 occupied some time. Wildeve attended them 
 to the door, beyond which the deep-dyed 
 upward stretch of heath stood awaiting them, 
 an amplitude of darkness reigning from their 
 feet almost to the zenith, where a definite 
 form first became visible in the lowering 
 forehead of Blackbarrow. Diving into the 
 dense obscurity in a line headed by Sam 
 the turf-cutter, they pursued their trackless 
 way home. 
 
 When the scratching of the furze against 
 their leggings had fainted upon the ear 
 Wildeve returned to the room where he had 
 left Thomasin and her aunt. The women 
 were gone. 
 
 They could only have left the house in 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. I I I 
 
 one wa}', by the back window ; and this was 
 open. 
 
 Wildeve laughed to himself, remained a 
 moment thinking, and Idly returned to the 
 front room. Here his glance fell upon a 
 bottle of wine which stood on the mantel- 
 piece. ' Ah — old Dowden ! ' he murmured ; 
 and going to the kitchen door shouted, ' Is 
 anybody here who can take something to old 
 Dowden ? ' 
 
 There w^as no reply. The room was 
 empty, the lad who acted as his factotum 
 having gone to bed. Wildeve came back, 
 put on his hat, took the bottle, and left the 
 house, turning the key In the door, for there 
 was no guest at the Inn to-night. As soon as 
 he was on the road the little bonfire on Mist- 
 over Knap again met his eye. 
 
 ' Still waiting, are you, my lady ? ' he 
 murmured. 
 
 However, he did not proceed that way 
 just then ; but leaving the hill to the left of 
 him, he stumbled over a rutted road that 
 
I 1 2 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 brought him to a cottage which, Hke all other 
 habitations on the heath at this hour, was 
 only saved from being invisible by a faint 
 shine from its bedroom window. This house 
 was the home of Oily Dowden, the besom- 
 maker, and he entered. 
 
 The lower room was In darkness ; but by 
 feeling his way he found a table, whereon 
 he placed the bottle, and a minute later 
 emerged again upon the heath. He stood and 
 looked northwards at the undying little 
 fire — high up above him, though not so high 
 as Blackbarrow. It was the eame which had 
 attracted so much attention among the other 
 men that night, through being the longest 
 lasting of all the bonfires in the Egdon 
 district. 
 
 We have been told what happens when a 
 woman deliberates ; and the epigram is not 
 always terminable with woman, provided that 
 one be in the case, and that a fair one. 
 Wlldeve stood, and stood longer, and breathed 
 perplexedly, and then said to himself with 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. I I 3 
 
 resignation, * Yes — by Heaven, I must go to 
 her, I suppose ! ' 
 
 Instead of turning in the direction of 
 home, he pressed on rapidly by a path near 
 Blackbarrow towards what was evidently a 
 signal light. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
114 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FIGURE AGAINST THE SKY. 
 
 When the whole Egdon conclave had left the 
 site of the bonfire to its accustomed loneliness 
 a closely-wrapped female figure approached 
 the barrow from that quarter of the heath in 
 which the little fire lay. Had the reddleman 
 been watching he might have recognised her 
 as the woman who had first stood there so 
 singularly, and vanished at the approach of 
 strangers. She ascended to her old position 
 at the top, where the red coals of the perish- 
 ing fire greeted her like living eyes in the 
 corpse of day. There she stood still, around 
 her stretching the vast night atmosphere, 
 whose incomplete darkness in comparison 
 with the total darkness of the heath below it 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. I I 5 
 
 might have represented a venial beside a 
 mortal sin. 
 
 That she was tall and straight in build, 
 that she was lady-like in her movements, was 
 all that could be learnt of her just now, her 
 form being wrapped in a shawl folded in the 
 old cornerwise fashion, and her head in a 
 large kerchief, a protection not superfluous 
 at this hour and place. Her back was to- 
 wards the wind, which blew from the north- 
 west ; but whether she had adopted that 
 aspect because of the chilly gusts which played 
 about her exceptional position, or because her 
 interest lay in the south-east, did not at first 
 appear. 
 
 Her reason for standing so dead still as 
 the pivot of this circle of heath-country was 
 just as obscure. Her extraordinary fixity, her 
 conspicuous loneliness, her heedlessness of 
 niofht, betokened amongf other thinos an utter 
 absence of fear. A tract of country unaltered 
 from that sinister condition Avhich made 
 Czesar anxious every year to get clear of its 
 
 12 
 
1X6 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 glooms before the autumnal equinox, a kind 
 of landscape and weather which leads travel- 
 lers from the South to contlnuallv describe 
 our island as Homer's Cimmerian land, was 
 not, on the face of it, friendly to woman. 
 
 It might reasonably have been supposed 
 that she was listening to the wind, which rose 
 somewhat as the night advanced, and laid 
 hold of the attention. The wind, indeed, 
 seemed made for the scene, as the scene 
 seemed made for the hour. Part of its tone 
 was quite special ; what was heard there 
 could be heard nowhere else. Gusts in in- 
 numerable series followed each other from the 
 north-west, and when each one of them raced 
 past the sound of its progress resolved into 
 three. Treble, tenor, and bass notes were to 
 be found therein. The general ricochet of 
 the whole over pits and prominences had the 
 gravest pitch of the chime. Next there could 
 be heard the baritone buzz of a holly tree. 
 Below these in force, above them in pitch, a 
 dwindled voice strove hard at a husky tune, 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. II7 
 
 which was the peciiHar local sound alluded to. 
 Thinner and less immediately traceable than 
 the other two, it was far more impressive than 
 either. In it lay what may be called the 
 linguistic peculiarity of the heath ; and being 
 audible nowhere on earth off a heath, it 
 afforded a shadow of reason for the woman's 
 tenseness, which continued as unbroken as 
 ever. 
 
 Throughout the blowing of these plaintive 
 November winds that note bore a great re- 
 semblance to the ruins of human song which 
 remain to the throat of four-score-and-ten. 
 It was a worn whisper, dry and papery, and 
 it brushed so distinctly across the ear that, by 
 the accustomed, the material minuti^e in which 
 it originated could be realised as by touch. 
 It was the united products of infinitesimal 
 vegetable causes, and these were neither 
 stems nor twigs, neither leaves nor fruit, 
 neither blades nor prickles, neither lichen nor 
 moss. 
 
 They were the mummied heath-bells of 
 
Il8 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 the past summer, originally tender and purple, 
 now washed colourless by Michaelmas rains, 
 and dried to dead skins by October suns. 
 So low was an individual sound from these 
 that a combination of hundreds only just 
 emerged from silence, and the myriads of the 
 whole declivity reached the woman's ear but 
 as a shrivelled and intermittent recitative. 
 Yet scarcely a single accent among the many 
 afloat to-night could have such power to im- 
 press a listener with thoughts of its origin. 
 One inwardly saw the infinity of those com- 
 bined multitudes : one perceived that each of 
 the tiny trumpets was seized on, entered, 
 scoured and emerged from by the wind as 
 thoroughly as if it were as vast as a crater. 
 
 ' The spirit moved them.' A meaning of 
 the phrase forced itself upon the attention ; 
 and an emotional listener's fetichistic mood 
 might have ended in one of more advanced 
 quality. It was not, after all, that the left- 
 hand expanse of old blooms spoke, or the 
 right-hand, or those of the slope in front. It 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. II9 
 
 was the single person of something else 
 speaking through each in turn. 
 
 Suddenly, on the barrow, there mingled 
 with all this wild rhetoric of night a sound 
 which modulated so naturally into the rest, 
 that its beginning and ending were hardly to 
 be distinguished. The bluffs had broken 
 silence, the bushes had broken silence, the 
 heather-bells had broken silence ; at last, so 
 did the woman ; and her articulation was but 
 as another phrase of the same discourse as 
 theirs. Thrown out on the Avinds it became 
 twined in with them, and with them it flew 
 away. 
 
 What she uttered was a leno^thened siofh- 
 ing, apparently at something in her mind 
 which had led to her presence here. There 
 was a spasmodic abandonment about it as if, 
 in allowinor herself to utter the sound, the 
 w^oman's brain had authorised what it could 
 not regulate. One point was evident in this : 
 she had been existing in a suppressed state, 
 and not in one of languor or stagnation. 
 
I20 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 Far away down the valley the faint shine 
 from the window of the inn still lasted on ; 
 and a few additional moments proved that 
 the window, or what was within it, had more 
 to do with the woman's sigh than had either 
 her own actions or the scene immediately 
 around. She lifted her left hand, and re- 
 vealed that it held a closed telescope. This 
 she rapidly extended, as if she were well- 
 accustomed to the operation, and raising it to 
 her eye directed it exactly towards the light 
 beaming from the inn. 
 
 The handkerchief which had hooded her 
 head was now a little thrown back, her face 
 being somewhat elevated. A profile was visi- 
 ble against the dull monochrome of cloud 
 around her ; and it was as though side-sha- 
 dows from the features of Marie Antoinette 
 and Mrs. Siddons had converged upwards 
 from the tomb to form an image like neither 
 but suggesting both. This, however, was 
 mere superficiality. In respect of character a 
 face may make certain admissions by its out- 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 121 
 
 line ; but it fully confesses only in its changes. 
 So much is this the case that what is called the 
 play of the features often helps more in under- 
 standing a man or woman than the earnest 
 labours of all the other members together. 
 Thus the nio^ht revealed little of her whose 
 form it was embracing, for the mobile parts of 
 her countenance could not be seen. 
 
 At last she gave up her spying attitude, 
 closed the telescope, and turned to the decay- 
 ing embers. From these no appreciable 
 beams now radiated, except when a more 
 than usually smart gust brushed over their 
 faces and raised a fitful glow which came and 
 went like the blush of a girl. She stooped 
 over the silent circle, and selecting from the 
 brands a piece of stick which bore the largest 
 live coal at its end, brought it to where she 
 had been standing before. 
 
 She held the brand to the ground, blowing 
 the red coal with her mouth at the same 
 time. It faintly illuminated the sod, and re- 
 vealed a small object, which turned out to be 
 
122 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 an hourc^lass. She blew long enough to show 
 that the sand had all slipped through. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' she said, as if surprised. 
 
 The light raised by her breath had been 
 very precarious, and a momentary irradiation 
 of flesh was all that it had disclosed of her 
 face. That consisted of two matchless lips 
 and a cheek only, her head being still en- 
 veloped. She threw away the stick, took the 
 glass in her hand, the telescope under her 
 arm, and moved on. 
 
 Along the ridge ran a faint foot-track, 
 which the lady followed. Those who knew 
 it well called it a path ; and, while a mere 
 visitor would have passed it unnoticed even 
 by day, the regular haunters of the heath 
 were at no loss for it at midnight. The whole 
 secret of following these incipient paths, when 
 there was not light enough In the atmosphere 
 to show a turnpike-road, lay in the develop- 
 ment of the sense of touch in the feet, which 
 comes with years of night-rambling in little- 
 trodden spots. To a walker practised in 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. I 23 
 
 such places a difference between impact on 
 maiden herbage, and on the crippled stalks 
 of a slight footway, is perceptible through the 
 thickest boot or shoe. 
 
 The solitary figure who walked this beat 
 took no notice of the windy tune still played 
 on the dead heath-bells. She did not turn 
 her head to look at a group of dark creatures 
 further on, who fled from her presence as 
 she skirted a ravine where they fed. The}' 
 were about a score of the small wild ponies 
 known as heath-croppers. They roamed at 
 large on the undulations of Egdon, but in 
 numbers too few to detract much from the 
 solitude. 
 
 The pedestrian noticed nothing just now, 
 and a clue to her abstraction was afforded 
 by a trivial incident. A bramble caught hold 
 of her skirt, and checked her progress. In- 
 stead of putting it off and hastening along 
 she yielded herself up to the pull, and stood 
 passively still. When she began to extricate 
 herself it was by turning round and round on 
 
124 ^^^'^ RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 her axis, and so unwinding the prickly switch. 
 She was In a desponding reverie. 
 
 Her course was in the direction of the 
 small undying fire which had drawn the 
 attention of the men on Blackbarrow and of 
 Wlldeve In the valley below. A faint illu- 
 mination from Its rays began to grow upon 
 her face, and it Increased In definiteness as 
 she drew nearer. The fire soon revealed 
 itself to be lit, not on the level ground, but 
 on a salient corner or redan of earth, at the 
 junction of two converging bank fences. 
 Outside was a ditch, dry except Immediately 
 under the fire, where there was a large pool, 
 bearded all round by heather and rushes. In 
 the smooth w^ater of the pool the fire ap- 
 peared upside down. 
 
 The banks meeting behind were bare of 
 a hedge, save such as was formed by discon- 
 nected tufts of furze, standing upon stems 
 along the top, like Impaled heads above a 
 city wall. A white mast, fitted up with spars 
 and other nautical tackle, could be seen rising 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. I 25 
 
 against the dark clouds whenever the flames 
 played brightly enough to reach it. Alto- 
 gether the scene had much the appearance of 
 a fortification upon which had been kindled a 
 beacon fire. 
 
 Nobody was visible ; but ever and anon 
 a whitish something moved above the bank 
 from behind, and vanished again. Close 
 watching would have shown It to be a small 
 human hand, in the act of lifting pieces of 
 fuel into the fire ; but for all that could be 
 seen the hand, like that which troubled 
 Belshazzar, was there alone. Occasionally 
 an ember rolled off the bank, and dropped 
 with a hiss Into the pool. 
 
 At one side of the pool rough steps built 
 of clods enabled anyone who wished to do so 
 to mount the bank ; and this the woman did. 
 Within was a paddock in an uncultivated 
 state, though bearing evidence of having 
 once been tilled ; but the heath and fern had 
 insidiously crept in, and were reasserting 
 their old supremacy. Further ahead were 
 
126 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 dimly visible an irregular dwelling-house, 
 garden, and outbuildings, backed by a clump 
 of firs. 
 
 The young lady — for youth had revealed 
 its presence in her buoyant bound up the 
 bank — walked along the top instead of de- 
 scending inside, and came to the corner 
 where the fire was burning. One reason for 
 the permanence of the blaze was now mani- 
 fest : the fuel consisted of hard pieces of 
 wood, cleft and sawn — the knotty boles of 
 old thorn-trees which grew in twos and threes 
 about the hill-sides. A yet unconsumed pile 
 of these lay in the inner angle of the bank ; 
 and from this corner the upturned face of a 
 little boy greeted her eyes. He was dilatorily 
 throwing up a piece of wood into the fire 
 every now and then, a business which seemed 
 to have engaged him a considerable part of the 
 evening, for his face was somewhat weary. 
 
 ' I am glad you have come, Miss 
 Eustacia,' he said, with a sigh of relief. ' I 
 don't like biding by myself 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 27 
 
 ' Nonsense. I have only been a little 
 way for a walk. I have been gone only 
 twenty minutes.' 
 
 * It seemed long,' murmured the sad boy. 
 ' And you have been so many times.' 
 
 * Why, I thought you would be pleased 
 to have a bonfire. Are you not much obliged 
 to me for making you one ? ' 
 
 * Yes ; but there's nobody here to play 
 wi' me.' 
 
 * I suppose nobody has come while I've 
 been away ? ' 
 
 ' Nobody except your grandfather : he 
 looked out of doors once for 'ee. I told him 
 you were walking round upon the hill to look 
 at the other bonfires.' 
 
 ' A good boy.' 
 
 ' I think I hear him coming again, miss.' 
 
 An old man came into the remoter lio^ht 
 of the fire from the direction of the home- 
 stead. He was the same who had overtaken 
 the reddleman on the road that afternoon. 
 He looked wistfully to the top of the bank at 
 
128 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 the woman who stood there, and his teeth, 
 which were quite unimpaired, showed like 
 parlan from his parted h'ps. 
 
 ' When are you coming indoors, Eu- 
 stacia ? ' he asked. ' 'Tis almost bedtime. 
 I've been home these two hours, and am 
 tired out. Surely 'tis somewhat childish of 
 you to stay out playing at bonfires so long, 
 and wasting such fuel. My precious thorn 
 roots, the rarest of all firing, that I laid by 
 on purpose for Christmas — you have burnt 
 'em nearly all ! ' 
 
 ' I promised Johnny a bonfire, and it 
 pleases him not to let it go out just yet,' said 
 Eustacia, in a way which told at once that 
 she was absolute queen here. * Grandfather, 
 you go in to bed. I shall follow you soon. 
 You like the fire, don't you, Johnny ? ' 
 
 The boy looked up doubtfully at her and 
 murmured, ' I don't think I want it any 
 longer.' 
 
 Her grandfather had turned back again, 
 and did not hear the boy's reply. As soon 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 29 
 
 as the white-haired man had vanished slie 
 said in a tone of pique to the child, * Un- 
 grateful little boy, how can you contradict 
 me ? Never shall you have a bonfire again 
 unless you keep it up now. Come, tell me 
 you like to do things for me, and don't 
 deny it' 
 
 The repressed child said, 'Yes, I do,' and 
 continued to stir the fire perfunctorily. 
 
 ' Stay a little longer and I will give you a 
 crooked sixpence,' said Eustacia, more gently. 
 * Put in one piece of wood every two or three 
 minutes, but not too much at once. I am 
 going to walk along the ridge a little longer, 
 but I shall keep on coming to you. And if 
 you hear a frog jump into the pond with a 
 flounce, like a stone thrown in, be sure you 
 run and tell me, because it is a sign of rain.' 
 
 * Yes, Eustacia.' 
 ' Miss Vye, sir.' 
 
 ' Miss Vy — stacia.' 
 
 * That will do. Now put in one stick 
 more.' 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 The little slave went on feeding the fire 
 as before. He seemed a mere automaton, 
 galvanised Into moving and speaking by the 
 wayward Eustacla's will. He might have 
 been the brass statue which Albertus Magnus 
 is said to have animated just so far as to 
 make it chatter, and move, and be his servant. 
 
 Before going on her walk again the young 
 girl stood still on the bank for a few instants 
 and listened. It was to the full as lonely a 
 place as Blackbarrow, though at rather a 
 lower level ; and it was more sheltered from 
 wind and weather on account of the few firs 
 to the north. The bank enclosed the whole 
 homestead, and well protected It from the 
 lawless state of the world without ; It was 
 formed of thick square clods, dug from the 
 ditch on the outside, and built up with a 
 slight batter or incline, which forms no slight 
 defence where hedges will not grow because 
 of the wind and the wilderness, and where 
 wall materials are unattainable. Otherwise 
 the situation was quite open, commanding 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 
 
 the whole length of the valley which reached 
 to the river behind Wildeve's house. Hieh 
 
 o 
 
 above this to the right, and much nearer 
 thitherward than the Quiet Woman inn, the 
 blurred contour of Blackbarrow obstructed 
 the sky. 
 
 After her attentive survey of the wild 
 slopes and hollow ravines a gesture of 
 impatience escaped Eustacia. She vented 
 petulant words every now and then ; but 
 there were sighs between her words, and 
 sudden listenings between her sighs. De- 
 scending from her perch, she again sauntered 
 off towards Blackbarrow, though this time 
 she did not go the whole way. 
 
 Twice she reappeared at intervals of a 
 few minutes, and each time she said : 
 
 ' Not any flounce into the pond yet, little 
 
 man ? ' 
 
 * No, Miss Eustacia,' the child replied. 
 
 'Well,' she said at last, * I shall soon be 
 going in ; and then I will give you the 
 crooked sixpence, and let you go home.' 
 
 K 2 
 
132 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' Thank'ee, Miss Eustacla,' said the tired 
 stoker, breathing more easily. And Eustacia 
 again strolled away from the fire; but this 
 time not towards Blackbarrow. She skirted 
 the bank, and went round to the wicket 
 before the house, where she stood motionless, 
 looking at the scene. 
 
 Fifty yards off rose the corner of the two 
 converging banks, with the fire upon it : 
 within the bank, lifting up to the fire one 
 stick at a time, just as before, the figure of 
 the little child. She idly watched him as he 
 occasionally climbed up in the nook of the 
 bank and stood beside the brands. The 
 wind blew the smoke, and the child's hair, 
 and the corner of his pinafore, all in the same 
 direction : the breeze died, and the pinafore 
 and hair lay still, and the smoke went up 
 straight. 
 
 While Eustacia looked on from this 
 distance the boy's form visibly started : he 
 slid down the bank and ran across towards 
 the white gate. 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 33 
 
 ' Well ? ' said Eustacla. 
 
 ' A hop-frog have jumped Into the pond. 
 Yes, I heard 'en ! ' 
 
 ' Then it is going to rain, and you had 
 better go home. You will not be afraid ? ' 
 She spoke hurriedly, as if her heart had leapt 
 into her throat at the boy's words. 
 
 ' No, because I shall hae the crooked 
 sixpence.' 
 
 ' Yes, here it is. Now run as fast as you 
 can — not that way — through the garden here. 
 No other boy in the heath has had such a 
 bonfire as yours.' 
 
 The boy, who clearly had had too much 
 of a good thing, marched away into the 
 shadows with alacrity. When he was eone 
 Eustacia, leaving her telescope and hourglass 
 by the gate, brushed forward from the wicket 
 towards the angle of the bank, under the fire. 
 
 Here, screened by the outwork, she 
 waited. In a few moments a splash was 
 audible from the pond outside. Had the 
 child been there he would have said that a 
 
134 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 second frog had jumped in ; but by most 
 people the sound would have been likened 
 to the fall of a stone into the water. Eustacia 
 stepped upon the bank. 
 
 ' Yes ? ' she said, and held her breath. 
 
 Thereupon the contour of a man became 
 dimly visible against the low-reaching sky 
 over the valley, beyond the outer margin of 
 the pool. He came round it, and leapt upon 
 the bank beside her. She laughed low. It 
 was the third utterance which the girl had 
 indulged in to-night. The first, when she 
 stood upon Blackbarrow, had expressed 
 anxiety ; the second, on the ridge, had ex- 
 pressed impatience ; the present was one of 
 triumphant pleasure. She let her joyous 
 eyes rest upon him without speaking, as 
 upon some wondrous thing she had created 
 out of chaos. 
 
 ' I have come,' said the man, who was 
 no other than Wildeve. ' You give me no 
 peace. Why do you not leave me alone ? 
 I have seen your bonfire all the evening.' 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 35 
 
 The words were not without emotion, and 
 retained their level tone as If by a careful 
 equipoise between Imminent extremes. 
 
 At this unexpectedly repressing manner 
 in her lover the girl seemed to repress her- 
 self also. ' Of course you have seen m}- 
 fire/ she answered w^Ith languid calmness, 
 artificially maintained. Why shouldn't I 
 have a bonfire on the fifth of November, 
 like other denizens of the heath ? ' 
 
 ' I knew it was meant for me.' 
 
 ' How did you know It ? I have had no 
 word with you since you — you chose her, 
 and walked about with her, and deserted me 
 entirely, as if I had never been yours.' 
 
 ' Eustacia ! could I forget that last 
 autumn at this same day of the month and 
 at this same place you lighted exactly such 
 a fire as a signal for me to come and see 
 you ? Why should there have been a bon- 
 fire again by Captain Drew's house if not 
 for the same purpose ? ' 
 
 'Yes, yes — I own it,' she cried under her 
 
I ^6 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 O 
 
 breath, with a drowsy fervour of manner 
 and tone which was quite pecuHar to her. 
 ' Don't begin speaking to me as you did, 
 Damon ; you will drive me to say words I 
 would not wish to say to you. I had given 
 you up, and resolved not to think of you 
 any more ; and then I heard the news, and 
 I came out and got the fire ready because 
 I thought you had been faithful to me.* 
 
 ' What have you heard to make you think 
 that ? ' said Wildeve, astonished. 
 
 ' That you did not marry her,' she mur- 
 mured exultingly. * And I knew it was 
 because you loved me best, and couldn't 
 do it. . . . Damon, you have been cruel to 
 me to go away, and I have said I would 
 never forgive you. I do not think I can 
 forgive you entirely, even now — it is too 
 much for a woman of any spirit to quite 
 overlook.' 
 
 ' If I had known you wished to call me 
 up here only to reproach me, I wouldn't have 
 come.' 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 137 
 
 ' But I don't mind it, and I do forgive 
 you now that you have not married her, and 
 have come back to me ! ' 
 
 ' Who told you that I had not married 
 her ? ' 
 
 ' My grandfather. He took a long walk 
 to-day, and as he was coming home he over- 
 took some person who told him of a broken- 
 off w^edding : he thought it might be )'Ours ; 
 and I knew it was.' 
 
 * Does anybody else know ? ' 
 
 ' I suppose not. Now, Damon, do you 
 see why I lit my signal fire ? You did not 
 think I would have lit it if I had imagined 
 you to have become the husband of this 
 woman. It is insulting my pride to suppose 
 that.' \\ ildeve was silent : it was evident 
 that he had supposed as much. 
 
 * Did you indeed think I believed you 
 were married ? ' she again demanded earnestly. 
 ' Then you wronged me ; and upon my Hfe 
 and heart I can hardly bear to recognise 
 that )ou have such ill thoughts of me ! 
 
i:;8 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 O 
 
 Damon, you are not worthy of me : I see 
 it, and yet I love you. Never mind : let it 
 go — I must bear your mean opinion as best 
 I may. ... It is true, is it not,' she added, 
 with ill-concealed anxiety, on his making no 
 demonstration, ' that you could not bring 
 yourself to give me up, and are still going 
 to love me best of all ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; or whv should I have come ? ' he 
 said, touchily. ' Not that fidelity will be 
 any great merit in me after your kind speech 
 about my unworthiness, which should have 
 been said by myself if by anybody, and 
 comes with an ill grace from you. How- 
 ever, the curse of inflammability is upon 
 me, and I must live under it, and take any 
 snub from a w^oman. It has brought me 
 down from engineering to innkeeping : what 
 lower stage it has in store for me I have 
 yet to learn.' He continued to look upon 
 her gloomily. 
 
 She seized the . moment, and throwing 
 back the shawl so that the fire-light shone 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 39 
 
 full upon her face and throat, said, with a 
 majestic smile, ' Have you ever seen any- 
 thing better than that in your travels ? ' 
 
 Eustacia was not one to commit herself 
 to such a position without good ground. He 
 said quietly, ' No.' 
 
 ' Not even on the shoulders of Thom- 
 asm : 
 
 * Thomasin is a pleasing and innocent 
 woman.' 
 
 ' That's nothing to do with it,' she cried 
 with quick passionateness. * We will leave 
 her out : there are only you and me now to 
 think of After a long look at him she 
 resumed with the old quiescent warmth : 
 ' Must I go on weakly confessing to you 
 things a woman ought to conceal ; and own 
 that no words can express how gloomy I 
 have been because of that dreadful belief 
 I held till two hours ago — that you had quite 
 deserted me ? ' 
 
 ' I am sorry I caused you that pain.' 
 
 * But perhaps it is not wholly because of 
 
140 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 you that I get gloomy,' she archly added. 
 ' It is in my nature to feel like that. It was 
 born in my blood, I suppose.' 
 
 * Hypochondriasis.' 
 
 ' Or else it was coming into this wild 
 heath. I was happy enough at Budmouth. 
 O the times, O the days at Budmouth! 
 But Egdon will be brighter again now.' 
 
 ' I hope it will,' said Wildeve, moodily. 
 ' Do you know the consequence of this 
 recall to me, my old darling? I shall 
 come to see you again as before, at Black- 
 barrow.' 
 
 ' Of course you will.' 
 
 ' And yet I declare that until I got here 
 to-night I intended, after this one good- 
 bye, never to meet you again.' 
 
 * I don't thank you for that,' she said, 
 turning away while an inner indignation 
 spread through her like subterranean heat. 
 ' You may come again to Blackbarrow if 
 you like, but you won't see me; and you 
 may call, but I shall not listen ; and you 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. I4I 
 
 may tempt me, but I won't encourage you 
 any more.' 
 
 * You have said as much before, sweet ; 
 but such natures as yours don't so easily 
 adhere to their words. Neither, for the 
 matter of that, do such natures as mine.' 
 
 ' This Is the pleasure I have won by 
 my trouble,' she whispered bitterly, half to 
 herself. ' Why did I try to recall you ? 
 Damon, a strange warring takes place in 
 my mind occasionally. I think when I 
 become calm after your woundings, '* Do 
 I embrace a cloud of common fog after 
 all?" You are a chameleon, and now vou 
 are at your worst colour. Go home, or I 
 shall hate you!' 
 
 He looked absently towards Blackbar- 
 row while one might have counted twenty, 
 and said as if he did not much mind all 
 this : ' Yes, I will go home. Do you mean 
 to see me again .'^' 
 
 ' If you own to me that the wedding- 
 is broken off because you love me best.' 
 
142 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' I don't think it would be good policy/ 
 said Wildeve, smiling. ' You would get to 
 know the extent of your power too clearly.' 
 
 ' But tell me!' 
 
 ' You know.' 
 
 ' Where is she now ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. I prefer not to speak 
 of her to you. I have not yet married 
 her: I have come in obedience to your 
 call. That is enough.' 
 
 * I merely lit that fire because I was 
 dull, and thought I would get a little ex- 
 citement by calling you up and triumphing 
 over you as the Witch of Endor called up 
 Samuel. I determined you should come; 
 and you have come. I have shown my 
 power. A mile and half hither, and a 
 mile and half back again to your home — 
 three miles in the dark for me. Have I 
 not shown my power?' 
 
 He shook his head at her. ' I know 
 you too well, my Eustacia ; I know you 
 too well. There isn't a note in you which 
 
THE tiirp:e women. 143 
 
 I don't know ; and that hot Httle bosom 
 couldn't play such a cold-blooded trick to 
 save its life. I saw a woman on Black- 
 barrow at dusk, looking down towards my 
 house. I think I drew out you before you 
 drew out me.' 
 
 The revived embers of an old passion 
 glowed clearly in Wildeve now^ and he 
 leant forward as if about to put his face 
 towards her cheek. 
 
 * O no/ she said, intractably moving to 
 the other side of the decayed fire. ' What 
 did you mean by that ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps I may kiss your hand, then ? ' 
 
 ' No, you may not.' 
 
 ' Then I may shake your hand ? ' 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 ' Then I wish you good-night without 
 caring for either. Good-bye, good-bye.' 
 
 She returned no answer, and with the 
 bow of a dancing-master he vanished on 
 the other side of the pool as he had come. 
 
 Eustacia sighed : it was no fragile 
 
144 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 maiden sigh, but a sigh which shook her 
 like a shiver. Whenever a flash of reason 
 darted Hke an electric light upon her lover 
 — as it sometimes would — and showed his 
 imperfections, she shivered thus. But it 
 was over in a second, and she loved on. 
 She knew that he trifled with her ; but 
 she loved on. She scattered the half- 
 burnt brands, went indoors immediatelv, 
 and up to her bedroom without a light. 
 Amid the rustles which denoted her to 
 be undressing in the darkness other heavy 
 breaths frequently came ; and the same 
 kind of shudder occasionally moved through 
 her when, ten minutes later, she lay on 
 her bed asleep. 
 
145 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 QUEEN OF NIGHT. 
 
 EusTACiA Vye was the raw material of a 
 divinity. On Olympus she would have 
 done well with a little preparation. She 
 had the passions and instincts which make 
 a model goddess, that Is, those which make 
 not quite a model woman. Had It been 
 possible for the earth and mankind to be 
 entirely In her grasp for a while, had she 
 handled the distaff, the spindle, and the 
 shears at her own free will, few In the 
 world would have noticed the chano^e of 
 government. There would have been the 
 same inequality of lot, the same heaping 
 up of favours here, of contumely there, 
 the same generosity before justice, the 
 same perpetual dilemmas, the same cap- 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 tlous alternation of caresses and blows as 
 we endure now. 
 
 She was in person full-limbed and some- 
 what heavy ; without ruddiness, as without 
 pallor ; and soft to the touch as a cloud. To 
 see her hair was to fancy that a whole winter 
 did not contain darkness enough to form its 
 shadow. It closed over her forehead like 
 nightfall extinguishing the western glow. 
 
 Her nerves extended into those tresses, 
 and her temper could always be softened by 
 stroking them down. When her hair was 
 brushed she would instantly sink into stillness 
 and look like the Sphinx. If, in passing under 
 one of the Egdon banks, any of its thick 
 skeins were caught, as they sometimes were, 
 by a prickly tuft of the large Ulex Europseus 
 — which will act as a sort of hairbrush — she 
 would go back a few steps, and pass against 
 it a second time. 
 
 She had Pagan eyes, full of nocturnal 
 mysteries. Their light, as it came and went, 
 and came again, was partially hampered by 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 47 
 
 their oppressive lids and lashes ; and of these 
 the under lid was much fuller than it usually 
 is with English women. This enabled her to 
 indulofe in reverie without seemino^ to do so : 
 she might have been believed capable of 
 sleeping without closing them up. Assuming 
 that the souls of men and women were visible 
 essences, you could fancy the colour of 
 Eustacia's soul to be flame-like. The sparks 
 from it that rose into her dark pupils gave the 
 same impression. 
 
 The mouth seemed formed less to speak 
 than to quiver, less to quiver than to kiss. 
 Some might have added, less to kiss than to 
 curl. Viewed sideways, the closing-line of 
 her lips formed, with almost geometric pre- 
 cision, the curve so well known in the arts of 
 design as the cima-recta, or ogee. The 
 sight of such a flexible bend as that on grim 
 Egdon was quite an apparition. It was felt 
 at once that that mouth did not come over 
 from Sleswig with a band of Saxon pirates 
 whose lips met like the two halves of a muffin. 
 
 L 2 
 
148 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 One had fancied that such lip-curves were 
 mostly lurking underground in the South as 
 fragments of forgotten marbles. So fine were 
 the lines of her lips that, though full, each 
 corner of her mouth was as clearly cut as the 
 point of a spear. This keenness of corner was 
 only blunted when she was given over to 
 sudden fits of gloom, one of the phases of the 
 night-side of sentiment which she knew too 
 well for her vears. 
 
 Her presence brought memories of Bour- 
 bon roses, rubies, tropical midnights, and 
 eclipses of the sun ; her moods recalled lotus- 
 eaters, the march in ' Athalie ; ' her motions, 
 the ebb and flow of the sea ; her voice, the 
 viola. In a dim light, and with a slight re- 
 arrangement of her hair, her Qreneral fio^ure 
 might have stood for that of either of the 
 higher female deities. The new moon be- 
 hind her head, an old helmet upon it, a dia- 
 dem of accidental Sewdrops round her brow, 
 would have been adjuncts sufficient to strike 
 the note of Artemis, Athena, or Hera respec- 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 49 
 
 lively, with as close an approximation to the 
 antique as that which passes muster on many 
 respected canvases. 
 
 But celestial imperiousness, love, wrath, 
 and fervour had proved to be somewhat 
 thrown away on netherward Egdon. Her 
 power was limited, and the consciousness of 
 this limitation had biassed her development. 
 Egdon ^was her Hades, and since coming 
 there she had imbibed much of what was 
 dark in its tone, though inwardly and eter- 
 nally unreconciled thereto. Her appearance 
 accorded well with this smouldering rebel- 
 liousness, and the shady splendour of her 
 beauty was the real surface of the sad and 
 stifled warmth within her. A true Tartarean 
 dignity sat upon her brow, and not factitiously 
 or with marks of constraint, for it had grown 
 in her with years. 
 
 Across the upper part of her head she 
 wore a thin fillet of black velvet, restraining 
 the luxuriance of her shady hair, in a way 
 which added much to this class of majesty by 
 
150 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 irregularly clouding her forehead. ' Nothing 
 can embellish a beautiful face more than a 
 narrow band drawn over the brow,' says 
 RIchter. Some of the neighbouring girls 
 wore coloured ribbon for the same purpose, 
 and sported metallic ornaments elsewhere ; 
 but If anyone suggested coloured ribbon and 
 metallic ornaments to Eustacia Vyc she 
 laughed and went on. 
 
 Why did a woman of this sort live on 
 Egfdon Heath ? Budmouth was her native 
 place, a fashionable seaside resort between 
 twenty and thirty miles distant. She was the 
 dauo^hter of the bandmaster of a reorlment 
 which had been quartered there, who met his 
 future wife during her trip thither with her 
 father the Captain. The marriage was 
 scarcely in accord with the old man's wishes, 
 for the bandmaster's pockets were as light as 
 his occupation. But he did his best ; made 
 Budmouth permanently his home, took great 
 trouble with his child's education, the ex- 
 penses of which were defrayed by the grand- 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. I5I 
 
 father, and throve as the chief local musician 
 till her mother's death, when he left off thriv- 
 ing, drank, and died also. The girl was left 
 to the care of her grandfather, who, since 
 three of his ribs became broken in a ship- 
 wreck, had lived in this airy perch on Egdon, 
 a spot which had taken his fancy because the 
 house was to be had for next to nothing, and 
 because a remote blue tinge on the horizon 
 between the hills, visible from the cottage 
 door, was traditionally believed to be the 
 English Channel. She hated the change ; 
 she felt like one banished ; but here she was 
 forced to abide. 
 
 Thus it happened that in Eustacia's brain 
 were juxtaposed the strangest assortment of 
 ideas, from old time and from new. There 
 was no middle distance in her perspective : 
 romantic recollections of sunny afternoons on 
 an esplanade, with military bands, officers, 
 and gallants around, stood like gilded uncials 
 upon the dark tablet of surrounding Egdon. 
 Every bizarre effect that could result from 
 
152 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 the random intertwining of watering-place 
 glitter with the grand solemnity of a heath, 
 were to be found In her. Seeing nothing of 
 human life now, she imagined all the more of 
 what she had seen. 
 
 Where did her dignity come from ? By 
 no side passage from FItzalan or De Vere. 
 It was the gift of heaven — a happy conver- 
 gence of natural laws. Among other things 
 opportunity had of late years been denied her 
 of learning to be undignified, for she lived 
 lonelv. Isolation on a heath renders vul- 
 garity well nigh Impossible. It would have 
 been as easy for the heath-ponies, bats, and 
 snakes to be vulgar as for her. A narrow 
 life In Budmouth might have completely de- 
 meaned her. 
 
 The only way to look queenly without 
 realms or hearts to queen it over is to look as 
 if you had lost them ; and Eustacia did that 
 to a triumph. In the Captain's cottage she 
 could suggest mansions she had never seen. 
 Perhaps that was because she frequented a 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 53 
 
 vaster mansion than any of them, the open 
 hills. Like the summer condition of the 
 place around her, she was an embodiment of 
 the phrase ' a populous solitude ' — apparently 
 so listless, void, and quiet, she was really 
 busy and full. 
 
 To be loved to madness — such was her 
 ofreat desire. Love was to her the one cordial 
 which could drive away the eating loneliness 
 of her days. And she seemed to long for the 
 abstraction called passionate love more than 
 for any particular lover. 
 
 She could show a most reproachful look 
 at times, but it was directed less against 
 human beings than against certain creatures 
 of her mind, the chief of these being Destiny, 
 through whose interference she dimly fancied 
 it arose that love alighted only on gliding youth 
 — that any love she might win would sink 
 simultaneously with the sand in the glass. 
 She thought of it with an ever-growing con- 
 sciousness of cruelty, which tended to breed 
 actions of reckless unconventionality, framed 
 
154 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 to snatch a year's, a week's, even an hour's 
 passion from anywhere while It could be won. 
 Through want of It she had sung without 
 being merry, possessed without enjoying, out- 
 shone without triumphing. Her loneliness 
 deepened her desire. On Egdon, coldest 
 and meanest kisses were at famine prices ; 
 and where was a mouth matching hers to be 
 found ? 
 
 Fidelity in love for fidelity's sake had less 
 attraction for her than for most women : 
 fidelity because of love's grip had much. A 
 blaze of love, and extinction, was better than 
 a lantern glimmer of the same which should 
 last long years. On this head she knew by 
 prevision what most women learn only by 
 experience : she had mentally walked round 
 love, told the towers thereof, considered its 
 palaces ; and concluded that love was but a 
 doleful joy. Yet she desired it, as one in 
 a desert would be thankful for brackish water. 
 
 She often repeated her prayers : not at 
 particular times, but, like the unaffectedly 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 55 
 
 devout, when she desired to pray. Her 
 prayer was always spontaneous, and often 
 ran thus : ' O deHver my heart from this 
 fearful eloom and loneliness : send me o^reat 
 love from somewhere, else I shall die.' 
 
 Her hieh eods were William the Con- 
 
 o o 
 
 queror, Strafford, and Napoleon Buonaparte, 
 as they had appeared in the Lady's History 
 used at the establishment in which she was 
 educated. Had she been a mother she would 
 have christened her boys such names as Saul 
 or Sisera in preference to Jacob or David, 
 neither of whom she admired. At school she 
 had used to side with the Philistines in several 
 battles, and had wondered if Pontius Pilate 
 were as handsome as he was frank and fair. 
 
 Thus she was a o^irl of some forwardness 
 of mind ; indeed, weighed in relation to her 
 situation among the very rereward of thinkers, 
 very original. Her instincts towards social 
 nonconformity were at the root of this. In 
 the matter of holidays her mood Avas that of 
 horses who, when turned out to grass, enjoy 
 
156 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 looking upon their kind at work on the high- 
 way. She only valued rest to herself when 
 it came in the midst of other people's labour. 
 Hence she hated Sundays when all was at 
 rest, and often said they would be the death 
 of her. To see the heathmen in their Sunday 
 condition, that is, with their hands in their 
 pockets, their boots newly oiled, and not laced 
 up (a particularly Sunday sign), walking 
 leisurely among the turves and furze-faggots 
 they had cut during the week, and kicking 
 them critically as if their use were unknown, 
 was a fearful heaviness to her. To relieve 
 the tedium of this untimely day she would 
 overhaul the cupboards containing her grand- 
 father's old charts and other rubbish, hum- 
 ming Saturday-night ballads of the country 
 people the while. But on Saturday nights 
 she would frequently sing a psalm, and it was 
 always on a week-day that she read the Bible, 
 that she might be unoppressed with a sense 
 of doinof her dutv. 
 
 Such views of life were to some extent 
 
THIC THREE WOMEN. 1 57 
 
 the natural begettlngs of her situation upon 
 her nature. To dwell on a heath without 
 studying its meanings was like wedding a 
 foreiofner without learnlno^ his tono^ue. The 
 subtle beauties of the heath were lost to 
 Eustacia ; she only caught its vapours. An 
 environment which would have made a con- 
 tented woman a poet, a suffering woman a 
 devotee, a pious woman a psalmist, even a 
 giddy woman thoughtful, made a rebellious 
 woman saturnine. 
 
 Eustacia had got beyond the vision of 
 some marriage of Inexpressible glory ; yet, 
 though her emotions were In full vigour, she 
 cared for no meaner union. Thus we see 
 her in a stranofe state of Isolation. To have 
 lost the godlike conceit that we may do what 
 we will, and not to have acquired a homely 
 zest for doing what we can, shows a grandeur 
 of temper which cannot be objected to in the 
 abstract, for it connotes a mind that, though 
 disappointed, forswears retreat. But, if con- 
 genial to philosophy, It Is apt to be dangerous 
 
158 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 to the commonwealth. In a world where 
 doing means marrying, and the common- 
 wealth Is one of hearts and hands, the same 
 peril attends the condition. 
 
 And so we see our Eustacia — for she was 
 not altogether unlovable — arriving at that 
 staee of enlio-htenment which feels that 
 nothing Is worth while, and filling up the 
 spare hours of her existence by idealising 
 Wildeve for want of a better object. This 
 was the sole reason of his ascendency : she 
 knew it herself. At moments her pride 
 rebelled against her passion for him, and she 
 even had longed to be free. But there Avas 
 only one circumstance which could dislodge 
 him, and that was the advent of a greater 
 man. 
 
 For the rest, she suffered much from 
 depression of spirits, and took slow walks to 
 recover them, in which she carried her grand- 
 fathers telescope and her grandmother's 
 hourglass — the latter because of a peculiar 
 pleasure she derived from watching a material 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. I 59 
 
 representation of time's gradual glide away. 
 She seldom schemed, but when she did 
 scheme, her plans showed rather the compre- 
 hensive strategy of a general than the small 
 arts called womanish, though she could utter 
 oracles of Delphian ambiguity when she did 
 not choose to be direct. In heaven she will 
 probably sit between the Heloises and the 
 Cleopatras. 
 
l60 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THOSE WHO ARE FOUND WHERE THERE IS 
 SAID TO BE NOBODY. 
 
 As soon as the sad little boy had withdrawn 
 from the fire he clasped the money tight in 
 the palm of his hand, as if thereby to fortify 
 his courage, and began to run. There was 
 really little danger in allowing a child to 
 go home alone on this part of Egdon Heath. 
 The distance to the boy's house was not 
 more than three-eighths of a mile, his father's 
 cottage, and one other a few yards further 
 on, forming part of the small hamlet of 
 iNIistover Knap : the third and only remain- 
 ing house was that of Captain Drew and 
 Eustacia, which stood quite away from the 
 small cottages, and was the loneliest of 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. l6l 
 
 lonely houses on these thinly populated 
 slopes. 
 
 He ran until he was out of breath, and 
 then, becoming more courageous, walked 
 leisurely along, singing in an old voice a 
 little song about a sailor-boy and a fair one, 
 and brip-ht ofold in store. In the middle of 
 this the child stopped : from a pit under 
 the hill ahead of him shone a light, whence 
 proceeded a cloud of floating dust and a 
 smacking noise. 
 
 Only unusual sights and sounds fright- 
 ened the boy. The shrivelled voice of the 
 heath did not alarm him, for that was 
 familiar. The thorn-bushes which arose in 
 his path from time to time were less satis- 
 factory, for they whistled gloomily, and had 
 a ghastly habit after dark of putting on the 
 shapes of jumping madmen, sprawling giants, 
 and hideous cripples. Lights were not un- 
 common this evening, but the nature of all 
 of them was different from this. Discretion 
 rather than terror prompted the boy to turn 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
1 62 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 back instead of passing the light, with a 
 view of asking Miss Eustacia Vye to accom- 
 pany him home. 
 
 When the boy had re-ascended to the 
 top of the valley he found the fire to be 
 still burning on the bank, though lower than 
 before. Beside it, instead of Eustacia's soli- 
 tary form, he saw two persons, the second 
 being a man. The boy crept along under 
 the bank to ascertain from the nature of the 
 proceedings if it would be prudent to inter- 
 rupt so splendid a creature as Miss Eustacia 
 -on his poor trivial account. 
 
 After listening under the bank for some 
 minutes to the talk he turned in a perplexed 
 and doubting manner and began to withdraw 
 as silently as he had come. That he did 
 not, upon the whole, think it advisable to 
 interrupt her conversation with Wildeve, 
 without being prepared to bear the whole 
 weight of her displeasure, was obvious. 
 
 Here was a Scyllseo-Charybdean position 
 for the poor boy. Pausing awhile when 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 6 
 
 O 
 
 again safe from discovery, he finally decided 
 to face the pit phenomenon as the lesser evil. 
 With a heavy sigh he retraced the slope, 
 and followed the path he had followed before. 
 
 The light had gone, the rising dust had 
 disappeared — he hoped for ever. He marched 
 resolutely along, and found nothing to alarm 
 him till, cominof within a few vards of the 
 sand-pit, he heard a slight noise in front, 
 which led him to pause. The pause was 
 but momentary, for the noise resolved itself 
 into the steady bites of two animals grazing. 
 
 ' Two he'th-croppers down here,' he said 
 aloud. * I have never known 'em come down 
 so far afore.' 
 
 The animals were in the direct line of his 
 path, but that the child thought little of; 
 he had played round the fetlocks of horses 
 from his infancy. On coming nearer, how- 
 ever, the boy was somewhat surprised to find 
 that the little creatures did not run off, and 
 that each wore a clog, to prevent his going 
 astray ; this signified that they had been 
 
 I\I 2 
 
164 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE, 
 
 broken In. He could now see the interior 
 of the pit, which, being In the side of the 
 hill, had a level entrance. In the innermost 
 corner the square outline of a van appeared, 
 with its back towards him. A light came 
 from the interior, and threw a moving sha- 
 dow upon the vertical face of gravel at the 
 further side of the pit into which the vehicle 
 faced. 
 
 The child assumed that this was the cart 
 of a gipsy, and his dread of those wanderers 
 reached but to that mild pitch which titillates 
 rather than pains. Only a few inches of 
 mudwall kept him and his family from being 
 gipsies themselves. He skirted the gravel- 
 pit at a respectful distance, ascended the 
 slope, and came forward upon the brow, in 
 order to look into the open door of the van 
 and see the original of the shadow. 
 
 The picture alarmed the boy. By a little 
 stove inside the van sat a figure red from 
 head to heels — the man who had been Thoma- 
 sin's friend. He was darning a stocking. 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 65 
 
 which was red like the rest of him. More- 
 over, as he darned he smoked a pipe, the 
 stem and bowl of which were red also. 
 
 At this moment one of the heath-croppers 
 feeding in the outer shadows was audibly 
 shakinof off the cloof attached to its foot. 
 Aroused by the sound, the reddleman laid 
 down his stocking, lit a lantern which hung 
 beside him, and came out from the van. In 
 sticking up the candle he lifted the lantern 
 to his face, and the light shone into the 
 whites of his eyes and upon his ivory teeth, 
 which, in contrast with the red surrounding, 
 lent him a startling aspect enough to the 
 gaze of a juvenile. The boy knew too well 
 for his peace of mind upon whose lair he 
 had lighted. Uglier persons than gipsies 
 were known to cross Egdon at times, and 
 a reddleman was one of them. 
 
 ' How I wish 'twas only a gipsy!' he 
 murmured. 
 
 The man was by this time coming back 
 from the horses. In his fear of beine seen 
 
1 66 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 the boy rendered detection certain by ner- 
 vous motion. The heather and peat stra- 
 tum overhung the brow of the pit in mats, 
 hiding the actual verge. The boy had 
 stepped beyond the soHd ground; the hea- 
 ther now gave way, and down he rolled over 
 the scarp of grey sand to the very foot of 
 the man. 
 
 The red man opened the lantern and 
 turned it upon the figure of the prostrate 
 boy. 
 
 ' Who be ye ? ' he said. 
 
 ' Johnny Nunsuch, master.' 
 
 ' What were you doing up there ? ' 
 
 * I don't know.' 
 
 * Watching me, I suppose ? ' 
 
 * Yes, master.' 
 
 * What did you watch me for?' 
 
 ' Because I was coming home from 
 Miss Vye's bonfire.' 
 
 * Beest hurt?' 
 ' No.' 
 
 * Why, yes you be : your hand is bleed- 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 67 
 
 ing. Come under my tilt and let me tie 
 
 it up.' 
 
 ' Please let me look for my sixpence.' 
 ' How did you come by that?' 
 
 * Miss Vye gied it to me for keeping 
 up her bonfire.' 
 
 The sixpence was found, and the man 
 went to the van, the boy behind, almost 
 holding his breath. 
 
 The man took a piece of rag from a 
 satchel containing sewing materials, tore off 
 a strip, which, like everything else, was 
 tinged red, and proceeded to bind up the 
 wound. 
 
 * My eyes have got foggy-like — please 
 may I sit down, master?' said the boy. 
 
 * To be sure, poor chap. 'Tis enough to 
 make you feel fainty. Sit on that bundle.' 
 
 The man finished tying up the gash, 
 and the boy said, ' I think I'll go home 
 now, master.' 
 
 ' You are rather afraid of me. Do you 
 know what I be ? ' 
 
1 68 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 The child surveyed his vermihon figure 
 up and down with much misgiving, and 
 finally said, ' Yes.' 
 
 'Well, what?' 
 
 ' The Reddleman!' he faltered. 
 
 ' Yes, that's what I be. Though there's 
 more than one. You little children think 
 there's only one cuckoo, one fox, one 
 giant, one devil, and one reddleman, when 
 there's lots of us all.' 
 
 ' Is there? You won't carry me off in 
 your bags, will ye, master? 'Tis said that 
 the reddleman will sometimes.' 
 
 ' Nonsense. All that reddlemen do is 
 sell reddle. You see all these bags at the 
 back of my cart ? They are not full of 
 little boys — only full of red stuff.' 
 
 ' Was you born a reddleman ? ' 
 
 ' No, I took to it. I should be as white 
 as you if I were to give up the trade — that 
 is, I should be white in time — perhaps six 
 months : not at first, because 'tis grow'd into 
 my skin and won't wash out. Now, you'll 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 69 
 
 never be afraid of a reddleman again, will 
 ye ?' 
 
 ' No, never. Willy Orchard said he 
 seed a red ghost here t'other day — perhaps 
 that was you ? ' 
 
 ' I was here t'other day.' 
 
 * Were you making that dusty light I saw 
 by now ? ' 
 
 * O yes : I was beating out some bags. 
 And have you had a good bonfire up there ? 
 I saw the light. Why did Miss Vye want a 
 bonfire so bad that she should give you six- 
 pence to keep it up ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. I was tired, but she 
 made me bide and keep up the fire just the 
 same, while she kept going up across Black- 
 barrow way.' 
 
 ' And how long did that last ?' 
 ' Until a hopfrog jumped into the pond.' 
 The reddleman suddenly ceased to talk 
 idly. 'A hopfrog?' he enquired. 'Hop- 
 frogs don't jump into ponds this time of 
 year.' 
 
170 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' They do, for I heard one.' 
 
 * Certain-sure?' 
 
 ' Yes. She told me afore that I should 
 hear'm ; and so I did. They say she's 
 clever and deep, and perhaps she charmed 
 'em to come.' 
 
 * And what then?' 
 
 ' Then I came down here, and I was 
 afraid, and I went back ; but I didn't like to 
 speak to her, because of the gentleman, and 
 I came on here again.' 
 
 * A gentleman — ah ! What did she say 
 to him, my man ? ' 
 
 ' Told him she supposed he had not 
 married the other woman because he liked 
 his old sweetheart best ; and things like 
 that.' 
 
 ' What did the gentleman say to her, my 
 sonny ? ' 
 
 ' He only said he did like her best, and 
 how he was coming to see her again under 
 Blackbarrow o' nights.' 
 
 ' Ha ! ' cried the reddleman, slapping his 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 171 
 
 hand against the side of his van so that the 
 whole fabric shook under the blow. ' That's 
 the secret o't ! ' 
 
 The little boy jumped clean from the 
 stool. 
 
 ' My man, don't you be afraid,' said the 
 dealer in red, suddenly becoming gentle. * I 
 forgot you were here. That's only a curious 
 way reddlemen have of going mad for a 
 moment ; but they don't hurt anybody. And 
 what did the lady say then ? ' 
 
 * I can't mind. Please, Master Reddle- 
 man, may I go home-along now ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, to be sure you may. I'll go a bit 
 of ways with you.' 
 
 He conducted the boy out of the gravel- 
 pit and into the path leading to his mother's 
 cottage. When the little figure had vanished 
 in the darkness the reddleman returned, re- 
 sumed his seat by the fire, and proceeded to 
 darn again. 
 
172 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LOVE EEADS A SHREWD MAN INTO STRATEGY. 
 
 Reddlemen of the old school are now but 
 seldom seen. Since the introduction of rail- 
 ways Wessex farmers have managed to do 
 without these somewhat spectral visitants, 
 and the bright pigment so largely used by 
 shepherds in preparing sheep for the fair Is 
 obtained by other routes. Even those who 
 yet survive are losing the poetry of existence 
 which characterised them when the pursuit 
 of the trade meant periodical journeys to the 
 pit whence the material was dug, a regular 
 camping out from month to month, except In 
 the depth of winter, a peregrination among 
 farms which could be counted by the hun- 
 dred, and In spite of this Arab existence the 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. I 73 
 
 preservation of that respectability which is 
 ensured by the never-faiHng production of a 
 well-Hned purse. 
 
 Reddle spreads Its lively hues over every- 
 thing it lights on, and stamps unmistakably, 
 as with the mark of Cain, any person who 
 has handled it half-an-hour. 
 
 A child's first sight of a reddleman was 
 an epoch in his life. That blood-coloured 
 figure was a sublimation of all the horrid 
 dreams which had afflicted the juvenile spirit 
 since imagination began. ' The reddleman 
 is coming for you ! ' had been the formulated 
 threat of Wessex mothers for many genera- 
 tions. He was successfully supplanted for a 
 while, at the beginning of the present cen- 
 tury, by Buonaparte ; but as process of time 
 rendered the latter personage stale and inef- 
 fective the older phrase resumed its early 
 prominence. And now the reddleman has in 
 his turn followed Buonaparte to the land of 
 worn-out bogeys, and his place is filled by 
 modern inventions. 
 
174 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 The reddleman lived like a gipsy ; but 
 gipsies he scorned. He was about as thriving 
 as travelling basket and mat makers ; but he 
 had nothing to do with them. He was more 
 decently born and brought up than the cattle- 
 drovers who passed and repassed him in his 
 wanderings ; but they merely nodded to him. 
 His stock was more valuable than that of 
 pedlars ; but they did not think so, and passed 
 his cart with eyes straight ahead. He was 
 such an unnatural colour to look at that the 
 men of round-abouts and wax-work shows 
 seemed gentlemen beside him ; but he con- 
 sidered them low company, and remained 
 aloof. Among all these squatters and folks 
 of the road the reddleman continually found 
 himself; yet he was not of them. His occu- 
 pation tended to isolate him, and isolated he 
 was mostly seen to be. 
 
 It was sometimes suggested that reddle- 
 men were criminals for whose misdeeds other 
 men had wrongfully suffered : that in escap- 
 ing the law they had not escaped their own 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. I 75 
 
 consciences, and had taken to the trade as 
 a lifelong penance. Else why should they 
 have chosen it ? In the present case such 
 a question would have been particularly ap- 
 posite. The reddleman who had entered 
 Eedon that afternoon was an instance of the 
 pleasing being wasted to form the ground- 
 work of the singular, when an ugly founda- 
 tion would have done just as well for that 
 purpose. The one point that was forbidding 
 about this reddleman was his colour. Freed 
 from that he would have been as agreeable 
 a specimen of rustic manhood as one would 
 often see. A keen observer might have been 
 inclined to think — which was, indeed, partly 
 the truth — that he had relinquished his pro- 
 per station in life for want of interest in it. 
 Moreover, after looking at him one would 
 have hazarded the o^uess that ofood- nature, 
 and an acuteness as extreme as it could be 
 without verging on craft, formed the frame- 
 work of his character. 
 
 While he darned the stockinet his face 
 
176 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 became rigid with thought. Softer expres- 
 sions followed this, and then again recurred 
 the tender sadness which had sat upon him 
 during his drive along the highway that 
 afternoon. Presently his needle stopped. 
 He laid down the stocking, arose from his 
 seat, and took a leathern pouch from a hook 
 in the corner of the van. This contained 
 among other articles a brown-paper packet, 
 which, to judge from the hinge-like character 
 of its worn folds, seemed to have been care- 
 fully opened and closed a good many times. 
 He sat down on the three-leo^qred milking- 
 stool that formed the only seat in the van, 
 and, examining his packet by the light of a 
 candle, took thence an old letter and spread 
 it open. The writing had originally been 
 traced on white paper, but the letter had now 
 assumed a pale red tinge from the accident 
 
 1 Jl ^ 
 
 of its situation ; and the black strokes of 
 writing thereon looked like the twigs of a 
 winter hedge against a vermilion sunset. 
 The letter bore a date some two years pre- 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1/7 
 
 vi6us to that time, and was signed ' Thomasin 
 Yeobrieht.' It ran as follows : — 
 
 Dear Diggory Venn, — The question you put when 
 you overtook me commg home from Pond- close gave 
 me such a surprise that I am afraid I did not make you 
 exactly understand what I meant. Of course, if my aunt 
 had not met me I could have explained all then at once, 
 but as it was there was no chance. I have been quite 
 uneasy since, as you know I do not w-ish to pain you, yet 
 I fear I shall be doing so now in contradicting what I 
 seemed to say then. I cannot, Diggory, marry you, or 
 think of letting you call me your sweetheart. I could 
 not, indeed, Diggory. I hope you will not much mind my 
 saying this, and feel it a great pain. It makes me very 
 sad when I think it may, for I like you very much, and I 
 always put you next to my cousin Clym in my mind. 
 There are so many reasons why we cannot be married 
 that I can hardly name them all in a letter. I did not in 
 the least expect that you were going to speak on such a 
 thing when you followed me, because I had never thought 
 of you in the sense of a lover at all. You must not becall 
 me for laughing when you spoke ; you mistook when you 
 thought I laughed at you as a foolish man. I laughed 
 because the idea was so odd, and not at you at all. ^he 
 great reason with my own personal self for not letting 
 you court me is, that I do not feel the things a woman 
 ought to feel who consents to w-alk with you with the 
 meaning of being your wife. It is not as you think, that 
 I have another in my mind, for I do not encourage any- 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 body, and never have in my life. Another reason is my 
 aunt. She would not, I know, agree to it, even if I 
 wished to have you. She likes you very well, but she 
 will want me to look a little higher than a small dairy- 
 farmer, and marry a professional man. I hope you will not 
 set your heart against me for writing plainly, but I felt 
 you might try to see me again, and it is better that we 
 should not meet. I shall always think of you as a good 
 man, and be anxious for your well-doing. I send this 
 by Jane Orchard's little maid. 
 
 And remain, Diggory, 
 Your faithful friend, 
 
 Thomasin Yeobright. 
 To Mr. Venn, Dairyfarmer. 
 
 Since the arrival of that letter, on a 
 certain autumn morning long ago, the red- 
 dleman and Thomasin had not met till to- 
 day. During the interval he had shifted 
 his position even further from hers than it 
 had originally been, by adopting the reddle 
 trade ; though he was really in very good 
 circumstances still. Indeed, seeing that his 
 expenditure was only one-fourth of his 
 income, he might have been called a 
 prosperous man. 
 
 Rejected suitors take to roaming as 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1/9 
 
 naturally as unhived bees ; and the business 
 to which he had cynically devoted himself 
 was In many ways congenial to Venn. But 
 his wanderings, by mere stress of old 
 emotion, had frequently taken an Egdon 
 direction, though he never Intruded upon 
 her who attracted him thither. To be in 
 Thomasln's heath, and near her, yet unseen, 
 was the one ewe-lamb of pleasure left to 
 him. 
 
 Then came the incident of that day, and 
 the reddleman, still loving her well, was 
 excited by this accidental service to her at 
 a critical juncture to vow an active devotion 
 to her cause, instead of, as hitherto, sighing 
 and holding aloof. After what had hap- 
 pened it was impossible that he should not 
 doubt the honesty of Wildeve's intentions. 
 But her hope was apparently centered upon 
 him ; and dismissing his regrets Venn de- 
 termined to aid her to be happy In her own 
 chosen way. That this way was, of all 
 others, the most distressing to himself, was 
 
 N 2 
 
l8o THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 awkward enough ; but the reddleman's love 
 was generous. 
 
 His first active step in watching over 
 Thomasin's interests was taken about seven 
 o'clock the next evening, and w^as dictated 
 by the news which he had learnt from the 
 sad bov. That Eustacia was somehow the 
 cause of Wildeve's carelessness in relation 
 to the marriaofe had at once been Venn's 
 conclusion on hearing of the secret meeting 
 between them. It did not occur to his mind 
 that Eustacia's love-siofnal to Wildeve was 
 the tender effect upon the deserted beauty 
 of the intelligence which her grandfather had 
 broucrht home. His instinct was to reofard 
 
 o o 
 
 her as a conspirator against rather than as an 
 antecedent obstacle to Thomasin's happiness. 
 During the day he had been exceedingly 
 anxious to learn the condition of Thomasin ; 
 but he did not venture to intrude upon a 
 household to which he was a stranger, par- 
 ticularly at such an unpleasant moment as 
 this. He had occupied his time in moving 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. l8l 
 
 with his ponies and load to a new point in 
 the heath, eastward of his previous station ; 
 and here he selected a nook w^ith a careful 
 eye to shelter from wind and rain, which 
 seemed to mean that his stay there was to 
 be a comparatively extended one. After 
 this he returned on foot some part of the 
 way that he had come ; and, it being now 
 dark, he diverged to the left till he stood 
 behind a holly-bush on the edge of a pit 
 not twenty yards from Blackbarrow. 
 
 He watched for a meeting there, but he 
 watched in vain. Nobody except himself 
 came near the spot that night. 
 
 But the loss of his labour produced little 
 effect upon the reddleman. He had stood in 
 the shoes of Tantalus, and seemed to look 
 upon a certain mass of disappointment as the 
 natural preface to all realisations, without 
 which preface they would give cause for 
 alarm. 
 
 The same hour the next evening found 
 him again at the same place ; but Eustacia 
 
1 82 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 and Wildeve, the expected trysters. did not 
 appear. 
 
 He pursued precisely the same course yet 
 four nights longer, and without success. But 
 on the next, being the day -week of their pre- 
 vious meeting, he saw a female shape floating 
 along the ridge and the outline of a young 
 man ascending from the valley. They met 
 in the little ditch encircling the barrow — the 
 original excavation from which it had been 
 thrown up by the ancient British people. 
 
 The reddleman, stung with suspicion of 
 wrong to Thomasin, was aroused to strategy 
 in a moment. He instantly left the bush 
 and crept forward on his hands and knees. 
 When he had got as close as he might safely 
 venture without discovery he found that, 
 owing to a cross-wind, the conversation of 
 the trysting pair could not be overheard. 
 
 Near him, as in divers places about the 
 heath, were areas strewn with lar^e turves, 
 which lay edgewise and upside down await- 
 ing removal by Timothy Fairway, previous 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 83 
 
 to the winter weather. He took two of 
 these as he lay, and dragged them over him 
 till one covered his head and shoulders, the 
 other his back and legs. The reddleman 
 would now have been quite invisible, even 
 by daylight ; the turves, standing upon him 
 with the heather upwards, looked precisely 
 as if they were growing. He crept along 
 again, and the turves upon his back crept 
 with him. Had he approached without any 
 covering the chances are that he would not 
 have been perceived in the dusk ; approach- 
 ing thus, it w^as as though he burrowed un- 
 derground. In this manner he came quite 
 close to where the two were standing. 
 
 ' Wish to consult me on the matter ? ' 
 reached his ears in the rich, impetuous ac- 
 cents of Eustacia Vye. ' Consult me ? It 
 is an indignity to me to talk so : I won't 
 bear it any longer.' She began w^eeping. 
 ' I have loved you, and have shown you that 
 I loved you, much to my regret ; and yet 
 you can come and say in that frigid way 
 
184 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 that you wish to consult with me whether 
 It would not be better to marry Thomasin. 
 Better — of course it would be. Marry her : 
 she is nearer to your own position in life 
 than I am!' 
 
 * Yes, yes ; that's very well,' said Wlldeve 
 peremptorily. ' But we must look at things 
 as they are. Whatever blame may attach to 
 me for having brought it about, Thomasin's 
 position is at present much worse than yours. 
 I simply tell you that I am In a strait.' 
 
 . * But you shall not tell me! You must 
 see that it is only harassing me. Damon, 
 you have not acted well ; you have sunk 
 In my opinion. You have not valued my 
 courtesy — the courtesy of a lady In loving 
 you — who used to think of far more ambi- 
 tious things. But It was Thomasin's fault. 
 She won you away from me, and she de- 
 serves to suffer for It. Where Is she stay- 
 ing now ? Not that I care, nor where I 
 am myself. Ah, if I were dead and gone 
 how glad she would be! W^here is she, I ask?* 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 85 
 
 * Thomasin Is now staying at her aunt's, 
 shut up in a bedroom, and keeping out of 
 everybody's sight,' he said indifferently. 
 
 ' I don't think you care much about her 
 even now,' said Eustacia with sudden joy- 
 ousness ; ' for if you did you wouldn't talk 
 so coolly about her. Do you talk so coolly to 
 her about me ? Ah, I expect you do ! Wh}' 
 did you originally go away from me ? I don't 
 think I can ever forgive you, except on one 
 condition, that whenever you desert me you 
 come back again, sorry that you served me 
 so.' 
 
 ' I never wish to desert you.' 
 
 ' I do not thank you for that. I should 
 hate it to be all smooth. Indeed, I think 
 I like you to desert me a little once now and 
 then. Love is the dismallest thing where 
 the lover is quite honest. Oh, it is a shame 
 to say so ; but it is true.' She indulged in a 
 litde laugh. ' My low spirits begin at the 
 very idea. Don't you offer me tame love, or 
 away you go.' 
 
1 86 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 * I wish Tamsie were not such a con- 
 foundedly good little woman,' said Wildeve, 
 ' so that I could be faithful to you without 
 injuring a worthy person. It is I who am 
 the sinner after all ; I am not worth the little 
 finger of either of you.' 
 
 * But you must not sacrifice yourself to 
 her from any sense of justice,' replied Eus- 
 stacia quickly. ' If you do not love her it is 
 the most merciful thing in the long run to 
 leave her as she is. That's always the best 
 w^ay. There, now I have been unwomanly, 
 I suppose. When you have left me I am 
 always angry with myself for things that I 
 have said to you.' 
 
 Wildeve walked a pace or two among the 
 heather without replying. The pause was 
 filled up by the intonation of a pollard thorn 
 a little way to windward, the breezes filter- 
 ing through its unyielding twigs as through 
 a strainer. It was as if the night sang dirges 
 with clenched teeth. 
 
 She continued, half-sorrowfully : ' Since 
 
THE THREE \VOMEN. 1 87 
 
 meeting you last It has occurred to me once 
 or twice that perhaps it was not for love of 
 me you did not marry her. Tell me, Damon : 
 I'll try to bear it. Had I nothing whatever 
 to do with the matter ? ' 
 
 * Do you press me to tell ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I must know. I see I have been 
 too ready to believe in my own power.' 
 
 * Well, the immediate reason was that the 
 license would not do for the place, and before 
 I could get another she ran away. Up to 
 that point you had nothing to do with it. 
 Since then her aunt has spoken to me in a 
 tone which I don't at all like.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes. I am nothing in it — I am 
 nothing in it. You only trifle Avith me. 
 Heaven, what can I, Eustacia Vye, be made 
 of to think so much of you ! ' 
 
 ' Nonsense ; do not be so passionate. . . . 
 Eustacia, how we roved among these bushes 
 last year, when the hot days had got cool, 
 and the shades of the hills kept us almost 
 invisible in the hollows ! ' 
 
1 88 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 She remained in moody silence till she 
 said, ' Yes ; and how I used to laugh at you 
 for daring to look up to me ! But you have 
 well made me suffer for that since.' 
 
 * Yes, you served me cruelly enough until 
 I thought I had found some one fairer than 
 you. A blessed find for me, Eustacia.' 
 
 ' Do you still think you found some- 
 body fairer } ' 
 
 * Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. 
 The scales are balanced so nicely that a 
 feather would turn them.' 
 
 ' But don't you really care whether I 
 meet you or whether I don't ? ' she said 
 slowly. 
 
 ' I care a little, but not enough to break 
 my rest,' replied the young man languidly. 
 ' No, all that's past. I find there are two 
 flowers where I thought there was only one. 
 Perhaps there are three, or four, or any 
 number as good as the first. . . . Mine is a 
 curious fate. Who would have thouo^ht that 
 all this could happen to me ? ' 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 89 
 
 She interrupted with a suppressed fire of 
 which either love or anger seemed an equally 
 possible issue, ' Do you love me now ? ' 
 
 * Who can say ? ' 
 
 ' Tell me ; I will know it* 
 
 * I do, and I do not,' said he mischievously. 
 ' That is, I have my times and my seasons. 
 One moment you are too tall, another mo- 
 ment you are too do-nothing, another too 
 melancholy, another too dark, another I 
 don't know what, except — that you are not 
 the whole world to me that you used to be, 
 my dear. But you are a pleasant lady to 
 know, and nice to meet, and I dare say as 
 sweet as ever — almost.' 
 
 Eustacia was silent, and she turned from 
 him, till she said. In a voice of suspended 
 mightiness, ' I am for a walk, and this is my 
 w^ay.' 
 
 * Well, I can do worse than follow you.' 
 
 ' You know you can't do otherwise, for 
 all your moods and changes,' she answered 
 defiantly. ' Say what you will ; try as you 
 
IQO THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 may ; keep away from me all that you can 
 — you will never forget me. You will love 
 me all your life long. You would jump to 
 marry me ! ' 
 
 ' So I would ! ' said Wildeve. ' Such 
 strange thoughts as I've had from time to 
 time, Eustacia ; and they come to me this 
 moment. You hate the heath as much as 
 ever ; that I know.' 
 
 ' I do,' she murmured deeply. ' 'Tis my 
 cross, my misery, and will be my death.' 
 
 ' I abhor it too,' said he. * How mourn- 
 fully the wind blows round us now ! ' 
 
 She did not answ^er. Its tone was indeed 
 solemn and pervasive. Compound utter- 
 ances addressed themselves to their senses, 
 and it was possible to view by ear the 
 features of the neighbourhood. Acoustic 
 pictures were returned from the darkened 
 scenery ; they could hear where the tracts 
 of heather began and ended ; where the 
 furze was growing stalky and tall ; where it 
 had been recently cut ; in what direction the 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. I91 
 
 fir-clump lay, and how near was the pit in 
 which the hollies grew ; for these differing* 
 features had their voices no less than their 
 shapes and colours. 
 
 ' God, how lonely it is ! ' resumed Wildeve. 
 ' What are picturesque ravines and mists to 
 us who see nothing else ? Why should we 
 stay here ? Will you go with me to America? 
 I have kindred in Wisconsin.' 
 
 ' That wants consideration.' 
 
 ' It seems impossible to do well here, 
 unless one were a wild bird or a landscape- 
 painter. Well ? ' 
 
 ' Give me time,' she softly said, taking his 
 hand. 'America is so far away. Are you 
 going to walk with me a little way ? ' 
 
 As Eustacia uttered the latter words she 
 retired from the base of the barrow, and 
 Wildeve followed her, so that the reddleman 
 could hear no more. 
 
 He lifted the turves and arose. Their 
 black figures sank and disappeared from 
 against the sky. They were as two horns 
 
192 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 which the sluggish heath had put forth from 
 its crown, Hke a moHusk, and had now again 
 drawn In. 
 
 The reddleman's walk across the vale, 
 and over Into the next where his cart lay, 
 was not sprightly for a slim young fellow of 
 twenty-four. His spirit was perturbed to 
 aching. The breezes that blew around his 
 mouth In that walk carried off in them the 
 accents of a commination. 
 
 He entered the van, where there was a 
 fire In a stove. Without lighting his candle 
 he sat down at once on the three-legged stool 
 and pondered on what he had seen and 
 heard touching that still loved-one of his. 
 He uttered a sound v/hich was neither sigh 
 nor sob, but was even more Indicative than 
 either of a troubled mind. 
 
 * My Tamsie,' he whispered heavily. 
 * What can be done ? Yes, I will see that 
 Eustacia Vye.' 
 
193 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A DESPERATE ATTEMPT AT PERSUASION. 
 
 The next morning, at a time when the height 
 of the sun appeared very insignificant from 
 any part of the heath as compared with the 
 altitude of Blackbarrow, and when all the 
 little hills in the lower levels were like an 
 archipelago In a fog-formed ^gean, the 
 reddleman came from the brambled nook 
 which he had adopted as his quarters and 
 ascended the slopes of MIstover Knap. 
 
 Though these shaggy hills were appa- 
 rently so solitary, several keen round eyes 
 were always ready on such a wintry morn- 
 ing as this to converge upon a passer-by. 
 Feathered species sojourned here in hiding 
 which would have created wonder if found 
 elsewhere. A bustard haunted the spot, and 
 
 VOL. I. o 
 
194 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 not many years before this five-and-twenty 
 might have been seen in Egdon at one time. 
 Marsh-harriers looked up from the valley by 
 Wildeve's. A cream-coloured courser had 
 used to visit this hill, a bird so rare that not 
 more than a dozen have ever been seen in 
 England; but a barbarian rested neither 
 night nor day till he had shot the African 
 truant, and after that event cream-coloured 
 coursers thought fit to enter Egdon no more. 
 A traveller who should walk and observe 
 any of these visitants as Venn observed them 
 now could feel himself to be in direct com- 
 munication with regions unknown to man. 
 Here in front of him was a wild mallard — 
 just arrived from the home of the north wind. 
 The creature brought within him an ampli- 
 tude of Northern knowledge. Glacial catastro- 
 phes, snow-storm episodes, glittering auroral 
 effects, Polaris in the zenith, Franklin under- 
 foot, — the category of his commonplaces was 
 wonderful. But the bird, like many other 
 philosophers, seemed as he looked at the 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 195 
 
 reddleman to think that a present moment 
 of comfortable reahty was worth a decade of 
 memories. 
 
 Venn passed on through these towards 
 the house of the isolated beauty w^ho lived 
 up among them and despised them. The 
 day was Sunday ; but as going to church, 
 except to be married or buried, was pheno- 
 menal at Egdon, this made little difference. 
 He had determined upon the bold stroke of 
 asking for an interview with Miss Vye — to 
 attack her position as Thomasin's rival either 
 by art or by storm, showing therein, some- 
 what too conspicuously, the want of gallantry 
 characteristic of a certain astute sort of men, 
 from clowns to kings. The great Frederick 
 making war on the beautiful Archduchess, 
 Napoleon refusing terms to the beautiful 
 Oueen of Prussia, were not more dead to 
 difference of sex than the reddleman was, in 
 his peculiar way, in planning the displacement 
 of Eustacia. 
 
 To call at the Captain's cottage was 
 
 O 2 
 
196 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 always more or less an undertaking for the 
 inferior inhabitants. Though occasionally 
 chatty, his moods were erratic, and nobody 
 could be certain how he would behave at any 
 particular moment. Eustacia was reserved, 
 and lived very much to herself. Except the 
 daughter of one of the cotters, w^ho was their 
 servant, and a lad who worked in the garden 
 and stable, scarcely anyone but themselves 
 ever entered the house. They were the only 
 genteel people of the district except the Yeo- 
 brights, and though far from rich, they did not 
 feel that necessity for preserving a friendly 
 face towards every man, bird, and beast 
 which influenced their poorer neighbours. 
 
 When the reddleman entered the garden 
 the old man was looking through his glass at 
 the stain of blue in the distant landscape, the 
 little anchors on his buttons twinkling in the 
 sun. He recognised Venn as his companion 
 on the highw^ay, but made no remark on that 
 circumstance, merely saying, ' Ah, reddleman 
 — you here ? Have a glass of grog ? ' 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 1 97 
 
 Venn declined, on the plea of it being too 
 early, and stated that his business was with 
 Miss Vye. The Captain surveyed him from 
 cap to waistcoat and from waistcoat to leg- 
 gings for a few moments, and finally asked 
 him to Q-Q indoors. 
 
 Miss Vye was not to be seen by anybody 
 just then ; and the reddleman waited in the 
 window-bench of the kitchen, his hands hang- 
 ing across his divergent knees, and his cap 
 hanmncr from his hands. 
 
 * I suppose the young lady is not up yet ? ' 
 he presently said to the servant. 
 
 ' Not quite yet. Folks never call upon 
 ladies at this time of day.' 
 
 ' Then I'll step outside,' said Venn. ' If 
 she is willing to see me, w^ill she please send 
 out word, and I'll come in.' 
 
 The reddleman left the house and loitered 
 on the hill adjoining. A considerable time 
 elapsed, and no request for his presence was 
 brought. He was beginning to think that 
 his scheme had failed, when he beheld the 
 
198 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 form of Eustacia herself coming leisurely to- 
 wards him. A sense of novelty in giving 
 audience to that singular figure had been 
 sufficient to draw her forth. 
 
 She seemed to feel, after a bare look 
 at Diggory Venn, that the man had come 
 on a strange errand, and that he was not 
 so mean as she had thought him ; for 
 her close approach did not cause him to 
 writhe uneasily, or shift his feet, or show 
 any of those little signs which escape an 
 ingenuous rustic at the advent of the uncom- 
 mon in womankind. On his inquiring if he 
 might have a conversation with her she re- 
 plied, ' Yes, walk beside me ; ' and continued 
 to move on. 
 
 Before they had gone far it occurred to 
 the perspicacious reddleman that he would 
 have acted more wisely by appearing less un- 
 impressionable, and he resolved to correct 
 the error as soon as he could find oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 ' I have made so bold, miss, as to step 
 
THE thref: women. 199 
 
 across and tell you some strange news 
 which has come to my ears about that 
 man.' 
 
 * Ah ! what man ? ' 
 
 He jerked his elbow to south-east — the 
 direction of the Quiet Woman. 
 
 Eustacia turned quickly to him. ' Do 
 you mean Mr. Wildeve ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, there is trouble in a household on 
 account of him ; and I have come to let you 
 know of it, because I believe you might have 
 power to drive it away.' 
 
 ' I ? What is the trouble ? ' 
 
 * It is quite a secret. It is that he may 
 refuse to marry Thomasin Yeobright after 
 all.' 
 
 Eustacia, though set inwardly pulsing by 
 his words, was equal to her part in such a 
 drama as this. She replied coldly, ' I do 
 not wish to listen to this, and you must not 
 expect me to interfere.' 
 
 * But, miss, you will hear one word ? ' 
 
 * I cannot. I am not interested in the 
 
200 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 marriage, and even if I were I could not 
 compel Mr. Wildeve to do my bidding.' 
 
 ' As the only lady on the heath I think 
 you might,' said Venn with subtle indirect- 
 ness. ' This is how the case stands. Mr. 
 Wildeve would marry Thomasin at once, 
 and make all matters smooth, if so be there 
 were not another woman in the case. This 
 other woman is some person he has picked 
 up with, and meets on the heath occasionally, 
 I believe. He will never marry her, and yet 
 through her he may never marry the woman 
 who loves him dearly. Now, if you, miss, 
 who have so much sway over us men-folk, 
 were to insist that he should treat your 
 young neighbour Tamsin with honourable 
 kindness and give up the other woman, he 
 would perhaps do it, and save her a good 
 deal of misery.' 
 
 * Ah, my life ! ' said Eustacia, with a laugh 
 which unclosed her lips, so that the sun shone 
 into her mouth as into a tulip, and lent it a 
 similar scarlet fire. ' You think too much of 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 20I 
 
 my influence over men-folk Indeed, reddle- 
 man. If I had such a power as you imagine 
 I would go straight and use it for the good 
 of anybody who has been kind to me — which 
 Thomasin Yeobright has not particularly, to 
 my knowledge.' 
 
 * Can it be that you really don't know of 
 it — how much she has always thought of 
 you ? ' 
 
 ' I have never heard a word of it. Al- 
 though we live only two miles apart I have 
 never been inside her aunt's house in my life.' 
 
 The superciliousness that lurked in her 
 manner told Venn that thus far he had 
 utterly failed. He inwardly sighed and felt 
 it necessary to unmask his second argument. 
 
 ' Well, leaving that out of the question, 
 'tis in your power, I assure you, Miss Vye, 
 to do a great deal of good to another woman.' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ' Your comeliness is law with Mr. Wildeve. 
 It is law with all men who see }'e. They 
 say, " This well-favoured lady coming — 
 
202 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 what's her name ? How handsome ! " Hand- 
 somer than Thomasin Yeobright,' the reddle- 
 man persisted, saying to himself, ' God forgive 
 a rascal for lying !' And she was handsomer, 
 but the reddleman was far from thinking so. 
 There was a certain obscurity in Eustacia's 
 beauty, and Venn's eye was not trained. In 
 her winter dress, as now, she was like the 
 tiger-beetle, which, when observed in dull 
 situations, seems to be of the quietest neutral 
 colour, but under a full illumination blazes 
 with dazzling splendour. 
 
 Eustacia could not help replying, though 
 conscious that she endangered her dignity 
 thereby. ' Many women are lovelier than 
 Thomasin,' she said ; ' so not much attaches 
 to that.' 
 
 The reddleman suffered the wound and 
 went on : ' He is a man who notices the looks 
 of women, and you could twist him to your 
 will like withywind, if you only had the 
 mind.' 
 
 ' Surely what she cannot do who has been 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 203 
 
 SO much with him I cannot do living up here 
 away from him.' 
 
 The reddleman wheeled and looked her 
 in the face. ' Miss Vye ! ' he said. 
 
 ' Why do you say that — as if you doubted 
 me ? ' She spoke faintly, and her breathing 
 was quick. ' The idea of your speaking in 
 that tone to me ! ' she added, with a forced 
 smile of hauteur. ' What could have been 
 in your mind to lead you to speak like that ? ' 
 
 ' Miss Vye, why should you make-believe 
 that you don't know this man ? — I know why, 
 certainly. He is beneath you, and you are 
 ashamed.' 
 
 * You are mistaken. What do you mean ? ' 
 
 The reddleman had decided to play the 
 card of truth. ' I was at the meeting by 
 Blackbarrow last night and heard ever}- 
 word,' he said. ' The woman that stands be- 
 tween Wildeve and Thomasin is yourself.' 
 
 It was a disconcertinof lift of the curtain, 
 and the mortification of Candaules' wife 
 glowed in her. The moment had arrived 
 
204 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 when her Hp would tremble In spite of her- 
 self, and when the gasp could no longer be 
 kept down. 
 
 ' I am unwell/ she said hurriedly. ' No 
 — It Is not that — I am not in a humour to 
 hear you further. Leave me, please.' 
 
 ' I must speak, Miss Vye, in spite of 
 paining you. What I would put before you 
 is this. However it may have come about — 
 whether she is to blame, or you — her case is 
 without doubt worse than yours. Your giv- 
 ing up Mr. Wildeve will be a real advantage 
 to you, for how could you marry him ? Now 
 she cannot get off so easily — everybody will 
 blame her if she loses him. Then I ask 
 you — not because her right is best, but 
 because her situation Is worst — to give him 
 up to her.' 
 
 * No — I won't, I won't!' she said im- 
 petuously, quite forgetful of her previous 
 manner towards the reddleman as an under- 
 ling. ' Nobody has ever been served so ! 
 It was eolnof on well — I will not be beaten 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 205 
 
 down — by an Inferior woman like her. It Is 
 very well for you to come and plead for her, 
 but Is she not herself the cause of all her 
 own trouble ? Am I not to show favour to 
 any person I may choose without asking 
 permission of a parcel of cottagers ? She 
 has come between me and my inclination, 
 and now that she finds herself rightly 
 punished she gets you to plead for her.' 
 
 ' Indeed,' said Venn earnestly, 'she knows 
 nothing whatever about It. It Is only I who 
 ask you to give him up. It will be better 
 for her and you both. People will say bad 
 things If they find out that a lady secretly 
 meets a man who has Ill-used another 
 woman.' 
 
 ' I have not injured her : he was mine 
 before he was hers ! He came back — be- 
 cause — he liked me best ! ' she said wildly. 
 * But I lose all self-respect In talking to you. 
 What am I giving way to ! ' 
 
 ' I can keep secrets,' said Vi^nn gently. 
 ' You need not fear. I am the onlv man 
 
206 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 who knows of your meetings with him. 
 There is but one thing more to speak of, 
 and then I will be gone. I heard you say 
 to him that you hated living here — that 
 Egdon heath was a jail to you.' 
 
 ' I did say so. There is a sort of beauty 
 in the scenery, I know ; but it is a jail to me. 
 The man you mention does not save me from 
 that feeling, though he lives here. I should 
 have cared nothing for him had there been 
 a better person near.' 
 
 The reddleman looked hopeful : after 
 these words from her his third attempt 
 seemed promising. * As we have now 
 opened our minds a bit, miss,' he said, 
 ' I'll tell you w^hat I have got to propose. 
 Since I have taken to the reddle trade I 
 travel a good deal, as you know.' 
 
 She inclined her head, and swept round 
 so that her eyes rested in the misty vale 
 beneath them. 
 
 'And in my travels I go near Budmouth. 
 Now, Budmouth is a wonderful place — won- 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 207 
 
 derful — a great salt sheening sea bending 
 into the land like a bow — thousands of 
 gentlepeople walking up and down — bands 
 of music playing — officers by sea and officers 
 by land walking among the rest — out of 
 every ten folk you meet nine of 'em In love.' 
 
 ' I know It,' she said disdainfully. ' I 
 know Budmouth better than you. I was 
 born there. My father was a great musician 
 there. Ah, my soul, Budmouth ! I wish I 
 was there now.' 
 
 The reddleman was surprised to see how 
 a slow fire could blaze on occasion. ' If you 
 were, miss,' he replied, ' in a week's time 
 you would think no more of Wildeve than 
 of one of those he'thcroppers that we see 
 yond. Now, I could get you there.' 
 
 'How?' said Eustacia, with intense cu- 
 riosity in her heavy eyes. 
 
 ' My uncle has been for five-and-twenty 
 years the trusty man of a rich widow-lady 
 who has a beautiful house facing the sea. 
 This lady has become old and lame, and 
 
208 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 she wants a young company-keeper to read 
 and sing to her, but can't get one to her 
 mind to save her Hfe, though she've adver- 
 tised in the papers, and tried half-a-dozen. 
 She would jump to get you, and uncle would 
 make it all easy.' 
 
 * I should have to work, perhaps ? ' 
 ' No, not real work : you'd have a little 
 to do, such as reading and that. • You would 
 not be wanted till New Year's Day.' 
 
 ' I knew it meant work,' she said, droop- 
 inof to lanofuor attain. 
 
 ' I confess there would be a trifle to do 
 in the way of amusing her ; but though idle 
 people might call it work, working people 
 would call it play. Think of the company 
 and the life you'd lead, miss ; the gaiety 
 you'd see, and the gentleman you'd marry. 
 My uncle is to inquire for a trustworthy 
 young lady from the country, as she don't 
 like town girls.' 
 
 ' It is to wear myself out to please her ! 
 and I won't o^o. Oh, if I could live in Bud- 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 20C 
 
 mouth as a lady should, and go my own 
 ways, and do my own doings, I'd give the 
 wrinkled half of my life. Yes, reddleman, 
 that would I.' 
 
 ' Help me to get Thomasin happy, miss, 
 and the chance shall be yours,' urged her 
 companion. 
 
 ' Chance ! — 'tis no chance,' she said 
 proudly. ' What can a poor man like you 
 offer me, indeed ? — I am going indoors. I 
 have nothing more to say. Don't your 
 horses want feeding, or your reddlebags 
 want mending, or don't you want to find 
 buyers for your goods, that you stay idling 
 here like this ? ' 
 
 Venn spoke not another word. With his 
 hands behind him he turned away, that she 
 might not see the hopeless disappointment in 
 his face. The mental clearness and power 
 he had found in this lonely girl had indeed 
 filled his manner with misoivinof even from 
 the first few minutes of close quarters with 
 her. Her youth and situation had led him 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
2IO THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 to expect a simplicity quite at the beck of 
 his method. But a system of inducement 
 which might have carried weaker country 
 lasses along with it had merely repelled 
 Eustacia. As a rule, the Avord Budmouth 
 meant fascination on Egdon. That rising 
 port and watering-place, if truly mirrored in 
 the minds of the heath-folk, must have com- 
 bined, in a charming and indescribable man- 
 ner, a Carthaginian bustle of building with 
 Tarentine luxuriousness and Balan health 
 and beauty. Eustacia felt little less extra- 
 vagantly about the place ; but she would not 
 sink her Independence to get there. 
 
 When Diggory Venn had gone quite 
 away Eustacia walked to the bank and 
 looked down the wild and picturesque vale 
 towards the sun, which was also in the direc- 
 tion of Wildeve s. The mist had now so far 
 collapsed that the tips of the trees and bushes 
 .around his house could just be discerned, 
 as if boring upwards through a vast white 
 cobweb which cloaked them from the day. 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 2 I I 
 
 There was no doubt that her mind was in- 
 dined thitherward ; indefinitely, fancifully — 
 twininof and untwinino^ about him as the 
 single object within her horizon on which 
 dreams might crystallize. The man who 
 had begun by being merely her amusement, 
 and would never have been more than her 
 hobby but for his skill in deserting her at the 
 right moment, was now her desire. Cessa- 
 tion in his love-making had made her love. 
 Such feeling as Eustacia had idly given to 
 Wildeve was dammed into a flood by Tho- 
 masin. She had used to tease Wildeve, but 
 that was before another had favoured him. 
 Often a drop of irony into an indifferent 
 situation renders the whole piquant. 
 
 ' I will never give him up — never ! ' she 
 said impetuously. 
 
 The reddleman's hint that rumour might 
 shov/ her to disadvantage had no permanent 
 terror for Eustacia. She was as unconcerned 
 at that contingency as a goddess at a lack of 
 linen. This did not originate in inherent 
 
 P 2 
 
212 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 shamelessness, but in her living too far from 
 the world to feel the Impact of public opinion. 
 Zenobia in the desert could hardly have 
 cared what was said about her at Rome. 
 As far as social ethics were concerned Eus- 
 tacia approached the savage state, though 
 in emotion she was all the while an epicure. 
 She had advanced to the secret recesses of 
 sensuousness, yet had hardly crossed the 
 threshold of conventionality. 
 
213 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE DISHONESTY OF AN HONEST WOxMAN. 
 
 The reddleman had left Eustacla's presence 
 with desponding views on Thomasin's future 
 happiness ; but he was awakened to the fact 
 that one other channel remained untried by 
 seeing, as he followed the way to his van, 
 the form of Mrs. Yeobright slowly walking 
 towards the Quiet Woman. He went across 
 to her ; and could almost perceive in her 
 anxious face that this journey of hers to 
 Wildeve was undertaken with the same ob- 
 ject as his own to Eustacia. 
 
 She did not conceal the fact. ' Then,' 
 said the reddleman, ' you may as well leave 
 it alone, Mrs. Yeobright.' 
 
 * I half-think so myself she said. ' But 
 
214 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 nothing else remains to be done besides 
 pressing the question upon him.' 
 
 * I should like to say a word first,' said 
 Venn firmly. * Mr. Wildeve is not the only 
 man who has asked Thomasin to marry him ; 
 and why should not another have a chance ? 
 Mrs. Yeobright, I would be glad to marry 
 your niece, and would have done it any time 
 these last two years. There, now it is out, 
 and I have never told anybody before but 
 herself.' 
 
 Mrs. Yeobright was not demonstrative, 
 but her eyes involuntarily glanced towards 
 his singular though shapely figure. 
 
 ' Looks are not everything,' said the red- 
 dleman, noticing the glance. ' There's many 
 a calling that don't bring in so much as mine, 
 if it comes to money ; and perhaps I am not 
 so much worse off than Wildeve. There is 
 nobody so poor as these professional fellows 
 who have failed ; and if you shouldn't like 
 my redness — well, I am not red by birth, you 
 know ; I only took to this business for a 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 215 
 
 freak ; and I might turn my hand to some- 
 thing else in good time.' 
 
 ' I am much obHged to you for your 
 interest in my niece ; but I fear there would 
 be objections. More than that, she is devoted 
 to this man.' 
 
 ' True ; or I shouldn't have done what I 
 have this morning.' 
 
 ' Otherwise there would be no pain in the 
 case, and you would not see me going to his 
 house now. What was Thomasin's answer 
 when you told her of your feelings ? ' 
 
 ' She wrote that you would object to me ; 
 and other things.' 
 
 ' She was in a measure right. You must 
 not take this unkindly : I merely state it as a 
 truth. You have been good to her, and we 
 do not forget it. But as she was unwilling 
 on her own account to be your wife, that 
 settles the point without my wishes being 
 concerned.' 
 
 ' Yes. But there is a difference between 
 then and now, ma'am. She is distressed 
 
2l6 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 now, and I have thought that if you were to 
 talk to her about me, and think favourably of 
 me yourself, there might be a chance of win- 
 ning her round, and getting her quite inde- 
 pendent of this Wildeve's backward and 
 forward play, and his not knowing whether 
 he'll have her or no.' 
 
 Mrs. Yeobright shook her head. ' Tho- 
 masin thinks, and I think with her, that she 
 ought to be Wildeve's wife, if she means to 
 appear before the world without a slur upon 
 her name. If they marry soon, everybody 
 will believe that an accident did really prevent 
 the wedding. If not, it may cast a shade 
 upon her character — at any rate make her 
 ridiculous. In short, if it is anyhow possible 
 they must marry now.' 
 
 ' I thought that till half an hour ago. 
 But, after all, why should her going off with 
 him to Southerton for a few hours do her 
 any harm ? Anybody who knows how pure 
 she is will feel any such thought to be quite 
 unjust. I have been trying this morning to 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 2 1/ 
 
 help on this marriage with Wildeve — yes, I, 
 ma'am — in the beHef that I ought to do it, 
 because she was so wrapped up in him. But 
 I much question if I was right, after all. 
 However, nothing came of it. And now I 
 offer myself.' 
 
 Mrs. Yeobright appeared disinclined to 
 enter further into the question. ' I fear I 
 must go on,' she said. ' I 'do not see that 
 anything else can be done.' 
 
 And she went on. But though this con- 
 versation did not divert Thomasin's aunt 
 from her purposed interview with Wildeve 
 it made a considerable difference in her mode 
 of conductinor that interview. She knew 
 enough of the male heart to see that with 
 Wildeve, and indeed with the majority of 
 men, the being .ible to state^ at such a critical 
 juncture, that another lover had eagerly bid 
 for the hand that he was disposed to decline 
 would immensely alter the situation. Few 
 are the engagements which would be ruptured 
 could the man be surprised by the discovery 
 
2l8 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 that another Is ready to jump at what he is 
 indined to throw away. Mrs. Yeobrlght 
 accordingly resolved that her system of pro- 
 cedure should be changed. She had left 
 home intent upon straightforwardness ; she 
 reached the Inn determined to finesse. To 
 influence Wlldeve by piquing him rather than 
 by appealing to his generosity was obviously 
 the wise course with such a man. She 
 thanked God for the weapon which the red- 
 dleman had put into her hands. 
 
 Wlldeve was at home when she reached 
 the Inn. He showed her silently into the 
 parlour, and closed the door. Mrs. Yeo- 
 brlght began : 
 
 ' I have thought It my duty to call to-day. 
 A new proposal has been made to me, which 
 has rather astonished me. It will affect 
 Thomasin greatly ; and I have decided that 
 It should at least be mentioned to you.' 
 
 * Yes ? What is it ? ' he said civilly. 
 
 ' It Is, of course, in reference to her future. 
 You may not be aware that another man has 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 219 
 
 shown himself anxious to marry Thomasin. 
 Now, though I have not encouraged him yet, 
 I cannot conscientiously refuse him a chance 
 any longer. I don't wish to be short with 
 you ; but I must be fair to him and to 
 her.' 
 
 ' Who is the man ? ' said Wildeve with 
 surprise. 
 
 ' One who has been in love with her 
 longer than she has with you. He proposed 
 to her two years ago. At that time she re- 
 fused him.' 
 
 * Well ? ' 
 
 ' He has seen her lately, and has asked 
 me for permission to pay his addresses to her. 
 She may not refuse him twice.' 
 
 ' What is his name ? ' 
 
 * That I decline to say at present. He is 
 a man she likes, and one whose constancy 
 she respects at least. It seems to me that 
 what she refused then she would be glad to 
 get now. She is much annoyed at her awk- 
 ward position.' 
 
2 20 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' She never once told me of this old lover.' 
 ' The gentlest women are not such fools 
 as to show every card.' 
 
 * Well, if she wants him I suppose she 
 must have him.' 
 
 * It is easy enough to say that ; but you 
 don't see the difficulty. He wants her much 
 more than she wants him ; and before I can 
 encourage anything of the sort I must have 
 a clear understanding from you that you will 
 not interfere to injure an arrangement which 
 I promote in the belief that it is for the 
 best. Suppose, when they are engaged, and 
 everything is smoothly arranged for their 
 marriage, that you should step between them 
 and renew your suit ? You might not win her 
 back, but you might cause much unhappiness.' 
 
 ' Of course I should do no such thing,' 
 said Wildeve, in some perplexity as to what 
 his feelings were about this matter. * But 
 they are not engaged yet. How do you 
 know that Thomasin would accept him ? ' 
 
 ' That's a question I have carefully put 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 22 1 
 
 to myself; and upon the whole the proba- 
 bilities are in favour of her accepting him 
 in time. I flatter myself that I have some 
 influence over her. She is pliable, and I can 
 be strong in my recommendations of him.' 
 
 ' And in your disparagement of me at the 
 same time.' 
 
 * Well, you may depend upon my not 
 praising you,' she said drily. * And if this 
 seems like manoeuvring, you must remember 
 that her position is peculiar, and that she 
 has been hardly used. I shall also be helped 
 in making the match by her own desire to 
 escape from the humiliation of her present 
 state ; and a woman's pride in these cases 
 will lead her a very great way. A little 
 managing may be required to bring her 
 round ; but I am equal to that, provided that 
 you agree to the one thing indispensable ; 
 that is, to make a distinct declaration that 
 she is to think no more of you as a possible 
 husband. That will pique her into accepting 
 him.' 
 
2 22 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' I can hardly say that just now, Mrs. 
 Yeobrlght. It is so sudden.' 
 
 ' And so my whole plan is interfered 
 with ! It is very inconvenient that you 
 refuse to help my family even to the small 
 extent of saying distinctly you will have 
 nothing to do with us.' 
 
 Wildeve reflected uncomfortably. ' I con- 
 fess I was not prepared for this,' he said. 
 ' Of course I'll give her up if you wish, if 
 it is necessary. But I thought I might be 
 her husband.' 
 
 ' We have heard that before.' 
 
 ' Now, Mrs. Yeobright, don't let us dis- 
 agree. Give me a fair time. I don't want 
 to stand in the way of any better chance she 
 may have ; only I wish you had let me know 
 earlier. I will write to you or call in a day 
 or two. Will that suffice ? ' 
 
 * Yes,' she replied, ' provided you promise 
 not to communicate with Thomasin without 
 my knowledge.' 
 
 ' I promise that,' he s;aid. And the inter- 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 223 
 
 view then terminated, Mrs. Yeobright return- 
 ing homeward as she had come. 
 
 By far the greatest effect of her strategy 
 on that day was, as often happens, in a 
 quarter quite outside her view when arrang- 
 ing it. In the first place, her visit sent 
 Wildeve the same evening after dark to 
 Eustacia's house at Mistover. 
 
 At this hour the lonely dwelling was 
 closely blinded and shuttered from the chill 
 and darkness without. Wildeve's clandestine 
 plan with her was to take a little gravel in 
 his hand and hold it to the crevice at the 
 top of the window-shutter, which was on the 
 outside, so that it should fall with a gentle 
 rustle, resembling that of a mouse, between 
 shutter and glass. This precaution in attract- 
 inor her attention was to avoid arousing the 
 suspicions of her grandfather. 
 
 The soft words, ' I hear ; w^ait for me,' 
 in Eustacia's voice from within told him that 
 she was alone. 
 
 He waited in his customary manner by 
 
2 24 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 walking round the enclosure and Idling by 
 the pool, for Wildeve was never asked into 
 the house by his proud though condescending 
 mistress. She showed no sign of coming 
 out in a hurry. The time wore on, and he 
 began to grow impatient. In the course of 
 twenty minutes she appeared from round the 
 corner, and advanced as if merely taking an 
 airing. 
 
 ' You would not have kept me so long 
 had you known what I come about,' he said 
 with bitterness. * Still, you are worth wait- 
 ing for.' His depression was evident. 
 
 ' What has happened?' said Eustacia. ' I 
 did not know you were In trouble. I too am 
 gloomy enough.' 
 
 * I am not in trouble,' said he. 'It is 
 merely that affairs have come to a head, and 
 I must take a clear course.' 
 
 ' What course is that ? ' she asked with 
 attentive interest. 
 
 * And can you forget so soon what I pro- 
 posed to you the other night ? Why, take 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 225 
 
 you from this place, make you mine, and 
 carry you away with me abroad.' 
 
 ' I have not forgotten. But why have 
 you come so unexpectedly to repeat the 
 question, when you only promised to come 
 next Saturday ? I thought I was to have 
 plenty of time to consider.' 
 
 ' Yes, but the situation is different now.' 
 
 ' Explain to me.' 
 
 * I don't want to explain, for I may pain 
 you.' 
 
 ' But I must know the reason of this 
 hurry.' 
 
 ' It is simply my ardour, dear Eustacia. 
 Everything is smooth now.' 
 
 ' Then why are you so ruffled ? ' 
 
 * I am not aware of it. All is as it should 
 be. Mrs. YeobnVht — but she is nothing to 
 us.' 
 
 ' Ah, I knew she had something to do 
 with it ! Come, I don't like reserve.' 
 
 'No — she has nothing. She only says 
 she wishes me to give up Thomasin because 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
2 26 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 another man is anxious to marry her. The 
 woman, now she no longer needs me, actually 
 shows off ! ' Wildeve's vexation had escaped 
 him in spite of himself. 
 
 Eustacia was silent a long while. ' You 
 are in the awkward position of an official 
 who is no longer wanted,' she said in a 
 chano^ed tone. 
 
 ' It seems so. But I have not yet seen 
 Thomasin.' 
 
 * And that irritates you. Don't deny it, 
 Damon. You are actually nettled by this 
 slight from an unexpected quarter.' 
 
 ^Well?' 
 
 ' And you come to get me because you 
 cannot get her. This is certainly a new 
 position altogether. I am to be a stop- 
 gap.' 
 
 ' Please remember that I proposed the 
 same thing the other day.' 
 
 Eustacia again remained in a sort of 
 stupefied silence. What curious feeling was 
 this coming over her ? Was it really pos- 
 
THE THREE WOMEX. 2 2/ 
 
 sible that her interest in Wildeve had been so 
 entirely the result of antagonism that the 
 glory and the dream departed from the man 
 with the first sound that he was no loneer 
 coveted by her rival ? She was, then, secure 
 of him at last. Thomasin no longer required 
 him. What a humiliating victory ! He 
 loved her best, she thought ; and yet — dared 
 she to murmur such treacherous criticism ever 
 so softly ? — what was the man worth whom 
 a woman inferior to herself did not value ? 
 The sentiment which lurks more or less in all 
 animate nature — that of not desiring the un- 
 desired of others — was lively as a passion in 
 the supersubtle, epicurean heart of Eustacia. 
 Her social superiority over him, which 
 hitherto had scarcely ever impressed her, 
 became unpleasantly insistent, and for the 
 first time she felt that she had stooped in 
 loving him. 
 
 ' Well, darling, you agree ? ' said Wildeve. 
 
 ' If it could be Budmouth instead of 
 America,' she murmured languidly. 
 
 Q2 
 
2 28 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 * Budmouth Is nonsense. It is not far 
 enough away.' 
 
 * Yes, I see,' she said ; ' I will think. It 
 is too great a thing for me to decide off-hand. 
 I wish I hated the heath less — or loved you 
 more.' 
 
 * You can be painfully frank. You loved 
 me a month ago warmly enough to go any- 
 w^here with me.' 
 
 ' And you loved Thomasin.' 
 
 * Yes, perhaps that was where the reason 
 lay,' he returned, with almost a sneer. ' I 
 don't hate her now.' 
 
 ' Exactly. The only thing is that you 
 can no longer get her.' 
 
 ' Come — no taunts, Eustacia, or we shall 
 quarrel. If you don't agree to go with me, 
 and agree shortly, I shall go by myself.' 
 
 * Or try Thomasin again. Damon, how 
 strange it seems that you could have married 
 her or me indifferently, and only have come 
 to me because I am — cheapest ! Yes, yes — 
 it is true. There was a time when I should 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 2 29 
 
 have exclaimed against a man of that sort, 
 and been quite wild ; but it is all past 
 now.' 
 
 * Will you go, dearest ? Come secretly 
 with me to Bristol, marry me, and turn our 
 backs upon this doghole of England for ever ? 
 Say yes.' 
 
 ' I want to get aw^ay from here at almost 
 any cost,' she said with w^eariness, ' but I 
 don't like to go with you. Give me more 
 time to decide.' 
 
 ' I have already,' said Wildeve. ' Well, I 
 give you one more w^eek.' 
 
 ' A little longer, so that I may tell you 
 decisively. I have to consider so many 
 things. Fancy Thomasin being anxious to 
 get of rid you ! I cannot forget it.' 
 
 ' Never mind that. Say Monday w^eek. 
 I will be here precisely at this time.' 
 
 * Let It be at Blackbarrow,' said she. 
 ' This Is too near home ; my grandfather 
 may be walking out.' 
 
 ' Thank you, dear. On INIonday week at 
 
230 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 this time I will be at the Barrow. Till then 
 good-bye.' 
 
 ' Good-bye. No, no, you must not touch 
 my lips. Shaking hands is enough till I have 
 made up my mind.' 
 
 Eustacia watched his shadowy form till it 
 had disappeared. She placed her hand to 
 her forehead and breathed heavily ; and then 
 her rich, romantic lips parted under that 
 homely impulse — a yawn. She was imme- 
 diately angry at having betrayed even to her- 
 self the possible evanescence of her passion 
 for him. She could not admit at once that 
 she might have over-estimated Wildeve, for 
 to perceive his mediocrity now was to admit 
 her own great folly heretofore. And the 
 discovery that she was the owner of a dispo- 
 sition so purely that of the dog in the manger 
 had something in it which at first made her 
 ashamed. 
 
 The fruits of Mrs. Yeobright's diplomacy 
 were indeed remarkable, though not as yet 
 of the kind she had anticipated. It had ap- 
 
THE THREE WOMEN. 23 1 
 
 preciably influenced Wildeve, but it was in- 
 fluencinof Eustacia far more. Her lover was 
 no longer to her an exciting man whom many 
 women strove for, and herself could only win 
 by striving with them. He was a superfluity. 
 
 She went indoors in that peculiar state of 
 misery which is not exactly grief, and which 
 specially attends the dawnings of reason in 
 the latter days of an ill-judged, transient love. 
 To be conscious that the end of the dream is 
 approaching, and yet has not absolutely come, 
 is one of the most wearisome as well as the 
 most curious situations along the whole course 
 between the beginning of a passion and its 
 end. 
 
 Her grandfather had returned, and was 
 busily engaged in pouring some gallons of 
 newly-arrived rum into the square bottles of 
 his square cellaret. Whenever these home 
 supplies were exhausted he would go to the 
 Ouiet Woman, and, standinof with his back 
 to the fire, grog in hand, tell remarkable 
 stories of how he had lived seven years 
 
232 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 under the water-line of his ship, and other 
 naval wonders, to the natives, who hoped 
 too earnestly for a treat of ale from the teller 
 to exhibit any doubts of his truth. 
 
 He had been there this evening. * I sup- 
 pose you have heard the Egdon news, 
 Eustacia ? ' he said, without looking up from 
 the bottles. ' The men have been talking 
 about it at the Woman as if it were of 
 national importance.' 
 
 * I have heard none,' she said. 
 
 ' Young Clym Yeobright, as they call him, 
 is coming home next week to spend Christ- 
 mas with his mother. He is a fine fellow by 
 this time, it seems. I suppose you remem- 
 ber him ? ' 
 
 * I never saw him in my life.' 
 
 * Ah, true ; he left before you came here. 
 I well remember him as a promising boy.' 
 
 ' Where has he been living all these 
 years ? ' 
 
 * In that rookery of pomp and vanity, 
 Paris, I believe.' 
 
BOOK SECOND 
 
 THE ARRIVAL 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 TIDINGS OF THE COMER. 
 
 On fine days at this time of the }'ear, and 
 earlier, certain ephemeral operations were apt 
 to disturb, in their trifling way, the majestic 
 calm of Egdon Heath. They were activities 
 which, beside those of a town, a village, or 
 even a farm, would have appeared as the 
 ferment of stagnation merely, a creeping of 
 the flesh of somnolence. But here, away 
 from comparisons, shut in by the stable hills, 
 among which mere walking had the novelty 
 of pageantry, and where any man could 
 imagine himself to be Adam without the 
 least difficulty, they attracted the attention of 
 every bird within eyeshot, every reptile not 
 yet asleep, and set the surrounding rabbits 
 
236 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 curiously watching from hillocks at a safe 
 distance. 
 
 The performance was that of bringing" 
 together and building into a stack the furze- 
 faggots which Humphrey had been cutting 
 for the Captain s use during the foregoing fine 
 days. The stack was at the end of the dwell- 
 ing, and the men engaged in building it were 
 Humphrey and Sam, the old man looking on. 
 
 It was a fine and quiet afternoon, about 
 three o'clock ; but the winter solstice having 
 stealthily come on, the lowness of the sun 
 caused the hour to seem later than it actually 
 was, there being little here to remind an 
 inhabitant that he must unlearn his summxcr 
 experience of the sky as a dial. In the 
 course of many days and weeks sunrise had 
 advanced its quarters from north-east to 
 south-east, sunset had receded from north- 
 west to south-west ; but Egdon had hardly 
 heeded the change. 
 
 Eustacia was indoors in the dining-room, 
 which was really more like a kitchen, having 
 
THE ARRIVAI.. 2-^"] 
 
 a Stone floor and a gaping chimney-corner. 
 The air was still, and while she lingered a 
 moment here alone sounds of voices in con- 
 versation came to her ears directly down the 
 chimney. She entered the recess, and, lis- 
 tening, looked up the old irregular shaft, with 
 its cavernous hollows, where the smoke blun- 
 dered about on its way to the square bit of 
 sky at the top, from which the daylight struck 
 down with a pallid glare upon the tatters of 
 soot draping the flue as sea- weed drapes a 
 rocky fissure. 
 
 She remembered : the furze-stack was not 
 far from the chimney, and the voices were 
 those of the workers. 
 
 Her grandfather joined in the conversa- 
 tion. ' That lad ought never to have left 
 home. His father's occupation would have 
 suited him best, and the boy should have 
 followed on. I don't believe In these new 
 moves in families. My father was a sailor, 
 so was I, and so should my son have been if 
 I had had one.' 
 
238 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 * The place he's been hving at is Paris/ 
 said Humphrey, 'and they tell me 'tis where 
 the king's head was cut off years ago. My poor 
 mother used to tell me about that business. 
 '' Hummy," she used to say, " I was a young 
 eirl then, and as I was at home ironinof 
 mother's caps one afternoon the parson came 
 in and said, '' They've cut the king's head 
 off, Jane ; and what 'twill be next God 
 knows." ' 
 
 ' A good many of us knew as well as He 
 before long,' said the Captain, chuckling. ' I 
 lived seven years under water on account of 
 it in my boyhood — in that damned surgery 
 of the Trmmph, seeing men brought down to 
 the cockpit with their legs and arms blown 
 to Jericho. . . . And so the young man has 
 settled in Paris. A jeweller's manager, or 
 some such thing, is he not ? ' 
 
 * Yes, sir, that's it. 'Tis a blazing great 
 shop that he belongs to, so I've heard his 
 mother say — like a king's palace as far as 
 diments go. Ear-drops and rings by hat- 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 239 
 
 fuls ; gold platters ; chains enough to hold 
 an ox, all washed in gold.' 
 
 ' I can well mind when he left home,' said 
 Sam. 
 
 ' 'Tis a good thing for the feller,' said 
 Humphrey. ' A sight of times better to be 
 sellino: diments than nobblincr about here.' 
 
 ' It must cost a good few shillings to deal 
 at such a shop.' 
 
 ' A good few indeed, my man,' replied 
 the Captain. ' Yes, you may make away with 
 a deal of money and be neither drunkard nor 
 glutton.' 
 
 ' They say, too, that Clym Yeobright is 
 become a real perusing man, with the strangest 
 notions about things. There, that's because 
 he went to school early, such as the school 
 was.' 
 
 * Strange notions has he,' said the old 
 man. * Ah, there's too much of that sending 
 to school in these days ! It only does harm. 
 Every gatepost and barn's door you come to 
 Is sure to have some bad word or other 
 
240 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 chalked upon It by the young rascals : a 
 woman can hardly pass for shame sometimes. 
 If they'd never been taught how to write they 
 wouldn't have been able to scribble such 
 villany. Their fathers couldn't do it, and the 
 country was all the better for It.' 
 
 * Now, I should think, Cap'n, that Miss 
 Eustacia had about as much In her head that 
 comes from books as anybody about here ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps if Miss Eustacia, too, had less 
 romantic nonsense in her head It would be 
 better for her,' said the Captain shortly ; 
 after which he walked away. 
 
 * I say, Sam,' observed Humphrey when 
 the old man was gone, ' she and Clym 
 Yeobright would make a very pretty pigeon 
 pair — hey ? If they wouldn't I'll be dazed ! 
 Both of one mind about niceties for certain, 
 and learned In print, and always thinking 
 about high doctrine — there couldn't be a 
 better couple if they were made o' purpose. 
 Clym's family Is as good as hers. His father 
 was a farmer, that's true ; but his mother was 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 24 1 
 
 a sort of lady, as we know. Nothing would 
 please me better than to see them two man 
 and wife.' 
 
 ' They'd look very natty, arm-in-crook 
 toeether, and their best clothes on, whether 
 or no, if he's at all the well-favoured fellow 
 he used to be.' 
 
 * They would, Humphrey. Well, I 
 should like to see the chap terrible much 
 after so many years. If I knew for certain 
 when he was cominof I'd stroll out three or 
 four miles to meet him and help carry any- 
 thing for'n ; though I suppose he's altered 
 from the boy he was. They say he can talk 
 French as fast as a maid can eat blackberries ; 
 and if so, depend upon it vre who have stayed 
 at home shall seem no more than scroff in 
 his eyes.' 
 
 ' Coming across the water to Budmouth 
 by steamer, isn't he ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; but hov/ he's coming from Bud- 
 mouth I don't know.' 
 
 * That's a bad trouble about his cousin 
 
 VOL. L R 
 
242 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 Thomasin. I wonder such a nice-notioned 
 fellow as Clym likes to come home Into it. 
 What a nunny watch we were in, to be sure, 
 when we heard they weren't married at all, 
 after sineine to 'em as man and wife that 
 
 o o 
 
 nieht ! Be dazed if I should like a relation of 
 mine to have been made such a fool of by a 
 man. It makes the family look small.' 
 
 ' Yes. Poor maid, her heart has ached 
 enoueh about it. Her health is suffering 
 from it, I hear, for she will bide entirely 
 indoors. We never see her out now, 
 scampering over the furze with a face as 
 red as a rose, as she used to do.' 
 
 ' I've heard she wouldn't have Wildeve 
 now if he asked her.' 
 
 ' You have ? 'Tis news to me.' 
 
 While the furze-gatherers had desultorily 
 conversed thus Eustacia's face gradually bent 
 to the hearth in a profound reverie, her toe 
 unconsciously tapping the dry turf which lay 
 burning at her feet. 
 
 The subject of their discourse had been 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 243 
 
 keenly interesting to her. A young and clever 
 man was coming into that lonely heath from, 
 of all contrasting places in the world, Paris. 
 It was like a man coming from heaven. 
 More singular still, the heathmen had in- 
 stinctively coupled her and this man together 
 in their minds as a pair born for each other. 
 
 That five minutes of overhearine fur- 
 nished Eustacia w^ith visions enough to fill 
 the whole blank afternoon. Such sudden 
 alterations from mental vacuity do sometimes 
 occur thus quietly. She could never have 
 believed in the morning that her colourless 
 inner world would before night become as 
 animated as water under a microscope, and 
 that without the arrival of a single visitor. 
 The words of Sam and Humphrey on the 
 harmony between the unknown and herself 
 had on her mind the effect of the invadino- 
 Bard's prelude in the ' Castle of Indolence,' at 
 which myriads of imprisoned shapes arose 
 where had previously appeared the stillness 
 of a void. 
 
 R 2 
 
244 THE RETURN OP^ THE NATIVE. 
 
 Involved In these Imaginings, she knew 
 nothino- of time. When she became con- 
 scions of externals it was dusk. The furze- 
 rick was finished ; the men had gone home. 
 Eustacia went up stairs, thinking that she 
 would take a walk at this her usual time ; 
 and she determined that her walk should be 
 in the direction of Blooms-End, the birth- 
 place of young Yeobright and the present 
 home of his mother. She had no reason for 
 walking elsewhere, and why should she not 
 go that way ? The scene of a daydream is 
 sufficient for a pilgrimage at nineteen. To 
 look at the palings before the Yeobrights' 
 house had the dignity of a necessar)^ per- 
 formance. Strange that such a piece of 
 idling should have seemed an important 
 errand. 
 
 She put on her bonnet, and, leaving the 
 house, descended the hill on the side towards 
 Blooms- End, where she walked slowly along 
 the valley for a distance of a mile and a half. 
 This brought her to a spot in which the 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 245 
 
 green bottom of the dale began to widen, 
 the furze bushes to recede yet further from 
 the path on each side, till they were dim- 
 inished to an isolated one here and there 
 by the increasing fertility of the soil. Be- 
 yond the irregular carpet of grass was a row 
 of white palings, which marked the verge of 
 the heath in this latitude. They showed 
 upon the dusky scene that they bordered as 
 distinctly as white lace on velvet. Behind 
 the white palings was a little garden ; behind 
 the garden an old, irregular, thatched house, 
 facing the heath, and commanding a full view 
 of the valley. This was the obscure, re- 
 moved spot to which was about to return a 
 man whose latter life had been passed in the 
 French capital — the centre and vortex of the 
 fashionable world. 
 
246 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PEOPLE AT BLOOMS-END :yL\KE READY. 
 
 All that afternoon the expected arrival of 
 the subject of Eustacia's ruminations created 
 a bustle of preparation at Blooms-End. Tho- 
 masin had been persuaded by her aunt, and 
 by an instinctive impulse of loyalty towards 
 her cousin Clym, to bestir herself on his ac- 
 count with an alacrity unusual in her during 
 these most sorrowful days of her life. At 
 the time that Eustacia was listening to the 
 rick-makers' conversation on Clym's return, 
 Thomasin was climbing into a loft over 
 her aunt's fuel-house, where the store-apples 
 were kept, to search out the best and largest 
 of them for the coming holiday-time. 
 
 The loft was lighted by a semicircular 
 hole, through which the pigeons crept to 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 247 
 
 their lodgings in the same high quarters of 
 the premises ; and from this hole the sun 
 shone in a bright yellow patch upon the 
 fioure of the maiden as she knelt and 
 plunged her naked arms into the soft brown 
 fern, which, from its abundance, was used on 
 Egdon in packing away stores of all kinds. 
 The pigeons were flying about her head with 
 the greatest unconcern, and the face of her 
 aunt was just visible above the floor of the 
 loft, lit by a few stray motes of light, as she 
 stood halfway up the ladder, looking at a 
 spot into which she was not climber enough 
 to venture. 
 
 ' Now a few russets, Tamsin. He used 
 to like them almost as well as ribstones.' 
 
 Thomasin turned and rolled aside the 
 fern from another nook, where more mellow 
 fruit greeted her with its ripe smell. Before 
 picking them out she stopped a moment. 
 
 ' Dear Clym, I wonder how your face 
 looks now ? ' she said, gazing abtractedly at 
 the pigeon-hole, which admitted the sunlight 
 
248 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 SO directly upon her brown hair and trans- 
 parent tissues that it ahnost seemed to shine 
 throuoh her. 
 
 ' If he could have been dear to you in 
 another way/ said Mrs. Yeobright from the 
 ladder, ' this might have been a happy meet- 
 ing.' 
 
 ' Is there any use in saying what can do 
 no good, aunt ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said her aunt, with some warmth. 
 ' To thoroughly fill the air with the past mis- 
 fortune, so that other girls may take warning 
 and keep clear of it.' 
 
 Thomasin lowered her face to the apples 
 again. ' I am a warning to others, just as 
 thieves and drunkards and gamblers are,' she 
 said in a low voice. ' What a class to be- 
 long to ! Do I really belong to them ? 'Tis 
 absurd ! Yet why, aunt, does everybody 
 keep on making me think that I do, by the 
 way they behave towards me ? Why don't 
 people judge me by my acts ? Now, look at 
 me as I kneel here, picking up these apples 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 249 
 
 — do I look like a lost woman ? . . . I wish 
 all good women were as good as I !' she 
 added vehemently. 
 
 ' Strangers don't see you as I do/ said 
 Mrs. Yeobright ; ' they judge from false re- 
 port. Well, it is a silly job, and I am partly 
 to blame.' 
 
 ' How quickly a rash thing can be done !' 
 replied the girl. Her lips were quivering, and 
 tears so crowded themselves into her eyes 
 that she could hardly distinguish apples from 
 fern as she continued industriously searching 
 to hide her weakness. 
 
 ' As soon as you have finished getting 
 the apples,' her aunt said, descending the 
 ladder, * come down, and we'll go for the 
 holly. There is nobody on the heath this 
 afternoon, and you need not fear being 
 stared at. We must get some berries, or 
 Clym will never believe In our preparations.' 
 
 Thomasin came down when the apples 
 were collected, and together they went 
 through the white palings to the heath be- 
 
250 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 yond. The open hills were airy and clear, 
 and the remote atmosphere appeared, as it 
 often appears on a fine winter day, in distinct 
 planes of illumination independently toned, 
 the rays which lit the nearer tracts of land- 
 scape streaming visibly across those further 
 off: a stratum of ensaffroned light was im- 
 posed on a stratum of deep blue, and behind 
 these lay still remoter scenes wrapped in 
 frigid grey. 
 
 They reached the place where the hollies 
 grew, which was in a conical pit, so that the 
 tops of the trees were not much above the 
 ofeneral level of the o^round. Thomasin 
 stepped up into a fork of one of the bushes, 
 as she had done under happier circumstances 
 on many similar occasions, and with a small 
 chopper that they had brought she began to 
 lop off the heavily-berried boughs. 
 
 ' Don't scratch your face,' said her aunt, 
 who stood at the edge of the pit, regarding 
 the girl as she held on amid the glistening 
 ereen and scarlet masses of the tree. ' Will 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 25 I 
 
 you walk with me to meet him this even- 
 ing?' 
 
 ' I should like to. Else it would seem as 
 if I had forofotten him,' said Thomasin, toss- 
 ine out a bou^h. ' Not that that would 
 matter much ; I belong to one man ; nothing- 
 can alter that. And that man I must marry, 
 for my pride s sake.' 
 
 * I am afraid ' began Mrs. Yeobright. 
 
 * Ah, you think, " That weak girl — how 
 is she going to get a man to marry her when 
 she chooses?" But let me tell you one 
 thing, aunt : Mr. Wildeve is not a profligate 
 man, any more than I am an improper 
 woman. He has an unfortunate manner, and 
 doesn't try to make people like him if the}* 
 don't wish to do it of their own accord.' 
 
 ' Thomasin,' said Mrs. Yeobright quietly, 
 fixing her eye upon her niece, ' do you think 
 you deceive me in your defence of Mr. 
 Wildeve ? ' 
 
 * How do you mean ? ' 
 
 * I have long had a suspicion that your 
 
252 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 love for him has changed its colour since you 
 have found him not to be the saint you 
 thought him, and that you act a part to me.' 
 
 ' He wished to marry me, and I wish to 
 marry him.' 
 
 * Now, I put it to you : would you at this 
 present moment agree to be his wife if that 
 had not happened to entangle you with him ? ' 
 
 Thomasin looked into the tree and ap- 
 peared much disturbed. ,. 'Aunt,' she said 
 presently, ' I have, I think, a right to refuse 
 to answer that question.' 
 
 * Yes, you have.' 
 
 *You may think what you choose. I 
 have never implied to you by word or deed 
 that I have grown to think otherwise of him, 
 and I never will. And I shall marry him.' 
 
 'Well, wait till he repeats his offer. I 
 think he may do it, now that he knows — 
 something I told him. I don't for a moment 
 dispute that it is the most proper thing for 
 you to marry him. Much as I have objected 
 to him in bygone days, I agree with 30U 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 253 
 
 now, you maybe sure. It Is the only wa)' 
 out of a false position, and a very galling- one.' 
 ' What did you tell him ? ' 
 
 * That he was standing in the wa}' of 
 another lover of yours.' 
 
 * Aunt,' said Thomasin, with round eyes, 
 ' what do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Don't be alarmed ; it was my duty. I 
 can say no more about it now, but Avhen it 
 is over I will tell you exactly what I said, 
 and why I said it.' 
 
 Thomasin was perforce content. 
 
 ' And you will keep the secret of my 
 would-be marriage from Clym for the pre- 
 sent ? ' she next asked. 
 
 ' I have given my word to. But what is 
 the use of it ? He must soon know what 
 has happened. A mere look at your face 
 will show him that somethinqf is wrone.' 
 
 Thomasin turned and regarded her aunt 
 from the tree. * Now, hearken to me,' she 
 said, her delicate voice expanding into firm- 
 ness by a force which was other than ph)-- 
 
2 54 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 sical. ' Tell him nothing. If he finds out 
 that I am not worthy to be his cousin, let 
 him. But, since he loved me once, we will 
 not pain him by telling him my trouble too 
 soon. The air is full of the story, I know ; 
 but gossips will not dare to speak of it to 
 him for the first few days. His closeness 
 to me is the very thing that will hinder the 
 tale from reaching him early. If I am not 
 made safe from sneers in a week or two I 
 will tell him myself.' 
 
 The earnestness with which Thomasin 
 spoke prevented further objections. Her 
 aunt simply said, ' Very well. He should 
 by rights have been told at the time that 
 the wedding was going to be. He will never 
 forgive you for your secresy.' 
 
 ' Yes, he will, when he knows it was 
 because I wished to spare him, and that I 
 did not expect him home so soon. And you 
 must not let me stand in the way of your 
 Christmas party. Putting it off would only 
 make matters worse.' 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 255 
 
 ' Of course I shall not. I don't wish to 
 show myself beaten before all Egdon, and 
 the sport of a man like Wilde\^e. We have 
 enough berries now, I think, and w^e had 
 better take them home. By the time w^e 
 have decked the house w^ith this, and hung 
 up the mistletoe, we must think of starting 
 to meet him.' 
 
 Thomasin came out of the tree, shook 
 from her hair and dress the loose berries 
 which had fallen thereon, and went down 
 the hill w^ith her aunt, each woman bearing 
 half the gathered boughs. It w^as now nearly 
 four o'clock, and the sunlight w^as leaving 
 the vales. When the west grew^ red the 
 two relatives came again from the house and 
 plunged into the heath in a different direction 
 from the first, tow^ards a point in the distant 
 highway along wmich the expected man w^as 
 to return. 
 
256 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HOW A LITTLE SOUND PRODUCED A GREAT 
 
 DREAM. 
 
 EusTACiA Stood just within the heath, strain- 
 ing her eyes in the direction of Mrs. Yeo- 
 bright's house and premises. No hght, 
 sound, or movement was perceptible there. 
 The evening was chilly ; the spot was dark 
 and lonely. She inferred that the guest had 
 not yet come ; and after lingering ten or 
 fifteen minutes she turned again towards 
 home. 
 
 She had not far retraced her steps when 
 sounds in front of her betokened the ap- 
 proach of persons in conversation along the 
 same path. Soon their heads became visible 
 against the sky. They were walking slowly ; 
 and thouQ^h it was too dark for much dis- 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 257 
 
 covery of character from aspect, the gait of 
 them showed that they were not workers on 
 the heath. Eustacia stepped a Httle out of 
 the foot-track to let them pass. They were 
 two women and a man ; and the voices of 
 the women were those of Mrs. Yeobrleht 
 and Thomasin. 
 
 They went by her, and at the moment of 
 passing appeared to discern her dusky form. 
 There came to her ears in a mascuHne voice, 
 ' Good-night' 
 
 She murmured a reply, glided by them, 
 and turned round. She could not, for a 
 moment, believe that chance, unrequested, 
 had brought into her presence the soul of the 
 house she had gone to inspect, the man with- 
 out whom her inspection would not have 
 been thought of. 
 
 She strained her eyes to see them, but 
 was unable. Such was her intentness, how- 
 ever, that it seemed as if her ears were per- 
 forminof the functions of seeine^ as well as 
 hearing. This extension of power can almost 
 
 VOL. L s 
 
258 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 be believed in at such moments. The deaf 
 Dr. Kitto was probably under the influence 
 of a parallel fancy when he described his 
 body as having become, by long endeavour, 
 so sensitive to vibrations that he had gained 
 the power of perceiving by it as by ears. 
 
 She could follow every word that the 
 ramblers uttered. They were talking no 
 secrets. They were merely Indulging in the 
 ordinary vivacious chat of relatives who have 
 long been parted in person though not in 
 soul. But it was not to the words that 
 Eustacia listened ; she could not even have 
 recalled, a few minutes later, what the words 
 were. It was to the alternating voice that 
 eave out about one-tenth of them — the voice 
 that had wished her good-night. Sometimes 
 this throat uttered Yes, sometimes it uttered 
 No ; sometimes it made inquiries about a 
 time-worn denizen of the place. Once it 
 surprised her notions by remarking upon the 
 friendliness and geniality written in the faces 
 of the hills around. 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 259 
 
 The three voices passed on, and decayed 
 and died out upon her ear. Thus much had 
 been granted her ; and all besides withheld. 
 No event could have been more exciting. 
 During the greater part of the afternoon she 
 had been entrancing herself by imagining the 
 fascination which must attend a man come 
 direct from beautiful Paris — laden with its 
 atmosphere, familiar with its charms. And 
 this man had greeted her. 
 
 With the departure of the figures the pro- 
 fuse articulations of the women wasted away 
 from her memory ; but the accents of the 
 other stayed on. Was there anything in the 
 voice of Mrs. Yeobright's son — for Clym it 
 was — phenomenal as a sound ? No : it was 
 simply comprehensive. All emotional things 
 were possible to the speaker of that good- 
 night. Eustacia's imagination supplied the 
 rest — except the solution to one riddle. What 
 coitldth^ tastes of that man be who saw friend- 
 liness and geniality in these shaggy hills ? 
 
 On such occasions as this a thousand 
 
 s 2 
 
26o THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE, 
 
 ideas pass through a highly charged woman's 
 head ; and they indicate themselves on her 
 face ; but the changes, though actual, are 
 minute. Eustacia's features went through a 
 rhythmical succession of them. She glowed ; 
 remembering the mendacity of the imagina- » 
 tion, she flagged ; then she freshened ; then 
 she fired ; then she cooled again. It was a 
 cycle of aspects, produced by a cycle of visions. 
 
 Eustacia entered her own house ; she was 
 excited. Her grandfather was enjoying him- 
 self over the fire, raking about the ashes and 
 exposing the red-hot surface of the turves, so 
 that their lurid glare irradiated the chimney- 
 corner with the hues of a furnace. 
 
 ' Why Is It that we are never friendly with 
 the Yeobrlghts ? ' she said, coming forward 
 and stretching her soft hands over the warmth. 
 ' I wish we were. They seem to be very 
 nice people.' 
 
 * Be hanged If I know why,' said the 
 Captain. ' I liked the old man well enough, 
 though he was as rough as a hedge. But 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 26 I 
 
 you would never have cared to go there, even 
 if you might have, I am well sure.' 
 
 ' Why shouldn't I ? ' 
 
 ' Your town tastes would find them far 
 too countrified. They sit in the kitchen, 
 drink mead and elder wine, and sand the floor 
 to keep it clean. A sensible way of life ; but 
 how would you like it ? ' 
 
 * I thought Mrs. Yeobright was a ladylike 
 woman ? A curate's daughter, was she not? ' 
 
 * Yes ; but she was obliged to live as her 
 husband did ; and I suppose she has taken 
 kindly to it by this time. Ah, I recollect that 
 I once accidentally offended her, and I have 
 never seen her since.' 
 
 That night was an eventful one to Eusta- 
 cia's brain, and one which she hardly ever 
 forgot. She dreamt a dream ; and few human 
 beings, from Nebuchadnezzar to the S waff ham 
 tinker, ever dreamed a more remarkable one. 
 Such an elaborately developed, perplexing, 
 exciting dream was certainly never dreamed 
 by a girl in Eustacia's situation before. It 
 
262 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 had as many ramifications as the Cretan 
 labyrinth, as many fluctuations as the North- 
 ern Lights, as much colour as a parterre in 
 June, was as crowded with figures as a coro- 
 nation. To Oueen Scheherezade the dream 
 might have seemed not far removed from 
 commonplace. To a girl just returned from 
 all the Courts of Europe it might have 
 seemed not more than interesting. But amid 
 the circumstances of Eustacia's life it was as 
 wonderful as a dream could be. 
 
 There was, however, gradually evolved 
 from its transformation scenes a less extrava- 
 gant episode, in v/hich the heath dimly ap- 
 peared behind the general brilliancy of the 
 action. She was dancing to wondrous music, 
 and her partner was the man in silver armour, 
 who had accompanied her through the pre- 
 vious fantastic changes, the visor of his hel- 
 met being closed. The mazes of the dance 
 were ecstatic. Soft whispering came into 
 her ear from under the radiant helmet, and 
 she felt like a woman in Paradise. Sud- 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 263 
 
 denly these two wheeled out from the mass 
 of dancers, dived into one of the pools of the 
 heath, and came out somewhere beneath into 
 an iridescent hollow, arched with rainbows. 
 * It must be here,' said the voice by her 
 side, and blushingly looking- up she saw him 
 removing his casque to kiss her. At that 
 moment there was a cracking noise, and his 
 figure fell into fragments like a pack of cards. 
 
 She cried aloud, * O that I had seen his 
 face ! ' 
 
 Eustacia awoke. The cracking had been 
 that of the window-shutter downstairs, which 
 the maid-servant was opening to let in the 
 day, now slowly increasing to Nature's 
 meagre allowance at this sickly time of the 
 year. ' O that I had seen his face ! ' she said 
 again. ' 'Twas meant for Mr. Yeobright ! ' 
 
 When she became cooler she perceived 
 that many of the phases of the dream had 
 naturally arisen out of the images and fancies 
 of the day before. But this detracted little 
 from its interest, which lay in the excellent 
 
264 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 fuel It provided for newly-kindled fervour. 
 She was at the modulating point between In- 
 difference and love, at the stage called having 
 a fancy for. It occurs once in the history of 
 the most gigantic passions, and It Is a period 
 when they are in the hands of the weakest 
 will. 
 
 The perfervid woman was by this time 
 half In love with a vision. The fantastic 
 nature of her passion, which lowered her as 
 an intellect, raised her as a soul. If she had 
 had a little more self-control she would have 
 attenuated the emotion to nothing by sheer 
 reasoning, and so have killed It off. If she 
 had had a little less pride she might have 
 gone and circumambulated the Yeobrlghts' 
 premises at Blooms-End at any maidenly 
 sacrifice until she had seen him. But 
 Eustacia did neither of these things. She 
 acted as the most exemplary might have 
 acted, being so Influenced ; she took an air- 
 ing twice or thrice a day upon the Egdon 
 hills, and kept her eyes employed. 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 265 
 
 The first occasion passed, and he did not 
 come that way. 
 
 She promenaded a second time, and was 
 again the sole wanderer there. 
 
 The third time there was a dense fog : 
 she looked around, but without much hope. 
 Even if he had been walking within twenty 
 yards of her she could not have seen him. 
 
 At the fourth attempt to encounter him it 
 began to rain in torrents, and she turned back. 
 
 The fifth sally was in the afternoon : it 
 was fine, and she remained out long, walk- 
 ing to the very top of the valley in which 
 Blooms-End lay. She saw the white paling 
 about half-a-mile off; but he did not appear. 
 It was almost with heartsickness that she 
 came home, and with a sense of shame at 
 her weakness. She resolved to look for the 
 man from Paris no more. 
 
 But Providence is nothing if not coquet- 
 tish ; and no sooner had Eustacia formed 
 this resolve than the opportunity came which, 
 while sought, had been entirely withholden. 
 
266 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EUSTACIA IS LED ON TO AN ADVENTURE. 
 
 In the evening of this last day of expecta- 
 tion, which was the twenty-third of Decem- 
 ber, Eustacia was at home alone. She had 
 passed the recent hour in lamenting over a 
 rumour newly come to her ears — that Yeo- 
 bright's visit to his mother was to be of short 
 duration, and would end some time the next 
 week. ' Naturally,' she said to herself A 
 man in the full swinof of his activities in a 
 great city could not afford to linger long on 
 Egdon Heath. That she would behold face 
 to face the owner of the awakening voice 
 within the limits of such a holiday was most 
 unlikely, unless she were to haunt the en- 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 267 
 
 virons of his mother's house Hke a robin, to 
 do which was difficult and unseemly. 
 
 The customary expedient of provincial 
 eirls and men under such circumstances Is 
 churchgolng. In an ordinary village or 
 country-town one can safely calculate that, 
 either on Christmas-day or the Sunday con- 
 tiguous, any native home for the holidays, who 
 has not through age or emiui lost the appe- 
 tite for seeing and being seen, will turn up in 
 some pew or other, shining with hope, self- 
 consciousness, and new clothes. Thus the 
 congregation on Christmas morning Is mostly 
 a Tussaud collection of celebrities who have 
 been born In the neighbourhood. Hither the 
 mistress, left neglected at home all the year, 
 can steal and observe the development of the 
 returned lover who has forgotten her, and 
 think as she watches him over her prayer- 
 book that he may throb with a renewed 
 fidelity when novelties have lost their charm. 
 And hither a comparatively recent settler 
 like Eustacia may betake herself to scruti- 
 
268 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 nise the person of a native son who left 
 home before her advent upon the scene, 
 and consider if the friendship of his parents 
 be worth cultivating during his next absence 
 in order to secure a knowledge of him on his 
 next return. 
 
 But these tender schemes were not fea- 
 sible among the scattered inhabitants of 
 Egdon Heath. In name they were parish- 
 ioners, but virtually they belonged to no parish 
 at all. People who came to these few isolated 
 houses to keep Christmas with their friends 
 remained in their friends' chimney-corners 
 drinking mead and other comforting liquors 
 till they left again for good and all. Rain, 
 snow, ice, mud everywhere around, they did 
 not care to trudge two or three miles to sit 
 wet-footed and splashed to the nape of their 
 necks among those who, though in some mea- 
 sure neighbours, lived close to the church, 
 and entered it clean and dry. Eustacia knew 
 it was ten to one that Clym Yeobright would 
 go to no church at all during his few days of 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 269 
 
 leave, and that It would be a waste of labour 
 for her to go driving the pony and gig over 
 a bad road in hope to see him there. 
 
 It was dusk, and she was sitting by the 
 fire in the dining-room or hall, which they 
 occupied at this time of the year in prefer- 
 ence to the parlour, because of its large 
 hearth, constructed for turf-fires, a fuel the 
 Captain was partial to in the winter season. 
 The only visible articles in the room were 
 those on the window-sill, which showed their 
 shapes against the low sky : the middle 
 article being the old hour-glass, and the other 
 two a pair of ancient British urns which had 
 been dug from a barrow near, and were used 
 as flower-pots for two razor-leaved cactuses. 
 Somebody knocked at the door. The ser- 
 vant was out ; so was her grandfather. The 
 person, after waiting a minute, came in and 
 tapped at the door of the room. 
 
 ' Who's there ?' said Eustacia. 
 
 ' Please, Cap'n Drew, will you let us ' 
 
 Eustacia arose and went to the door. ' I 
 
270 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 cannot allow you to come in so boldly. You 
 should have waited.' 
 
 ' The Cap'n said I might come in without 
 any fuss,' was answered in a lad's pleasant 
 voice. 
 
 * Oh, did he ? ' said Eustacia more gently. 
 * What do you want, Charley ? ' 
 
 * Please will your grandfather lend us his 
 fuel-house to try over our parts in, to-night at 
 seven o'clock ? ' 
 
 ' What, are you one of the Egdon 
 mummers for this year ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, miss. The Cap'n used to let the 
 old mummers practise here.' 
 
 * I know it. Yes, you may use the fuel- 
 house if you like,' said Eustacia languidly. 
 
 The choice of Captain Drew's fuel-house 
 as the scene of rehearsal was dictated by the 
 fact that his dwelling was nearly in the centre 
 of the heath. The fuel-house was as roomy 
 as a barn, and w^as a most desirable place for 
 such a purpose. The lads who formed the 
 company of players lived at different scattered 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 27 I 
 
 points around, and by meeting in this spot 
 the distances to be traversed by all the 
 comers would be about equally proportioned. 
 
 Of mummers and mumming Eustacia had 
 the greatest contempt. The mummers them- 
 selves were not afflicted with any such feel- 
 ing for their art, though at the same tim.e they 
 were not enthusiastic. A traditional pastime 
 is to be distinguished from a mere revival in 
 no more striking feature than in this, that 
 while in the revival all is excitement and 
 fervour, the survival is carried on with a 
 stolidity and absence of stir which sets one 
 wondering why a thing that is done so per- 
 functorily should be kept up at all. Like 
 Balaam and other unwilling prophets, the 
 agents seem moved by an inner compul- 
 sion to say and do their allotted parts whether 
 they will or no. This unweeting manner of 
 performance is the true ring by which, in 
 this refurbishincr as'e, a fossilized survival 
 may be known from a spurious reproduction. 
 
 The piece was the well-known play of 
 
272 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' Saint George,' and all who were behind the 
 scenes assisted in the preparations, including 
 the females of each household. Without the 
 co-operations of sisters and sweethearts the 
 dresses were likely to be a failure ; but, on 
 the other hand, this class of assistance was 
 not without its drawbracks. The girls 
 could never be brought to respect tradition in 
 designing and decorating the armour : they 
 insisted on attaching loops and bows of silk 
 and velvet in any situation pleasing to their 
 taste. Gorget, gusset, basinet, cuirass, gaunt- 
 let, sleeve, all alike in the view of these fe- 
 minine eyes were practicable spaces where- 
 on to sew scraps of fluttering colour. 
 
 It might be that Joe, who fought on the 
 side of Christendom, had a sweetheart, and 
 that Jim, who fought on the side of the Mos- 
 lem, had one likewise. During the making 
 of the costumes it would come to the know- 
 ledge of Joe's sweetheart that Jim's was put- 
 ting brilliant silk scallops at the bottom of her 
 lover's surcoat, in addition to the ribbons of 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 273 
 
 the visor, the bars of which, being invariably 
 formed of coloured strips about half-an-inch 
 wide hanging before the face, were mostly 
 of that material. Joe's sweetheart straight- 
 way placed brilliant silk on the scallops 
 of the hem in question, and, going a little 
 further, added ribbon tufts to the shoulder- 
 pieces. Jim's, not to be outdone, would 
 affix bows and rosettes everywhere. 
 
 The result was that in the end The 
 Valiant Soldier, of the Christian army, was 
 distinguished by no peculiarity of accoutre- 
 ment from the Turkish Knight ; and what was 
 worse, on a casual view Saint George him- 
 self might be mistaken for his deadly enemy, 
 The Saracen. The guisers themselves, 
 though inwardly regretting this confusion of 
 persons, could not afford to offend those by 
 whose assistance they so largely profited, 
 and the innovations were allowed to stand. 
 
 There was, it is true, a limit to this ten- 
 dency to uniformity. The Leech or Doctor 
 preserved his character intact : his darker 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
2 74 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 habiliments, peculiar hat, and the bottle of 
 physic slung under his arm, could never be 
 mistaken. And the same might be said of 
 the conventional figure of Father Christmas, 
 with his gigantic club, who accompanied the 
 band as general protector in long night 
 journeys from parish to parish, aud was 
 bearer of the purse. 
 
 Seven o'clock, the hour of the rehearsal, 
 came round, and In a short time Eustacia 
 could hear voices in the fuel-house. To 
 dissipate in some trifling measure her abid- 
 inof sense of the murkiness of human life 
 she went to the Mlnhay' or lean-to shed, 
 which formed the root-store of their dwelling 
 and abutted on the fuel-house. Here was 
 a small rough hole in the mud wall, originally 
 made for pigeons, through which the Interior 
 of the next shed could be viewed. A light 
 came from it now ; and Eustacia stepped 
 upon a stool to look in upon the scene. 
 
 On a ledge in the fuel-house stood three 
 tall rushlights, and by the light of them seven 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 275 
 
 or eight lads were marching about, harangu- 
 ing, and confusing each other, in endeavours 
 to perfect themselves in the play. Humphrey 
 and Sam, the furze and turf cutters, were 
 there looking on, so also was Timothy 
 Fairway, who leant against the wall and 
 prompted the boys from memory, inter- 
 spersing among the set words remarks and 
 anecdotes of the superior days when he and 
 others were the Egdon mummers-elect that 
 these lads were now. 
 
 * Well, ye be as well up to it as ever ye 
 will be,' he said. ' Not that such mumming 
 would have passed in our time. Harry as 
 the Saracen should strut a bit more, and 
 John needn't holler his inside out. Beyond 
 that perhaps you'll do. Have you got all 
 your clothes ready ? ' 
 
 'We shall by Monday.' 
 
 ' Your first outing will be Monday night, 
 I suppose?' 
 
 'Yes. At Mrs. Yeobricrht's.' 
 
 'Oh, Mrs. Yeobright's. What makes her 
 
 T 2 
 
276 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 want to see ye ? I should think a middle- 
 aged woman was tired of mumming.' 
 
 ' She's got up a bit of a party, because 
 'tis the first Christmas that her son Clym 
 has been home for a long time.' 
 
 * To be sure, to be sure — her party ! I 
 am going myself I almost forgot it, upon 
 my life.' 
 
 Eustacia's face flagged. There was to 
 be a party at the Yeobrights' ; she, naturally, 
 had nothing to do with it. She was a 
 stranger to all such local gatherings, and had 
 always held them as scarcely appertaining to 
 her sphere. But had she been going, what 
 an opportunity would have been afforded her 
 of seeing the man whose influence was pene- 
 trating her like summer sun ! To increase 
 that influence was coveted excitement ; to 
 cast it off might be to regain serenity ; to 
 leave it as it stood was tantalising. 
 
 The lads and men prepared to leave the 
 premises, and Eustacia returned to her fire- 
 side. She was immersed in thought, but not 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 277 
 
 for long. In a few minutes the lad Charley, 
 who had come to ask permission to use the 
 place, returned with the key to the kitchen. 
 Eustacia heard him, and opening the door 
 into the passage said, ' Charley, come here.' 
 
 The lad was surprised. He entered the 
 front room., not without blushing ; for he, like 
 many, had felt the power of this girl's face 
 and form. 
 
 She pointed to a seat by the fire, and 
 entered the other side of the chimney-corner 
 herself. It could be seen in her face that 
 whatever motive she might have had in 
 asking the youth indoors would soon ap- 
 pear. 
 
 'Which part do you play, Charley — the 
 Turkish Knight, do you not ? ' inquired the 
 beauty, looking across the smoke of the fire 
 to him on the other side. 
 
 * Yes, miss, the Turkish Knight,' he re- 
 plied diffidently. 
 
 ' Is yours a long part ? ' 
 
 ' Nine speeches, about.' 
 
278 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' Can you repeat them to me ? If so I 
 should hke to hear them.' 
 
 The lad smiled into the glowing turf and 
 
 began : 
 
 ' Here come I, a Turkish Knight, 
 Who learnt in Turkish land to fight,' 
 
 continuing the discourse throughout the scenes 
 to the concluding catastrophe of his fall by 
 the hand of Saint George. 
 
 Eustacia had heard the part recited many 
 times before. When the lad ended she 
 began, precisely in the same words, and 
 ranted on without hitch or divergence till 
 she too reached the end. It was the same 
 thing, yet how different. Like in form, it 
 had the added softness and finish of a Raf- 
 faelle after Perugino, which, while faithfully 
 reproducing the original subject, entirely dis- 
 tances the original art. 
 
 Charley's eyes rounded with surprise. 
 ' Well, you be a clever lady ! ' he said, in 
 admiration. ' I've been three weeks learning 
 mine.' 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 279 
 
 ' I have heard it before,' she quietly ob- 
 served. ' Now, would you do anything to 
 please me, Charley ? ' 
 
 ' I'd do a good deal, miss.' 
 
 ' Would you let me play your part for one 
 niorht ? ' 
 
 ' O miss ! But your woman's gown — you 
 couldn't.' 
 
 ' I can get boy's clothes — at least all that 
 would be wanted besides the mumming 
 dress. What should I have to give you to 
 lend me your things, to let me take your 
 place for an hour or two on Monday night, 
 and on no account to say a word about who 
 or what I am ? You would, of course, have 
 to excuse yourself from playing that night, 
 and to say that somebody — a cousin of Miss 
 Vye's — would act for you. The other mum- 
 mers have never spoken to me in their lives, 
 so that it would be safe enough ; and if it 
 were not I should not mind. Now, what 
 must I give you to agree to this ? Half-a- 
 crown ? ' 
 
28o THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 The youth shook his head. 
 
 ' Five shIlHngs ? ' 
 
 He shook his head again. * Money 
 won't do it,' he said, brushing the iron 
 head of the fire-dog with the hollow of his 
 hand. 
 
 'What will, then, Charley ?' said Eustacia 
 in a disappointed tone. 
 
 * You know what you forbade me at the 
 maypoling, miss,' murmured the lad, without 
 looking at her, and still stroking the fire-dog's 
 head. 
 
 * Yes,' said Eustacia, with a little more 
 hauteitr. ' You wanted to join hands with 
 me in the ring, if I recollect ? ' 
 
 ' Half an hour of that, and I'll agree, 
 miss.' 
 
 Eustacia regarded the youth steadfastly. 
 He was three years younger than herself, but 
 apparently not backward for his age. ' Half 
 an hour of what '^. ' she said, though she 
 guessed what. 
 
 * Holding your hand in mine.' 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 2S1 
 
 She was silent. ' Make it a quarter of 
 an hour,' she said. 
 
 'Yes, Miss Eustacia — I will. A quar- 
 ter of an hour. And I'll swear to do the 
 best I can to let you take my place without 
 anybody knowing. Don't you think some- 
 body might know your tongue ? ' 
 
 ' It is possible. But I will put a pebble 
 in my mouth to make it less likely. Very 
 well ; you shall be allowed to hold my hand 
 as soon as you bring the dress and your 
 sword and staff. I don't want you any longer 
 now.' 
 
 Charley departed, and Eustacia felt more 
 and more interest in life. Here was some- 
 thing to do : here was some one to see, and 
 a charmingly adventurous way to see him. 
 ' Ah,' she said to herself, * want of an object 
 to live for — that's all is the matter with 
 me ! ' 
 
 Eustacia's manner was as a rule of a slum- 
 berous sort, her passions being of the massive 
 rather than the vivacious kind. But when 
 
282 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 aroused she would make a dash which, just 
 for the time, was not unHke the move of a 
 naturally lively person. 
 
 On the question of recognition she was 
 somewhat indifferent. By the acting lads 
 themselves she was not likely to be known. 
 With the guests who might be assembled 
 she was hardly so secure. Yet detection, 
 after all, would be no such dreadful thing. 
 The fact only could be detected, her true 
 motive never. It would be instantly set 
 down as the passing freak of a girl whose 
 ways were already considered singular. 
 That she was doing for an earnest reason 
 what would most naturally be done in jest 
 was at any rate a safe secret. 
 
 The next evening Eustacia stood punc- 
 tually at the fuel-house door, waiting for the 
 dusk which was to bring Charley with the 
 trappings. Her grandfather was at home 
 to-night, and she would be unable to ask her 
 confederate indoors. 
 
THE ARRIVAL. v 283 
 
 He appeared on the dark ridge of heath- 
 land, Hke a fly on a negro, bearing the 
 articles with him, and came up breathless 
 with his walk. 
 
 * Here are the things,' he whispered, 
 placing them upon the threshold. ' And 
 now, Miss Eustacia ' 
 
 'The payment. It is quite ready. lam 
 as good as my word.' 
 
 She leant against the door-post, and 
 gave him her hand. Charley took it in 
 both his own with a tenderness beyond de 
 scription, unless it was like that of a child 
 holding a captured sparrow. 
 
 ' Why, there's a glove on it ! ' he said in 
 a deprecating way. 
 
 ' I have been walking,' she observed. 
 
 ' But, miss ! ' 
 
 ' Well — it is hardly fair.' She pulled off 
 the glove, and gave him her bare hand. 
 
 They stood together without further 
 speech, each looking at the blackening scene, 
 and each thinking his and her own thoughts. 
 
284 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 ' I think I won't use it all up to-night,' 
 said Charley when six or eight minutes had 
 been passed by them hand-in-hand. * May 
 I have the other few minutes another time ?' 
 
 ' As you like,' said she w^ithout the least 
 emotion. ' But it must be over in a week. 
 Now, there is only one thing I want you to 
 do : to wait while I put on the dress, and 
 then to see if I do my part properly. But 
 let me look first indoors.' 
 
 She vanished for a minute or two, and 
 went in. Her grandfather was safely asleep 
 in his chair. ' Now, then,' she said, on re- 
 turning, ' walk down the garden a little way, 
 and when I am ready I'll call you.' 
 
 Charley walked and waited, and presently 
 heard a soft Avhistle. He returned to the 
 fuel-house door. 
 
 * Did you whistle, Miss Vye?' 
 
 * Yes ; come in,' reached him in Eu- 
 stacia's voice from a back quarter. ' I must 
 no': strike a light till the door is shut, or it 
 may be seen shining. Push your hat into 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 285 
 
 the hole through to the wash-house, if you 
 can feel your way across.' 
 
 Charley did as commanded, and she 
 struck the light, revealing herself to be 
 changed in sex, brilliant in colours, and 
 armed from top to toe. Perhaps she quailed 
 a little under Charley's vigorous gaze, but 
 whether any shyness appeared upon her 
 countenance could not be seen by reason of 
 the strips of ribbon which used to cover the 
 face in mumming costumes, representing the 
 barred visor of the mediaeval helmet. 
 
 ' It fits pretty well,' she said, looking 
 down at the white overalls, * except that the 
 tunic, or whatever you call it, is long in the 
 sleeve. The bottom of the overalls I can 
 turn up inside. Now pay attention.' 
 
 Eustacia then proceeded in her delivery, 
 slapping the sword against the staff or lance 
 at the minatory phrases, in the orthodox 
 mumming manner, and strutting up and 
 down. Charley seasoned his admiration 
 with criticism of the gentlest kind, for the 
 
286 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 touch of Eustacias hand yet remained with 
 him. 
 
 ' And now for your excuse to the others/ 
 she said. ' Where do you meet before you 
 o^o to Mrs. Yeobrio^ht's ? ' 
 
 ' We thought of meeting here, miss, if 
 you have nothing to say against it. At eight 
 o'clock, so as to get there by nine.' 
 
 * Yes. Well, you of course must not 
 appear. I will march in about five minutes 
 late, read3^-dressed, and tell them that you 
 can't come. I have decided that the best 
 plan will be for you to be sent somewhere by 
 me, to make a real thing of the excuse. Our 
 two heathcroppers are In the habit of straying 
 into the meads, and to-morrovV evening you 
 can go and see if they are gone there. I'll 
 manage the rest. Now you may leave me.' 
 
 ' Yes, miss. But I think I'll have one 
 minute more of what I am owed, if you don't 
 mind.' 
 
 Eustacia gave him her hand as before. 
 
 ' One minute,' she said, and at about the 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 287 
 
 proper interval counted on till she reached 
 seven or eight. Hand and person she then 
 withdrew to a distance of several feet, and 
 recovered some of her old dignity. The 
 contract completed, she raised between them 
 a barrier impenetrable as a wall. 
 
 ' There, 'tis all gone ; and I didn't mean 
 quite all,' he said, with a sigh. 
 
 ' You had good measure,' said she, turn- 
 ing away. 
 
 * Yes, miss. Well 'tis over, and now I'll 
 get home-along.' 
 
288 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THROUGH THE MOONLIGHT. 
 
 The next evening the mummers were assem- 
 bled In the same spot, awaiting the entrance 
 of the Turkish Knight. 
 
 ' Twenty minutes after eight by the 
 Quiet Woman, and Charley not come.' 
 
 ' Ten minutes past by Blooms-End.' 
 
 ' It wants ten minutes to, by Grandfer 
 Cantle's watch.' 
 
 ' And 'tis five minutes past by the Cap- 
 tain's clock.' 
 
 On Eodon there was no absolute hour of 
 
 o 
 
 the day. The time at any moment was a 
 number of varying doctrines professed by the 
 different hamlets, some of them having origi- 
 nally grown up from a common root, and then 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 289 
 
 become divided by secession, some having- 
 been alien from the becrinnincr. West Eedon 
 believed in Blooms-End time, East Egdon in 
 the time of the Quiet Woman Inn. Grandfer 
 Cantle's watch had numbered many followers 
 in years gone by, but since he had grown 
 older faiths were shaken. Thus, the mum- 
 mers having gathered hither from scattered 
 points, each came with his own tenets on 
 early and late ; and they waited a little 
 longer as a compromise. 
 
 Eustacia had watched the assemblage 
 through the hole ; and seeing that now was 
 the proper moment to enter, she went from 
 the ' linhay ' and boldly pulled the bobbin of 
 the fuel-house door. Her grandfather was 
 safe at the Quiet Woman. 
 
 * Here's Charley at last ! How late you 
 be, Charley.' 
 
 * 'Tis not Charley,' said the Turkish Knight 
 from within his visor. ' 'Tis a cousin of Miss 
 Vye's, come to take Charley's place from 
 curiosity. He was obliged to go and look 
 
 VOL. I, u 
 
290 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 for the heathcroppers that have got into the 
 meads, and I agreed to take his place, as he 
 knew he couldn't come back here again to- 
 night. I know the part as well as he.' 
 
 Her flexuous gait, elegant figure, and 
 dignified manner in general won the mum- 
 mers to the opinion that they had gained by 
 the exchange, if the new comer were perfect 
 in his part. 
 
 * It don't matter — if you be not too young,' 
 said Saint George. Eustacia's voice had 
 sounded somewhat more juvenile and fluty 
 than Charley's. 
 
 ' I know every word of it, I tell you,' said 
 Eustacia decisively. Dash being all that was 
 required to carry her triumphantly through, 
 she adopted as much as was necessary. ' Go 
 ahead, lads, with the try-over. I'll challenge 
 any of you to find a mistake in me.' 
 
 The play was hastily rehearsed, where- 
 upon the other mummers were delighted with 
 the new knight. They extinguished the 
 candles at half-past eight, and set out upon 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 29 I 
 
 the heath In the direction of Mrs. Yeobrlght s 
 house at Blooms- End. 
 
 There was a sHght hoar-frost that night, 
 and the moon, though not more than half-full, 
 threw a spirited and enticing brightness upon 
 the fantastic figures of the mumming band, 
 whose plumes and ribbons rustled in their 
 walk like autumnal leaves. Their path was not 
 •over Blackbarrow now, but down a valley 
 which left that ancient elevation far to the 
 south. The bottom of the vale was green to 
 a width of ten yards or thereabouts, and the 
 shining facets of frost upon the blades of grass 
 seemed to move on w^ith the shadows of those 
 they surrounded. The masses of furze and 
 heath to the right and left were dark as ever ; 
 a mere half-moon was powerless to silver such 
 sable features as theirs. 
 
 Half an hour of walking and talking 
 brought them to the spot in the valley where 
 the grass riband widened and led up to the front 
 of the house. At sight of the place Eustacia, 
 
 who had felt a few passing doubts during 
 
 u 2 
 
292 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 her walk with the youths, again was glad that 
 the adventure had been undertaken. She had 
 come out to see a. man who might possibly 
 have the power to deliver her soul from a 
 most deadly oppression. What was Wildeve ? 
 Interesting, but inadequate. Perhaps she 
 would see a sufficient hero to-night. 
 
 As they drew nearer to the front of the 
 house the mummers became aware that music 
 and dancing were briskly flourishing within. 
 Every now and then a long low note from 
 the serpent, wHich was the chief wind instru- 
 ment played at these times, advanced further 
 into the heath than the thin treble part, and 
 reached their ears alone ; and next a more 
 than usually loud tread from a dancer 
 would come the same way. With nearer ap- 
 proach these fragmentary sounds became 
 pieced together, and were found to be the 
 salient points of the tune called ' Nancy's 
 Fancy.' 
 
 He was there, of course. Who was she 
 that he danced with ? Perhaps some un- 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 293 
 
 known woman, far beneath herself in culture, 
 was by that most subtle of lures sealing his 
 fate this very instant. To dance with a man 
 is to concentrate a twelvemonth's regulation 
 fire upon him in the fragment of an hour. 
 To pass to courtship without acquaintance, 
 to pass to marriage without courtship, is a 
 skipping of terms reserved for those alone 
 who tread this royal road. She would see 
 how his heart lay by keen observation of 
 them all. 
 
 The enterprising lady followed the mum- 
 ming company through the gate in the white 
 paling, and stood before the open porch. 
 The house was encrusted with heavy thatch- 
 ings, which dropped between the upper 
 windows : the front, upon which the moon- 
 beams directly played, had originally been 
 white ; but a huge pyracanth now darkened 
 the greater portion. 
 
 It became at once evident that the dance 
 was proceeding immediately within the sur- 
 face of the door, no apartment intervening. 
 
294 'THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 The brushing of skirts and elbows, some- 
 times the bumping of shoulders, could be 
 heard against the very panels. Eustacia^ 
 though living within two miles of the place, 
 had never seen the interior of this quaint 
 old habitation. Between Captain Drew and 
 the Yeobriehts there had never existed much 
 acquaintance, the former having come as a 
 stranger and purchased the long-empty house 
 at Mistover Knap not long before the death 
 of Mrs. Yeobright's husband ; and with that 
 event and the departure of her son such 
 friendship as had grown up became quite 
 broken off. 
 
 ' Is there no passage inside the door^ 
 then ? ' asked Eustacia as they stood within 
 the porch. 
 
 * No,' said the lad who played the Sara- 
 cen. ' The door opens right upon the front 
 sitting-room, where the spree's going on.' 
 
 ' So that we cannot open the door with- 
 out stopping the dance.' 
 
 ' That's it. Here we must bide till they 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 295 
 
 have done, for they always bolt the back 
 door after dark.' 
 
 * They won't be much longer,' said Father 
 Christmas. 
 
 This assertion, however, was hardly borne 
 out by the event. Again the instruments 
 ended the tune ; again they recommenced 
 with as much fire and pathos as if it were 
 the first strain. The air was now that one 
 without any particular beginning, middle, or 
 end, which perhaps, among all the dances 
 which throng an inspired fiddler's fancy, 
 best conveys the idea of the interminable — 
 the celebrated ' Devil's Dream.' The fury of 
 personal movement that was kindled by the 
 fury of the notes could be approximately 
 imagined by these outsiders under the moon, 
 from the occasional kicks of toes and heels 
 against the door, whenever the whirl round 
 had been of more than customary velocity. 
 
 The first five minutes of listening was 
 interesting^ enouofh to the mummers. The 
 
 o o 
 
 fivQ minutes extended to ten minutes, and 
 
296 TPIE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 these to a quarter of an hour ; but no signs 
 of ceasing were audible in the Hvely Dream. 
 The bumping against the door, the laughter, 
 the stamping, were all as vigorous as ever, 
 and the pleasure in being outside lessened 
 considerably. 
 
 * Why does Mrs. Yeobright give parties 
 of this sort ? ' Eustacia asked, a little sur- 
 prised to hear merriment so pronounced. 
 
 ' It is not one of her bettermost parlour 
 parties. She's asked the plain neighbours 
 and workpeople without drawing any lines, 
 just to give 'em a good supper and such like. 
 Her son and she wait upon the folks.' 
 
 ' I see,' said Eustacia. 
 
 ' 'Tis the last strain, I think,' said Saint 
 George, with his ear to the panel. ' A young 
 man and woman have just swung into this 
 corner, and he's saying to her : " Ah, the 
 pity ; 'tis over for us this time, my own." ' 
 
 ' Thank God,' said the Turkish Knight, 
 stamping, and taking from the wall the con- 
 ventional staff that each of the mummers 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 297 
 
 carried. Her boots being thinner than those 
 of the young men, the hoar had damped her 
 feet and made them cold. 
 
 ' Upon my song 'tis another ten minutes 
 for us,' said the VaHant Soldier, looking 
 through the keyhole as the tune modulated 
 into another without stopping. ' Grandfer 
 Cantle is standing in this corner, waiting his 
 turn.' 
 
 * 'Twon't be long ; 'tis a six-handed reel,' 
 said the Doctor. 
 
 ' Why not go in, dancing or no } They 
 sent for us,' said the Saracen. 
 
 ' Certainly not,' said Eustacia authorita- 
 tively, as she paced smartly up and down 
 from door to gate to warm herself. 'We 
 should burst into the middle of them and stop 
 the dance, and that would be unmannerly.' 
 
 ' He thinks himself somebody because he 
 has had a bit more schooling than we,' said 
 the Doctor. 
 
 * You may go to the deuce,' said Eustacia. 
 There was a whispered conversation be 
 
298 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 tween three or four of them, and one turned 
 to her. 
 
 * Will you tell us one thing ? * he said, not 
 without gentleness. ' Are you Miss Vye ? 
 We think you must be.* 
 
 * You may think what you like,' said 
 Eustacia slowly. ' But honourable lads will 
 not tell tales upon a lady.' 
 
 'We'll say nothing, miss. That's upon 
 our honour.' 
 
 * Thank you,' she replied. 
 
 At this moment the fiddles finished off 
 with a screech, and the serpent emitted a last 
 note that nearly lifted the roof. When, from 
 the comparative quiet within, the mummers 
 judged that the dancers had taken their seats,. 
 Father Christmas advanced, lifted the latch^ 
 and put his head inside the door. 
 
 * Ah, the mummers, the mummers ! ' cried 
 several guests at once. ' Clear a space for 
 the mummers.' 
 
 Hump-backed Father Christmas then 
 made a complete entry, swinging his huge 
 
THE ARRIV^VL. 299 
 
 club, and In a general way clearing the stage 
 for the actors proper, while he informed the 
 company in smart verse that he was come, 
 welcome or welcome not ; concluding his 
 speech with 
 
 ' Make room, make room, my gallant boys, 
 
 And give us space to rhyme ; 
 We've come to show Saint George's play, 
 Upon this Christmas time.' 
 
 The guests were now arranging themselves 
 at one end of the room, the fiddler was 
 mending a string, the serpent-player was 
 emptying his mouthpiece, and the play began. 
 First of those outside the Valiant Soldier 
 entered, in the interest of Saint George — 
 
 ' Here come I, the Valiant Soldier ; 
 Slasher is my name;' 
 
 and so on. This speech concluded with a 
 challenge to the Infidel, at the end of which 
 it was Eustacia s duty to enter as the Turk- 
 ish Knight. She, with the rest who were 
 not yet on, had hitherto remained in the 
 moonlight which streamed under the porch» 
 
300 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 With no apparent effort or backwardness she 
 came in, beginning — 
 
 ' Here come I, a Turkish Knight, 
 Who learnt in Turkish land to fight ; 
 I'll fight this man with courage bold : 
 If his blood's hot I'll make it cold ! ' 
 
 During her declamation Eustacia held her 
 head erect, and spoke as roughly as she 
 could, feeling pretty secure from observation. 
 But the concentration upon her part neces- 
 sary to prevent discovery, the newness of the 
 scene, the shine of the candles, and the con- 
 fusing effect upon her vision of the ribboned 
 visor which hid her features, left her abso- 
 lutely unable to perceive who were present as 
 spectators. On the further side of a table 
 bearing candles she could faintly discern 
 faces, and that was all. 
 
 Meanwhile Jim Starks as the Valiant 
 Soldier had come forward, and, with a glare 
 upon the Turk, replied — 
 
 'If, then, thou art that Turkish Knight, 
 Draw out thy sword, and let us fight ! ' 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 3OI 
 
 And fight they did ; the Issue of the combat 
 being that the Vahant Soldier was slain 
 by a preternaturally inadequate thrust from 
 Eustacia, Jim, in his ardour for genuine his- 
 trionic art, coming down like a log upon the 
 stone floor with force enough to dislocate 
 his shoulder. Then, after more words from 
 the Turkish Knight, rather too faintly de- 
 livered, and statements that he'd fieht Saint 
 George and all his crew, Saint George him- 
 self magnificently entered with the well- 
 known flourish : — 
 
 ' Here come I, Saint George, the valiant man, 
 With naked sword and spear in hand, 
 Who fought the dragon and brought him to the 
 
 slaughter, 
 And by this won fair Sabra, the King of Egypt's 
 daughter ; 
 
 What mortal man would dare to stand 
 Before me with my sword in hand ? ' 
 
 This was the lad who had first recos^nlsed 
 Eustacia; and when she now, as the Turk, 
 replied with suitable defiance, and at once 
 began the combat, the young fellow took 
 
302 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 
 
 especial care to use his sword as gently as 
 possible. Being wounded, the Knight fell 
 upon one knee, according to the direction. 
 The Doctor now entered, restored the 
 Knight by giving him a draught from the 
 bottle which he carried, and the fight was 
 again resumed, the Turk sinking by degrees 
 until quite overcome — dying as hard in this 
 venerable drama as he is said to do at the 
 present day. 
 
 This gradual sinking to the earth was, in 
 fact, one reason why Eustacia had thought 
 that the part of the Turkish Knight, though 
 not the shortest, would suit her best. A 
 direct fall from upright to horizontal, which 
 was the end of the other fighting characters, 
 was not an elegant or decorous part for a 
 girl. But it was easy to die like a Turk, by 
 a doofofed decline. 
 
 Eustacia was now amonof the number of 
 the slain, though not on the floor, for she 
 had managed to retire into a sitting position 
 against the clock-case, so that her head was 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 303 
 
 well elevated. The play proceeded between 
 Saint George, the Saracen, the Doctor, and 
 Father Christmas ; and Eustacia, having no 
 more to do, for the first time found leisure 
 to observe the scene around, and to search 
 for the form that had drawn her hither. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SVOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARIX 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET 
 
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