“What；　what？”
  “I　think　my　husband　is　going　to　leave　me　or　do　something　dreadful—I　don’t　know　what—Clym；　will　you　go　and　see？　　I　have　nobody　to　help　me　but　you；　Eustacia　has　not　yet　e　home？”
  “No。”
  She　went　on　breathlessly：　“Then　they　are　going　to　run　off　together！　He　came　indoors　tonight　about　eight　o’clock　and　said　in　an　off…hand　way；　‘Tamsie；　I　have　just　found　that　I　must　go　a　journey。’　‘When？’　I　said。　　‘Tonight；’　he　said。　　‘Where？’　I　asked　him。　　‘I　cannot　tell　you　at　present；’　he　said；　‘I　shall　be　back　again　tomorrow。’　He　then　went　and　busied　himself　in　looking　up　his　things；　and　took　no　notice　of　me　at　all。　　I　expected　to　see　him　start；　but　he　did　not；　and　then　it　came　to　be　ten　o’clock；　when　he　said；　‘You　had　better　go　to　bed。’　I　didn’t　know　what　to　do；　and　I　went　to　bed。　　I　believe　he　thought　I　fell　asleep；　for　half　an　hour　after　that　he　came　up　and　unlocked　the　oak　chest　we　keep　money　in　when　we　have　much　in　the　house　and　took　out　a　roll　of　something　which　I　believe　was　banknotes；　though　I　was　not　aware　that　he　had　‘em　there。　　These　he　must　have　got　from　the　bank　when　he　went　there　the　other　day。　　What　does　he　want　banknotes　for；　if　he　is　only　going　off　for　a　day？　　When　he　had　gone　down　I　thought　of　Eustacia；　and　how　he　had　met　her　the　night　before—I　know　he　did　meet　her；　Clym；　for　I　followed　him　part　of　the　way；　but　I　did　not　like　to　tell　you　when　you　called；　and　so　make　you　think　ill　of　him；　as　I　did　not　think　it　was　so　serious。　　Then　I　could　not　stay　in　bed；　I　got　up　and　dressed　myself；　and　when　I　heard　him　out　in　the　stable　I　thought　I　would　e　and　tell　you。　　So　I　came　downstairs　without　any　noise　and　slipped　out。”
  “Then　he　was　not　absolutely　gone　when　you　left？”
  “No。　Will　you；　dear　Cousin　Clym；　go　and　try　to　persuade　him　not　to　go？　　He　takes　no　notice　of　what　I　say；　and　puts　me　off　with　the　story　of　his　going　on　a　journey；　and　will　be　home　tomorrow；　and　all　that；　but　I　don’t　believe　it。　　I　think　you　could　influence　him。”
  “I’ll　go；”　said　Clym。　　“O；　Eustacia！”
  Thomasin　carried　in　her　arms　a　large　bundle；　and　having　by　this　time　seated　herself　she　began　to　unroll　it；　when　a　baby　appeared　as　the　kernel　to　the　husks—dry；　warm；　and　unconscious　of　travel　or　rough　weather。　　Thomasin　briefly　kissed　the　baby；　and　then　found　time　to　begin　crying　as　she　said；　“I　brought　baby；　for　I　was　afraid　what　might　happen　to　her。　　I　suppose　it　will　be　her　death；　but　I　couldn’t　leave　her　with　Rachel！”
  Clym　hastily　put　together　the　logs　on　the　hearth；　raked　abroad　the　embers；　which　were　scarcely　yet　extinct；　and　blew　up　a　flame　with　the　bellows。
  “Dry　yourself；”　he　said。　　“I’ll　go　and　get　some　more　wood。”
  “No；　no—don’t　stay　for　that。　　I’ll　make　up　the　fire。
  Will　you　go　at　once—please　will　you？”
  Yeobright　ran　upstairs　to　finish　dressing　himself。
  While　he　was　gone　another　rapping　came　to　the　door。　　This　time　there　was　no　delusion　that　it　might　be　Eustacia’s—the　footsteps　just　preceding　it　had　been　heavy　and　slow。　　Yeobright　thinking　it　might　possibly　be　Fairway　with　a　note　in　answer；　descended　again　and　opened　the　door。
  “Captain　Vye？”　he　said　to　a　dripping　figure。
  “Is　my　granddaughter　here？”　said　the　captain。
  “No。”
  “Then　where　is　she？”。
  “I　don’t　know。”
  “But　you　ought　to　know—you　are　her　husband。”
  “Only　in　name　apparently；”　said　Clym　with　rising　excitement。
  “I　believe　she　means　to　elope　tonight　with　Wildeve。
  I　am　just　going　to　look　to　it。”
  “Well；　she　has　left　my　house；　she　left　about　half　an　hour　ago。
  Who’s　sitting　there？”
  “My　cousin　Thomasin。”
  The　captain　bowed　in　a　preoccupied　way　to　her。
  “I　only　hope　it　is　no　worse　than　an　elopement；”　he　said。
  “Worse？　　What’s　worse　than　the　worst　a　wife　can　do？”
  “Well；　I　have　been　told　a　strange　tale。　　Before　starting　in　search　of　her　I　called　up　Charley；　my　stable　lad。　　I　missed　my　pistols　the　other　day。”
  “Pistols？”
  “He　said　at　the　time　that　he　took　them　down　to　clean。　　He　has　now　owned　that　he　took　them　because　he　saw　Eustacia　looking　curiously　at　them；　and　she　afterwards　owned　to　him　that　she　was　thinking　of　taking　her　life；　but　bound　him　to　secrecy；　and　promised　never　to　think　of　such　a　thing　again。　　I　hardly　suppose　she　will　ever　have　bravado　enough　to　use　one　of　them；　but　it　shows　what　has　been　lurking　in　her　mind；　and　people　who　think　of　that　sort　of　thing　once　think　of　it　again。”
  “Where　are　the　pistols？”
  “Safely　locked　up。　　O　no；　she　won’t　touch　them　again。　　But　there　are　more　ways　of　letting　out　life　than　through　a　bullet…hole。　What　did　you　quarrel　about　so　bitterly　with　her　to　drive　her　to　all　this？　　You　must　have　treated　her　badly　indeed。　　Well；　I　was　always　against　the　marriage；　and　I　was　right。”
  “Are　you　going　with　me？”　said　Yeobright；　paying　no　attention　to　the　captain’s　latter　remark。　　“If　so　I　can　tell　you　what　we　quarrelled　about　as　we　walk　along。”
  “Where　to？”
  “To　Wildeve’s—that　was　her　destination；　depend　upon　it。”
  Thomasin　here　broke　in；　still　weeping：　“He　said　he　was　only　going　on　a　sudden　short　journey；　but　if　so　why　did　he　want　so　much　money？　　O；　Clym；　what　do　you　think　will　happen？　　I　am　afraid　that　you；　my　poor　baby；　will　soon　have　no　father　left　to　you！”
  “I　am　off　now；”　said　Yeobright；　stepping　into　the　porch。
  “I　would　fain　go　with　‘ee；”　said　the　old　man　doubtfully。　　“But　I　begin　to　be　afraid　that　my　legs　will　hardly　carry　me　there　such　a　night　as　this。　　I　am　not　so　young　as　I　was。　　If　they　are　interrupted　in　their　flight　she　will　be　sure　to　e　back　to　me；　and　I　ought　to　be　at　the　house　to　receive　her。　　But　be　it　as　‘twill　I　can’t　walk　to　the　Quiet　Woman；　and　that’s　an　end　on’t。　I’ll　go　straight　home。”
  “It　will　perhaps　be　best；”　said　Clym。　　“Thomasin；　dry　yourself；　and　be　as　fortable　as　you　can。”
  With　this　he　closed　the　door　upon　her；　and　left　the　house　in　pany　with　Captain　Vye；　who　parted　from　him　outside　the　gate；　taking　the　middle　path；　which　led　to　Mistover。　　Clym　crossed　by　the　right…hand　track　towards　the　inn。
  Thomasin；　being　left　alone；　took　off　some　of　her　wet　garments；　carried　the　baby　upstairs　to　Clym’s　bed；　and　then　came　down　to　the　sitting…room　again；　where　she　made　a　larger　fire；　and　began　drying　herself。　　The　fire　soon　flared　up　the　chimney；　giving　the　room　an　appearance　of　fort　that　was　doubled　by　contrast　with　the　drumming　of　the　storm　without；　which　snapped　at　the　windowpanes　and　breathed　into　the　chimney　strange　low　utterances　that　seemed　to　be　the　prologue　to　some　tragedy。
  But　the　least　part　of　Thomasin　was　in　the　house；　for　her　heart　being　at　ease　about　the　little　girl　upstairs　she　was　mentally　following　Clym　on　his　journey。　　Having　indulged　in　this　imaginary　peregrination　for　some　considerable　interval；　she　became　impressed　with　a　sense　of　the　intolerable　slowness　of　time。　　But　she　sat　on。　　The　moment　then　came　when　she　could　scarcely　sit　longer；　and　it　was　like　a　satire　on　her　patience　to　remember　that　Clym　could　hardly　have　reached　the　inn　as　yet。　　At　last　she　went　to　the　baby’s　bedside。　　The　child　was　sleeping　soundly；　but　her　imagination　of　possibly　disastrous　events　at　her　home；　the　predominance　within　her　of　the　unseen　over　the　seen；　agitated　her　beyond　endurance。　　She　could　not　refrain　from　going　down　and　opening　the　door。　　The　rain　still　continued；　the　candlelight　falling　upon　the　nearest　drops　and　making　glistening　darts　of　them　as　they　descended　across　the　throng　of　invisible　ones　behind。　　To　plunge　into　that　medium　was　to　plunge　into　water　slightly　diluted　with　air。　　But　the　difficulty　of　returning　to　her　house　at　this　moment　made　her　all　the　more　desirous　of　doing　so—anything　was　better　than　suspense。　　“I　have　e　here　well　enough；”　she　said；　“and　why　shouldn’t　I　go　back　again？　　It　is　a　mistake　for　me　to　be　away。”
  She　hastily　fetched　the　infant；　wrapped　it　up；　cloaked　herself　as　before；　and　shoveling　the　ashes　over　the　fire；　to　prevent　accidents；　went　into　the　open　air。　　Pausing　first　to　put　the　door　key　in　its　old　place　behind　the　shutter；　she　resolutely　turned　her　face　to　the　confronting　pile　of　firmamental　darkness　beyond　the　palings；　and　stepped　into　its　midst。　　But　Thomasin’s　imagination　being　so　actively　engaged　elsewhere；　the　night　and　the　weather　had　for　her　no　terror　beyond　that　of　their　actual　disfort　and　difficulty。
  She　was　soon　ascending　Blooms…End　valley　and　traversing　the　undulations　on　the　side　of　the　hill。　　The　noise　of　the　wind　over　the　heath　was　shrill；　and　as　if　it　whistled　for　joy　at　finding　a　night　so　congenial　as　this。　　Sometimes　the　path　led　her　to　hollows　between　thickets　of　tall　and　dripping　bracken；　dead；　though　not　yet　prostrate；　which　enclosed　her　like　a　pool。　　When　they　were　more　than　usually　tall　she　lifted　the　baby　to　the　top　of　her　head；　that　it　might　be　out　of　the　reach　of　their　drenching　fronds。　　On　higher　ground；　where　the　wind　was　brisk　and　sustained；　the　rain　flew　in　a　level　flight　without　sensible　descent；　so　that　it　was　beyond　all　power　to　imagine　the　remoteness　of　the　point　at　which　it　left　the　bosoms　of　the　clouds。　　Here　self…defence　was　impossible；　and　individual　drops　stuck　into　her　like　the　arrows　into　Saint　Sebastian。　　She　was　enabled　to　avoid　puddles　by　the　nebulous　paleness　which　signified　their　presence；　though　beside　anything　less　d