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 tonight, 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moving onwards with his van, and the two women remaining standing in the road.As soon as the vehicle and its driver had withdrawn so far as to be beyond all possible reach of her voice, Mrs.Yeobright turned to her niece.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?"5 - 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: Iam--not married," she replied faintly."Excuse me--for humiliating you, Aunt, by this mishap--I am sorry for it.
But I cannot help it."
"Me? Think of yourself first."
"It was nobody's fault.When we got there the parson wouldn't marry us because of some trifling irregularity in the license.""What irregularity?"
"I don't know.Mr.Wildeve can explain.I did not think when I went away this morning that I should come back like this." It being dark, Thomasin allowed her emotion to escape her by the silent way of tears, which could roll down her cheek unseen.
"I could almost say that it serves you right--if I did not feel that you don't deserve it," continued Mrs.Yeobright, who, possessing two distinct moods in close contiguity, a gentle mood and an angry, flew from one to the other without the least warning."Remember, Thomasin, this business was none of my seeking; from the very first, when you began to feel foolish about that man, I warned you he would not make you happy.I felt it so strongly that I did what I would never have believed myself capable of doing--stood up in the church, and made myself the public talk for weeks.But having once consented, I don't submit to these fancies without good reason.
Marry him you must after this."
"Do you think I wish to do otherwise for one moment?"said Thomasin, with a heavy sigh."I know how wrong it was of me to love him, but don't pain me by talking like that, Aunt! You would not have had me stay there with him, would you?--and your house is the only home Ihave to return to.He says we can be married in a day or two.""I wish he had never seen you."
"Very well; then I will be the miserablest woman in the world, and not let him see me again.No, I won't have him!""It is too late to speak so.Come with me.I am going to the inn to see if he has returned.Of course I shall get to the bottom of this story at once.
Mr.Wildeve must not suppose he can play tricks upon me, or any belonging to me.""It was not that.The license was wrong, and he couldn't get another the same day.He will tell you in a moment how it was, if he comes.""Why didn't he bring you back?"
"That was me!" again sobbed Thomasin."When I found we could not be married I didn't like to come back with him, and I was very ill.Then I saw Diggory Venn, and was glad to get him to take me home.I cannot explain it any better, and you must be angry with me if you will.""I shall see about that," said Mrs.Yeobright; and they turned towards the inn, known in the neighbourhood as the Quiet Woman, the sign of which represented the figure of a matron carrying her head under her arm, beneath which gruesome design was written the couplet so well known to frequenters of the inn:--SINCE THE WOMAN'S QUIET
LET NO MAN BREED A RIOT.[1]
[1] The inn which really bore this sign and legend stood some miles to the northwest of the present scene, wherein the house more immediately referred to is now no longer an inn; and the surroundings are much changed.
But another inn, some of whose features are also embodied in this description, the RED LION at Winfrith, still remains as a haven for the wayfarer (1912).
The front of the house was towards the heath and Rainbarrow, whose dark shape seemed to threaten it from the sky.
Upon the door was a neglected brass plate, bearing the unexpected inscription, "Mr.Wildeve, Engineer"--a useless yet cherished relic from the time when he had been started in that profession in an office at Budmouth by those who had hoped much from him, and had been disappointed.
The garden was at the back, and behind this ran a still deep stream, forming the margin of the heath in that direction, meadow-land appearing beyond the stream.
But the thick obscurity permitted only skylines to be visible of any scene at present.The water at the back of the house could be heard, idly spinning whirpools in its creep between the rows of dry feather-headed reeds which formed a stockade along each bank.Their presence was denoted by sounds as of a congregation praying humbly, produced by their rubbing against each other in the slow wind.
The window, whence the candlelight had shone up the vale to the eyes of the bonfire group, was uncurtained, but the sill lay too high for a pedestrian on the outside to look over it into the room.A vast shadow, in which could be dimly traced portions of a masculine contour, blotted half the ceiling.
"He seems to be at home," said Mrs.Yeobright.
"Must I come in, too, Aunt?" asked Thomasin faintly.
"I suppose not; it would be wrong."
"You must come, certainly--to confront him, so that he may make no false representations to me.We shall not be five minutes in the house, and then we'll walk home."Entering the open passage, she tapped at the door of the private parlour, unfastened it, and looked in.
The back and shoulders of a man came between Mrs.Yeobright's eyes and the fire.Wildeve, whose form it was, immediately turned, arose, and advanced to meet his visitors.