Throughout this period Yeobright had more or less pondered on his duty
to his cousin Thomasin. He could not help feeling that it would be a
pitiful waste of sweet material if the tender-natured thing should be
doomed from this early stage of her life onwards to dribble away her
winsome qualities on lonely gorse and fern. But he felt this as an
economist merely, and not as a lover. His passion for Eustacia had
been a sort of conserve of his whole life, and he had nothing more of
that supreme quality left to bestow. So far the obvious thing was not
to entertain any idea of marriage with Thomasin, even to oblige her.
But this was not all. Years ago there had been in his mother's mind
a great fancy about Thomasin and himself. It had not positively
amounted to a desire, but it had always been a favourite dream. That
they should be man and wife in good time, if the happiness of neither
were endangered thereby, was the fancy in question. So that what
course save one was there now left for any son who reverenced his
mother's memory as Yeobright did? It is an unfortunate fact that any
particular whim of parents, which might have been dispersed by half
an hour's conversation during their lives, becomes sublimated by
their deaths into a fiat the most absolute, with such results to
conscientious children as those parents, had they lived, would have
been the first to decry.
Had only Yeobright's own future been involved he would have proposed
to Thomasin with a ready heart. He had nothing to lose by carrying
out a dead mother's hope. But he dreaded to contemplate Thomasin
wedded to the mere corpse of a lover that he now felt himself to be.
He had but three activities alive in him. One was his almost daily
walk to the little graveyard wherein his mother lay; another, his
just as frequent visits by night to the more distant enclosure, which
numbered his Eustacia among its dead; the third was self-preparation
for a vocation which alone seemed likely to satisfy his cravings--that
of an itinerant preacher of the eleventh commandment. It was
difficult to believe that Thomasin would be cheered by a husband with
such tendencies as these.
Yet he resolved to ask her, and let her decide for herself. It was
even with a pleasant sense of doing his duty that he went downstairs
to her one evening for this purpose, when the sun was printing on the
valley the same long shadow of the housetop that he had seen lying
there times out of number while his mother lived.
Thomasin was not in her room, and he found her in the front garden.
"I have long been wanting, Thomasin," he began, "to say something
about a matter that concerns both our futures."
"And you are going to say it now?" she remarked quickly, colouring as
she met his gaze. "Do stop a minute, Clym, and let me speak first,
for oddly enough, I have been wanting to say something to you."
"By all means say on, Tamsie."
"I suppose nobody can overhear us?" she went on, casting her eyes
around and lowering her voice. "Well, first you will promise me
this--that you won't be angry and call me anything harsh if you
disagree with what I propose?"
Yeobright promised, and she continued: "What I want is your advice,
for you are my relation--I mean, a sort of guardian to me--aren't you,
Clym?"
"Well, yes, I suppose I am; a sort of guardian. In fact, I am, of
course," he said, altogether perplexed as to her drift.
"I am thinking of marrying," she then observed blandly. "But I shall
not marry unless you assure me that you approve of such a step. Why
don't you speak?"
"I was taken rather by surprise. But, nevertheless, I am very glad
to hear such news. I shall approve, of course, dear Tamsie. Who can
it be? I am quite at a loss to guess. No I am not--'tis the old
doctor!--not that I mean to call him old, for he is not very old after
all. Ah--I noticed when he attended you last time!"
"No, no," she said hastily. "'Tis Mr. Venn."
Clym's face suddenly became grave.
"There, now, you don't like him, and I wish I hadn't mentioned him!"
she exclaimed almost petulantly. "And I shouldn't have done it,
either, only he keeps on bothering me so till I don't know what to
do!"
Clym looked at the heath. "I like Venn well enough," he answered at
last. "He is a very honest and at the same time astute man. He is
clever too, as is proved by his having got you to favour him. But
really, Thomasin, he is not quite--"
"Gentleman enough for me? That is just what I feel. I am sorry now
that I asked you, and I won't think any more of him. At the same time
I must marry him if I marry anybody--that I WILL say!"
"I don't see that," said Clym, carefully concealing every clue to his
own interrupted intention, which she plainly had not guessed. "You
might marry a professional man, or somebody of that sort, by going
into the town to live and forming acquaintances there."
"I am not fit for town life--so very rural and silly as I always have
been. Do not you yourself notice my countrified ways?"
"Well, when I came home from Paris I did, a little; but I don't now."
"That's because you have got countrified too. O, I couldn't live in a
street for the world! Egdon is a ridiculous old place; but I have got
used to it, and I couldn't be happy anywhere else at all."
"Neither could I," said Clym.
"Then how could you say that I should marry some town man? I am sure,
say what you will, that I must marry Diggory, if I marry at all. He
has been kinder to me than anybody else, and has helped me in many
ways that I don't know of!" Thomasin almost pouted now.
"Yes, he has," said Clym in a neutral tone. "Well, I wish with all my
heart that I could say, marry him. But I cannot forget what my mother
thought on that matter, and it goes rather against me not to respect
her opinion. There is too much reason why we should do the little we
can to respect it now."
"Very well, then," sighed Thomasin. "I will say no more."
"But you are not bound to obey my wishes. I merely say what I think."
"O no--I don't want to be rebellious in that way," she said sadly. "I
had no business to think of him--I ought to have thought of my family.
What dreadfully bad impulses there are in me!" Her lips trembled, and
she turned away to hide a tear.
Clym, though vexed at what seemed her unaccountable taste, was in a
measure relieved to find that at any rate the marriage question in
relation to himself was shelved. Through several succeeding days
he saw her at different times from the window of his room moping
disconsolately about the garden. He was half angry with her for
choosing Venn; then he was grieved at having put himself in the way
of Venn's happiness, who was, after all, as honest and persevering a
young fellow as any on Egdon, since he had turned over a new leaf.
In short, Clym did not know what to do.
When next they met she said abruptly, "He is much more respectable
now than he was then!"
"Who? O yes--Diggory Venn."
"Aunt only objected because he was a reddleman."
"Well, Thomasin, perhaps I don't know all the particulars of my
mother's wish. So you had better use your own discretion."
"You will always feel that I slighted your mother's memory."
"No, I will not. I shall think you are convinced that, had she seen
Diggory in his present position, she would have considered him a
fitting husband for you. Now, that's my real feeling. Don't consult
me any more, but do as you like, Thomasin. I shall be content."
It is to be supposed that Thomasin was convinced; for a few days after
this, when Clym strayed into a part of the heath that he had not
lately visited, Humphrey, who was at work there, said to him, "I am
glad to see that Mrs. Wildeve and Venn have made it up again,
seemingly."
"Have they?" said Clym abstractedly.
"Yes; and he do contrive to stumble upon her whenever she walks out
on fine days with the chiel. But, Mr. Yeobright, I can't help feeling
that your cousin ought to have married you. 'Tis a pity to make two
chimley-corners where there need be only one. You could get her away
from him now, 'tis my belief, if you were only to set about it."
"How can I have the conscience to marry after having driven two
women to their deaths? Don't think such a thing, Humphrey. After my
experience I should consider it too much of a burlesque to go to
church and take a wife. In the words of Job, 'I have made a covenant
with mine eyes; why then should I think upon a maid?'"
"No, Mr. Clym, don't fancy that about driving two women to their
deaths. You shouldn't say it."
"Well, we'll leave that out," said Yeobright. "But anyhow God has
set a mark upon me which wouldn't look well in a lovemaking scene.
I have two ideas in my head, and no others. I am going to keep a
night-school; and I am going to turn preacher. What have you got to
say to that, Humphrey?"
"I'll come and hear 'ee with all my heart."
"Thanks. 'Tis all I wish."
As Clym descended into the valley Thomasin came down by the other
path, and met him at the gate. "What do you think I have to tell you,
Clym?" she said, looking archly over her shoulder at him.
"I can guess," he replied.
She scrutinized his face. "Yes, you guess right. It is going to be
after all. He thinks I may as well make up my mind, and I have got to
think so too. It is to be on the twenty-fifth of next month, if you
don't object."
"Do what you think right, dear. I am only too glad that you see your
way clear to happiness again. My sex owes you every amends for the
treatment you received in days gone by."