The lips then parted with something of anticipation,
something more of doubt; and her several thoughts
and fractions of thoughts, as signalled by the changes
on her face, were exhibited by the light to the utmost
nicety. An ingenuous, transparent life was disclosed,
as if the flow of her existence could be seen passing
within her. She understood the scene in a moment.
“O yes, it is I, aunt,” she cried.
“I know how frightened you are, and how you
cannot believe it; but all the same, it is I who have
come home like this!”
“Tamsin, Tamsin!” said Mrs. Yeobright,
stooping over the young woman and kissing her.
“O my dear girl!”
Thomasin was now on the verge of a sob, but by an
unexpected self-command she uttered no sound.
With a gentle panting breath she sat upright.
“I did not expect to see you in this state,
any more than you me,” she went on quickly.
“Where am I, aunt?”
“Nearly home, my dear. In Egdon Bottom.
What dreadful thing is it?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment. So near,
are we? Then I will get out and walk. I
want to go home by the path.”
“But this kind man who has done so much will,
I am sure, take you right on to my house?” said
the aunt, turning to the reddleman, who had withdrawn
from the front of the van on the awakening of the girl,
and stood in the road.
“Why should you think it necessary to ask me?
I will, of course,” said he.
“He is indeed kind,” murmured Thomasin.
“I was once acquainted with him, aunt, and when
I saw him today I thought I should prefer his van
to any conveyance of a stranger. But I’ll
walk now. Reddleman, stop the horses, please.”
The man regarded her with tender reluctance, but stopped
them.
Aunt and niece then descended from the van, Mrs. Yeobright
saying to its owner, “I quite recognize you
now. What made you change from the nice business
your father left you?”
“Well, I did,” he said, and looked at
Thomasin, who blushed a little. “Then you’ll
not be wanting me any more to-night, ma’am?”
Mrs. Yeobright glanced around at the dark sky, at
the hills, at the perishing bonfires, and at the lighted
window of the inn they had neared. “I think
not,” she said, “since Thomasin wishes
to walk. We can soon run up the path and reach
home: we know it well.”
And after a few further words they parted, the reddleman
moving onwards with his van, and the two women remaining
standing in the road. As soon as the vehicle
and its driver had withdrawn so far as to be beyond
all possible reach of her voice, Mrs. Yeobright turned
to her niece.
“Now, Thomasin,” she said sternly, “what’s
the meaning of this disgraceful performance?”
Perplexity among Honest People
Thomasin looked as if quite overcome by her aunt’s
change of manner. “It means just what it
seems to mean: I am—not married,”
she replied faintly. “Excuse me—for
humiliating you, aunt, by this mishap: I am sorry
for it. But I cannot help it.”
