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 towards 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
money-bags, 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."
"Wonderful! wonderful!"
"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-sleeve; 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.