“You may e again to Rainbarrow if you like； but you won’t see me； and you may call； but I shall not listen； and you may tempt me； but I won’t give myself to you any more。”
“You have said as much before； sweet； but such natures as yours don’t so easily adhere to their words。 Neither； for the matter of that； do such natures as mine。”
“This is the pleasure I have won by my trouble；” she whispered bitterly。 “Why did I try to recall you？ Damon； a strange warring takes place in my mind occasionally。 I think when I bee calm after you woundings； ‘Do I embrace a cloud of mon fog after all？’ You are a chameleon； and now you are at your worst colour。 Go home； or I shall hate you！”
He looked absently towards Rainbarrow while one might have counted twenty； and said； as if he did not much mind all this； “Yes； I will go home。 Do you mean to see me again？”
“If you own to me that the wedding is broken off because you love me best。”
“I don’t think it would be good policy；” said Wildeve； smiling。
“You would get to know the extent of your power too clearly。”
“But tell me！”
“You know。”
“Where is she now？”
“I don’t know。 I prefer not to speak of her to you。 I have not yet married her； I have e in obedience to your call。 That is enough。”
“I merely lit that fire because I was dull； and thought I would get a little excitement by calling you up and triumphing over you as the Witch of Endor called up Samuel。 I determined you should e； and you have e！ I have shown my power。 A mile and half hither； and a mile and half back again to your home—three miles in the dark for me。 Have I not shown my power？”
He shook his head at her。 “I know you too well； my Eustacia；
I know you too well。 There isn’t a note in you which I don’t know； and that hot little bosom couldn’t play such a cold…blooded trick to save its life。 I saw a woman on Rainbarrow at dusk looking down towards my house。 I think I drew out you before you drew out me。”
The revived embers of an old passion glowed clearly in Wildeve now； and he leant forward as if about to put his face towards her cheek。
“O no；” she said； intractably moving to the other side of the decayed fire。 “What did you mean by that？”
“Perhaps I may kiss your hand？”
“No； you may not。”
“Then I may shake your hand？”
“No。”
“Then I wish you good night without caring for either。
Good…bye； good…bye。”
She returned no answer； and with the bow of a dancing…master he vanished on the other side of the pool as he had e。
Eustacia sighed—it was no fragile maiden sigh； but a
sigh which shook her like a shiver。 Whenever a flash
of reason darted like an electric light upon her lover…
？ as it sometimes would—and showed his imperfections； she shivered thus。 But it was over in a second； and she loved on。 She knew that he trifled with her； but she loved on。 She scattered the half…burnt brands； went indoors immediately； and up to her bedroom without a light。 Amid the rustles which denoted her to be undressing in the darkness other heavy breaths frequently came； and the same kind of shudder occasionally moved through her when； ten minutes later； she lay on her bed asleep。
7 … Queen of Night
Eustacia Vye was the raw material of a divinity。 On Olympus she would have done well with a little preparation。 She had the passions and instincts which make a model goddess； that is； those which make not quite a model woman。 Had it been possible for the earth and mankind to be entirely in her grasp for a while； she had handled the distaff； the spindle； and the shears at her own free will； few in the world would have noticed the change of government。 There would have been the same inequality of lot； the same heaping up of favours here； of contumely there； the same generosity before justice； the same perpetual dilemmas； the same captious alteration of caresses and blows that we endure now。
She was in person full…limbed and somewhat heavy； without ruddiness； as without pallor； and soft to the touch as a cloud。 To see her hair was to fancy that a whole winter did not contain darkness enough to form its shadow—it closed over her forehead like nightfall extinguishing the western glow。
Her nerves extended into those tresses； and her temper could always be softened by stroking them down。 When her hair was brushed she would instantly sink into stillness and look like the Sphinx。 If； in passing under one of the Egdon banks； any of its thick skeins were caught； as they sometimes were； by a prickly tuft of the large Ulex Europoeus—which will act as a sort of hairbrush—she would go back a few steps； and pass against it a second time。
She had pagan eyes； full of nocturnal mysteries； and their light； as it came and went； and came again； was partially hampered by their oppressive lids and lashes； and of these the under lid was much fuller than it usually is with English women。 This enabled her to indulge in reverie without seeming to do so—she might have been believed capable of sleeping without closing them up。 Assuming that the souls of men and women were visible essences； you could fancy the colour of Eustacia’s soul to be flamelike。 The sparks from it that rose into her dark pupils gave the same impression。
The mouth seemed formed less to speak than to quiver； less to quiver than to kiss。 Some might have added； less to kiss than to curl。 Viewed sideways； the closing…line of her lips formed； with almost geometric precision； the curve so well known in the arts of design as the cima…recta； or ogee。 The sight of such a flexible bend as that on grim Egdon was quite an apparition。 It was felt at once that the mouth did not e over from Sleswig with a band of Saxon pirates whose lips met like the two halves of a muffin。 One had fancied that such lip…curves were mostly lurking underground in the South as fragments of forgotten marbles。 So fine were the lines of her lips that； though full； each corner of her mouth was as clearly cut as the point of a spear。 This keenness of corner was only blunted when she was given over to sudden fits of gloom； one of the phases of the night…side of sentiment which she knew too well for her years。
Her presence brought memories of such things as Bourbon roses； rubies； and tropical midnight； her moods recalled lotus…eaters and the march in Athalie； her motions； the ebb and flow of the sea； her voice； the viola。 In a dim light； and with a slight rearrangement of her hair； her general figure might have stood for that of either of the higher female deities。 The new moon behind her head； an old helmet upon it； a diadem of accidental dewdrops round her brow； would have been adjuncts sufficient to strike the note of Artemis； Athena； or Hera respectively； with as close an approximation to the antique as that which passes muster on many respected canvases。
But celestial imperiousness； love； wrath； and fervour had proved to be somewhat thrown away on netherward Egdon。 Her power was limited； and the consciousness of this limitation had biassed her development。 Egdon was her Hades； and since ing there she had imbibed much of what was dark in its tone； though inwardly and eternally unreconciled thereto。 Her appearance accorded well with this smouldering rebelliousness； and the shady splendour of her beauty was the real surface of the sad and stifled warmth within her。 A true Tartarean dignity sat upon her brow； and not factitiously or with marks of constraint； for it had grown in her with years。
Across the upper part of her head she wore a thin fillet of black velvet； restraining the luxuriance of her shady hair； in a way which added much to this class of majesty by irregularly clouding her forehead。 “Nothing can embellish a beautiful face more than a narrow band drawn over the brow；” says Richter。 Some of the neighbouring girls wore coloured ribbon for the same purpose； and sported metallic ornaments elsewhere； but if anyone suggested coloured ribbon and metallic ornaments to Eustacia Vye she laughed and went on。
Why did a woman of this sort live on Egdon Heath？ Budmouth was her native place； a fashionable seaside resort at that date。 She was the daughter of the bandmaster of a regiment which had been quartered there—a Corfiote by birth； and a fine musician—who met his future wife during her trip thither with her father the captain； a man of good family。 The marriage was scarcely in accord with the old man’s wishes； for the bandmaster’s pockets were as light as his occupation。 But the musician did his best； adopted his wife’s name； made England permanently his home； took great trouble with his child’s education； the expenses of which were defrayed by the grandfather； and throve as the chief local musician till her mother’s death； when he left off thriving； drank； and died also。 The girl was left to the care of her grandfather； who； since three of his ribs became broken in a shipwreck； had lived in this airy perch on Egdon； a spot which had taken his fancy because the house was to be had for next to nothing； and because a remote blue tinge on the horizon between the hills； visible from the cottage door； was traditionally believed to be the English Channel。 She hated the change； she felt like one banished； but here she was forced to abide。
Thus it happened that in Eustacia’s brain were juxtaposed the strangest assortment of ideas； from old time and from new。 There was no middle distance in her perspective—romantic recollections of sunny afternoons on an esplanade； with military bands； officers； and gallants around； stood like gilded letters upon the dark tablet of surrounding Egdon。 Every bizarre effect that could result from the random intertwining of watering…place glitter with the grand solemnity of a heath； was to be found in her。 Seeing nothing of human life now； she imagined all the more of what she had seen。
Where did her dignity e from？ By a latent vein from Alcinous’ line； her father hailing from Phaeacia’s isle？or from Fitzalan and De Vere； her maternal grandfather having had a cousin in the peerage？ Perhaps it was the gift of Heaven—a happy convergence of natural laws。 Among other things opportunity had of late years been denied her of learning to be undignified； for she lived lonely。 Isolation on a heath renders vulgarity well…nigh impossible。 It would have been as easy for the heath…ponies； bats； and snakes to be vulgar as for her。 A narrow life in Budmouth might have pletely demeaned her。
The only way to look queenly without realms or hearts to queen it over is to look as if you had lost them； and Eustacia did that to a triumph。 In the captain’s cottage she could suggest mansions she had never seen。 Perhaps that was because she frequented a vaster mansion than any of them； the open hills。 Like the summer condition of the place around her； she was an embodiment of the phrase “a populous solitude”—apparently so listless； void； and quiet； she was really busy and full。
To be loved to madness—such was her great desire。 Love was to her the one cordial which could drive away the eating loneliness of her days。 And she seemed to long for the abstraction called passionate love more than for any particular lover。
She could show a most reproachful look at times； but it was direc