还乡The Return Of The Native-第33部分

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She　shook　her　head。　　“I　am　managing　to　exist　in　a　wilderness；　but　I　cannot　drink　from　a　pond；”　she　said。　
Clym　looked　towards　the　well；　which　was　now　deserted；　the　men　having　gone　home。　　“It　is　a　long　way　to　send　for　spring…water；”　he　said；　after　a　silence。　　“But　since　you　don’t　like　this　in　the　pond；　I’ll　try　to　get　you　some　myself。”　　He　went　back　to　the　well。　　“Yes；　I　think　I　could　do　it　by　tying　on　this　pail。”
“But；　since　I　would　not　trouble　the　men　to　get　it；　I　cannot　in　conscience　let　you。”
“I　don’t　mind　the　trouble　at　all。”
He　made　fast　the　pail　to　the　long　coil　of　rope；　put　it　over　the　wheel；　and　allowed　it　to　descend　by　letting　the　rope　slip　through　his　hands。　　Before　it　had　gone　far；　however；　he　checked　it。　
“I　must　make　fast　the　end　first；　or　we　may　lose　the　whole；”　he　said　to　Eustacia；　who　had　drawn　near。　　“Could　you　hold　this　a　moment；　while　I　do　it—or　shall　I　call　your　servant？”
“I　can　hold　it；”　said　Eustacia；　and　he　placed　the　rope　in　her　hands；　going　then　to　search　for　the　end。　
“I　suppose　I　may　let　it　slip　down？”　she　inquired。　
“I　would　advise　you　not　to　let　it　go　far；”　said　Clym。　
“It　will　get　much　heavier；　you　will　find。”
However；　Eustacia　had　begun　to　pay　out。　　While　he　was　tying　she　cried；　“I　cannot　stop　it！”
Clym　ran　to　her　side；　and　found　he　could　only　check　the　rope　by　twisting　the　loose　part　round　the　upright　post；　when　it　stopped　with　a　jerk。　　“Has　it　hurt　you？”
“Yes；”　she　replied。　
“Very　much？”
“No；　I　think　not。”　　She　opened　her　hands。　　One　of　them　was　bleeding；　the　rope　had　dragged　off　the　skin。　　Eustacia　wrapped　it　in　her　handkerchief。
“You　should　have　let　go；”　said　Yeobright。　　“Why　didn’t　you？”
“You　said　I　was　to　hold　on。。。。This　is　the　second　time　I　have　been　wounded　today。”
“Ah；　yes；　I　have　heard　of　it。　　I　blush　for　my　native　Egdon。　
Was　it　a　serious　injury　you　received　in　church；　Miss　Vye？”
There　was　such　an　abundance　of　sympathy　in　Clym’s　tone　that　Eustacia　slowly　drew　up　her　sleeve　and　disclosed　her　round　white　arm。　　A　bright　red　spot　appeared　on　its　smooth　surface；　like　a　ruby　on　Parian　marble。　
“There　it　is；”　she　said；　putting　her　finger　against　the　spot。　
“It　was　dastardly　of　the　woman；”　said　Clym。　　“Will　not　Captain　Vye　get　her　punished？”
“He　is　gone　from　home　on　that　very　business。　　I　did　not　know　that　I　had　such　a　magic　reputation。”
“And　you　fainted？”　said　Clym；　looking　at　the　scarlet　little　puncture　as　if　he　would　like　to　kiss　it　and　make　it　well。　
“Yes；　it　frightened　me。　　I　had　not　been　to　church　for　a　long　time。　　And　now　I　shall　not　go　again　for　ever　so　long—perhaps　never。　　I　cannot　face　their　eyes　after　this。　　Don’t　you　think　it　dreadfully　humiliating？　　I　wished　I　was　dead　for　hours　after；　but　I　don’t　mind　now。”
“I　have　e　to　clean　away　these　cobwebs；”　said　Yeobright。　　“Would　you　like　to　help　me—by　high…class　teaching？　　We　might　benefit　them　much。”
“I　don’t　quite　feel　anxious　to。　　I　have　not　much　love　for　my　fellow…creatures。　Sometimes　I　quite　hate　them。”
“Still　I　think　that　if　you　were　to　hear　my　scheme　you　might　take　an　interest　in　it。　　There　is　no　use　in　hating　people—if　you　hate　anything；　you　should　hate　what　produced　them。”
“Do　you　mean　Nature？　　I　hate　her　already。　　But　I　shall　be　glad　to　hear　your　scheme　at　any　time。”
The　situation　had　now　worked　itself　out；　and　the　next　natural　thing　was　for　them　to　part。　　Clym　knew　this　well　enough；　and　Eustacia　made　a　move　of　conclusion；　yet　he　looked　at　her　as　if　he　had　one　word　more　to　say。　　Perhaps　if　he　had　not　lived　in　Paris　it　would　never　have　been　uttered。　
“We　have　met　before；”　he　said；　regarding　her　with　rather　more　interest　than　was　necessary。　
“I　do　not　own　it；”　said　Eustacia；　with　a　repressed；　still　look。　
“But　I　may　think　what　I　like。”
“Yes。”
“You　are　lonely　here。”
“I　cannot　endure　the　heath；　except　in　its　purple　season。　
The　heath　is　a　cruel　taskmaster　to　me。”
“Can　you　say　so？”　he　asked。　　“To　my　mind　it　is　most　exhilarating；　and　strengthening；　and　soothing。　　I　would　rather　live　on　these　hills　than　anywhere　else　in　the　world。”
“It　is　well　enough　for　artists；　but　I　never　would　learn　to　draw。”
“And　there　is　a　very　curious　druidical　stone　just　out　there。”　He　threw　a　pebble　in　the　direction　signified。　　“Do　you　often　go　to　see　it？”
“I　was　not　even　aware　there　existed　any　such　curious　druidical　stone。　　I　am　aware　that　there　are　boulevards　in　Paris。”
Yeobright　looked　thoughtfully　on　the　ground。
“That　means　much；”　he　said。　
“It　does　indeed；”　said　Eustacia。　
“I　remember　when　I　had　the　same　longing　for　town　bustle。　　Five　years　of　a　great　city　would　be　a　perfect　cure　for　that。”
“Heaven　send　me　such　a　cure！　Now；　Mr。　Yeobright；　I　will　go　indoors　and　plaster　my　wounded　hand。”
They　separated；　and　Eustacia　vanished　in　the　increasing　shade。　　She　seemed　full　of　many　things。　　Her　past　was　a　blank；　her　life　had　begun。　　The　effect　upon　Clym　of　this　meeting　he　did　not　fully　discover　till　some　time　after。　　During　his　walk　home　his　most　intelligible　sensation　was　that　his　scheme　had　somehow　bee　glorified。　　A　beautiful　woman　had　been　intertwined　with　it。　
On　reaching　the　house　he　went　up　to　the　room　which　was　to　be　made　his　study；　and　occupied　himself　during　the　evening　in　unpacking　his　books　from　the　boxes　and　arranging　them　on　shelves。　　From　another　box　he　drew　a　lamp　and　a　can　of　oil。　　He　trimmed　the　lamp；　arranged　his　table；　and　said；　“Now；　I　am　ready　to　begin。”
He　rose　early　the　next　morning；　read　two　hours　before　breakfast　by　the　light　of　his　lamp—read　all　the　morning；　all　the　afternoon。　　Just　when　the　sun　was　going　down　his　eyes　felt　weary；　and　he　leant　back　in　his　chair。　
His　room　overlooked　the　front　of　the　premises　and　the　valley　of　the　heath　beyond。　　The　lowest　beams　of　the　winter　sun　threw　the　shadow　of　the　house　over　the　palings；　across　the　grass　margin　of　the　heath；　and　far　up　the　vale；　where　the　chimney　outlines　and　those　of　the　surrounding　tree…tops　stretched　forth　in　long　dark　prongs。　　Having　been　seated　at　work　all　day；　he　decided　to　take　a　turn　upon　the　hills　before　it　got　dark；　and；　going　out　forthwith；　he　struck　across　the　heath　towards　Mistover。　
It　was　an　hour　and　a　half　later　when　he　again　appeared　at　the　garden　gate。　　The　shutters　of　the　house　were　closed；　and　Christian　Cantle；　who　had　been　wheeling　manure　about　the　garden　all　day；　had　gone　home。　　On　entering　he　found　that　his　mother；　after　waiting　a　long　time　for　him；　had　finished　her　meal。　
“Where　have　you　been；　Clym？”　she　immediately　said。　　“Why　didn’t　you　tell　me　that　you　were　going　away　at　this　time？”
“I　have　been　on　the　heath。”
“You’ll　meet　Eustacia　Vye　if　you　go　up　there。”
Clym　paused　a　minute。　　“Yes；　I　met　her　this　evening；”　he　said；　as　though　it　were　spoken　under　the　sheer　necessity　of　preserving　honesty。
“I　wondered　if　you　had。”
“It　was　no　appointment。”
“No；　such　meetings　never　are。”
“But　you　are　not　angry；　Mother？”
“I　can　hardly　say　that　I　am　not。　　Angry？　　No。　But　when　I　consider　the　usual　nature　of　the　drag　which　causes　men　of　promise　to　disappoint　the　world　I　feel　uneasy。”
“You　deserve　credit　for　the　feeling；　Mother。　　But　I　can　assure　you　that　you　need　not　be　disturbed　by　it　on　my　account。”
“When　I　think　of　you　and　your　new　crotchets；”　said　Mrs。　Yeobright；　with　some　emphasis；　“I　naturally　don’t　feel　so　fortable　as　I　did　a　twelvemonth　ago。　　It　is　incredible　to　me　that　a　man　accustomed　to　the　attractive　women　of　Paris　and　elsewhere　should　be　so　easily　worked　upon　by　a　girl　in　a　heath。　　You　could　just　as　well　have　walked　another　way。”
“I　had　been　studying　all　day。”
“Well；　yes；”　she　added　more　hopefully；　“I　have　been　thinking　that　you　might　get　on　as　a　schoolmaster；　and　rise　that　way；　since　you　really　are　determined　to　hate　the　course　you　were　pursuing。”
Yeobright　was　unwilling　to　disturb　this　idea；　though　his　scheme　was　far　enough　removed　from　one　wherein　the　education　of　youth　should　be　made　a　mere　channel　of　social　ascent。　　He　had　no　desires　of　that　sort。　　He　had　reached　the　stage　in　a　young　man’s　life　when　the　grimness　of　the　general　human　situation　first　bees　clear；　and　the　realization　of　this　causes　ambition　to　halt　awhile。　　In　France　it　is　not　uncustomary　to　mit　suicide　at　this　stage；　in　England　we　do　much　better；　or　much　worse；　as　the　case　may　be。　
The　love　between　the　young　man　and　his　mother　was　strangely　invisible　now。　　Of　love　it　may　be　said；　the　less　earthly　the　less　demonstrative。　　In　its　absolutely　indestructible　form　it　reaches　a　profundity　in　which　all　exhibition　of　itself　is　painful。　　It　was　so　with　these。　　Had　conversations　between　them　been　overheard；　people　would　have　said；　“How　cold　they　are　to　each　other！”
His　theory　and　his　wishes　about　devoting　his　future　to　teaching　had　made　an　impression　on　Mrs。　Yeobright。　　Indeed；　how　could　it　be　otherwise　when　he　was　a　part　of　her—when　their　discourses　were　as　if　carried　on　between　the　right　and　the　left　hands　of　the　same　body？　　He　had　despaired　of　reaching　her　by　argument；　and　it　was　almost　as　a　discovery　to　him　that　he　could　reach　her　by　a　magnetism　which　was　as　superior　to　words　as　words　are　to　yells。　
Strangely　enough　he　began　to　feel　now　that　it　would　not　be　so　hard　to　persuade　her　who　was　his　best　friend　that　parative　poverty　was　essentially　the　higher　course　for　him；　as　to　reconcile　to　his　feelings　the　act　of　persuading　her。　　From　every　provident　point　of　view　his　mother　was　so　undoubtedly　right；　that　he　was　not　without　a　sickness　of　heart　in　finding　he　could　shake　her。　
She　had　a　singular　insight　into　life；　considering　that　she　had　never　mixed　with　it。　　There　are　instances　of　persons　who；　without　clear　ideas　of　the　things　they　criticize　have　yet　had　clear　ideas　of　the　relations　of　those　things。　　Blacklock；　a　poet　blind　from　his　birth；　could　describe　visual　objects　with　accuracy；　Professor　Sanderson；　who　was　also　blind；　gave　excellent　lectures　on　colour；　and　taught　others　the　theory　of　ideas　which　they　had　and　he　had　not。　　In　the　social　sphere　these　gifted　ones　are　mostly　women；　they　can　watch　a　world　which　they　never　saw；　and　estimate　forces　of　which　they　have　only　heard。　　We　call　it　intuition。　
What　was　the　great　world　to　Mrs。　Yeobright？　　A　multitude　whose　tendencies　could　be　perceived；　though　not　its　essences。　　munities　were　seen　by　her　as　from　a　distance；　she　saw　them　as　we　see　the　throngs　which　cover　the　canvases　of　Sallaert；　Van　Alsloot；　and　others　of　that　school—vast　masses　of　beings；　jostling；　zigzagging；　and　processioning　in　definite　directions；　but　whose　features　are　indistinguishable　by　the　very　prehensiveness　of　the　view。　
One　could　see　that；　as　far　as　it　had　gone；　her　life　was　very　plete　on　its　reflective　side。　　The　philosophy　of　her　nature；　and　its　limitation　by　circumstances；　was　almost　written　in　her　movements。　　They　had　a　majestic　foundation；　though　they　were　far　from　being　majestic；　and　they　had　a　ground…work　of　assurance；　but　they　were　not　assured。　　As　her　once　elastic　walk　had　bee　deadened　by　time；　so　had　her　natural　pride　of　life　been　hindered　in　its　blooming　by　her　necessities。　
The　next　slight　touch　in　the　shaping　of　Clym’s　destiny　occurred　a　few　days　after。　　A　barrow　was　opened　on　the　heath；　and　Yeobright　attended　the　operation；　remaining　away　from　his　study　during　several　hours。