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Chapter 7 : The Morning and the Evening of a Day


The wedding morning came. Nobody would have imagined from
appearances that Blooms-End had any interest in Mistover
that day. A solemn stillness prevailed around the house
of Clym's mother, and there was no more animation indoors.
Mrs. Yeobright, who had declined to attend the ceremony,
sat by the breakfast table in the old room which communicated
immediately with the porch, her eyes listlessly directed
towards the open door. It was the room in which,
six months earlier, the merry Christmas party had met,
to which Eustacia came secretly and as a stranger.
The only living thing that entered now was a sparrow;
and seeing no movements to cause alarm, he hopped boldly round
the room, endeavoured to go out by the window, and fluttered
among the pot-flowers. This roused the lonely sitter,
who got up, released the bird, and went to the door.
She was expecting Thomasin, who had written the night
before to state that the time had come when she would wish
to have the money and that she would if possible call
this day.

Yet Thomasin occupied Mrs. Yeobright's thoughts but
slightly as she looked up the valley of the heath,
alive with butterflies, and with grasshoppers whose
husky noises on every side formed a whispered chorus.
A domestic drama, for which the preparations were now
being made a mile or two off, was but little less vividly
present to her eyes than if enacted before her. She tried
to dismiss the vision, and walked about the garden plot;
but her eyes ever and anon sought out the direction of the
parish church to which Mistover belonged, and her excited fancy
clove the hills which divided the building from her eyes.
The morning wore away. Eleven o'clock struck--could
it be that the wedding was then in progress? It must
be so. She went on imagining the scene at the church,
which he had by this time approached with his bride.
She pictured the little group of children by the gate
as the pony carriage drove up in which, as Thomasin
had learnt, they were going to perform the short journey.
Then she saw them enter and proceed to the chancel and kneel;
and the service seemed to go on.

She covered her face with her hands. "O, it is a mistake!"
she groaned. "And he will rue it some day, and think
of me!"

While she remained thus, overcome by her forebodings,
the old clock indoors whizzed forth twelve strokes.
Soon after, faint sounds floated to her ear from afar
over the hills. The breeze came from that quarter,
and it had brought with it the notes of distant bells,
gaily starting off in a peal: one, two, three, four, five.
The ringers at East Egdon were announcing the nuptials of
Eustacia and her son.

"Then it is over," she murmured. "Well, well! and life
too will be over soon. And why should I go on scalding my
face like this? Cry about one thing in life, cry about all;
one thread runs through the whole piece. And yet we say,
'a time to laugh!'"

Towards evening Wildeve came. Since Thomasin's marriage
Mrs. Yeobright had shown him that grim friendliness which
at last arises in all such cases of undesired affinity.
The vision of what ought to have been is thrown aside in
sheer weariness, and browbeaten human endeavour listlessly
makes the best of the fact that is. Wildeve, to do
him justice, had behaved very courteously to his wife's aunt;
and it was with no surprise that she saw him enter now.

"Thomasin has not been able to come, as she promised to do,"
he replied to her inquiry, which had been anxious,
for she knew that her niece was badly in want of money.

"The captain came down last night and personally pressed
her to join them today. So, not to be unpleasant,
she determined to go. They fetched her in the pony-chaise,
and are going to bring her back."

"Then it is done," said Mrs. Yeobright. "Have they gone
to their new home?"

"I don't know. I have had no news from Mistover since
Thomasin left to go."

"You did not go with her?" said she, as if there might
be good reasons why.

"I could not," said Wildeve, reddening slightly.
"We could not both leave the house; it was rather
a busy morning, on account of Anglebury Great Market.
I believe you have something to give to Thomasin? If
you like, I will take it."

Mrs. Yeobright hesitated, and wondered if Wildeve knew
what the something was. "Did she tell you of this?"
she inquired.

"Not particularly. She casually dropped a remark about
having arranged to fetch some article or other."

"It is hardly necessary to send it. She can have it
whenever she chooses to come."

"That won't be yet. In the present state of her health
she must not go on walking so much as she has done."
He added, with a faint twang of sarcasm, "What wonderful
thing is it that I cannot be trusted to take?"

"Nothing worth troubling you with."

"One would think you doubted my honesty," he said,
with a laugh, though his colour rose in a quick
resentfulness frequent with him.

"You need think no such thing," said she drily.
"It is simply that I, in common with the rest of the world,
feel that there are certain things which had better be
done by certain people than by others."

"As you like, as you like," said Wildeve laconically.
"It is not worth arguing about. Well, I think I must turn
homeward again, as the inn must not be left long in charge
of the lad and the maid only."

He went his way, his farewell being scarcely so courteous
as his greeting. But Mrs. Yeobright knew him thoroughly
by this time, and took little notice of his manner,
good or bad.

When Wildeve was gone Mrs. Yeobright stood and considered
what would be the best course to adopt with regard to
the guineas, which she had not liked to entrust to Wildeve.
It was hardly credible that Thomasin had told him
to ask for them, when the necessity for them had arisen
from the difficulty of obtaining money at his hands.
At the same time Thomasin really wanted them, and might be
unable to come to Blooms-End for another week at least.
To take or send the money to her at the inn would be impolite,
since Wildeve would pretty surely be present, or would
discover the transaction; and if, as her aunt suspected,
he treated her less kindly than she deserved to be treated,
he might then get the whole sum out of her gentle hands.
But on this particular evening Thomasin was at Mistover,
and anything might be conveyed to her there without the
knowledge of her husband. Upon the whole the opportunity was
worth taking advantage of.

Her son, too, was there, and was now married.
There could be no more proper moment to render him his
share of the money than the present. And the chance
that would be afforded her, by sending him this gift,
of showing how far she was from bearing him ill-will,
cheered the sad mother's heart.

She went upstairs and took from a locked drawer a little box,
out of which she poured a hoard of broad unworn guineas
that had lain there many a year. There were a hundred
in all, and she divided them into two heaps, fifty in each.
Tying up these in small canvas bags, she went down to the
garden and called to Christian Cantle, who was loitering
about in hope of a supper which was not really owed him.
Mrs. Yeobright gave him the moneybags, charged him to go
to Mistover, and on no account to deliver them into any one's
hands save her son's and Thomasin's. On further thought
she deemed it advisable to tell Christian precisely what
the two bags contained, that he might be fully impressed
with their importance. Christian pocketed the moneybags,
promised the greatest carefulness, and set out on his way.

"You need not hurry," said Mrs. Yeobright. "It will
be better not to get there till after dusk, and then
nobody will notice you. Come back here to supper,
if it is not too late."

It was nearly nine o'clock when he began to ascend the vale
towards Mistover; but the long days of summer being at
their climax, the first obscurity of evening had only just
begun to tan the landscape. At this point of his journey
Christian heard voices, and found that they proceeded from
a company of men and women who were traversing a hollow
ahead of him, the tops only of their heads being visible.

He paused and thought of the money he carried. It was almost
too early even for Christian seriously to fear robbery;
nevertheless he took a precaution which ever since his
boyhood he had adopted whenever he carried more than
two or three shillings upon his person--a precaution
somewhat like that of the owner of the Pitt Diamond when
filled with similar misgivings. He took off his boots,
untied the guineas, and emptied the contents of one little
bag into the right boot, and of the other into the left,
spreading them as flatly as possible over the bottom
of each, which was really a spacious coffer by no means
limited to the size of the foot. Pulling them on again
and lacing them to the very top, he proceeded on his way,
more easy in his head than under his soles.

His path converged towards that of the noisy company,
and on coming nearer he found to his relief that they
were several Egdon people whom he knew very well,
while with them walked Fairway, of Blooms-End.

"What! Christian going too?" said Fairway as soon as he
recognized the newcomer. "You've got no young woman nor
wife to your name to gie a gown-piece to, I'm sure."

"What d'ye mean?" said Christian.

"Why, the raffle. The one we go to every year.
Going to the raffle as well as ourselves?"

"Never knew a word o't. Is it like cudgel playing or
other sportful forms of bloodshed? I don't want to go,
thank you, Mister Fairway, and no offence."

"Christian don't know the fun o't, and 'twould be a fine
sight for him," said a buxom woman. "There's no danger
at all, Christian. Every man puts in a shilling apiece,
and one wins a gown-piece for his wife or sweetheart
if he's got one."

"Well, as that's not my fortune there's no meaning in it
to me. But I should like to see the fun, if there's
nothing of the black art in it, and if a man may look
on without cost or getting into any dangerous wrangle?"

"There will be no uproar at all," said Timothy.
"Sure, Christian, if you'd like to come we'll see there's
no harm done."

"And no ba'dy gaieties, I suppose? You see, neighbours,
if so, it would be setting father a bad example, as he
is so light moral'd. But a gown-piece for a shilling,
and no black art--'tis worth looking in to see, and it
wouldn't hinder me half an hour. Yes, I'll come, if you'll
step a little way towards Mistover with me afterwards,
supposing night should have closed in, and nobody else
is going that way?"

One or two promised; and Christian, diverging from his
direct path, turned round to the right with his companions
towards the Quiet Woman.

When they entered the large common room of the inn
they found assembled there about ten men from among
the neighbouring population, and the group was
increased by the new contingent to double that number.
Most of them were sitting round the room in seats divided
by wooden elbows like those of crude cathedral stalls,
which were carved with the initials of many an illustrious
drunkard of former times who had passed his days and his
nights between them, and now lay as an alcoholic cinder
in the nearest churchyard. Among the cups on the long
table before the sitters lay an open parcel of light
drapery--the gown-piece, as it was called--which was
to be raffled for. Wildeve was standing with his back
to the fireplace smoking a cigar; and the promoter of
the raffle, a packman from a distant town, was expatiating
upon the value of the fabric as material for a summer dress.

"Now, gentlemen," he continued, as the newcomers drew up
to the table, "there's five have entered, and we want
four more to make up the number. I think, by the faces
of those gentlemen who have just come in, that they are
shrewd enough to take advantage of this rare opportunity
of beautifying their ladies at a very trifling expense."

Fairway, Sam, and another placed their shillings
on the table, and the man turned to Christian.

"No, sir," said Christian, drawing back, with a quick gaze
of misgiving. "I am only a poor chap come to look on,
an it please ye, sir. I don't so much as know how you
do it. If so be I was sure of getting it I would put
down the shilling; but I couldn't otherwise."

"I think you might almost be sure," said the pedlar.
"In fact, now I look into your face, even if I can't say
you are sure to win, I can say that I never saw anything
look more like winning in my life."

"You'll anyhow have the same chance as the rest of us,"
said Sam.

"And the extra luck of being the last comer," said another.

"And I was born wi' a caul, and perhaps can be no more
ruined than drowned?" Christian added, beginning to give way.

Ultimately Christian laid down his shilling, the raffle began,
and the dice went round. When it came to Christian's turn
he took the box with a trembling hand, shook it fearfully,
and threw a pair-royal. Three of the others had thrown
common low pairs, and all the rest mere points.

"The gentleman looked like winning, as I said," observed the
chapman blandly. "Take it, sir; the article is yours."

"Haw-haw-haw!" said Fairway. "I'm damned if this isn't
the quarest start that ever I knowed!"

"Mine?" asked Christian, with a vacant stare from his
target eyes. "I--I haven't got neither maid, wife,
nor widder belonging to me at all, and I'm afeard it
will make me laughed at to ha'e it, Master Traveller.
What with being curious to join in I never thought of that!
What shall I do wi' a woman's clothes in MY bedroom,
and not lose my decency!"

"Keep 'em, to be sure," said Fairway, "if it is only
for luck. Perhaps 'twill tempt some woman that thy poor
carcase had no power over when standing empty-handed."

"Keep it, certainly," said Wildeve, who had idly watched
the scene from a distance.

The table was then cleared of the articles, and the men
began to drink.

"Well, to be sure!" said Christian, half to himself.
"To think I should have been born so lucky as this,
and not have found it out until now! What curious creatures
these dice be--powerful rulers of us all, and yet at my
command! I am sure I never need be afeared of anything
after this." He handled the dice fondly one by one.
"Why, sir," he said in a confidential whisper to Wildeve,
who was near his left hand, "if I could only use this power
that's in me of multiplying money I might do some good
to a near relation of yours, seeing what I've got about me
of hers--eh?" He tapped one of his money-laden boots upon
the floor.

"What do you mean?" said Wildeve.

"That's a secret. Well, I must be going now." He looked
anxiously towards Fairway.

"Where are you going?" Wildeve asked.

"To Mistover Knap. I have to see Mrs. Thomasin there--
that's all."

"I am going there, too, to fetch Mrs. Wildeve. We can
walk together."

Wildeve became lost in thought, and a look of inward
illumination came into his eyes. It was money for his
wife that Mrs. Yeobright could not trust him with.
"Yet she could trust this fellow," he said to himself.
"Why doesn't that which belongs to the wife belong to the
husband too?"

He called to the pot-boy to bring him his hat, and said,
"Now, Christian, I am ready."

"Mr. Wildeve," said Christian timidly, as he turned to
leave the room, "would you mind lending me them wonderful
little things that carry my luck inside 'em, that I
might practise a bit by myself, you know?" He looked
wistfully at the dice and box lying on the mantlepiece.

"Certainly," said Wildeve carelessly. "They were only cut
out by some lad with his knife, and are worth nothing."
And Christian went back and privately pocketed them.

Wildeve opened the door and looked out. The night was
warm and cloudy. "By Gad! 'tis dark," he continued.
"But I suppose we shall find our way."

"If we should lose the path it might be awkward,"
said Christian. "A lantern is the only shield that will
make it safe for us."

"Let's have a lantern by all means." The stable lantern
was fetched and lighted. Christian took up his gownpiece,
and the two set out to ascend the hill.

Within the room the men fell into chat till their
attention was for a moment drawn to the chimney-corner.
This was large, and, in addition to its proper recess,
contained within its jambs, like many on Egdon,
a receding seat, so that a person might sit there
absolutely unobserved, provided there was no fire to light
him up, as was the case now and throughout the summer.
From the niche a single object protruded into the light
from the candles on the table. It was a clay pipe,
and its colour was reddish. The men had been attracted
to this object by a voice behind the pipe asking for a light.

"Upon my life, it fairly startled me when the man spoke!"
said Fairway, handing a candle. "Oh--'tis the reddleman!
You've kept a quiet tongue, young man."

"Yes, I had nothing to say," observed Venn. In a few
minutes he arose and wished the company good night.

Meanwhile Wildeve and Christian had plunged into the heath.

It was a stagnant, warm, and misty night, full of all the
heavy perfumes of new vegetation not yet dried by hot sun,
and among these particularly the scent of the fern.
The lantern, dangling from Christian's hand, brushed the
feathery fronds in passing by, disturbing moths and
other winged insects, which flew out and alighted upon
its horny panes.

"So you have money to carry to Mrs. Wildeve?"
said Christian's companion, after a silence. "Don't you
think it very odd that it shouldn't be given to me?"

"As man and wife be one flesh, 'twould have been all
the same, I should think," said Christian. "But my strict
documents was, to give the money into Mrs. Wildeve's
hand--and 'tis well to do things right."

"No doubt," said Wildeve. Any person who had known the
circumstances might have perceived that Wildeve was mortified
by the discovery that the matter in transit was money,
and not, as he had supposed when at Blooms-End, some fancy
nick-nack which only interested the two women themselves.
Mrs. Yeobright's refusal implied that his honour was not
considered to be of sufficiently good quality to make
him a safer bearer of his wife's property.

"How very warm it is tonight, Christian!" he said,
panting, when they were nearly under Rainbarrow.
"Let us sit down for a few minutes, for Heaven's sake."

Wildeve flung himself down on the soft ferns;
and Christian, placing the lantern and parcel on
the ground, perched himself in a cramped position hard by,
his knees almost touching his chin. He presently thrust
one hand into his coat-pocket and began shaking it about.

"What are you rattling in there?" said Wildeve.

"Only the dice, sir," said Christian, quickly withdrawing
his hand. "What magical machines these little things be,
Mr. Wildeve! 'Tis a game I should never get tired of.
Would you mind my taking 'em out and looking at 'em for
a minute, to see how they are made? I didn't like to look
close before the other men, for fear they should think it
bad manners in me." Christian took them out and examined
them in the hollow of his hand by the lantern light.
"That these little things should carry such luck,
and such charm, and such a spell, and such power in 'em,
passes all I ever heard or zeed," he went on, with a
fascinated gaze at the dice, which, as is frequently
the case in country places, were made of wood, the points
being burnt upon each face with the end of a wire.

"They are a great deal in a small compass, You think?"

"Yes. Do ye suppose they really be the devil's playthings,
Mr. Wildeve? If so, 'tis no good sign that I be such
a lucky man."

"You ought to win some money, now that you've got them.
Any woman would marry you then. Now is your time,
Christian, and I would recommend you not to let it slip.
Some men are born to luck, some are not. I belong to the
latter class."

"Did you ever know anybody who was born to it besides myself?"

"O yes. I once heard of an Italian, who sat down at a gaming
table with only a louis, (that's a foreign sovereign),
in his pocket. He played on for twenty-four hours,
and won ten thousand pounds, stripping the bank he had
played against. Then there was another man who had lost
a thousand pounds, and went to the broker's next day
to sell stock, that he might pay the debt. The man to
whom he owed the money went with him in a hackney-coach;
and to pass the time they tossed who should pay the fare.
The ruined man won, and the other was tempted to continue
the game, and they played all the way. When the coachman
stopped he was told to drive home again: the whole thousand
pounds had been won back by the man who was going to sell."

"Ha--ha--splendid!" exclaimed Christian. "Go on--go on!"

"Then there was a man of London, who was only a waiter at
White's clubhouse. He began playing first half-crown stakes,
and then higher and higher, till he became very rich,
got an appointment in India, and rose to be Governor
of Madras. His daughter married a member of Parliament,
and the Bishop of Carlisle stood godfather to one of
the children."

"Wonderfull wonderfull"

"And once there was a young man in America who gambled till
he had lost his last dollar. He staked his watch and chain,
and lost as before; staked his umbrella, lost again;
staked his hat, lost again; staked his coat and stood in his
shirt-sleeves, lost again. Began taking off his breeches,
and then a looker-on gave him a trifle for his pluck.
With this he won. Won back his coat, won back his hat,
won back his umbrella, his watch, his money, and went
out of the door a rich man."

"Oh, 'tis too good--it takes away my breath! Mr. Wildeve,
I think I will try another shilling with you, as I am one
of that sort; no danger can come o't, and you can afford
to lose."

"Very well," said Wildeve, rising. Searching about
with the lantern, he found a large flat stone, which he
placed between himself and Christian, and sat down again.
The lantern was opened to give more light, and it's rays
directed upon the stone. Christian put down a shilling,
Wildeve another, and each threw. Christian won.
They played for two, Christian won again.

"Let us try four," said Wildeve. They played for four.
This time the stakes were won by Wildeve.

"Ah, those little accidents will, of course, sometimes happen,
to the luckiest man," he observed.

"And now I have no more money!" explained Christian excitedly.
"And yet, if I could go on, I should get it back again,
and more. I wish this was mine." He struck his boot upon
the ground, so that the guineas chinked within.

"What! you have not put Mrs. Wildeve's money there?"

"Yes. 'Tis for safety. Is it any harm to raffle with a
married lady's money when, if I win, I shall only keep
my winnings, and give her her own all the same; and if
t'other man wins, her money will go to the lawful owner?"

"None at all."

Wildeve had been brooding ever since they started on the mean
estimation in which he was held by his wife's friends;
and it cut his heart severely. As the minutes passed he
had gradually drifted into a revengeful intention without
knowing the precise moment of forming it. This was to
teach Mrs. Yeobright a lesson, as he considered it to be;
in other words, to show her if he could that her niece's
husband was the proper guardian of her niece's money.

"Well, here goes!" said Christian, beginning to unlace
one boot. "I shall dream of it nights and nights,
I suppose; but I shall always swear my flesh don't crawl
when I think o't!"

He thrust his hand into the boot and withdrew one
of poor Thomasin's precious guineas, piping hot.
Wildeve had already placed a sovereign on the stone.
The game was then resumed. Wildeve won first,
and Christian ventured another, winning himself this time.
The game fluctuated, but the average was in Wildeve's favour.
Both men became so absorbed in the game that they took
no heed of anything but the pigmy objects immediately
beneath their eyes, the flat stone, the open lantern,
the dice, and the few illuminated fern-leaves which lay
under the light, were the whole world to them.

At length Christian lost rapidly; and presently,
to his horror, the whole fifty guineas belonging
to Thomasin had been handed over to his adversary.

"I don't care--I don't care!" he moaned, and desperately
set about untying his left boot to get at the other fifty.
"The devil will toss me into the flames on his three-pronged
fork for this night's work, I know! But perhaps I shall
win yet, and then I'll get a wife to sit up with me o'
nights and I won't be afeard, I won't! Here's another for'ee,
my man!" He slapped another guinea down upon the stone,
and the dice-box was rattled again.

Time passed on. Wildeve began to be as excited as
Christian himself. When commencing the game his intention
had been nothing further than a bitter practical joke on
Mrs. Yeobright. To win the money, fairly or otherwise,
and to hand it contemptuously to Thomasin in her
aunt's presence, had been the dim outline of his purpose.
But men are drawn from their intentions even in the course
of carrying them out, and it was extremely doubtful,
by the time the twentieth guinea had been reached,
whether Wildeve was conscious of any other intention
than that of winning for his own personal benefit.
Moreover, he was now no longer gambling for his wife's money,
but for Yeobright's; though of this fact Christian,
in his apprehensiveness, did not inform him till afterwards.

It was nearly eleven o'clock, when, with almost a shriek,
Christian placed Yeobright's last gleaming guinea upon
the stone. In thirty seconds it had gone the way of
its companions.

Christian turned and flung himself on the ferns
in a convulsion of remorse, "O, what shall I do
with my wretched self?" he groaned. "What shall
I do? Will any good Heaven hae mercy upon my wicked soul?"

"Do? Live on just the same."

"I won't live on just the same! I'll die! I say you
are a--a----"

"A man sharper than my neighbour."

"Yes, a man sharper than my neighbour; a regular sharper!"

"Poor chips-in-porridge, you are very unmannerly."

"I don't know about that! And I say you be unmannerly!
You've got money that isn't your own. Half the guineas
are poor Mr. Clym's."

"How's that?"

"Because I had to gie fifty of 'em to him. Mrs. Yeobright
said so."

"Oh?...Well, 'twould have been more graceful of her
to have given them to his wife Eustacia. But they
are in my hands now."

Christian pulled on his boots, and with heavy breathings,
which could be heard to some distance, dragged his
limbs together, arose, and tottered away out of sight.
Wildeve set about shutting the lantern to return to the house,
for he deemed it too late to go to Mistover to meet his wife,
who was to be driven home in the captain's four-wheel.
While he was closing the little horn door a figure rose
from behind a neighbouring bush and came forward into
the lantern light. It was the reddleman approaching.





The Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy
Category:
General Fiction
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