“I’ll tell you how you mid see her, Mr.
Yeobright,” said Sam. “We are going
to grapple for the bucket at six o’clock tonight
at her house, and you could lend a hand. There’s
five or six coming, but the well is deep, and another
might be useful, if you don’t mind appearing
in that shape. She’s sure to be walking
round.”
“I’ll think of it,” said Yeobright;
and they parted.
He thought of it a good deal; but nothing more was
said about Eustacia inside the house at that time.
Whether this romantic martyr to superstition and the
melancholy mummer he had conversed with under the
full moon were one and the same person remained as
yet a problem.
The First Act in a Timeworn Drama
The afternoon was fine, and Yeobright walked on the
heath for an hour with his mother. When they
reached the lofty ridge which divided the valley of
Blooms-End from the adjoining valley they stood still
and looked round. The Quiet Woman Inn was visible
on the low margin of the heath in one direction, and
afar on the other hand rose Mistover Knap.
“You mean to call on Thomasin?” he inquired.
“Yes. But you need not come this time,”
said his mother.
“In that case I’ll branch off here, mother.
I am going to Mistover.”
Mrs. Yeobright turned to him inquiringly.
“I am going to help them get the bucket out
of the captain’s well,” he continued.
“As it is so very deep I may be useful.
And I should like to see this Miss Vye—not
so much for her good looks as for another reason.”
“Must you go?” his mother asked.
“I thought to.”
And they parted. “There is no help for
it,” murmured Clym’s mother gloomily as
he withdrew. “They are sure to see each
other. I wish Sam would carry his news to other
houses than mine.”
Clym’s retreating figure got smaller and smaller
as it rose and fell over the hillocks on his way.
“He is tender-hearted,” said Mrs. Yeobright
to herself while she watched him; “otherwise
it would matter little. How he’s going
on!”
He was, indeed, walking with a will over the furze,
as straight as a line, as if his life depended upon
it. His mother drew a long breath, and, abandoning
the visit to Thomasin, turned back. The evening
films began to make nebulous pictures of the valleys,
but the high lands still were raked by the declining
rays of the winter sun, which glanced on Clym as he
walked forward, eyed by every rabbit and fieldfare
around, a long shadow advancing in front of him.
On drawing near to the furze-covered bank and ditch
which fortified the captain’s dwelling he could
hear voices within, signifying that operations had
been already begun. At the side-entrance gate
he stopped and looked over.
Half a dozen able-bodied men were standing in a line
from the well-mouth, holding a rope which passed over
the well-roller into the depths below. Fairway,
with a piece of smaller rope round his body, made
fast to one of the standards, to guard against accidents,
was leaning over the opening, his right hand clasping
the vertical rope that descended into the well.
