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　undiscoverable。　　He　was　not　so　young　as　to　be　absolutely　without　a　sense　that　sympathy　was　demanded；　he　was　not　old　enough　to　be　free　from　the　terror　felt　in　childhood　at　beholding　misery　in　adult　quarters　hither…to　deemed　impregnable；　and　whether　she　were　in　a　position　to　cause　trouble　or　to　suffer　from　it；　whether　she　and　her　affliction　were　something　to　pity　or　something　to　fear；　it　was　beyond　him　to　decide。　　He　lowered　his　eyes　and　went　on　without　another　word。　　Before　he　had　gone　half　a　mile　he　had　forgotten　all　about　her；　except　that　she　was　a　woman　who　had　sat　down　to　rest。
  Mrs。　Yeobright’s　exertions；　physical　and　emotional；　had　well…nigh　prostrated　her；　but　she　continued　to　creep　along　in　short　stages　with　long　breaks　between。　　The　sun　had　now　got　far　to　the　west　of　south　and　stood　directly　in　her　face；　like　some　merciless　incendiary；　brand　in　hand；　waiting　to　consume　her。　　With　the　departure　of　the　boy　all　visible　animation　disappeared　from　the　landscape；　though　the　intermittent　husky　notes　of　the　male　grasshoppers　from　every　tuft　of　furze　were　enough　to　show　that　amid　the　prostration　of　the　larger　animal　species　an　unseen　insect　world　was　busy　in　all　the　fullness　of　life。
  In　two　hours　she　reached　a　slope　about　three…fourths　the　whole　distance　from　Alderworth　to　her　own　home；　where　a　little　patch　of　shepherd’s…thyme　intruded　upon　the　path；　and　she　sat　down　upon　the　perfumed　mat　it　formed　there。　　In　front　of　her　a　colony　of　ants　had　established　a　thoroughfare　across　the　way；　where　they　toiled　a　never…ending　and　heavy…laden　throng。　　To　look　down　upon　them　was　like　observing　a　city　street　from　the　top　of　a　tower。　　She　remembered　that　this　bustle　of　ants　had　been　in　progress　for　years　at　the　same　spot—doubtless　those　of　the　old　times　were　the　ancestors　of　these　which　walked　there　now。　　She　leant　back　to　obtain　more　thorough　rest；　and　the　soft　eastern　portion　of　the　sky　was　as　great　a　relief　to　her　eyes　as　the　thyme　was　to　her　head。　　While　she　looked　a　heron　arose　on　that　side　of　the　sky　and　flew　on　with　his　face　towards　the　sun。　　He　had　e　dripping　wet　from　some　pool　in　the　valleys；　and　as　he　flew　the　edges　and　lining　of　his　wings；　his　thighs　and　his　breast　were　so　caught　by　the　bright　sunbeams　that　he　appeared　as　if　formed　of　burnished　silver。　　Up　in　the　zenith　where　he　was　seemed　a　free　and　happy　place；　away　from　all　contact　with　the　earthly　ball　to　which　she　was　pinioned；　and　she　wished　that　she　could　arise　uncrushed　from　its　surface　and　fly　as　he　flew　then。
  But；　being　a　mother；　it　was　inevitable　that　she　should　soon　cease　to　ruminate　upon　her　own　condition。　　Had　the　track　of　her　next　thought　been　marked　by　a　streak　in　the　air；　like　the　path　of　a　meteor；　it　would　have　shown　a　direction　contrary　to　the　heron’s；　and　have　descended　to　the　eastward　upon　the　roof　of　Clym’s　house。
  7　… The　Tragic　Meeting　of　Two　Old　Friends
  He　in　the　meantime　had　aroused　himself　from　sleep；　sat　up；　and　looked　around。　　Eustacia　was　sitting　in　a　chair　hard　by　him；　and　though　she　held　a　book　in　her　hand　she　had　not　looked　into　it　for　some　time。
  “Well；　indeed！”　said　Clym；　brushing　his　eyes　with　his　hands。　　“How　soundly　I　have　slept！　I　have　had　such　a　tremendous　dream；　too—one　I　shall　never　forget。”
  “I　thought　you　had　been　dreaming；”　said　she。
  “Yes。　It　was　about　my　mother。　　I　dreamt　that　I　took　you　to　her　house　to　make　up　differences；　and　when　we　got　there　we　couldn’t　get　in；　though　she　kept　on　crying　to　us　for　help。　　However；　dreams　are　dreams。　　What　o’clock　is　it；　Eustacia？”
  “Half…past　two。”
  “So　late；　is　it？　　I　didn’t　mean　to　stay　so　long。　　By　the　time　I　have　had　something　to　eat　it　will　be　after　three。”
  “Ann　is　not　e　back　from　the　village；　and　I　thought　I　would　let　you　sleep　on　till　she　returned。”
  Clym　went　to　the　window　and　looked　out。　　Presently　he　said；　musingly；　“Week　after　week　passes；　and　yet　Mother　does　not　e。　　I　thought　I　should　have　heard　something　from　her　long　before　this。”
  Misgiving；　regret；　fear；　resolution；　ran　their　swift　course　of　expression　in　Eustacia’s　dark　eyes。　　She　was　face　to　face　with　a　monstrous　difficulty；　and　she　resolved　to　get　free　of　it　by　postponement。
  “I　must　certainly　go　to　Blooms…End　soon；”　he　continued；　“and　I　think　I　had　better　go　alone。”　　He　picked　up　his　leggings　and　gloves；　threw　them　down　again；　and　added；　“As　dinner　will　be　so　late　today　I　will　not　go　back　to　the　heath；　but　work　in　the　garden　till　the　evening；　and　then；　when　it　will　be　cooler；　I　will　walk　to　Blooms…End。　　I　am　quite　sure　that　if　I　make　a　little　advance　Mother　will　be　willing　to　forget　all。　　It　will　be　rather　late　before　I　can　get　home；　as　I　shall　not　be　able　to　do　the　distance　either　way　in　less　than　an　hour　and　a　half。　　But　you　will　not　mind　for　one　evening；　dear？　　What　are　you　thinking　of　to　make　you　look　so　abstracted？”
  “I　cannot　tell　you；”　she　said　heavily。　　“I　wish　we　didn’t　live　here；　Clym。　　The　world　seems　all　wrong　in　this　place。”
  “Well—if　we　make　it　so。　　I　wonder　if　Thomasin　has　been　to　Blooms…End　lately。　　I　hope　so。　　But　probably　not；　as　she　is；　I　believe；　expecting　to　be　confined　in　a　month　or　so。　　I　wish　I　had　thought　of　that　before。　　Poor　Mother　must　indeed　be　very　lonely。”
  “I　don’t　like　you　going　tonight。”
  “Why　not　tonight？”
  “Something　may　be　said　which　will　terribly　injure　me。”
  “My　mother　is　not　vindictive；”　said　Clym；　his　colour　faintly　rising。
  “But　I　wish　you　would　not　go；”　Eustacia　repeated　in　a　low　tone。　　“If　you　agree　not　to　go　tonight　I　promise　to　go　by　myself　to　her　house　tomorrow；　and　make　it　up　with　her；　and　wait　till　you　fetch　me。”
  “Why　do　you　want　to　do　that　at　this　particular　time；　when　at　every　previous　time　that　I　have　proposed　it　you　have　refused？”
  “I　cannot　explain　further　than　that　I　should　like　to　see　her　alone　before　you　go；”　she　answered；　with　an　impatient　move　of　her　head；　and　looking　at　him　with　an　anxiety　more　frequently　seen　upon　those　of　a　sanguine　temperament　than　upon　such　as　herself。
  “Well；　it　is　very　odd　that　just　when　I　had　decided　to　go　myself　you　should　want　to　do　what　I　proposed　long　ago。　　If　I　wait　for　you　to　go　tomorrow　another　day　will　be　lost；　and　I　know　I　shall　be　unable　to　rest　another　night　without　having　been。　　I　want　to　get　this　settled；　and　will。　　You　must　visit　her　afterwards—it　will　be　all　the　same。”
  “I　could　even　go　with　you　now？”
  “You　could　scarcely　walk　there　and　back　without　a　longer　rest　than　I　shall　take。　　No；　not　tonight；　Eustacia。”
  “Let　it　be　as　you　say；　then；”　she　replied　in　the　quiet　way　of　one　who；　though　willing　to　ward　off　evil　consequences　by　a　mild　effort；　would　let　events　fall　out　as　they　might　sooner　than　wrestle　hard　to　direct　them。
  Clym　then　went　into　the　garden；　and　a　thoughtful　languor　stole　over　Eustacia　for　the　remainder　of　the　afternoon；　which　her　husband　attributed　to　the　heat　of　the　weather。
  In　the　evening　he　set　out　on　the　journey。　　Although　the　heat　of　summer　was　yet　intense　the　days　had　considerably　shortened；　and　before　he　had　advanced　a　mile　on　his　way　all　the　heath　purples；　browns；　and　greens　had　merged　in　a　uniform　dress　without　airiness　or　graduation；　and　broken　only　by　touches　of　white　where　the　little　heaps　of　clean　quartz　sand　showed　the　entrance　to　a　rabbit　burrow；　or　where　the　white　flints　of　a　footpath　lay　like　a　thread　over　the　slopes。　　In　almost　every　one　of　the　isolated　and　stunted　thorns　which　grew　here　and　there　a　nighthawk　revealed　his　presence　by　whirring　like　the　clack　of　a　mill　as　long　as　he　could　hold　his　breath；　then　stopping；　flapping　his　wings；　wheeling　round　the　bush；　alighting；　and　after　a　silent　interval　of　listening　beginning　to　whirr　again。　　At　each　brushing　of　Clym’s　feet　white　millermoths　flew　into　the　air　just　high　enough　to　catch　upon　their　dusty　wings　the　mellowed　light　from　the　west；　which　now　shone　across　the　depressions　and　levels　of　the　ground　without　falling　thereon　to　light　them　up。
  Yeobright　walked　on　amid　this　quiet　scene　with　a　hope　that　all　would　soon　be　well。　　Three　miles　on　he　came　to　a　spot　where　a　soft　perfume　was　wafted　across　his　path；　and　he　stood　still　for　a　moment　to　inhale　the　familiar　scent。　　It　was　the　place　at　which；　four　hours　earlier；　his　mother　had　sat