还乡The Return Of The Native-第50部分

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“He　is　not　ungrateful　for　winning　her；”　whispered　Eustacia；　“and　in　that　respect　he　is　a　good　man。　　Many　women　would　go　far　for　such　a　husband。　　But　do　I　desire　unreasonably　much　in　wanting　what　is　called　life—　music；　poetry；　passion；　war；　and　all　the　beating　and　pulsing　that　are　going　on　in　the　great　arteries　of　the　world？　　That　was　the　shape　of　my　youthful　dream；　but　I　did　not　get　it。　　Yet　I　thought　I　saw　the　way　to　it　in　my　Clym。”
“And　you　only　married　him　on　that　account？”
“There　you　mistake　me。　　I　married　him　because　I　loved　him；　but　I　won’t　say　that　I　didn’t　love　him　partly　because　I　thought　I　saw　a　promise　of　that　life　in　him。”
“You　have　dropped　into　your　old　mournful　key。”
“But　I　am　not　going　to　be　depressed；”　she　cried　perversely。　　“I　began　a　new　system　by　going　to　that　dance；　and　I　mean　to　stick　to　it。　　Clym　can　sing　merrily；　why　should　not　I？”
Wildeve　looked　thoughtfully　at　her。　　“It　is　easier　to　say　you　will　sing　than　to　do　it；　though　if　I　could　I　would　encourage　you　in　your　attempt。　　But　as　life　means　nothing　to　me；　without　one　thing　which　is　now　impossible；　you　will　forgive　me　for　not　being　able　to　encourage　you。”
“Damon；　what　is　the　matter　with　you；　that　you　speak　like　that？”　she　asked；　raising　her　deep　shady　eyes　to　his。　
“That’s　a　thing　I　shall　never　tell　plainly；　and　perhaps　if　I　try　to　tell　you　in　riddles　you　will　not　care　to　guess　them。”
Eustacia　remained　silent　for　a　minute；　and　she　said；　“We　are　in　a　strange　relationship　today。　　You　mince　matters　to　an　unmon　nicety。　　You　mean；　Damon；　that　you　still　love　me。　　Well；　that　gives　me　sorrow；　for　I　am　not　made　so　entirely　happy　by　my　marriage　that　I　am　willing　to　spurn　you　for　the　information；　as　I　ought　to　do。　　But　we　have　said　too　much　about　this。　　Do　you　mean　to　wait　until　my　husband　is　awake？”
“I　thought　to　speak　to　him；　but　it　is　unnecessary；　Eustacia；　if　I　offend　you　by　not　forgetting　you；　you　are　right　to　mention　it；　but　do　not　talk　of　spurning。”
She　did　not　reply；　and　they　stood　looking　musingly　at　Clym　as　he　slept　on　in　that　profound　sleep　which　is　the　result　of　physical　labour　carried　on　in　circumstances　that　wake　no　nervous　fear。　
“God；　how　I　envy　him　that　sweet　sleep！”　said　Wildeve。　　“I　have　not　slept　like　that　since　I　was　a　boy—years　and　years　ago。”
While　they　thus　watched　him　a　click　at　the　gate　was　audible；　and　a　knock　came　to　the　door。　　Eustacia　went　to　a　window　and　looked　out。　
Her　countenance　changed。　　First　she　became　crimson；　and　then　the　red　subsided　till　it　even　partially　left　her　lips。　
“Shall　I　go　away？”　said　Wildeve；　standing　up。
“I　hardly　know。”
“Who　is　it？”
“Mrs。　Yeobright。　　O；　what　she　said　to　me　that　day！　I　cannot　understand　this　visit—what　does　she　mean？　　And　she　suspects　that　past　time　of　ours。”
“I　am　in　your　hands。　　If　you　think　she　had　better　not　see　me　here　I’ll　go　into　the　next　room。”
“Well；　yes—go。”
Wildeve　at　once　withdrew；　but　before　he　had　been　half　a　minute　in　the　adjoining　apartment　Eustacia　came　after　him。　
“No；”　she　said；　“we　won’t　have　any　of　this。　　If　she　es　in　she　must　see　you—and　think　if　she　likes　there’s　something　wrong！　But　how　can　I　open　the　door　to　her；　when　she　dislikes　me—wishes　to　see　not　me；　but　her　son？　　I　won’t　open　the　door！”
Mrs。　Yeobright　knocked　again　more　loudly。　
“Her　knocking　will；　in　all　likelihood；　awaken　him；”　continued　Eustacia；　“and　then　he　will　let　her　in　himself。　　Ah—listen。”
They　could　hear　Clym　moving　in　the　other　room；　as　if　disturbed　by　the　knocking；　and　he　uttered　the　word　“Mother。”
“Yes—he　is　awake—he　will　go　to　the　door；”　she　said；　with　a　breath　of　relief。　　“e　this　way。　　I　have　a　bad　name　with　her；　and　you　must　not　be　seen。　　Thus　I　am　obliged　to　act　by　stealth；　not　because　I　do　ill；　but　because　others　are　pleased　to　say　so。”
By　this　time　she　had　taken　him　to　the　back　door；　which　was　open；　disclosing　a　path　leading　down　the　garden。　　“Now；　one　word；　Damon；”　she　remarked　as　he　stepped　forth。　
“This　is　your　first　visit　here；　let　it　be　your　last。
We　have　been　hot　lovers　in　our　time；　but　it　won’t　do　now。　
Good…bye。”
“Good…bye；”　said　Wildeve。　　“I　have　had　all　I　came　for；　and　I　am　satisfied。”
“What　was　it？”
“A　sight　of　you。　　Upon　my　eternal　honour　I　came　for　no　more。”
Wildeve　kissed　his　hand　to　the　beautiful　girl　he　addressed；　and　passed　into　the　garden；　where　she　watched　him　down　the　path；　over　the　stile　at　the　end；　and　into　the　ferns　outside；　which　brushed　his　hips　as　he　went　along　till　he　became　lost　in　their　thickets。　　When　he　had　quite　gone　she　slowly　turned；　and　directed　her　attention　to　the　interior　of　the　house。　
But　it　was　possible　that　her　presence　might　not　be　desired　by　Clym　and　his　mother　at　this　moment　of　their　first　meeting；　or　that　it　would　be　superfluous。　　At　all　events；　she　was　in　no　hurry　to　meet　Mrs。　Yeobright。　　She　resolved　to　wait　till　Clym　came　to　look　for　her；　and　glided　back　into　the　garden。　　Here　she　idly　occupied　herself　for　a　few　minutes；　till　finding　no　notice　was　taken　of　her　she　retraced　her　steps　through　the　house　to　the　front；　where　she　listened　for　voices　in　the　parlour。　　But　hearing　none　she　opened　the　door　and　went　in。　　To　her　astonishment　Clym　lay　precisely　as　Wildeve　and　herself　had　left　him；　his　sleep　apparently　unbroken。　　He　had　been　disturbed　and　made　to　dream　and　murmur　by　the　knocking；　but　he　had　not　awakened。　　Eustacia　hastened　to　the　door；　and　in　spite　of　her　reluctance　to　open　it　to　a　woman　who　had　spoken　of　her　so　bitterly；　she　unfastened　it　and　looked　out。　　Nobody　was　to　be　seen。　　There；　by　the　scraper；　lay　Clym’s　hook　and　the　handful　of　faggot…bonds　he　had　brought　home；　in　front　of　her　were　the　empty　path；　the　garden　gate　standing　slightly　ajar；　and；　beyond；　the　great　valley　of　purple　heath　thrilling　silently　in　the　sun。　　Mrs。　Yeobright　was　gone。　

Clym’s　mother　was　at　this　time　following　a　path　which　lay　hidden　from　Eustacia　by　a　shoulder　of　the　hill。　　Her　walk　thither　from　the　garden　gate　had　been　hasty　and　determined；　as　of　a　woman　who　was　now　no　less　anxious　to　escape　from　the　scene　than　she　had　previously　been　to　enter　it。　　Her　eyes　were　fixed　on　the　ground；　within　her　two　sights　were　graven—that　of　Clym’s　hook　and　brambles　at　the　door；　and　that　of　a　woman’s　face　at　a　window。　　Her　lips　trembled；　being　unnaturally　thin　as　she　murmured；　“’Tis　too　much—Clym；　how　can　he　bear　to　do　it！　He　is　at　home；　and　yet　he　lets　her　shut　the　door　against　me！”
In　her　anxiety　to　get　out　of　the　direct　view　of　the　house　she　had　diverged　from　the　straightest　path　homeward；　and　while　looking　about　to　regain　it　she　came　upon　a　little　boy　gathering　whortleberries　in　a　hollow。　　The　boy　was　Johnny　Nunsuch；　who　had　been　Eustacia’s　stoker　at　the　bonfire；　and；　with　the　tendency　of　a　minute　body　to　gravitate　towards　a　greater；　he　began　hovering　round　Mrs。　Yeobright　as　soon　as　she　appeared；　and　trotted　on　beside　her　without　perceptible　consciousness　of　his　act。　
Mrs。　Yeobright　spoke　to　him　as　one　in　a　mesmeric　sleep。　　“’Tis　a　long　way　home；　my　child；　and　we　shall　not　get　there　till　evening。”
“I　shall；”　said　her　small　panion。　　“I　am　going　to　play　marnels　afore　supper；　and　we　go　to　supper　at　six　o’clock；　because　Father　es　home。　　Does　your　father　e　home　at　six　too？”
“No；　he　never　es；　nor　my　son　either；　nor　anybody。”
“What　have　made　you　so　down？　　Have　you　seen　a　ooser？”
“I　have　seen　what’s　worse—a　woman’s　face　looking　at　me　through　a　windowpane。”
“Is　that　a　bad　sight？”
“Yes。　It　is　always　a　bad　sight　to　see　a　woman　looking　out　at　a　weary　wayfarer　and　not　letting　her　in。”
“Once　when　I　went　to　Throope　Great　Pond　to　catch　effets　I　seed　myself　looking　up　at　myself；　and　I　was　frightened　and　jumped　back　like　anything。”
。。。”If　they　had　only　shown　signs　of　meeting　my　advances　halfway　how　well　it　might　have　been　done！　But　there　is　no　chance。　　Shut　out！　She　must　have　set　him　against　me。　　Can　there　be　beautiful　bodies　without　hearts　inside？　　I　think　so。　　I　would　not　have　done　it　against　a　neighbour’s　cat　on　such　a　fiery　day　as　this！”
“What　is　it　you　say？”
“Never　again—never！　Not　even　if　they　send　for　me！”
“You　must　be　a　very　curious　woman　to　talk　like　that。”
“O　no；　not　at　all；”　she　said；　returning　to　the　boy’s　prattle。　
“Most　people　who　grow　up　and　have　children　talk　as　I　do。　
When　you　grow　up　your　mother　will　talk　as　I　do　too。”
“I　hope　she　won’t；　because　‘tis　very　bad　to　talk　nonsense。”
“Yes；　child；　it　is　nonsense；　I　suppose。　　Are　you　not　nearly　spent　with　the　heat？”
“Yes。　But　not　so　much　as　you　be。”
“How　do　you　know？”
“Your　face　is　white　and　wet；　and　your　head　is　hanging…down…like。”
“Ah；　I　am　exhausted　from　inside。”
“Why　do　you；　every　time　you　take　a　step；　go　like　this？”　The　child　in　speaking　gave　to　his　motion　the　jerk　and　limp　of　an　invalid。　
“Because　I　have　a　burden　which　is　more　than　I　can　bear。”
The　little　boy　remained　silently　pondering；　and　they　tottered　on　side　by　side　until　more　than　a　quarter　of　an　hour　had　elapsed；　when　Mrs。　Yeobright；　whose　weakness　plainly　increased；　said　to　him；　“I　must　sit　down　here　to　rest。”
When　she　had　seated　herself　he　looked　long　in　her　face　and　said；　“How　funny　you　draw　your　breath—like　a　lamb　when　you　drive　him　till　he’s　nearly　done　for。　　Do　you　always　draw　your　breath　like　that？”
“Not　always。”　　Her　voice　was　now　so　low　as　to　be　scarcely　above　a　whisper。
“You　will　go　to　sleep　there；　I　suppose；　won’t　you？　　You　have　shut　your　eyes　already。”
“No。　I　shall　not　sleep　much　till—another　day；　and　then　I　hope　to　have　a　long；　long　one—very　long。　　Now　can　you　tell　me　if　Rimsmoor　Pond　is　dry　this　summer？”
“Rimsmoor　Pond　is；　but　Oker’s　Pool　isn’t；　because　he　is　deep；　and　is　never　dry—‘tis　just　over　there。”
“Is　the　water　clear？”
“Yes；　middling—except　where　the　heath…croppers　walk　into　it。”
“Then；　take　this；　and　go　as　fast　as　you　can；　and　dip　me　up　the　clearest　you　can　find。　　I　am　very　faint。”
She　drew　from　the　small　willow　reticule　that　she　carried　in　her　hand　an　old…fashioned　china　teacup　without　a　handle；　it　was　one　of　half　a　dozen　of　the　same　sort　lying　in　the　reticule；　which　she　had　preserved　ever　since　her　childhood；　and　had　brought　with　her　today　as　a　small　present　for　Clym　and　Eustacia。　
The　boy　started　on　his　errand；　and　soon　came　back　with　the　water；　such　as　it　was。　　Mrs。　Yeobright　attempted　to　drink；　but　it　was　so　warm　as　to　give　her　nausea；　and　she　threw　it　away。　　Afterwards　she　still　remained　sitting；　with　her　eyes　closed。　
The　boy　waited；　played　near　her；　caught　several　of　the　little　brown　butterflies　which　abounded；　and　then　said　as　he　waited　again；　“I　like　going　on　better　than　biding　still。　　Will　you　soon　start　again？”
“I　don’t　know。”
“I　wish　I　might　go　on　by　myself；”　he　resumed；　fearing；　apparently；　that　he　was　to　be　pressed　into　some　unpleasant　service。　　“Do　you　want　me　any　more；　please？”
Mrs。　Yeobright　made　no　reply。　
“What　shall　I　tell　Mother？”　the　boy　continued。　
“Tell　her　you　have　seen　a　broken…hearted　woman　cast　off　by　her　son。”
Before　quite　leaving　her　he　threw　upon　her　face　a　wistful　glance；　as　if　he　had　misgivings　on　the　generosity　of　forsaking　her　thus。　　He　gazed　into　her　face　in　a　vague；　wondering　manner；　like　that　of　one　examining　some　strange　old　manuscript　the　key　to　whose　characters　is　un