还乡The Return Of The Native-第62部分

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he　himself　had　bolted　and　locked。　　It　was　now　unfastened。　　There　was　no　longer　any　doubt　that　Eustacia　had　left　the　house　at　this　midnight　hour；　and　whither　could　she　have　gone？　　To　follow　her　was　almost　impossible。　　Had　the　dwelling　stood　in　an　ordinary　road；　two　persons　setting　out；　one　in　each　direction；　might　have　made　sure　of　overtaking　her；　but　it　was　a　hopeless　task　to　seek　for　anybody　on　a　heath　in　the　dark；　the　practicable　directions　for　flight　across　it　from　any　point　being　as　numerous　as　the　meridians　radiating　from　the　pole。　　Perplexed　what　to　do；　he　looked　into　the　parlour；　and　was　vexed　to　find　that　the　letter　still　lay　there　untouched。　

At　half…past　eleven；　finding　that　the　house　was　silent；　Eustacia　had　lighted　her　candle；　put　on　some　warm　outer　wrappings；　taken　her　bag　in　her　hand；　and；　extinguishing　the　light　again；　descended　the　staircase。　　When　she　got　into　the　outer　air　she　found　that　it　had　begun　to　rain；　and　as　she　stood　pausing　at　the　door　it　increased；　threatening　to　e　on　heavily。　　But　having　mitted　herself　to　this　line　of　action　there　was　no　retreating　for　bad　weather。　　Even　the　receipt　of　Clym’s　letter　would　not　have　stopped　her　now。　　The　gloom　of　the　night　was　funereal；　all　nature　seemed　clothed　in　crape。　　The　spiky　points　of　the　fir　trees　behind　the　house　rose　into　the　sky　like　the　turrets　and　pinnacles　of　an　abbey。　　Nothing　below　the　horizon　was　visible　save　a　light　which　was　still　burning　in　the　cottage　of　Susan　Nunsuch。　
Eustacia　opened　her　umbrella　and　went　out　from　the　enclosure　by　the　steps　over　the　bank；　after　which　she　was　beyond　all　danger　of　being　perceived。　　Skirting　the　pool；　she　followed　the　path　towards　Rainbarrow；　occasionally　stumbling　over　twisted　furze　roots；　tufts　of　rushes；　or　oozing　lumps　of　fleshy　fungi；　which　at　this　season　lay　scattered　about　the　heath　like　the　rotten　liver　and　lungs　of　some　colossal　animal。　　The　moon　and　stars　were　closed　up　by　cloud　and　rain　to　the　degree　of　extinction。　　It　was　a　night　which　led　the　traveller’s　thoughts　instinctively　to　dwell　on　nocturnal　scenes　of　disaster　in　the　chronicles　of　the　world；　on　all　that　is　terrible　and　dark　in　history　and　legend—the　last　plague　of　Egypt；　the　destruction　of　Sennacherib’s　host；　the　agony　in　Gethsemane。　
Eustacia　at　length　reached　Rainbarrow；　and　stood　still　there　to　think。　　Never　was　harmony　more　perfect　than　that　between　the　chaos　of　her　mind　and　the　chaos　of　the　world　without。　　A　sudden　recollection　had　flashed　on　her　this　moment—she　had　not　money　enough　for　undertaking　a　long　journey。　　Amid　the　fluctuating　sentiments　of　the　day　her　unpractical　mind　had　not　dwelt　on　the　necessity　of　being　well…provided；　and　now　that　she　thoroughly　realized　the　conditions　she　sighed　bitterly　and　ceased　to　stand　erect；　gradually　crouching　down　under　the　umbrella　as　if　she　were　drawn　into　the　Barrow　by　a　hand　from　beneath。　　Could　it　be　that　she　was　to　remain　a　captive　still？　　Money—she　had　never　felt　its　value　before。　　Even　to　efface　herself　from　the　country　means　were　required。　　To　ask　Wildeve　for　pecuniary　aid　without　allowing　him　to　acpany　her　was　impossible　to　a　woman　with　a　shadow　of　pride　left　in　her；　to　fly　as　his　mistress—and　she　knew　that　he　loved　her—was　of　the　nature　of　humiliation。　
Anyone　who　had　stood　by　now　would　have　pitied　her；　not　so　much　on　account　of　her　exposure　to　weather；　and　isolation　from　all　of　humanity　except　the　mouldered　remains　inside　the　tumulus；　but　for　that　other　form　of　misery　which　was　denoted　by　the　slightly　rocking　movement　that　her　feelings　imparted　to　her　person。　　Extreme　unhappiness　weighed　visibly　upon　her。　　Between　the　drippings　of　the　rain　from　her　umbrella　to　her　mantle；　from　her　mantle　to　the　heather；　from　the　heather　to　the　earth；　very　similar　sounds　could　be　heard　ing　from　her　lips；　and　the　tearfulness　of　the　outer　scene　was　repeated　upon　her　face。　　The　wings　of　her　soul　were　broken　by　the　cruel　obstructiveness　of　all　about　her；　and　even　had　she　seen　herself　in　a　promising　way　of　getting　to　Budmouth；　entering　a　steamer；　and　sailing　to　some　opposite　port；　she　would　have　been　but　little　more　buoyant；　so　fearfully　malignant　were　other　things。　　She　uttered　words　aloud。　　When　a　woman　in　such　a　situation；　neither　old；　deaf；　crazed；　nor　whimsical；　takes　upon　herself　to　sob　and　soliloquize　aloud　there　is　something　grievous　the　matter。　
“Can　I　go；　can　I　go？”　she　moaned。　　“He’s　not　GREAT　enough　for　me　to　give　myself　to—he　does　not　suffice　for　my　desire！。。。If　he　had　been　a　Saul　or　a　Bonaparte—　ah！　But　to　break　my　marriage　vow　for　him—it　is　too　poor　a　luxury！。。。And　I　have　no　money　to　go　alone！　And　if　I　could；　what　fort　to　me？　　I　must　drag　on　next　year；　as　I　have　dragged　on　this　year；　and　the　year　after　that　as　before。　　How　I　have　tried　and　tried　to　be　a　splendid　woman；　and　how　destiny　has　been　against　me！。。。I　do　not　deserve　my　lot！”　she　cried　in　a　frenzy　of　bitter　revolt。　　“O；　the　cruelty　of　putting　me　into　this　ill…conceived　world！　I　was　capable　of　much；　but　I　have　been　injured　and　blighted　and　crushed　by　things　beyond　my　control！　O；　how　hard　it　is　of　Heaven　to　devise　such　tortures　for　me；　who　have　done　no　harm　to　Heaven　at　all！”

The　distant　light　which　Eustacia　had　cursorily　observed　in　leaving　the　house　came；　as　she　had　divined；　from　the　cottage　window　of　Susan　Nunsuch。　　What　Eustacia　did　not　divine　was　the　occupation　of　the　woman　within　at　that　moment。　　Susan’s　sight　of　her　passing　figure　earlier　in　the　evening；　not　five　minutes　after　the　sick　boy’s　exclamation；　“Mother；　I　do　feel　so　bad！”　persuaded　the　matron　that　an　evil　influence　was　certainly　exercised　by　Eustacia’s　propinquity。　
On　this　account　Susan　did　not　go　to　bed　as　soon　as　the　evening’s　work　was　over；　as　she　would　have　done　at　ordinary　times。　　To　counteract　the　malign　spell　which　she　imagined　poor　Eustacia　to　be　working；　the　boy’s　mother　busied　herself　with　a　ghastly　invention　of　superstition；　calculated　to　bring　powerlessness；　atrophy；　and　annihilation　on　any　human　being　against　whom　it　was　directed。　　It　was　a　practice　well　known　on　Egdon　at　that　date；　and　one　that　is　not　quite　extinct　at　the　present　day。　
She　passed　with　her　candle　into　an　inner　room；　where；　among　other　utensils；　were　two　large　brown　pans；　containing　together　perhaps　a　hundredweight　of　liquid　honey；　the　produce　of　the　bees　during　the　foregoing　summer。　　On　a　shelf　over　the　pans　was　a　smooth　and　solid　yellow　mass　of　a　hemispherical　form；　consisting　of　beeswax　from　the　same　take　of　honey。　　Susan　took　down　the　lump；　and　cutting　off　several　thin　slices；　heaped　them　in　an　iron　ladle；　with　which　she　returned　to　the　living…room；　and　placed　the　vessel　in　the　hot　ashes　of　the　fireplace。　　As　soon　as　the　wax　had　softened　to　the　plasticity　of　dough　she　kneaded　the　pieces　together。　　And　now　her　face　became　more　intent。　　She　began　moulding　the　wax；　and　it　was　evident　from　her　manner　of　manipulation　that　she　was　endeavouring　to　give　it　some　preconceived　form。　　The　form　was　human。　
By　warming　and　kneading；　cutting　and　twisting；　dismembering　and　re…joining　the　incipient　image　she　had　in　about　a　quarter　of　an　hour　produced　a　shape　which　tolerably　well　resembled　a　woman；　and　was　about　six　inches　high。　　She　laid　it　on　the　table　to　get　cold　and　hard。　　Meanwhile　she　took　the　candle　and　went　upstairs　to　where　the　little　boy　was　lying。　
“Did　you　notice；　my　dear；　what　Mrs。　Eustacia　wore　this　afternoon　besides　the　dark　dress？”
“A　red　ribbon　round　her　neck。”
“Anything　else？”
“No—except　sandal…shoes。”
“A　red　ribbon　and　sandal…shoes；”　she　said　to　herself。　
Mrs。　Nunsuch　went　and　searched　till　she　found　a　fragment　of　the　narrowest　red　ribbon；　which　she　took　downstairs　and　tied　round　the　neck　of　the　image。　　Then　fetching　ink　and　a　quilt　from　the　rickety　bureau　by　the　window；　she　blackened　the　feet　of　the　image　to　the　extent　presumably　covered　by　shoes；　and　on　the　instep　of　each　foot　marked　cross…lines　in　the　shape　taken　by　the　sandalstrings　of　those　days。　　Finally　she　tied　a　bit　of　black　thread　round　the　upper　part　of　the　head；　in　faint　resemblance　to　a　snood　worn　for　confining　the　hair。
Susan　held　the　object　at　arm’s　length　and　contemplated　it　with　a　satisfaction　in　which　there　was　no　smile。　　To　anybody　acquainted　with　the　inhabitants　of　Egdon　Heath　the　image　would　have　suggested　Eustacia　Yeobright。　
From　her　workbasket　in　the　window…seat　the　woman　took　a　paper　of　pins；　of　the　old　long　and　yellow　sort；　whose　heads　were　disposed　to　e　off　at　their　first　usage。　　These　she　began　to　thrust　into　the　image　in　all　directions；　with　apparently　excruciating　energy。　　Probably　as　many　as　fifty　were　thus　inserted；　some　into　the　head　of　the　wax　model；　some　into　the　shoulders；　some　into　the　trunk；　some　upwards　through　the　soles　of　the　feet；　till　the　figure　was　pletely　permeated　with　pins。　
She　turned　to　the　fire。　　It　had　been　of　turf；　and　though　the　high　heap　of　ashes　which　turf　fires　produce　was　somewhat　dark　and　dead　on　the　outside；　upon　raking　it　abroad　with　the　shovel　the　inside　of　the　mass　showed　a　glow　of　red　heat。　　She　took　a　few　pieces　of　fresh　turf　from　the　chimney…corner　and　built　them　together　over　the　glow；　upon　which　the　fire　brightened。　　Seizing　with　the　tongs　the　image　that　she　had　made　of　Eustacia；　she　held　it　in　the　heat；　and　watched　it　as　it　began　to　waste　slowly　away。　　And　while　she　stood　thus　engaged　there　came　from　between　her　lips　a　murmur　of　words。　
It　was　a　strange　jargon—the　Lord’s　Prayer　repeated　backwards—the　incantation　usual　in　proceedings　for　obtaining　unhallowed　assistance　against　an　enemy。　　Susan　uttered　the　lugubrious　discourse　three　times　slowly；　and　when　it　was　pleted　the　image　had　considerably　diminished。　　As　the　wax　dropped　into　the　fire　a　long　flame　arose　from　the　spot；　and　curling　its　tongue　round　the　figure　ate　still　further　into　its　substance。　　A　pin　occasionally　dropped　with　the　wax；　and　the　embers　heated　it　red　as　it　lay。　


8　… Rain；　Darkness；　and　Anxious　Wanderers


While　the　effigy　of　Eustacia　was　melting　to　nothing；　and　the　fair　woman　herself　was　standing　on　Rainbarrow；　her　soul　in　an　abyss　of　desolation　seldom　plumbed　by　one　so　young；　Yeobright　sat　lonely　at　Blooms…End。　He　had　fulfilled　his　word　to　Thomasin　by　sending　off　Fairway　with　the　letter　to　his　wife；　and　now　waited　with　increased　impatience　for　some　sound　or　signal　of　her　return。　　Were　Eustacia　still　at　Mistover　the　very　least　he　expected　was　that　she　would　send　him　back　a　reply　tonight　by　the　same　hand；　though；　to　leave　all　to　her　inclination；　he　had　cautioned　Fairway　not　to　ask　for　an　answer。　　If　one　were　handed　to　him　he　was　to　bring　it　immediately；　if　not；　he　was　to　go　straight　home　without　troubling　to　e　round　to　Blooms…End　again　that　night。　
But　secretly　Clym　had　a　more　pleasing　hope。　　Eustacia　might　possibly　decline　to　use　her　pen—it　was　rather　her　way　to　work　silently—and　surprise　him　by　appearing　at　his　door。　　How　fully　her　mind　was　made　up　to　do　otherwise　he　did　not　know。
To　Clym’s　regret　it　began　to　rain　and　blow　hard　as　the　evening　advanced。　　The　wind　rasped　and　scraped　at　the　corners　of　the　house；　and　filliped　the　eavesdroppings　like　peas　against　the　panes。　　He　walked　restlessly　about　the　untenanted　rooms；　stopping　strange　noises　in　windows　and　doors　by　jamming　splinters　of　wood　into　the　casements　and　crevices；　and　pressing　together　the