The　brilliant　lights　and　sooty　shades　which　struggled　upon　the　skin　and　clothes　of　the　persons　standing　round　caused　their　lineaments　and　general　contours　to　be　drawn　with　Dureresque　vigour　and　dash。　　Yet　the　permanent　moral　expression　of　each　face　it　was　impossible　to　discover；　for　as　the　nimble　flames　towered；　nodded；　and　swooped　through　the　surrounding　air；　the　blots　of　shade　and　flakes　of　light　upon　the　countenances　of　the　group　changed　shape　and　position　endlessly。　　All　was　unstable；　quivering　as　leaves；　evanescent　as　lightning。　　Shadowy　eye…sockets；　deep　as　those　of　a　death’s　head；　suddenly　turned　into　pits　of　lustre：　a　lantern…jaw　was　cavernous；　then　it　was　shining；　wrinkles　were　emphasized　to　ravines；　or　obliterated　entirely　by　a　changed　ray。　　Nostrils　were　dark　wells；　sinews　in　old　necks　were　gilt　mouldings；　things　with　no　particular　polish　on　them　were　glazed；　bright　objects；　such　as　the　tip　of　a　furze…hook　one　of　the　men　carried；　were　as　glass；　eyeballs　glowed　like　little　lanterns。　　Those　whom　Nature　had　depicted　as　merely　quaint　became　grotesque；　the　grotesque　became　preternatural；　for　all　was　in　extremity。
  Hence　it　may　be　that　the　face　of　an　old　man；　who　had　like　others　been　called　to　the　heights　by　the　rising　flames；　was　not　really　the　mere　nose　and　chin　that　it　appeared　to　be；　but　an　appreciable　quantity　of　human　countenance。　　He　stood　placently　sunning　himself　in　the　heat。　　With　a　speaker；　or　stake；　he　tossed　the　outlying　scraps　of　fuel　into　the　conflagration；　looking　at　the　midst　of　the　pile；　occasionally　lifting　his　eyes　to　measure　the　height　of　the　flame；　or　to　follow　the　great　sparks　which　rose　with　it　and　sailed　away　into　darkness。　　The　beaming　sight；　and　the　penetrating　warmth；　seemed　to　breed　in　him　a　cumulative　cheerfulness；　which　soon　amounted　to　delight。　　With　his　stick　in　his　hand　he　began　to　jig　a　private　minuet；　a　bunch　of　copper　seals　shining　and　swinging　like　a　pendulum　from　under　his　waistcoat：　he　also　began　to　sing；　in　the　voice　of　a　bee　up　a　flue—
  “The　king’　call’d　down’　his　no…bles　all’；
  By　one’；　by　two’；　by　three’；
  Earl　Mar’…shal；　I’ll’　go　shrive’…the　queen’；
  And　thou’　shalt　wend’　with　me’。
  “A　boon’；　a　boon’；　quoth　Earl’　Mar…shal’；
  And　fell’　on　his　bend’…ded　knee’；
  That　what’…so…e’er’　the　queen’　shall　say’；
  No　harm’　there…of’　may　be’。”
  Want　of　breath　prevented　a　continuance　of　the　song；　and　the　breakdown　attracted　the　attention　of　a　firm…standing　man　of　middle　age；　who　kept　each　corner　of　his　crescent…shaped　mouth　rigorously　drawn　back　into　his　cheek；　as　if　to　do　away　with　any　suspicion　of　mirthfulness　which　might　erroneously　have　attached　to　him。
  “A　fair　stave；　Grandfer　Cantle；　but　I　am　afeard　‘tis　too　much　for　the　mouldy　weasand　of　such　a　old　man　as　you；”　he　said　to　the　wrinkled　reveller。　　“Dostn’t　wish　th’　wast　three　sixes　again；　Grandfer；　as　you　was　when　you　first　learnt　to　sing　it？”
  “Hey？”　said　Grandfer　Cantle；　stopping　in　his　dance。
  “Dostn’t　wish　wast　young　again；　I　say？　　There’s　a　hole　in　thy　poor　bellows　nowadays　seemingly。”
  “But　there’s　good　art　in　me？　　If　I　couldn’t　make　a　little　wind　go　a　long　ways　I　should　seem　no　younger　than　the　most　aged　man；　should　I；　Timothy？”
  “And　how　about　the　new…married　folks　down　there　at　the　Quiet　Woman　Inn？”　the　other　inquired；　pointing　towards　a　dim　light　in　the　direction　of　the　distant　highway；　but　considerably　apart　from　where　the　reddleman　was　at　that　moment　resting。　　“What’s　the　rights　of　the　matter　about　‘em？　　You　ought　to　know；　being　an　understanding　man。”
  “But　a　little　rakish；　hey？　　I　own　to　it。　　Master　Cantle　is　that；　or　he’s　nothing。　　Yet　‘tis　a　gay　fault；　neigbbour　Fairway；　that　age　will　cure。”
  “I　heard　that　they　were　ing　home　tonight。　　By　this　time　they　must　have　e。　　What　besides？”
  “The　next　thing　is　for　us　to　go　and　wish　‘em　joy；　I　suppose？”
  “Well；　no。”
  “No？　　Now；　I　thought　we　must。　　I　must；　or　‘twould　be　very　unlike　me—the　first　in　every　spree　that’s　going！
  “Do　thou’　put　on’　a　fri’…ar’s　coat’；
  And　I’ll’　put　on’　a…no’…ther；
  And　we’　will　to’　Queen　Ele’anor　go’；
  Like　Fri’ar　and’　his　bro’ther。
  I　met　Mis’ess　Yeobright；　the　young　bride’s　aunt；　last　night；　and　she　told　me　that　her　son　Clym　was　ing　home　a’　Christmas。　　Wonderful　clever；　‘a　believe—ah；　I　should　like　to　have　all　that’s　under　that　young　man’s　hair。　　Well；　then；　I　spoke　to　her　in　my　well…known　merry　way；　and　she　said；　‘O　that　what’s　shaped　so　venerable　should　talk　like　a　fool！’—that’s　what　she　said　to　me。　　I　don’t　care　for　her；　be　jowned　if　I　do；　and　so　I　told　her。　　‘Be　jowned　if　I　care　for　‘ee；’　I　said。　　I　had　her　there—hey？”
  “I　rather　think　she　had　you；”　said　Fairway。
  “No；”　said　Grandfer　Cantle；　his　countenance　slightly　flagging。
  “’Tisn’t　so　bad　as　that　with　me？”
  “Seemingly　‘tis；　however；　is　it　because　of　the　wedding　that　Clym　is　ing　home　a’　Christmas—to　make　a　new　arrangement　because　his　mother　is　now　left　in　the　house　alone？”
  “Yes；　yes—that’s　it。　　But；　Timothy；　hearken　to　me；”　said　the　Grandfer　earnestly。　　“Though　known　as　such　a　joker；　I　be　an　understanding　man　if　you　catch　me　serious；　and　I　am　serious　now。　　I　can　tell　‘ee　lots　about　the　married　couple。　　Yes；　this　morning　at　six　o’clock　they　went　up　the　country　to　do　the　job；　and　neither　vell　nor　mark　have　been　seen　of　‘em　since；　though　I　reckon　that　this　afternoon　has　brought　‘em　home　again　man　and　woman—wife；　that　is。　　Isn’t　it　spoke　like　a　man；　Timothy；　and　wasn’t　Mis’ess　Yeobright　wrong　about　me？”
  “Yes；　it　will　do。　　I　didn’t　know　the　two　had　walked　together　since　last　fall；　when　her　aunt　forbad　the　banns。　　How　long　has　this　new　set…to　been　in　mangling　then？　　Do　you　know；　Humphrey？”
  “Yes；　how　long？”　said　Grandfer　Cantle　smartly；　likewise　turning　to　Humphrey。　　“I　ask　that　question。”
  “Ever　since　her　aunt　altered　her　mind；　and　said　she　might　have　the　man　after　all；”　replied　Humphrey；　without　removing　his　eyes　from　the　fire。　　He　was　a　somewhat　solemn　young　fellow；　and　carried　the　hook　and　leather　gloves　of　a　furze…cutter；　his　legs；　by　reason　of　that　occupation；　being　sheathed　in　bulging　leggings　as　stiff　as　the　Philistine’s　greaves　of　brass。　　“That’s　why　they　went　away　to　be　married；　I　count。　　You　see；　after　kicking　up　such　a　nunny…watch　and　forbidding　the　banns　‘twould　have　made　Mis’ess　Yeobright　seem　foolish…like　to　have　a　banging　wedding　in　the　same　parish　all　as　if　she’d　never　gainsaid　it。”
  “Exactly—seem　foolish…like；　and　that’s　very　bad　for　the　poor　things　that　be　so；　though　I　only　guess　as　much；　to　be　sure；”　said　Grandfer　Cantle；　still　strenuously　preserving　a　sensible　bearing　and　mien。
  “Ah；　well；　I　was　at　church　that　day；”　said　Fairway；　“which　was　a　very　curious　thing　to　happen。”
  “If　‘twasn’t　my　name’s　Simple；”　said　the
  Grandfer　emphatically。　　“I　ha’n’t　been　there　to…year；　and　now　the　winter　is　a…ing　on　I　won’t　say　I　shall。”
  “I　ha’n’t　been　these　three　years；”　said　Humphrey；
  “for　I’m　so　dead　sleepy　of　a　Sunday；　and　‘tis　so　terrible　far　to　get　there；　and　when　you　do　get　there　‘tis　such　a　mortal　poor　chance　that　you’ll　be　chose　for　up　above；　when　so　many　bain’t；　that　I　bide　at　home　and　don’t　go　at　all。”
  “I　not　only　happened　to　be　there；”　said　Fairway；　with　a　fresh　collection　of　emphasis；　“but　I　was　sitting　in　the　same　pew　as　Mis’ess　Yeobright。　　And　though　you　may　not　see　it　as　such；　it　fairly　made　my　blood　run　cold　to　hear　her。　　Yes；　it　is　a　curious　thing；　but　it　made　my　blood　run　cold；　for　I　was　close　at　her　elbow。”　The　speaker　looked　round　upon　the　bystanders；　now　drawing　closer　to　hear　him；　with　his　lips　gathered　tighter　than　ever　in　the　rigorousness　of　his　descriptive　moderation。
  “’Tis　a　serious　job　to　have　things　happen　to　‘ee　there；”　said　a　woman　behind。
  “’Ye　are　to　declare　it；’　was　the　parson’s　words；”　Fairway　continued。　　“And　then　up　stood　a　woman　at　my　side—a…touching　of　me。　　‘Well；　be　damned　if　there　isn’t　Mis’ess　Yeobright　a…standing　up；’　I　said　to　myself。　　Yes；　neighbours；　though　I　was　in　the　temple　of　prayer　that’s　what　I　said。　　‘Tis　against　my　conscience　to　curse　and　swear　in　pany；　and　I　hope　any　woman　here　will　overlook　it。　　Still　what　I　did　say　I　did　say；　and　‘twould　be　a　lie　if　I　didn’t　own　it。”
  “So　‘twould；　neighbour　Fairway。”
  “’Be　damned　if　there　isn’t　Mis’ess　Yeobright　a…standing　up；’　I　said；”　the　narrator　repeated；　giving　out　the　bad　word　with　the　same　passionless　severity　of　face　as　before；　which　proved　how　entirely　necessity　and　not　gusto　had　to　do　with　the　iteration。　　“And　the　next　thing　I　heard　was；　‘I　forbid　the　banns；’　from　her。　　‘I’ll　speak　to　you　after　the　service；’　said　the　parson；　in　quite　a　homely　way—yes；　turning　all　at　once　into　a　mon　man　no　holier　than　you　or　I。　Ah；　her　face　was　pale！　Maybe　you　can　call　to　mind　that　monument　in　Weatherbury　church—the　cross…legged　soldier　that　have　had　his　arm　knocked　away　by　the　schoolchildren？　　Well；　he　would　about　have　matched　that　woman’s　face；　when　she　said；　‘I　forbid　the　banns。’”
  The　audience　cleared　their　throats　and　tossed　a　few　stalks　into　the　fire；　not　because　these　deeds　were　urgent；　but　to　give　themselves　time　to　weigh　the　moral　of　the　story。
  “I’m　sure　when　I　heard　they’d　b