Thursday, the thirty-first of August, was one of a series of days
during which snug houses were stifling, and when cool draughts were
treats; when cracks appeared in clayey gardens, and were called
"earthquakes" by apprehensive children; when loose spokes were
discovered in the wheels of carts and carriages; and when stinging
insects haunted the air, the earth, and every drop of water that was
to be found.
In Mrs. Yeobright's garden large-leaved plants of a tender kind
flagged by ten o'clock in the morning; rhubarb bent downward at
eleven; and even stiff cabbages were limp by noon.
It was about eleven o'clock on this day that Mrs. Yeobright started
across the heath towards her son's house, to do her best in getting
reconciled with him and Eustacia, in conformity with her words to the
reddleman. She had hoped to be well advanced in her walk before the
heat of the day was at its highest, but after setting out she found
that this was not to be done. The sun had branded the whole heath
with his mark, even the purple heath-flowers having put on a brownness
under the dry blazes of the few preceding days. Every valley was
filled with air like that of a kiln, and the clean quartz sand of
the winter water-courses, which formed summer paths, had undergone
a species of incineration since the drought had set in.
In cool, fresh weather Mrs. Yeobright would have found no
inconvenience in walking to Alderworth, but the present torrid attack
made the journey a heavy undertaking for a woman past middle age; and
at the end of the third mile she wished that she had hired Fairway to
drive her a portion at least of the distance. But from the point at
which she had arrived it was as easy to reach Clym's house as to get
home again. So she went on, the air around her pulsating silently,
and oppressing the earth with lassitude. She looked at the sky
overhead, and saw that the sapphirine hue of the zenith in spring and
early summer had been replaced by a metallic violet.
Occasionally she came to a spot where independent worlds of ephemerons
were passing their time in mad carousal, some in the air, some on the
hot ground and vegetation, some in the tepid and stringy water of a
nearly dried pool. All the shallower ponds had decreased to a vaporous
mud amid which the maggoty shapes of innumerable obscure creatures
could be indistinctly seen, heaving and wallowing with enjoyment.
Being a woman not disinclined to philosophize she sometimes sat down
under her umbrella to rest and to watch their happiness, for a certain
hopefulness as to the result of her visit gave ease to her mind, and
between important thoughts left it free to dwell on any infinitesimal
matter which caught her eyes.
Mrs. Yeobright had never before been to her son's house, and its
exact position was unknown to her. She tried one ascending path and
another, and found that they led her astray. Retracing her steps, she
came again to an open level, where she perceived at a distance a man
at work. She went towards him and inquired the way.
The labourer pointed out the direction, and added, "Do you see that
furze-cutter, ma'am, going up that footpath yond?"
Mrs. Yeobright strained her eyes, and at last said that she did
perceive him.
"Well, if you follow him you can make no mistake. He's going to the
same place, ma'am."
She followed the figure indicated. He appeared of a russet hue,
not more distinguishable from the scene around him than the green
caterpillar from the leaf it feeds on. His progress when actually
walking was more rapid than Mrs. Yeobright's; but she was enabled to
keep at an equable distance from him by his habit of stopping whenever
he came to a brake of brambles, where he paused awhile. On coming
in her turn to each of these spots she found half a dozen long limp
brambles which he had cut from the bush during his halt and laid
out straight beside the path. They were evidently intended for
furze-faggot bonds which he meant to collect on his return.
The silent being who thus occupied himself seemed to be of no more
account in life than an insect. He appeared as a mere parasite of the
heath, fretting its surface in his daily labour as a moth frets a
garment, entirely engrossed with its products, having no knowledge of
anything in the world but fern, furze, heath, lichens, and moss.
The furze-cutter was so absorbed in the business of his journey that
he never turned his head; and his leather-legged and gauntleted form
at length became to her as nothing more than a moving handpost to
show her the way. Suddenly she was attracted to his individuality
by observing peculiarities in his walk. It was a gait she had seen
somewhere before; and the gait revealed the man to her, as the gait
of Ahimaaz in the distant plain made him known to the watchman of the
king. "His walk is exactly as my husband's used to be," she said; and
then the thought burst upon her that the furze-cutter was her son.
She was scarcely able to familiarize herself with this strange
reality. She had been told that Clym was in the habit of cutting
furze, but she had supposed that he occupied himself with the labour
only at odd times, by way of useful pastime; yet she now beheld him as
a furze-cutter and nothing more--wearing the regulation dress of the
craft, and thinking the regulation thoughts, to judge by his motions.
Planning a dozen hasty schemes for at once preserving him and Eustacia
from this mode of life she throbbingly followed the way, and saw him
enter his own door.
At one side of Clym's house was a knoll, and on the top of the knoll a
clump of fir trees so highly thrust up into the sky that their foliage
from a distance appeared as a black spot in the air above the crown
of the hill. On reaching this place Mrs. Yeobright felt distressingly
agitated, weary, and unwell. She ascended, and sat down under their
shade to recover herself, and to consider how best to break the ground
with Eustacia, so as not to irritate a woman underneath whose apparent
indolence lurked passions even stronger and more active than her own.
The trees beneath which she sat were singularly battered, rude, and
wild, and for a few minutes Mrs. Yeobright dismissed thoughts of her
own storm-broken and exhausted state to contemplate theirs. Not a
bough in the nine trees which composed the group but was splintered,
lopped, and distorted by the fierce weather that there held them at
its mercy whenever it prevailed. Some were blasted and split as if by
lightning, black stains as from fire marking their sides, while the
ground at their feet was strewn with dead fir-needles and heaps of
cones blown down in the gales of past years. The place was called the
Devil's Bellows, and it was only necessary to come there on a March or
November night to discover the forcible reasons for that name. On the
present heated afternoon, when no perceptible wind was blowing, the
trees kept up a perpetual moan which one could hardly believe to be
caused by the air.
Here she sat for twenty minutes or more ere she could summon
resolution to go down to the door, her courage being lowered to zero
by her physical lassitude. To any other person than a mother it might
have seemed a little humiliating that she, the elder of the two women,
should be the first to make advances. But Mrs. Yeobright had well
considered all that, and she only thought how best to make her visit
appear to Eustacia not abject but wise.
From her elevated position the exhausted woman could perceive the roof
of the house below, and the garden and the whole enclosure of the
little domicile. And now, at the moment of rising, she saw a second
man approaching the gate. His manner was peculiar, hesitating, and
not that of a person come on business or by invitation. He surveyed
the house with interest, and then walked round and scanned the outer
boundary of the garden, as one might have done had it been the
birthplace of Shakespeare, the prison of Mary Stuart, or the Château
of Hougomont. After passing round and again reaching the gate he went
in. Mrs. Yeobright was vexed at this, having reckoned on finding her
son and his wife by themselves; but a moment's thought showed her that
the presence of an acquaintance would take off the awkwardness of
her first appearance in the house, by confining the talk to general
matters until she had begun to feel comfortable with them. She came
down the hill to the gate, and looked into the hot garden.
There lay the cat asleep on the bare gravel of the path, as if beds,
rugs, and carpets were unendurable. The leaves of the hollyhocks hung
like half-closed umbrellas, the sap almost simmered in the stems, and
foliage with a smooth surface glared like metallic mirrors. A small
apple tree, of the sort called Ratheripe, grew just inside the gate,
the only one which throve in the garden, by reason of the lightness of
the soil; and among the fallen apples on the ground beneath were wasps
rolling drunk with the juice, or creeping about the little caves in
each fruit which they had eaten out before stupefied by its sweetness.
By the door lay Clym's furze-hook and the last handful of faggot-bonds
she had seen him gather; they had plainly been thrown down there as he
entered the house.