Clym　started　up；　and　Susan　smiled　in　an　expectant　way　which　did　not　embellish　her　face；　it　seemed　to　mean；　“Something　sinister　is　ing！”
  “What　did　she　do　at　my　house？”
  “She　went　and　sat　under　the　trees　at　the　Devil’s　Bellows。”
  “Good　God！　this　is　all　news　to　me！”
  “You　never　told　me　this　before？”　said　Susan。
  “No；　Mother；　because　I　didn’t　like　to　tell　‘ee　I　had　been　so　far。　　I　was　picking　blackhearts；　and　went　further　than　I　meant。”
  “What　did　she　do　then？”　said　Yeobright。
  “Looked　at　a　man　who　came　up　and　went　into　your　house。”
  “That　was　myself—a　furze…cutter；　with　brambles　in　his　hand。”
  “No；　‘twas　not　you。　　‘Twas　a　gentleman。　　You　had　gone　in　afore。”
  “Who　was　he？”
  “I　don’t　know。”
  “Now　tell　me　what　happened　next。”
  “The　poor　lady　went　and　knocked　at　your　door；　and　the　lady　with　black　hair　looked　out　of　the　side　window　at　her。”
  The　boy’s　mother　turned　to　Clym　and　said；　“This　is　something　you　didn’t　expect？”
  Yeobright　took　no　more　notice　of　her　than　if　he　had　been　of　stone。　　“Go　on；　go　on；”　he　said　hoarsely　to　the　boy。
  “And　when　she　saw　the　young　lady　look　out　of　the　window　the　old　lady　knocked　again；　and　when　nobody　came　she　took　up　the　furze…hook　and　looked　at　it；　and　put　it　down　again；　and　then　she　looked　at　the　faggot…bonds；　and　then　she　went　away；　and　walked　across　to　me；　and　blowed　her　breath　very　hard；　like　this。　　We　walked　on　together；　she　and　I；　and　I　talked　to　her　and　she　talked　to　me　a　bit；　but　not　much；　because　she　couldn’t　blow　her　breath。”
  “O！”　murmured　Clym；　in　a　low　tone；　and　bowed　his　head。
  “Let’s　have　more；”　he　said。
  “She　couldn’t　talk　much；　and　she　couldn’t　walk；　and　her　face　was；　O　so　queer！”
  “How　was　her　face？”
  “Like　yours　is　now。”
  The　woman　looked　at　Yeobright；　and　beheld　him　colourless；　in　a　cold　sweat。　　“Isn’t　there　meaning　in　it？”　she　said　stealthily。　　“What　do　you　think　of　her　now？”
  “Silence！”　said　Clym　fiercely。　　And；　turning　to　the　boy；　“And　then　you　left　her　to　die？”
  “No；”　said　the　woman；　quickly　and　angrily。　　“He　did　not　leave　her　to　die！　She　sent　him　away。　　Whoever　says　he　forsook　her　says　what’s　not　true。”
  “Trouble　no　more　about　that；”　answered　Clym；　with　a　quivering　mouth。　　“What　he　did　is　a　trifle　in　parison　with　what　he　saw。　　Door　kept　shut；　did　you　say？　　Kept　shut；　she　looking　out　of　window？　　Good　heart　of　God！what　does　it　mean？”
  The　child　shrank　away　from　the　gaze　of　his　questioner。
  “He　said　so；”　answered　the　mother；　“and　Johnny’s　a　God…fearing　boy　and　tells　no　lies。”
  “’Cast　off　by　my　son！’　No；　by　my　best　life；　dear　mother；　it　is　not　so！　But　by　your　son’s；　your　son’s—May　all　murderesses　get　the　torment　they　deserve！”
  With　these　words　Yeobright　went　forth　from　the　little　dwelling。　　The　pupils　of　his　eyes；　fixed　steadfastly　on　blankness；　were　vaguely　lit　with　an　icy　shine；　his　mouth　had　passed　into　the　phase　more　or　less　imaginatively　rendered　in　studies　of　Oedipus。　　The　strangest　deeds　were　possible　to　his　mood。　　But　they　were　not　possible　to　his　situation。　　Instead　of　there　being　before　him　the　pale　face　of　Eustacia；　and　a　masculine　shape　unknown；　there　was　only　the　imperturbable　countenance　of　the　heath；　which；　having　defied　the　cataclysmal　onsets　of　centuries；　reduced　to　insignificance　by　its　seamed　and　antique　features　the　wildest　turmoil　of　a　single　man。
  3　… Eustacia　Dresses　Herself　on　a　Black　Morning
  A　consciousness　of　a　vast　impassivity　in　all　which　lay　around　him　took　possession　even　of　Yeobright　in　his　wild　walk　towards　Alderworth。　　He　had　once　before　felt　in　his　own　person　this　overpowering　of　the　fervid　by　the　inanimate；　but　then　it　had　tended　to　enervate　a　passion　far　sweeter　than　that　which　at　present　pervaded　him。　　It　was　once　when　he　stood　parting　from　Eustacia　in　the　moist　still　levels　beyond　the　hills。
  But　dismissing　all　this　he　went　onward　home；　and　came　to　the　front　of　his　house。　　The　blinds　of　Eustacia’s　bedroom　were　still　closely　drawn；　for　she　was　no　early　riser。　　All　the　life　visible　was　in　the　shape　of　a　solitary　thrush　cracking　a　small　snail　upon　the　door…stone　for　his　breakfast；　and　his　tapping　seemed　a　loud　noise　in　the　general　silence　which　prevailed；　but　on　going　to　the　door　Clym　found　it　unfastened；　the　young　girl　who　attended　upon　Eustacia　being　astir　in　the　back　part　of　the　premises。　　Yeobright　entered　and　went　straight　to　his　wife’s　room。
  The　noise　of　his　arrival　must　have　aroused　her；　for　when　he　opened　the　door　she　was　standing　before　the　looking　glass　in　her　nightdress；　the　ends　of　her　hair　gathered　into　one　hand；　with　which　she　was　coiling　the　whole　mass　round　her　head；　previous　to　beginning　toilette　operations。　　She　was　not　a　woman　given　to　speaking　first　at　a　meeting；　and　she　allowed　Clym　to　walk　across　in　silence；　without　turning　her　head。　　He　came　behind　her；　and　she　saw　his　face　in　the　glass。　　It　was　ashy；　haggard；　and　terrible。　　Instead　of　starting　towards　him　in　sorrowful　surprise；　as　even　Eustacia；　undemonstrative　wife　as　she　was；　would　have　done　in　days　before　she　burdened　herself　with　a　secret；　she　remained　motionless；　looking　at　him　in　the　glass。　　And　while　she　looked　the　carmine　flush　with　which　warmth　and　sound　sleep　had　suffused　her　cheeks　and　neck　dissolved　from　view；　and　the　deathlike　pallor　in　his　face　flew　across　into　hers。　　He　was　close　enough　to　see　this；　and　the　sight　instigated　his　tongue。
  “You　know　what　is　the　matter；”　he　said　huskily。
  “I　see　it　in　your　face。”
  Her　hand　relinquished　the　rope　of　hair　and　dropped　to　her　side；　and　the　pile　of　tresses；　no　longer　supported；　fell　from　the　crown　of　her　head　about　her　shoulders　and　over　the　white　nightgown。　　She　made　no　reply。
  “Speak　to　me；”　said　Yeobright　peremptorily。
  The　blanching　process　did　not　cease　in　her；　and　her　lips　now　became　as　white　as　her　face。　　She　turned　to　him　and　said；　“Yes；　Clym；　I’ll　speak　to　you。　　Why　do　you　return　so　early？　　Can　I　do　anything　for　you？”
  “Yes；　you　can　listen　to　me。　　It　seems　that　my　wife　is　not　very　well？”
  “Why？”
  “Your　face；　my　dear；　your　face。　　Or　perhaps　it　is　the　pale　morning　light　which　takes　your　colour　away？　　Now　I　am　going　to　reveal　a　secret　to　you。　　Ha…ha！”
  “O；　that　is　ghastly！”
  “What？”
  “Your　laugh。”
  “There’s　reason　for　ghastliness。　　Eustacia；　you　have　held　my　happiness　in　the　hollow　of　your　hand；　and　like　a　devil　you　have　dashed　it　down！”
  She　started　back　from　the　dressing…table；　retreated　a　few　steps　from　him；　and　looked　him　in　the　face。　　“Ah！　you　think　to　frighten　me；”　she　said；　with　a　slight　laugh。　　“Is　it　worth　while？　　I　am　undefended；　and　alone。”
  “How　extraordinary！”
  “What　do　you　mean？”
  “As　there　is　ample　time　I　will　tell　you；　though　you　know　well　enough。　　I　mean　that　it　is　extraordinary　that　you　should　be　alone　in　my　absence。　　Tell　me；　now；　where　is　he　who　was　with　you　on　the　afternoon　of　the　thirty…first　of　August？　　Under　the　bed？　　Up　the　chimney？”
  A　shudder　overcame　her　and　shook　the　light　fabric　of　her　nightdress　throughout。　　“I　do　not　remember　dates　so　exactly；”　she　said。　　“I　cannot　recollect　that　anybody　was　with　me　besides　yourself。”
  “The　day　I　mean；”　said　Yeobright；　his　voice　growing　louder　and　harsher；　“was　the　day　you　shut　the　door　against　my　mother　and　killed　her。　　O；　it　is　too　much—too　bad！”　He　leant　over　the　footpiece　of　the　bedstead　for　a　few　moments；　with　his　back　towards　her；　then　rising　again—“Tell　me；　tell　me！　tell　me—do　you　hear？”　he　cried；　rushing　up　to　her　and　seizing　her　by　the　loose　folds　of　her　sleeve。
  The　superstratum　of　timidity　which　often　overlies　those　who　are　daring　and　defiant　at　heart　had　been　passed　through；　and　the　mettlesome　substance　of　the　woman　was　reached。　　The　red　blood　inundated　her　face；　previously　so　pale。
  “What　are　you　going　to　do？”　she　said　in　a　low　voice；　regarding　him　with　a　proud　smile。　　“You　will　not　alarm　me　by　holding　on　so；　but　it　would　be　a　pity　to　tear　my　sleeve。”
  Instead　of　letting　go　he　drew　her　closer　to　him。　　“Tell　me
  the　particulars　of—my　mother’s　death；”　he　said　in　a　hard；
  panting　whisper；　“or—I’ll—I’ll—“
  “Clym；”　she　answered　slowly；　“do　you　think　you　dare　do　anything　to　me　that　I　dare　not　bear？　　But　before　you　strike　me　listen。　　You　will　get　nothing　from　me　by　a　blow；　even　though　it　should　kill　me；　as　it　probably　will。　　But　perhaps　you　do　not　wish　me　to　speak—killing　may　be　all　you　mean？”
  “Kill　you！　Do　you　expect　it？”
  “I　do。”
  “Why？”
  “No　less　degree　of　rage　against　me　will　match　your　previous　grief　for　her。”
  “Phew—I　shall　not　kill　you；”　he　said　contemptuously；　as　if　under　a　sudden　change　of　purpose。　　“I　did　think　of　it；　but—I　shall　not。　　That　would　be　making　a　martyr　of　you；　and　sending　you　to　where　she　is；　and　I　would　keep　you　away　from　her　till　the　universe　e　to　an　end；　if　I　could。”
  “I　almost　wish　you　would　kill　me；”　said　she　with　gloomy　bitterness。　　“It　is　with　no　strong　desire；　I　assure　you；　that　I　play　the　part　I　have　lately　played　on　earth。　　You　are　no　blessing；　my　husband。”
  “You　shut　the　door—you　looked　out　of　the　window　upon　her—you　had　a　man　in　the　house　with　you—you　sent　her　away　to　die。　　The　inhumanity—the　treachery—I　will　not　touch　you—stand　away　from　me—and　confess　every　word！”
  “Never！　I’ll　hold　my　tongue　like　the　very　de