“I　wish　I　could　be　there　without　dashing　your　spirits；”　he　said。　　“But　I　might　be　too　much　like　the　skull　at　the　banquet。”
  “No；　no。”
  “Well；　dear；　apart　from　that；　if　you　would　excuse　me；　I　should　be　glad。　　I　know　it　seems　unkind；　but；　dear　Thomasin；　I　fear　I　should　not　be　happy　in　the　pany—there；　that’s　the　truth　of　it。　　I　shall　always　be　ing　to　see　you　at　your　new　home；　you　know；　so　that　my　absence　now　will　not　matter。”
  “Then　I　give　in。　　Do　whatever　will　be　most　fortable　to　yourself。”
  Clym　retired　to　his　lodging　at　the　housetop　much　relieved；　and　occupied　himself　during　the　afternoon　in　noting　down　the　heads　of　a　sermon；　with　which　he　intended　to　initiate　all　that　really　seemed　practicable　of　the　scheme　that　had　originally　brought　him　hither；　and　that　he　had　so　long　kept　in　view　under　various　modifications；　and　through　evil　and　good　report。　　He　had　tested　and　weighed　his　convictions　again　and　again；　and　saw　no　reason　to　alter　them；　though　he　had　considerably　lessened　his　plan。　　His　eyesight；　by　long　humouring　in　his　native　air；　had　grown　stronger；　but　not　sufficiently　strong　to　warrant　his　attempting　his　extensive　educational　project。　　Yet　he　did　not　repine—there　was　still　more　than　enough　of　an　unambitious　sort　to　tax　all　his　energies　and　occupy　all　his　hours。
  Evening　drew　on；　and　sounds　of　life　and　movement　in　the　lower　part　of　the　domicile　became　more　pronounced；　the　gate　in　the　palings　clicking　incessantly。　　The　party　was　to　be　an　early　one；　and　all　the　guests　were　assembled　long　before　it　was　dark。　　Yeobright　went　down　the　back　staircase　and　into　the　heath　by　another　path　than　that　in　front；　intending　to　walk　in　the　open　air　till　the　party　was　over；　when　he　would　return　to　wish　Thomasin　and　her　husband　good…bye　as　they　departed。　　His　steps　were　insensibly　bent　towards　Mistover　by　the　path　that　he　had　followed　on　that　terrible　morning　when　he　learnt　the　strange　news　from　Susan’s　boy。
  He　did　not　turn　aside　to　the　cottage；　but　pushed　on　to　an　eminence；　whence　he　could　see　over　the　whole　quarter　that　had　once　been　Eustacia’s　home。　　While　he　stood　observing　the　darkening　scene　somebody　came　up。　　Clym；　seeing　him　but　dimly；　would　have　let　him　pass　silently；　had　not　the　pedestrian；　who　was　Charley；　recognized　the　young　man　and　spoken　to　him。
  “Charley；　I　have　not　seen　you　for　a　length　of　time；”　said　Yeobright。　　“Do　you　often　walk　this　way？”
  “No；”　the　lad　replied。　　“I　don’t　often　e　outside　the　bank。”
  “You　were　not　at　the　Maypole。”
  “No；”　said　Charley；　in　the　same　listless　tone。　　“I　don’t　care　for　that　sort　of　thing　now。”
  “You　rather　liked　Miss　Eustacia；　didn’t　you？”　Yeobright　gently　asked。　　Eustacia　had　frequently　told　him　of　Charley’s　romantic　attachment。
  “Yes；　very　much。　　Ah；　I　wish—“
  “Yes？”
  “I　wish；　Mr。　Yeobright；　you　could　give　me　something　to　keep　that　once　belonged　to　her—if　you　don’t　mind。”
  “I　shall　be　very　happy　to。　　It　will　give　me　very　great　pleasure；　Charley。　　Let　me　think　what　I　have　of　hers　that　you　would　like。　　But　e　with　me　to　the　house；　and　I’ll　see。”
  They　walked　towards　Blooms…End　together。　　When　they　reached　the　front　it　was　dark；　and　the　shutters　were　closed；　so　that　nothing　of　the　interior　could　be　seen。
  “e　round　this　way；”　said　Clym。　　“My　entrance　is　at　the　back　for　the　present。”
  The　two　went　round　and　ascended　the　crooked　stair　in　darkness　till　Clym’s　sitting…room　on　the　upper　floor　was　reached；　where　he　lit　a　candle；　Charley　entering　gently　behind。　　Yeobright　searched　his　desk；　and　taking　out　a　sheet　of　tissue…paper　unfolded　from　it　two　or　three　undulating　locks　of　raven　hair；　which　fell　over　the　paper　like　black　streams。　　From　these　he　selected　one；　wrapped　it　up；　and　gave　it　to　the　lad；　whose　eyes　had　filled　with　tears。　　He　kissed　the　packet；　put　it　in　his　pocket；　and　said　in　a　voice　of　emotion；　“O；　Mr。　Clym；　how　good　you　are　to　me！”
  “I　will　go　a　little　way　with　you；”　said　Clym。　　And　amid　the　noise　of　merriment　from　below　they　descended。　　Their　path　to　the　front　led　them　close　to　a　little　side　window；　whence　the　rays　of　candles　streamed　across　the　shrubs。　　The　window；　being　screened　from　general　observation　by　the　bushes；　had　been　left　unblinded；　so　that　a　person　in　this　private　nook　could　see　all　that　was　going　on　within　the　room　which　contained　the　wedding　guests；　except　in　so　far　as　vision　was　hindered　by　the　green　antiquity　of　the　panes。
  “Charley；　what　are　they　doing？”　said　Clym。　　“My　sight　is　weaker　again　tonight；　and　the　glass　of　this　window　is　not　good。”
  Charley　wiped　his　own　eyes；　which　were　rather　blurred　with　moisture；　and　stepped　closer　to　the　casement。　　“Mr。　Venn　is　asking　Christian　Cantle　to　sing；”　he　replied；　“and　Christian　is　moving　about　in　his　chair　as　if　he　were　much　frightened　at　the　question；　and　his　father　has　struck　up　a　stave　instead　of　him。”
  “Yes；　I　can　hear　the　old　man’s　voice；”　said　Clym。　　“So　there’s　to　be　no　dancing；　I　suppose。　　And　is　Thomasin　in　the　room？　　I　see　something　moving　in　front　of　the　candles　that　resembles　her　shape；　I　think。”
  “Yes。　She　do　seem　happy。　　She　is　red　in　the　face；　and　laughing　at　something　Fairway　has　said　to　her。　　O　my！”
  “What　noise　was　that？”　said　Clym。
  “Mr。　Venn　is　so　tall　that　he　knocked　his　head　against　the　beam　in　gieing　a　skip　as　he　passed　under。　　Mrs。　Venn　has　run　up　quite　frightened　and　now　she’s　put　her　hand　to　his　head　to　feel　if　there’s　a　lump。　　And　now　they　be　all　laughing　again　as　if　nothing　had　happened。”
  “Do　any　of　them　seem　to　care　about　my　not　being　there？”
  Clym　asked。
  “No；　not　a　bit　in　the　world。　　Now　they　are　all　holding　up　their　glasses　and　drinking　somebody’s　health。”
  “I　wonder　if　it　is　mine？”
  “No；　‘tis　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Venn’s；　because　he　is　making　a　hearty　sort　of　speech。　　There—now　Mrs。　Venn　has　got　up；　and　is　going　away　to　put　on　her　things；　I　think。”
  “Well；　they　haven’t　concerned　themselves　about　me；　and　it　is　quite　right　they　should　not。　　It　is　all　as　it　should　be；　and　Thomasin　at　least　is　happy。　　We　will　not　stay　any　longer　now；　as　they　will　soon　be　ing　out　to　go　home。”
  He　acpanied　the　lad　into　the　heath　on　his　way　home；　and；　returning　alone　to　the　house　a　quarter　of　an　hour　later；　found　Venn　and　Thomasin　ready　to　start；　all　the　guests　having　departed　in　his　absence。　　The　wedded　pair　took　their　seats　in　the　four…wheeled　dogcart　which　Venn’s　head　milker　and　handy　man　had　driven　from　Stickleford　to　fetch　them　in；　little　Eustacia　and　the　nurse　were　packed　securely　upon　the　open　flap　behind；　and　the　milker；　on　an　ancient　overstepping　pony；　whose　shoes　clashed　like　cymbals　at　every　tread；　rode　in　the　rear；　in　the　manner　of　a　body…servant　of　the　last　century。
  “Now　we　leave　you　in　absolute　possession　of　your　own　house　again；”　said　Thomasin　as　she　bent　down　to　wish　her　cousin　good　night。　　“It　will　be　rather　lonely　for　you；　Clym；　after　the　hubbub　we　have　been　making。”
  “O；　that’s　no　inconvenience；”　said　Clym；　smiling　rather　sadly。　　And　then　the　party　drove　off　and　vanished　in　the　night　shades；　and　Yeobright　entered　the　house。　　The　ticking　of　the　clock　was　the　only　sound　that　greeted　him；　for　not　a　soul　remained；　Christian；　who　acted　as　cook；　valet；　and　gardener　to　Clym；　sleeping　at　his　father’s　house。　　Yeobright　sat　down　in　one　of　the　vacant　chairs；　and　remained　in　thought　a　long　time。　　His　mother’s　old　chair　was　opposite；　it　had　been　sat　in　that　evening　by　those　who　had　scarcely　remembered　that　it　ever　was　hers。　　But　to　Clym　she　was　almost　a　presence　there；　now　as　always。　　Whatever　she　was　in　other　people’s　memories；　in　his　she　was　the　sublime　saint　whose　radiance　even　his　tenderness　for　Eustacia　could　not　obscure。　　But　his　heart　was　heavy；　that　Mother　had　NOT　crowned　him　in　the　day　of　his　espousals　and　in　the　day　of　the　gladness　of　his　heart。　　And　events　had　borne　out　the　accuracy　of　her　judgment；　and　proved　the　devotedness　of　her　care。　　He　should　have　heeded　her　for　Eustacia’s　sake　even　more　than　for　his　own。　　“It　was　all　my　fault；”　he　whispered。　　“O；　my　mother；　my　mother！　would　to　God　that　I　could　live　my　life　again；　and　endure　for　you　what　you　endured　for　me！”
  On　the　Sunday　after　this　wedding　an　unusual　sight　was　to　be　seen　on　Rainbarrow。　　From　a　distance　there　simply　appeared　to　be　a　motionless　figure　standing　on　the　top　of　the　tumulus；　just　as　Eustacia　had　stood　on　that　lonely　summit　some　two　years　and　a　half　before。　　But　now　it　was　fine　warm　weather；　with　only　a　summer　breeze　blowing；　and　early　afternoon　instead　of　dull　twilight。　　Those　who　ascended　to　the　immediate　neighbourhood　of　the　Barrow　perceived　that　the　erect　form　in　the　centre；　piercing　the　sky；　was　not　really　alone。　　Round　him　upon　the　slopes　of　the　Barrow　a　number　of　heathmen　and　women　were　reclining　or　sitting　at　their　ease。　　They　listened　to　the　words　of　the　man　in　their　midst；　who　was　preaching；　while　they　abstractedly　pulled　heather；　stripped　ferns；　or　tossed　pebbles　down　the　slope。　　This　was　the　first　of　a　series　of　moral　lectures　or　Sermons　on　the　Mount；　which　were　to　be　delivered　from　the　same　place　every　Sunday　afternoon　as　long　as　the　fine　weather　lasted。
  The　manding　elevation　of　Rainbarrow　had　been　chosen　for　two　reasons：　first；　that　it　occupied　a　central　position　among　the　remote　cottages　around；　secondly；　that　the　pre