“Oh； ‘tis not much。 I have changed my things。 This is only a little dampness I’ve got ing through the rain again。”
“Stand by the fire。 Mis’ess says you be to have whatever you want； and she was sorry when she was told that you’d gone away。”
Venn drew near to the fireplace； and looked into the flames in an absent mood。 The steam came from his leggings and ascended the chimney with the smoke； while he thought of those who were upstairs。 Two were corpses； one had barely escaped the jaws of death； another was sick and a widow。 The last occasion on which he had lingered by that fireplace was when the raffle was in progress； when Wildeve was alive and well； Thomasin active and smiling in the next room；
Yeobright and Eustacia just made husband and wife； and Mrs。 Yeobright living at Blooms…End。 It had seemed at that time that the then position of affairs was good for at least twenty years to e。 Yet； of all the circle； he himself was the only one whose situation had not materially changed。
While he ruminated a footstep descended the stairs。 It was the nurse； who brought in her hand a rolled mass of wet paper。 The woman was so engrossed with her occupation that she hardly saw Venn。 She took from a cupboard some pieces of twine； which she strained across the fireplace； tying the end of each piece to the firedog； previously pulled forward for the purpose； and； unrolling the wet papers； she began pinning them one by one to the strings in a manner of clothes on a line。
“What be they？” said Venn。
“Poor master’s banknotes；” she answered。 “They were found in his pocket when they undressed him。”
“Then he was not ing back again for some time？” said Venn。
“That we shall never know；” said she。
Venn was loth to depart； for all on earth that interested him lay under this roof。 As nobody in the house had any more sleep that night； except the two who slept for ever； there was no reason why he should not remain。 So he retired into the niche of the fireplace where he had used to sit； and there he continued； watching the steam from the double row of banknotes as they waved backwards and forwards in the draught of the chimney till their flaccidity was changed to dry crispness throughout。 Then the woman came and unpinned them； and； folding them together； carried the handful upstairs。 Presently the doctor appeared from above with the look of a man who could do no more； and； pulling on his gloves； went out of the house； the trotting of his horse soon dying away upon the road。
At four o’clock there was a gentle knock at the door。 It was from Charley； who had been sent by Captain Vye to inquire if anything had been heard of Eustacia。 The girl who admitted him looked in his face as if she did not know what answer to return； and showed him in to where Venn was seated； saying to the reddleman； “Will you tell him； please？”
Venn told。 Charley’s only utterance was a feeble； indistinct sound。 He stood quite still； then he burst out spasmodically； “I shall see her once more？”
“I dare say you may see her；” said Diggory gravely。
“But hadn’t you better run and tell Captain Vye？”
“Yes； yes。 Only I do hope I shall see her just once again。”
“You shall；” said a low voice behind； and starting round they beheld by the dim light； a thin； pallid； almost spectral form； wrapped in a blanket； and looking like Lazarus ing from the tomb。
It was Yeobright。 Neither Venn nor Charley spoke； and Clym continued； “You shall see her。 There will be time enough to tell the captain when it gets daylight。 You would like to see her too—would you not； Diggory？ She looks very beautiful now。”
Venn assented by rising to his feet； and with Charley he followed Clym to the foot of the staircase； where he took off his boots； Charley did the same。 They followed Yeobright upstairs to the landing； where there was a candle burning； which Yeobright took in his hand； and with it led the way into an adjoining room。 Here he went to the bedside and folded back the sheet。
They stood silently looking upon Eustacia； who； as she lay there still in death； eclipsed all her living phases。 Pallor did not include all the quality of her plexion； which seemed more than whiteness； it was almost light。 The expression of her finely carved mouth was pleasant； as if a sense of dignity had just pelled her to leave off speaking。 Eternal rigidity had seized upon it in a momentary transition between fervour and resignation。 Her black hair was looser now than either of them had ever seen it before； and surrounded her brow like a forest。 The stateliness of look which had been almost too marked for a dweller in a country domicile had at last found an artistically happy background。
Nobody spoke； till at length Clym covered her and turned aside。 “Now e here；” he said。
They went to a recess in the same room； and there； on a smaller bed； lay another figure—Wildeve。 Less repose was visible in his face than in Eustacia’s； but the same luminous youthfulness overspread it； and the least sympathetic observer would have felt at sight of him now that he was born for a higher destiny than this。 The only sign upon him of his recent struggle for life was in his fingertips； which were worn and sacrificed in his dying endeavours to obtain a hold on the face of the weir…wall。
Yeobright’s manner had been so quiet； he had uttered so few syllables since his reappearance； that Venn imagined him resigned。 It was only when they had left the room and stood upon the landing that the true state of his mind was apparent。 Here he said； with a wild smile； inclining his head towards the chamber in which Eustacia lay； “She is the second woman I have killed this year。 I was a great cause of my mother’s death； and I am the chief cause of hers。”
“How？” said Venn。
“I spoke cruel words to her； and she left my house。 I did not invite her back till it was too late。 It is I who ought to have drowned myself。 It would have been a charity to the living had the river overwhelmed me and borne her up。 But I cannot die。 Those who ought to have lived lie dead； and here am I alive！”
“But you can’t charge yourself with crimes in that way；” said Venn。 “You may as well say that the parents be the cause of a murder by the child； for without the parents the child would never have been begot。”
“Yes； Venn； that is very true； but you don’t know all the circumstances。 If it had pleased God to put an end to me it would have been a good thing for all。 But I am getting used to the horror of my existence。 They say that a time es when men laugh at misery through long acquaintance with it。 Surely that time will soon e to me！”
“Your aim has always been good；” said Venn。 “Why should you say such desperate things？”
“No； they are not desperate。 They are only hopeless； and my great regret is that for what I have done no man or law can punish me！”
book six
AFTERCOURSES
1 … The Inevitable Movement Onward
The story of the deaths of Eustacia and Wildeve was told throughout Egdon； and far beyond； for many weeks and months。 All the known incidents of their love were enlarged； distorted； touched up； and modified； till the original reality bore but a slight resemblance to the counterfeit presentation by surrounding tongues。 Yet； upon the whole； neither the man nor the woman lost dignity by sudden death。 Misfortune had struck them gracefully； cutting off their erratic histories with a catastrophic dash； instead of； as with many； attenuating each life to an uninteresting meagreness； through long years of wrinkles； neglect； and decay。
On those most nearly concerned the effect was somewhat different。 Strangers who had heard of many such cases now merely heard of one more； but immediately where a blow falls no previous imaginings amount to appreciable preparation for it。 The very suddenness of her bereavement dulled； to some extent； Thomasin’s feelings； yet irrationally enough； a consciousness that the husband she had lost ought to have been a better man did not lessen her mourning at all。 On the contrary； this fact seemed at first to set off the dead husband in his young wife’s eyes； and to be the necessary cloud to the rainbow。
But the horrors of the unknown had passed。 Vague misgivings about her future as a deserted wife were at an end。 The worst had once been matter of trembling conjecture； it was now matter of reason only； a limited badness。 Her chief interest； the little Eustacia； still remained。 There was humility in her grief； no defiance in her attitude； and when this is the case a shaken spirit is apt to be stilled。
Could Thomasin’s mournfulness now and Eustacia’s serenity during life have been reduced to mon measure； they would have touched the same mark nearly。 But Thomasin’s former brightness made shadow of that which in a sombre atmosphere was light itself。
The spring came and calmed her； the summer came and soothed her； the autumn arrived； and she began to be forted； for her little girl was strong and happy； growing in size and knowledge every day。 Outward events flattered Thomasin not a little。 Wildeve had died intestate； and she and the child were his only relatives。 When administration had been granted； all the debts paid； and the residue of her husband’s uncle’s property had e into her hands； it was found that the sum waiting to be invested for her own and the child’s benefit was little less than ten thousand pounds。
Where should she live？ The obvious place was Blooms…End。 The old rooms； it is true； were not much higher than the between…decks of a frigate； necessitating a sinking in the floor under the new clock…case she brought from the inn； and the removal of the handsome brass knobs on its head； before there was height for it to stand； but； such as the rooms were； there were plenty of them； and the place was endeared to her by every early recollection。 Clym very gladly admitted her as a tenant； confining his own existence to two rooms at the top of the back staircase； where he lived on quietly； shut off from Thomasin and the three servants she had thought fit to indulge in now that she was a mistress of money； going his own ways； and thinking his own thoughts。
His sorrows had made some change in his outward appearance； and yet the alteration was chiefly within。 It might have been said that he had a wrinkled mind。 He had no enemies； and he could get nobody to reproach him； which was why he so bitterly reproached himself。
He did sometimes think he had been ill…used by fortune； so far as to say that to be born is a palpable dilemma； and that instead of men aiming to advance in life with glory they should calculate how to retreat out of it without shame。 But that he and his had been sarcastically and pitilessly handled in having such irons thrust into their souls he did not maintain long。 It is usually so； except with the sternest of men。 Human beings； in their generous endeavour to construct a hypothesis that shall not degrade a First Cause； have always hesitated to conceive a dominant power of lower moral quality than their own； and； even while they sit down and weep by the waters of Babylon； invent excuses for the oppression which prompts their tears。
Thus； though words of solace were vainly uttered in his p