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.”
Cheerfulness Again Asserts Itself at Blooms-End,
and Clym Finds His Vocation
Anybody who had passed through Blooms-End about eleven
o’clock on the morning fixed for the wedding
would have found that, while Yeobright’s house
was comparatively quiet, sounds denoting great activity
came from the dwelling of his nearest neighbour, Timothy
Fairway. It was chiefly a noise of feet, briskly
crunching hither and thither over the sanded floor
within. One man only was visible outside, and
he seemed to be later at an appointment than he had
intended to be, for he hastened up to the door, lifted
the latch, and walked in without ceremony.
