When Clym was gone Thomasin crept upstairs in the
dark, and, just listening by the cot, to assure herself
that the child was asleep, she went to the window,
gently lifted the corner of the white curtain, and
looked out. Venn was still there. She watched
the growth of the faint radiance appearing in the
sky by the eastern hill, till presently the edge of
the moon burst upwards and flooded the valley with
light. Diggory’s form was now distinct on
the green; he was moving about in a bowed attitude,
evidently scanning the grass for the precious missing
article, walking in zigzags right and left till he
should have passed over every foot of the ground.
“How very ridiculous!” Thomasin murmured
to herself, in a tone which was intended to be satirical.
“To think that a man should be so silly as to
go mooning about like that for a girl’s glove!
A respectable dairyman, too, and a man of money as
he is now. What a pity!”
At last Venn appeared to find it; whereupon he stood
up and raised it to his lips. Then placing it
in his breast-pocket—the nearest receptacle
to a man’s heart permitted by modern raiment—he
ascended the valley in a mathematically direct line
towards his distant home in the meadows.
Thomasin Walks in a Green Place by the Roman Road
Clym saw little of Thomasin for several days after
this; and when they met she was more silent than usual.
At length he asked her what she was thinking of so
intently.
“I am thoroughly perplexed,” she said
candidly. “I cannot for my life think who
it is that Diggory Venn is so much in love with.
None of the girls at the Maypole were good enough
for him, and yet she must have been there.”
Clym tried to imagine Venn’s choice for a moment;
but ceasing to be interested in the question he went
on again with his gardening.
No clearing up of the mystery was granted her for
some time. But one afternoon Thomasin was upstairs
getting ready for a walk, when she had occasion to
come to the landing and call “Rachel.”
Rachel was a girl about thirteen, who carried the
baby out for airings; and she came upstairs at the
call.
“Have you seen one of my last new gloves about
the house, Rachel?” inquired Thomasin.
“It is the fellow to this one.”
Rachel did not reply.
“Why don’t you answer?” said her
mistress.
“I think it is lost, ma’am.”
“Lost? Who lost it? I have never worn
them but once.”
Rachel appeared as one dreadfully troubled, and at
last began to cry. “Please, ma’am,
on the day of the Maypole I had none to wear, and I
seed yours on the table, and I thought I would borrow
’em. I did not mean to hurt ’em at
all, but one of them got lost. Somebody gave me
some money to buy another pair for you, but I have
not been able to go anywhere to get ’em.”
“Who’s somebody?”
“Mr. Venn.”
