r　and　taken　her　into　your　arms；　and　it　might　have　been　uttered　in　a　moment　of　bitterness。　　It　was　rather　like　Aunt　to　say　things　in　haste。　　She　sometimes　used　to　speak　so　to　me。　　Though　she　did　not　e　I　am　convinced　that　she　thought　of　ing　to　see　you。　　Do　you　suppose　a　man’s　mother　could　live　two　or　three　months　without　one　forgiving　thought？　　She　forgave　me；　and　why　should　she　not　have　forgiven　you？”
  “You　laboured　to　win　her　round；　I　did　nothing。　　I；　who　was　going　to　teach　people　the　higher　secrets　of　happiness；　did　not　know　how　to　keep　out　of　that　gross　misery　which　the　most　untaught　are　wise　enough　to　avoid。”
  “How　did　you　get　here　tonight；　Thomasin？”　said　Eustacia。
  “Damon　set　me　down　at　the　end　of　the　lane。　　He　has　driven　into　East　Egdon　on　business；　and　he　will　e　and　pick　me　up　by…and…by。”
  Accordingly　they　soon　after　heard　the　noise　of　wheels。　　Wildeve　had　e；　and　was　waiting　outside　with　his　horse　and　gig。
  “Send　out　and　tell　him　I　will　be　down　in　two　minutes；”　said　Thomasin。
  “I　will　run　down　myself；”　said　Eustacia。
  She　went　down。　　Wildeve　had　alighted；　and　was　standing　before　the　horse’s　head　when　Eustacia　opened　the　door。　　He　did　not　turn　for　a　moment；　thinking　the　er　Thomasin。
  Then　he　looked；　startled　ever　so　little；　and　said　one　word：
  “Well？”
  “I　have　not　yet　told　him；”　she　replied　in　a　whisper。
  “Then　don’t　do　so　till　he　is　well—it　will　be　fatal。
  You　are　ill　yourself。”
  “I　am　wretched。。。。O　Damon；”　she　said；　bursting　into　tears；　“I—I　can’t　tell　you　how　unhappy　I　am！　I　can　hardly　bear　this。　　I　can　tell　nobody　of　my　trouble—nobody　knows　of　it　but　you。”
  “Poor　girl！”　said　Wildeve；　visibly　affected　at　her　distress；　and　at　last　led　on　so　far　as　to　take　her　hand。　　“It　is　hard；　when　you　have　done　nothing　to　deserve　it；　that　you　should　have　got　involved　in　such　a　web　as　this。　　You　were　not　made　for　these　sad　scenes。　　I　am　to　blame　most。
  If　I　could　only　have　saved　you　from　it　all！”
  “But；　Damon；　please　pray　tell　me　what　I　must　do？　　To　sit　by　him　hour　after　hour；　and　hear　him　reproach　himself　as　being　the　cause　of　her　death；　and　to　know　that　I　am　the　sinner；　if　any　human　being　is　at　all；　drives　me　into　cold　despair。　　I　don’t　know　what　to　do。　　Should　I　tell　him　or　should　I　not　tell　him？　　I　always　am　asking　myself　that。　　O；　I　want　to　tell　him；　and　yet　I　am　afraid。　　If　he　find　it　out　he　must　surely　kill　me；　for　nothing　else　will　be　in　proportion　to　his　feelings　now。　　‘Beware　the　fury　of　a　patient　man’　sounds　day　by　day　in　my　ears　as　I　watch　him。”
  “Well；　wait　till　he　is　better；　and　trust　to　chance。　　And　when　you　tell；　you　must　only　tell　part—for　his　own　sake。”
  “Which　part　should　I　keep　back？”
  Wildeve　paused。　　“That　I　was　in　the　house　at　the　time；”　he　said　in　a　low　tone。
  “Yes；　it　must　be　concealed；　seeing　what　has　been　whispered。　　How　much　easier　are　hasty　actions　than　speeches　that　will　excuse　them！”
  “If　he　were　only　to　die—“　Wildeve　murmured。
  “Do　not　think　of　it！　I　would　not　buy　hope　of　immunity　by　so　cowardly　a　desire　even　if　I　hated　him。　　Now　I　am　going　up　to　him　again。　　Thomasin　bade　me　tell　you　she　would　be　down　in　a　few　minutes。　　Good…bye。”
  She　returned；　and　Thomasin　soon　appeared。　　When　she　was　seated　in　the　gig　with　her　husband；　and　the　horse　was　turning　to　go　off；　Wildeve　lifted　his　eyes　to　the　bedroom　windows。　　Looking　from　one　of　them　he　could　discern　a　pale；　tragic　face　watching　him　drive　away。　　It　was　Eustacia’s。
  2　… A　Lurid　Light　Breaks　in　upon　a　Darkened　Understanding
  Clym’s　grief　became　mitigated　by　wearing　itself　out。　　His　strength　returned；　and　a　month　after　the　visit　of　Thomasin　he　might　have　been　seen　walking　about　the　garden。　　Endurance　and　despair；　equanimity　and　gloom；　the　tints　of　health　and　the　pallor　of　death；　mingled　weirdly　in　his　face。　　He　was　now　unnaturally　silent　upon　all　of　the　past　that　related　to　his　mother；　and　though　Eustacia　knew　that　he　was　thinking　of　it　none　the　less；　she　was　only　too　glad　to　escape　the　topic　ever　to　bring　it　up　anew。　　When　his　mind　had　been　weaker　his　heart　had　led　him　to　speak　out；　but　reason　having　now　somewhat　recovered　itself　he　sank　into　taciturnity。
  One　evening　when　he　was　thus　standing　in　the　garden；　abstractedly　spudding　up　a　weed　with　his　stick；　a　bony　figure　turned　the　corner　of　the　house　and　came　up　to　him。
  “Christian；　isn’t　it？”　said　Clym。　　“I　am　glad　you　have　found　me　out。　　I　shall　soon　want　you　to　go　to　Blooms…End　and　assist　me　in　putting　the　house　in　order。　　I　suppose　it　is　all　locked　up　as　I　left　it？”
  “Yes；　Mister　Clym。”
  “Have　you　dug　up　the　potatoes　and　other　roots？”
  “Yes；　without　a　drop　o’　rain；　thank　God。　　But　I　was　ing　to　tell　‘ee　of　something　else　which　is　quite　different　from　what　we　have　lately　had　in　the　family。　　I　am　sent　by　the　rich　gentleman　at　the　Woman；　that　we　used　to　call　the　landlord；　to　tell　‘ee　that　Mrs。　Wildeve　is　doing　well　of　a　girl；　which　was　born　punctually　at　one　o’clock　at　noon；　or　a　few　minutes　more　or　less；　and　‘tis　said　that　expecting　of　this　increase　is　what　have　kept　‘em　there　since　they　came　into　their　money。”
  “And　she　is　getting　on　well；　you　say？”
  “Yes；　sir。　　Only　Mr。　Wildeve　is　twanky　because　‘tisn’t　a　boy—that’s　what　they　say　in　the　kitchen；　but　I　was　not　supposed　to　notice　that。”
  “Christian；　now　listen　to　me。”
  “Yes；　sure；　Mr。　Yeobright。”
  “Did　you　see　my　mother　the　day　before　she　died？”
  “No；　I　did　not。”
  Yeobright’s　face　expressed　disappointment。
  “But　I　zeed　her　the　morning　of　the　same　day　she　died。”
  Clym’s　look　lighted　up。　　“That’s　nearer　still　to　my　meaning；”　he　said。
  “Yes；　I　know　‘twas　the　same　day；　for　she　said；　‘I　be　going　to　see　him；　Christian；　so　I　shall　not　want　any　vegetables　brought　in　for　dinner。’”
  “See　whom？”
  “See　you。　　She　was　going　to　your　house；　you　understand。”
  Yeobright　regarded　Christian　with　intense　surprise。　　“Why　did　you　never　mention　this？”　he　said。　　“Are　you　sure　it　was　my　house　she　was　ing　to？”
  “O　yes。　　I　didn’t　mention　it　because　I’ve　never　zeed　you　lately。　　And　as　she　didn’t　get　there　it　was　all　nought；　and　nothing　to　tell。”
  “And　I　have　been　wondering　why　she　should　have　walked　in　the　heath　on　that　hot　day！　Well；　did　she　say　what　she　was　ing　for？　　It　is　a　thing；　Christian；　I　am　very　anxious　to　know。”
  “Yes；　Mister　Clym。　　She　didn’t　say　it　to　me；　though　I　think　she　did　to　one　here　and　there。”
  “Do　you　know　one　person　to　whom　she　spoke　of　it？”
  “There　is　one　man；　please；　sir；　but　I　hope　you　won’t　mention　my　name　to　him；　as　I　have　seen　him　in　strange　places；　particular　in　dreams。　　One　night　last　summer　he　glared　at　me　like　Famine　and　Sword；　and　it　made　me　feel　so　low　that　I　didn’t　b　out　my　few　hairs　for　two　days。
  He　was　standing；　as　it　might　be；　Mister　Yeobright；　in　the
  middle　of　the　path　to　Mistover；　and　your　mother　came　up；
  looking　as　pale—“
  “Yes；　when　was　that？”
  “Last　summer；　in　my　dream。”
  “Pooh！　Who’s　the　man？”
  “Diggory；　the　reddleman。　　He　called　upon　her　and　sat　with　her　the　evening　before　she　set　out　to　see　you。　　I　hadn’t　gone　home　from　work　when　he　came　up　to　the　gate。”
  “I　must　see　Venn—I　wish　I　had　known　it　before；”　said　Clym　anxiously。　　“I　wonder　why　he　has　not　e　to　tell　me？”
  “He　went　out　of　Egdon　Heath　the　next　day；　so　would　not　be　likely　to　know　you　wanted　him。”
  “Christian；”　said　Clym；　“you　must　go　and　find　Venn。　　I　am　otherwise　engaged；　or　I　would　go　myself。　　Find　him　at　once；　and　tell　him　I　want　to　speak　to　him。”
  “I　am　a　good　hand　at　hunting　up　folk　by　day；”　said　Christian；　looking　dubiously　round　at　the　declining　light；
  “but　as　to　night…time；　never　is　such　a　bad　hand　as　I；　Mister　Yeobright。”
  “Search　the　heath　when　you　will；　so　that　you　bring　him　soon。
  Bring　him　tomorrow；　if　you　can。”
  Christian　then　departed。　　The　morrow　came；　but　no　Venn。
  In　the　evening　Christian　arrived；　looking　very　weary。　　He　had　been　searching　all　day；　and　had　heard　nothing　of　the　reddleman。
  “Inquire　as　much　as　you　can　tomorrow　without　neglecting　your　work；”　said　Yeobright。　　“Don’t　e　again　till　you　have　found　him。”
  The　next　day　Yeobright　set　out　for　the　old　house　at　Blooms…End；　which；　with　the　garden；　was　now　his　own。　　His　severe　illness　had　hindered　all　preparations　for　his　removal　thither；　but　it　had　bee　necessary　that　he　should　go　and　overlook　its　contents；　as　administrator　to　his　mother’s　little　property；　for　which　purpose　he　decided　to　pass　the　next　night　on　the　premises。
  He　journeyed　onward；　not　quickly　or　decisively；　but　in　the　slow　walk　of　one　who　has　been　awakened　from　a　stupefying　sleep。　　It　was　early　afternoon　when　he　reached　the　valley。　　The　expression　of　the　place；　the　tone　of　the　hour；　were　precisely　those　of　many　such　occasions　in　days　gone　by；　and　these　antecedent　similarities　fostered　the　illusion　that　she；　who　was　there　no　longer；　would　e　out　to　wele　him。　　The　garden　gate　was　locked　and　the　shutters　were　closed；　just　as　he　himself　had　left　them　on　the　evening　after　the　funeral。　　He　unlocked　the　gate；　and　found　that　a　spider　had　already　constructed　a　large　web；　tying　the　door　to　the　lintel；　on　the　supposition　that　it　was　never　to　be　opened　again。　　When　he　had　entered　the　house　and　flung　back　the　shutters　he　set　about　his　task　of　overhauling　the　cupboards　and　closets；　burning　papers