Desperate Remedies

by Thomas Hardy

  IX. THE EVENTS OF TEN WEEKS

  1. FROM SEPTEMBER THE TWENTY-FIRST TO THE MIDDLE OF NOVEMBER

  The foremost figure within Cytherea's horizon, exclusive of the inmatesof Knapwater House, was now the steward, Mr. Manston. It was impossiblethat they should live within a quarter of a mile of each other, beengaged in the same service, and attend the same church, without meetingat some spot or another, twice or thrice a week. On Sundays, in herpew, when by chance she turned her head, Cytherea found his eyes waitingdesirously for a glimpse of hers, and, at first more strangely, the eyesof Miss Aldclyffe furtively resting on him. On coming out of church hefrequently walked beside Cytherea till she reached the gate atwhich residents in the House turned into the shrubbery. By degrees aconjecture grew to a certainty. She knew that he loved her.

  But a strange fact was connected with the development of his love. Hewas palpably making the strongest efforts to subdue, or at least tohide, the weakness, and as it sometimes seemed, rather from his ownconscience than from surrounding eyes. Hence she found that not oneof his encounters with her was anything more than the result of pureaccident. He made no advances whatever: without avoiding her, he neversought her: the words he had whispered at their first interview nowproved themselves to be quite as much the result of unguarded impulse aswas her answer. Something held him back, bound his impulse down, butshe saw that it was neither pride of his person, nor fear that she wouldrefuse him--a course she unhesitatingly resolved to take should he thinkfit to declare himself. She was interested in him and his marvellousbeauty, as she might have been in some fascinating panther orleopard--for some undefinable reason she shrank from him, even whilstshe admired. The keynote of her nature, a warm 'precipitance of soul,'as Coleridge happily writes it, which Manston had so directly pouncedupon at their very first interview, gave her now a tremulous sense ofbeing in some way in his power.

  The state of mind was, on the whole, a dangerous one for a young andinexperienced woman; and perhaps the circumstance which, more than anyother, led her to cherish Edward's image now, was that he had taken nonotice of the receipt of her letter, stating that she discarded him. Itwas plain then, she said, that he did not care deeply for her, and shethereupon could not quite leave off caring deeply for him:--

  'Ingenium mulierum, Nolunt ubi velis, ubi nolis cupiunt ultro.'

  The month of October passed, and November began its course. Theinhabitants of the village of Carriford grew weary of supposing thatMiss Aldclyffe was going to marry her steward. New whispers arose andbecame very distinct (though they did not reach Miss Aldclyffe's ears)to the effect that the steward was deeply in love with Cytherea Graye.Indeed, the fact became so obvious that there was nothing left tosay about it except that their marriage would be an excellent one forboth;--for her in point of comfort--and for him in point of love.

  As circles in a pond grow wider and wider, the next fact, which at firsthad been patent only to Cytherea herself, in due time spread to herneighbours, and they, too, wondered that he made no overt advances. Bythe middle of November, a theory made up of a combination of the othertwo was received with general favour: its substance being that a guiltyintrigue had been commenced between Manston and Miss Aldclyffe, someyears before, when he was a very young man, and she still in theenjoyment of some womanly beauty, but now that her seniority beganto grow emphatic she was becoming distasteful to him. His fear of theeffect of the lady's jealousy would, they said, thus lead him to concealfrom her his new attachment to Cytherea. Almost the only woman who didnot believe this was Cytherea herself, on unmistakable grounds, whichwere hidden from all besides. It was not only in public, but even moremarkedly in secluded places, on occasions when gallantry would have beensafe from all discovery, that this guarded course of action was pursued,all the strength of a consuming passion burning in his eyes the while.

  2. NOVEMBER THE EIGHTEENTH

  It was on a Friday in this month of November that Owen Graye paid avisit to his sister.

  His zealous integrity still retained for him the situation at Budmouth,and in order that there should be as little interruption as possible tohis duties there, he had decided not to come to Knapwater till late inthe afternoon, and to return to Budmouth by the first train the nextmorning, Miss Aldclyffe having made a point of frequently offering himlodging for an unlimited period, to the great pleasure of Cytherea.

  He reached the house about four o'clock, and ringing the bell, asked ofthe page who answered it for Miss Graye.

  When Graye spoke the name of his sister, Manston, who was just comingout from an interview with Miss Aldclyffe, passed him in the vestibuleand heard the question. The steward's face grew hot, and he secretlyclenched his hands. He half crossed the court, then turned his head andsaw that the lad still stood at the door, though Owen had been showninto the house. Manston went back to him.

  'Who was that man?' he said.

  'I don't know, sir.'

  'Has he ever been here before?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'How many times?'

  'Three.'

  'You are sure you don't know him?'

  'I think he is Miss Graye's brother, sir.'

  'Then, why the devil didn't you say so before!' Manston exclaimed, andagain went on his way.

  'Of course, that was not the man of my dreams--of course, it couldn'tbe!' he said to himself. 'That I should be such a fool--such an utterfool. Good God! to allow a girl to influence me like this, day afterday, till I am jealous of her very brother. A lady's dependent, a waif,a helpless thing entirely at the mercy of the world; yes, curse it; thatis just why it is; that fact of her being so helpless against the blowsof circumstances which renders her so deliciously sweet!'

  He paused opposite his house. Should he get his horse saddled? No.

  He went down the drive and out of the park, having started to proceed toan outlying spot on the estate concerning some draining, and to call atthe potter's yard to make an arrangement for the supply of pipes. But aremark which Miss Aldclyffe had dropped in relation to Cytherea waswhat still occupied his mind, and had been the immediate cause of hisexcitement at the sight of her brother. Miss Aldclyffe had meaninglyremarked during their intercourse, that Cytherea was wildly in love withEdward Springrove, in spite of his engagement to his cousin Adelaide.

  'How I am harassed!' he said aloud, after deep thought for half-an-hour,while still continuing his walk with the greatest vehemence. 'How I amharassed by these emotions of mine!' He calmed himself by an effort.'Well, duty after all it shall be, as nearly as I can effect it."Honesty is the best policy;"' with which vigorously uttered resolvehe once more attempted to turn his attention to the prosy object of hisjourney.

  The evening had closed in to a dark and dreary night when the stewardcame from the potter's door to proceed homewards again. The gloom didnot tend to raise his spirits, and in the total lack of objects toattract his eye, he soon fell to introspection as before. It was alongthe margin of turnip fields that his path lay, and the large leaves ofthe crop struck flatly against his feet at every step, pouring upon themthe rolling drops of moisture gathered upon their broad surfaces; butthe annoyance was unheeded. Next reaching a fir plantation, he mountedthe stile and followed the path into the midst of the darkness producedby the overhanging trees.

  After walking under the dense shade of the inky boughs for a fewminutes, he fancied he had mistaken the path, which as yet was scarcelyfamiliar to him. This was proved directly afterwards by his comingat right angles upon some obstruction, which careful feeling withoutstretched hands soon told him to be a rail fence. However, as thewood was not large, he experienced no alarm about finding the pathagain, and with some sense of pleasure halted awhile against the rails,to listen to the intensely melancholy yet musical wail of the fir-tops,and as the wind passed on, the prompt moan of an adjacent plantation inreply. He could just dimly discern the airy summits of the two orthree trees nearest him waving restlessly backwards and forwards, andstretching out their
boughs like hairy arms into the dull sky. Thescene, from its striking and emphatic loneliness, began to growcongenial to his mood; all of human kind seemed at the antipodes.

  A sudden rattle on his right hand caused him to start from his reverie,and turn in that direction. There, before him, he saw rise up from amongthe trees a fountain of sparks and smoke, then a red glare of lightcoming forward towards him; then a flashing panorama of illuminatedoblong pictures; then the old darkness, more impressive than ever.

  The surprise, which had owed its origin to his imperfect acquaintancewith the topographical features of that end of the estate, had been butmomentary; the disturbance, a well-known one to dwellers by a railway,being caused by the 6.50 down-train passing along a shallow cuttingin the midst of the wood immediately below where he stood, the driverhaving the fire-door of the engine open at the minute of going by. Thetrain had, when passing him, already considerably slackened speed, andnow a whistle was heard, announcing that Carriford Road Station was notfar in its van.

  But contrary to the natural order of things, the discovery that itwas only a commonplace train had not caused Manston to stir from hisposition of facing the railway.

  If the 6.50 down-train had been a flash of forked lightning transfixinghim to the earth, he could scarcely have remained in a more trance-likestate. He still leant against the railings, his right hand stillcontinued pressing on his walking-stick, his weight on one foot, hisother heel raised, his eyes wide open towards the blackness of thecutting. The only movement in him was a slight dropping of the lowerjaw, separating his previously closed lips a little way, as when astrange conviction rushes home suddenly upon a man. A new surprise, notnearly so trivial as the first, had taken possession of him.

  It was on this account. At one of the illuminated windows of asecond-class carriage in the series gone by, he had seen a pale face,reclining upon one hand, the light from the lamp falling full upon it.The face was a woman's.

  At last Manston moved; gave a whispering kind of whistle, adjusted hishat, and walked on again, cross-questioning himself in every directionas to how a piece of knowledge he had carefully concealed had found itsway to another person's intelligence. 'How can my address have becomeknown?' he said at length, audibly. 'Well, it is a blessing I have beencircumspect and honourable, in relation to that--yes, I will say it, foronce, even if the words choke me, that darling of mine, Cytherea, neverto be my own, never. I suppose all will come out now. All!' The greatsadness of his utterance proved that no mean force had been exercisedupon himself to sustain the circumspection he had just claimed.

  He wheeled to the left, pursued the ditch beside the railway fence, andpresently emerged from the wood, stepping into a road which crossed therailway by a bridge.

  As he neared home, the anxiety lately written in his face, merged bydegrees into a grimly humorous smile, which hung long upon his lips, andhe quoted aloud a line from the book of Jeremiah--

  'A woman shall compass a man.'

  3. NOVEMBER THE NINETEENTH. DAYBREAK

  Before it was light the next morning, two little naked feet patteredalong the passage in Knapwater House, from which Owen Graye's bedroomopened, and a tap was given upon his door.

  'Owen, Owen, are you awake?' said Cytherea in a whisper through thekeyhole. 'You must get up directly, or you'll miss the train.'

  When he descended to his sister's little room, he found her therealready waiting with a cup of cocoa and a grilled rasher on the tablefor him. A hasty meal was despatched in the intervals of putting on hisovercoat and finding his hat, and they then went softly through the longdeserted passages, the kitchen-maid who had prepared their breakfastwalking before them with a lamp held high above her head, which castlong wheeling shadows down corridors intersecting the one they followed,their remoter ends being lost in darkness. The door was unbolted andthey stepped out.

  Owen had preferred walking to the station to accepting the pony-carriagewhich Miss Aldclyffe had placed at his disposal, having a morbid horrorof giving trouble to people richer than himself, and especially to theirmen-servants, who looked down upon him as a hybrid monster in socialposition. Cytherea proposed to walk a little way with him.

  'I want to talk to you as long as I can,' she said tenderly.

  Brother and sister then emerged by the heavy door into the drive. Thefeeling and aspect of the hour were precisely similar to those underwhich the steward had left the house the evening previous, exceptingthat apparently unearthly reversal of natural sequence, which is causedby the world getting lighter instead of darker. 'The tearful glimmer ofthe languid dawn' was just sufficient to reveal to them the melancholyred leaves, lying thickly in the channels by the roadside, ever and anonloudly tapped on by heavy drops of water, which the boughs above hadcollected from the foggy air.

  They passed the Old House, engaged in a deep conversation, and hadproceeded about twenty yards by a cross route, in the direction of theturnpike road, when the form of a woman emerged from the porch of thebuilding.

  She was wrapped in a grey waterproof cloak, the hood of which was drawnover her head and closely round her face--so closely that her eyes werethe sole features uncovered.

  With this one exception of her appearance there, the most perfectstillness and silence pervaded the steward's residence from basement tochimney. Not a shutter was open; not a twine of smoke came forth.

  Underneath the ivy-covered gateway she stood still and listened for two,or possibly three minutes, till she became conscious of others in thepark. Seeing the pair she stepped back, with the apparent intentionof letting them pass out of sight, and evidently wishing to avoidobservation. But looking at her watch, and returning it rapidly to herpocket, as if surprised at the lateness of the hour, she hurried outagain, and across the park by a still more oblique line than that tracedby Owen and his sister.

  These in the meantime had got into the road, and were walking along itas the woman came up on the other side of the boundary hedge, lookingfor a gate or stile, by which she, too, might get off the grass upon thehard ground.

  Their conversation, of which every word was clear and distinct, in thestill air of the dawn, to the distance of a quarter of a mile, reachedher ears, and withdrew her attention from all other matters and sightswhatsoever. Thus arrested she stood for an instant as precisely in theattitude of Imogen by the cave of Belarius, as if she had studied theposition from the play. When they had advanced a few steps, she followedthem in some doubt, still screened by the hedge.

  'Do you believe in such odd coincidences?' said Cytherea.

  'How do you mean, believe in them? They occur sometimes.'

  'Yes, one will occur often enough--that is, two disconnected events willfall strangely together by chance, and people scarcely notice the factbeyond saying, "Oddly enough it happened that so and so were the same,"and so on. But when three such events coincide without any apparentreason for the coincidence, it seems as if there must be invisible meansat work. You see, three things falling together in that manner are tentimes as singular as two cases of coincidence which are distinct.'

  'Well, of course: what a mathematical head you have, Cytherea! But Idon't see so much to marvel at in our case. That the man who kept thepublic-house in which Miss Aldclyffe fainted, and who found out her nameand position, lives in this neighbourhood, is accounted for by the factthat she got him the berth to stop his tongue. That you came here wassimply owing to Springrove.'

  'Ah, but look at this. Miss Aldclyffe is the woman our father firstloved, and I have come to Miss Aldclyffe's; you can't get over that.'

  From these premises, she proceeded to argue like an elderly divine onthe designs of Providence which were apparent in such conjunctures, andwent into a variety of details connected with Miss Aldclyffe's history.

  'Had I better tell Miss Aldclyffe that I know all this?' she inquired atlast.

  'What's the use?' he said. 'Your possessing the knowledge does no harm;you are at any rate comfortable here, and a confession to Miss Aldclyffemight
only irritate her. No, hold your tongue, Cytherea.'

  'I fancy I should have been tempted to tell her too,' Cytherea went on,'had I not found out that there exists a very odd, almost imperceptible,and yet real connection of some kind between her and Mr. Manston, whichis more than that of a mutual interest in the estate.'

  'She is in love with him!' exclaimed Owen; 'fancy that!'

  'Ah--that's what everybody says who has been keen enough to noticeanything. I said so at first. And yet now I cannot persuade myself thatshe is in love with him at all.'

  'Why can't you?'

  'She doesn't act as if she were. She isn't--you will know I don't say itfrom any vanity, Owen--she isn't the least jealous of me.'

  'Perhaps she is in some way in his power.'

  'No--she is not. He was openly advertised for, and chosen from forty orfifty who answered the advertisement, without knowing whose it was. Andsince he has been here, she has certainly done nothing to compromiseherself in any way. Besides, why should she have brought an enemy hereat all?'

  'Then she must have fallen in love with him. You know as well as I do,Cyth, that with women there's nothing between the two poles of emotiontowards an interesting male acquaintance. 'Tis either love or aversion.'

  They walked for a few minutes in silence, when Cytherea's eyesaccidentally fell upon her brother's feet.

  'Owen,' she said, 'do you know that there is something unusual in yourmanner of walking?'

  'What is it like?' he asked.

  'I can't quite say, except that you don't walk so regularly as you usedto.'

  The woman behind the hedge, who had still continued to dog theirfootsteps, made an impatient movement at this change in theirconversation, and looked at her watch again. Yet she seemed reluctant togive over listening to them.

  'Yes,' Owen returned with assumed carelessness, 'I do know it. I thinkthe cause of it is that mysterious pain which comes just above my anklesometimes. You remember the first time I had it? That day we went bysteam-packet to Lulstead Cove, when it hindered me from coming back toyou, and compelled me to sleep with the gateman we have been talkingabout.'

  'But is it anything serious, dear Owen?' Cytherea exclaimed, with somealarm.

  'O, nothing at all. It is sure to go off again. I never find a sign ofit when I sit in the office.'

  Again their unperceived companion made a gesture of vexation, and lookedat her watch as if time were precious. But the dialogue still flowedon upon this new subject, and showed no sign of returning to its oldchannel.

  Gathering up her skirt decisively she renounced all further hope, andhurried along the ditch till she had dropped into a valley, and came toa gate which was beyond the view of those coming behind. This she softlyopened, and came out upon the road, following it in the direction of therailway station.

  Presently she heard Owen Graye's footsteps in her rear, his quickenedpace implying that he had parted from his sister. The woman thereuponincreased her rapid walk to a run, and in a few minutes safely distancedher fellow-traveller.

  The railway at Carriford Road consisted only of a single line of rails;and the short local down-train by which Owen was going to Budmouth wasshunted on to a siding whilst the first up-train passed. Graye enteredthe waiting-room, and the door being open he listlessly observed themovements of a woman wearing a long grey cloak, and closely hooded, whohad asked for a ticket for London.

  He followed her with his eyes on to the platform, saw her waiting thereand afterwards stepping into the train: his recollection of her ceasingwith the perception.

  4. EIGHT TO TEN O'CLOCK A.M.

  Mrs. Crickett, twice a widow, and now the parish clerk's wife, afine-framed, scandal-loving woman, with a peculiar corner to her eye bywhich, without turning her head, she could see what people were doingalmost behind her, lived in a cottage standing nearer to the oldmanor-house than any other in the village of Carriford, and she had onthat account been temporarily engaged by the steward, as a respectablekind of charwoman and general servant, until a settled arrangement couldbe made with some person as permanent domestic.

  Every morning, therefore, Mrs. Crickett, immediately she had lightedthe fire in her own cottage, and prepared the breakfast for herself andhusband, paced her way to the Old House to do the same for Mr. Manston.Then she went home to breakfast; and when the steward had eaten his, andhad gone out on his rounds, she returned again to clear away, make hisbed, and put the house in order for the day.

  On the morning of Owen Graye's departure, she went through theoperations of her first visit as usual--proceeded home to breakfast, andwent back again, to perform those of the second.

  Entering Manston's empty bedroom, with her hands on her hips, sheindifferently cast her eyes upon the bed, previously to dismantling it.

  Whilst she looked, she thought in an inattentive manner, 'What aremarkably quiet sleeper Mr. Manston must be!' The upper bed-clotheswere flung back, certainly, but the bed was scarcely disarranged.'Anybody would almost fancy,' she thought, 'that he had made it himselfafter rising.'

  But these evanescent thoughts vanished as they had come, and Mrs.Crickett set to work; she dragged off the counterpane, blankets andsheets, and stooped to lift the pillows. Thus stooping, somethingarrested her attention she looked closely--more closely--very closely.'Well, to be sure!' was all she could say. The clerk's wife stood as ifthe air had suddenly set to amber, and held her fixed like a fly in it.

  The object of her wonder was a trailing brown hair, very little lessthan a yard long, which proved it clearly to be a hair from some woman'shead. She drew it off the pillow, and took it to the window; thereholding it out she looked fixedly at it, and became utterly lost inmeditation: her gaze, which had at first actively settled on the hair,involuntarily dropped past its object by degrees and was lost on thefloor, as the inner vision obscured the outer one.

  She at length moistened her lips, returned her eyes to the hair, woundit round her fingers, put it in some paper, and secreted the whole inher pocket. Mrs. Crickett's thoughts were with her work no more thatmorning.

  She searched the house from roof-tree to cellar, for some other trace offeminine existence or appurtenance; but none was to be found.

  She went out into the yard, coal-hole, stable, hay-loft, green-house,fowl-house, and piggery, and still there was no sign. Coming in again,she saw a bonnet, eagerly pounced upon it; and found it to be her own.

  Hastily completing her arrangements in the other rooms, she entered thevillage again, and called at once on the postmistress, Elizabeth Leat,an intimate friend of hers, and a female who sported several uniquediseases and afflictions.

  Mrs. Crickett unfolded the paper, took out the hair, and waved it onhigh before the perplexed eyes of Elizabeth, which immediately moonedand wandered after it like a cat's.

  'What is it?' said Mrs. Leat, contracting her eyelids, and stretchingout towards the invisible object a narrow bony hand that would have beenan unmitigated delight to the pencil of Carlo Crivelli.

  'You shall hear,' said Mrs. Crickett, complacently gathering up thetreasure into her own fat hand; and the secret was then solemnlyimparted, together with the accident of its discovery.

  A shaving-glass was taken down from a nail, laid on its back in themiddle of a table by the window, and the hair spread carefully out uponit. The pair then bent over the table from opposite sides, their elbowson the edge, their hands supporting their heads, their foreheads nearlytouching, and their eyes upon the hair.

  'He ha' been mad a'ter my lady Cytherea,' said Mrs. Crickett, 'and 'tismy very belief the hair is--'

  'No 'tidn'. Hers idn' so dark as that,' said Elizabeth.

  'Elizabeth, you know that as the faithful wife of a servant of theChurch, I should be glad to think as you do about the girl. Mind Idon't wish to say anything against Miss Graye, but this I do say, that Ibelieve her to be a nameless thing, and she's no right to stick a moralclock in her face, and deceive the country in such a way. If she wasn'tof a bad stock at the outset she was bad
in the planten, and if shewasn't bad in the planten, she was bad in the growen, and if not in thegrowen, she's made bad by what she's gone through since.'

  'But I have another reason for knowing it idn' hers,' said Mrs. Leat.

  'Ah! I know whose it is then--Miss Aldclyffe's, upon my song!'

  ''Tis the colour of hers, but I don't believe it to be hers either.'

  'Don't you believe what they d' say about her and him?'

  'I say nothen about that; but you don't know what I know about hisletters.'

  'What about 'em?'

  'He d' post all his letters here except those for one person, and theyhe d' take to Budmouth. My son is in Budmouth Post Office, as you know,and as he d' sit at desk he can see over the blind of the window allthe people who d' post letters. Mr. Manston d' unvariably go there wi'letters for that person my boy d' know 'em by sight well enough now.'

  'Is it a she?'

  ''Tis a she.'

  'What's her name?'

  'The little stunpoll of a fellow couldn't call to mind more than that'tis Miss Somebody, of London. However, that's the woman who ha' beenhere, depend upon't--a wicked one--some poor street-wench escaped fromSodom, I warrant ye.'

  'Only to find herself in Gomorrah, seemingly.'

  'That may be.'

  'No, no, Mrs. Leat, this is clear to me. 'Tis no miss who came here tosee our steward last night--whenever she came or wherever she vanished.Do you think he would ha' let a miss get here how she could, go away howshe would, without breakfast or help of any kind?'

  Elizabeth shook her head--Mrs. Crickett looked at her solemnly.

  'I say I know she had no help of any kind; I know it was so, for thegrate was quite cold when I touched it this morning with these fingers,and he was still in bed. No, he wouldn't take the trouble to writeletters to a girl and then treat her so off-hand as that. There's a tiebetween 'em stronger than feelen. She's his wife.'

  'He married! The Lord so 's, what shall we hear next? Do he look marriednow? His are not the abashed eyes and lips of a married man.'

  'Perhaps she's a tame one--but she's his wife still.'

  'No, no: he's not a married man.'

  'Yes, yes, he is. I've had three, and I ought to know.'

  'Well, well,' said Mrs. Leat, giving way. 'Whatever may be the truthon't I trust Providence will settle it all for the best, as He alwaysdo.'

  'Ay, ay, Elizabeth,' rejoined Mrs. Crickett with a satirical sigh, asshe turned on her foot to go home, 'good people like you may say so, butI have always found Providence a different sort of feller.'

  5. NOVEMBER THE TWENTIETH

  It was Miss Aldclyffe's custom, a custom originated by her father, andnourished by her own exclusiveness, to unlock the post-bag herself everymorning, instead of allowing the duty to devolve on the butler, aswas the case in most of the neighbouring county families. The bag wasbrought upstairs each morning to her dressing-room, where she took outthe contents, mostly in the presence of her maid and Cytherea, whohad the entree of the chamber at all hours, and attended there in themorning at a kind of reception on a small scale, which was held by MissAldclyffe of her namesake only.

  Here she read her letters before the glass, whilst undergoing theoperation of being brushed and dressed.

  'What woman can this be, I wonder?' she said on the morning succeedingthat of the last section. '"London, N.!" It is the first time in mylife I ever had a letter from that outlandish place, the North side ofLondon.'

  Cytherea had just come into her presence to learn if there was anythingfor herself; and on being thus addressed, walked up to Miss Aldclyffe'scorner of the room to look at the curiosity which had raised such anexclamation. But the lady, having opened the envelope and read a fewlines, put it quickly in her pocket, before Cytherea could reach herside.

  'O, 'tis nothing,' she said. She proceeded to make general remarks ina noticeably forced tone of sang-froid, from which she soon lapsed intosilence. Not another word was said about the letter: she seemed veryanxious to get her dressing done, and the room cleared. ThereuponCytherea went away to the other window, and a few minutes later left theroom to follow her own pursuits.

  It was late when Miss Aldclyffe descended to the breakfast-table andthen she seemed there to no purpose; tea, coffee, eggs, cutlets, and alltheir accessories, were left absolutely untasted. The next that was seenof her was when walking up and down the south terrace, and round theflower-beds; her face was pale, and her tread was fitful, and shecrumpled a letter in her hand.

  Dinner-time came round as usual; she did not speak ten words, or indeedseem conscious of the meal; for all that Miss Aldclyffe did in the wayof eating, dinner might have been taken out as intact as it was takenin.

  In her own private apartment Miss Aldclyffe again pulled out the letterof the morning. One passage in it ran thus:--

  'Of course, being his wife, I could publish the fact, and compel himto acknowledge me at any moment, notwithstanding his threats, andreasonings that it will be better to wait. I have waited, and waitedagain, and the time for such acknowledgment seems no nearer than atfirst. To show you how patiently I have waited I can tell you that nottill a fortnight ago, when by stress of circumstances I had been drivento new lodgings, have I ever assumed my married name, solely on accountof its having been his request all along that I should not do it. Thiswriting to you, madam, is my first disobedience, and I am justified init. A woman who is driven to visit her husband like a thief in the nightand then sent away like a street dog--left to get up, unbolt, unbar,and find her way out of the house as she best may--is justified in doinganything.

  'But should I demand of him a restitution of rights, there would beinvolved a publicity which I could not endure, and a noisy scandalflinging my name the length and breadth of the country.

  'What I still prefer to any such violent means is that you reason withhim privately, and compel him to bring me home to your parish in adecent and careful manner, in the way that would be adopted by anyrespectable man, whose wife had been living away from him for sometime, by reason, say, of peculiar family circumstances which had causeddisunion, but not enmity, and who at length was enabled to reinstate herin his house.

  'You will, I know, oblige me in this, especially as knowledge of apeculiar transaction of your own, which took place some years ago, haslately come to me in a singular way. I will not at present trouble youby describing how. It is enough, that I alone, of all people living,know _all the sides of the story_, those from whom I collected it havingeach only a partial knowledge which confuses them and points to nothing.One person knows of your early engagement and its sudden terminationanother, of the reason of those strange meetings at inns andcoffee-houses; another, of what was sufficient to cause all this, and soon. I know what fits one and all the circumstances like a key, and showsthem to be the natural outcrop of a rational (though rather rash) lineof conduct for a young lady. You will at once perceive how it was thatsome at least of these things were revealed to me.

  'This knowledge then, common to, and secretly treasured by us both, isthe ground upon which I beg for your friendship and help, with a feelingthat you will be too generous to refuse it to me.

  'I may add that, as yet, my husband knows nothing of this, neither needhe if you remember my request.'

  'A threat--a flat stinging threat! as delicately wrapped up in words asthe woman could do it; a threat from a miserable unknown creature to anAldclyffe, and not the least proud member of the family either! A threaton his account--O, O! shall it be?'

  Presently this humour of defiance vanished, and the members of her bodybecame supple again, her proceedings proving that it was absolutelynecessary to give way, Aldclyffe as she was. She wrote a short answerto Mrs. Manston, saying civilly that Mr. Manston's possession of sucha near relation was a fact quite new to herself, and that she would seewhat could be done in such an unfortunate affair.

  6. NOVEMBER THE TWENTY-FIRST

  Manston received a message the next day requesting his attendance at the
House punctually at eight o'clock the ensuing evening. Miss Aldclyffewas brave and imperious, but with the purpose she had in view she couldnot look him in the face whilst daylight shone upon her.

  The steward was shown into the library. On entering it, he wasimmediately struck with the unusual gloom which pervaded the apartment.The fire was dead and dull, one lamp, and that a comparatively smallone, was burning at the extreme end, leaving the main proportion ofthe lofty and sombre room in an artificial twilight, scarcely powerfulenough to render visible the titles of the folio and quarto volumeswhich were jammed into the lower tiers of the bookshelves.

  After keeping him waiting for more than twenty minutes (Miss Aldclyffeknew that excellent recipe for taking the stiffness out of human flesh,and for extracting all pre-arrangement from human speech) she enteredthe room.

  Manston sought her eye directly. The hue of her features was notdiscernible, but the calm glance she flung at him, from which allattempt at returning his scrutiny was absent, awoke him to theperception that probably his secret was by some means or other known toher; how it had become known he could not tell.

  She drew forth the letter, unfolded it, and held it up to him, lettingit hang by one corner from between her finger and thumb, so that thelight from the lamp, though remote, fell directly upon its surface.

  'You know whose writing this is?' she said.

  He saw the strokes plainly, instantly resolving to burn his ships andhazard all on an advance.

  'My wife's,' he said calmly.

  His quiet answer threw her off her balance. She had no more expected ananswer than does a preacher when he exclaims from the pulpit, 'Do youfeel your sin?' She had clearly expected a sudden alarm.

  'And why all this concealment?' she said again, her voice rising, as shevainly endeavoured to control her feelings, whatever they were.

  'It doesn't follow that, because a man is married, he must tell everystranger of it, madam,' he answered, just as calmly as before.

  'Stranger! well, perhaps not; but, Mr. Manston, why did you choose toconceal it, I ask again? I have a perfect right to ask this question, asyou will perceive, if you consider the terms of my advertisement.'

  'I will tell you. There were two simple reasons. The first was thispractical one; you advertised for an unmarried man, if you remember?'

  'Of course I remember.'

  'Well, an incident suggested to me that I should try for the situation.I was married; but, knowing that in getting an office where there is arestriction of this kind, leaving one's wife behind is always acceptedas a fulfilment of the condition, I left her behind for awhile. Theother reason is, that these terms of yours afforded me a plausibleexcuse for escaping (for a short time) the company of a woman I had beenmistaken in marrying.'

  'Mistaken! what was she?' the lady inquired.

  'A third-rate actress, whom I met with during my stay in Liverpoollast summer, where I had gone to fulfil a short engagement with anarchitect.'

  'Where did she come from?'

  'She is an American by birth, and I grew to dislike her when we had beenmarried a week.'

  'She was ugly, I imagine?'

  'She is not an ugly woman by any means.'

  'Up to the ordinary standard?'

  'Quite up to the ordinary standard--indeed, handsome. After a while wequarrelled and separated.'

  'You did not ill-use her, of course?' said Miss Aldclyffe, with a littlesarcasm.

  'I did not.'

  'But at any rate, you got thoroughly tired of her.'

  Manston looked as if he began to think her questions out of place;however, he said quietly, 'I did get tired of her. I never told her so,but we separated; I to come here, bringing her with me as far as Londonand leaving her there in perfectly comfortable quarters; and though youradvertisement expressed a single man, I have always intended to tellyou the whole truth; and this was when I was going to tell it, whenyour satisfaction with my careful management of your affairs should haveproved the risk to be a safe one to run.'

  She bowed.

  'Then I saw that you were good enough to be interested in my welfare toa greater extent than I could have anticipated or hoped, judging you bythe frigidity of other employers, and this caused me to hesitate. I wasvexed at the complication of affairs. So matters stood till threenights ago; I was then walking home from the pottery, and came up to therailway. The down-train came along close to me, and there, sitting ata carriage window, I saw my wife: she had found out my address, and hadthereupon determined to follow me here. I had not been home many minutesbefore she came in, next morning early she left again--'

  'Because you treated her so cavalierly?'

  'And as I suppose, wrote to you directly. That's the whole story of her,madam.' Whatever were Manston's real feelings towards the lady who hadreceived his explanation in these supercilious tones, they remainedlocked within him as within a casket of steel.

  'Did your friends know of your marriage, Mr. Manston?' she continued.

  'Nobody at all; we kept it a secret for various reasons.'

  'It is true then that, as your wife tells me in this letter, she has notpassed as Mrs. Manston till within these last few days?'

  'It is quite true; I was in receipt of a very small and uncertain incomewhen we married; and so she continued playing at the theatre as beforeour marriage, and in her maiden name.'

  'Has she any friends?'

  'I have never heard that she has any in England. She came over here onsome theatrical speculation, as one of a company who were going to domuch, but who never did anything; and here she has remained.'

  A pause ensued, which was terminated by Miss Aldclyffe.

  'I understand,' she said. 'Now, though I have no direct right to concernmyself with your private affairs (beyond those which arise from yourmisleading me and getting the office you hold)--'

  'As to that, madam,' he interrupted, rather hotly, 'as to coming here,I am vexed as much as you. Somebody, a member of the Institute ofArchitects--who, I could never tell--sent to my old address in Londonyour advertisement cut from the paper; it was forwarded to me; I wantedto get away from Liverpool, and it seemed as if this was put in my wayon purpose, by some old friend or other. I answered the advertisementcertainly, but I was not particularly anxious to come here, nor am Ianxious to stay.'

  Miss Aldclyffe descended from haughty superiority to womanly persuasionwith a haste which was almost ludicrous. Indeed, the Quos ego of thewhole lecture had been less the genuine menace of the imperious ruler ofKnapwater than an artificial utterance to hide a failing heart.

  'Now, now, Mr. Manston, you wrong me; don't suppose I wish to beoverbearing, or anything of the kind; and you will allow me to say thismuch, at any rate, that I have become interested in your wife, as wellas in yourself.'

  'Certainly, madam,' he said, slowly, like a man feeling his way in thedark. Manston was utterly at fault now. His previous experience of theeffect of his form and features upon womankind en masse, had taughthim to flatter himself that he could account by the same law of naturalselection for the extraordinary interest Miss Aldclyffe had hithertotaken in him, as an unmarried man; an interest he did not at all objectto, seeing that it kept him near Cytherea, and enabled him, a man ofno wealth, to rule on the estate as if he were its lawful owner. LikeCurius at his Sabine farm, he had counted it his glory not to possessgold himself, but to have power over her who did. But at this hint ofthe lady's wish to take his wife under her wing also, he was perplexed:could she have any sinister motive in doing so? But he did not allowhimself to be troubled with these doubts, which only concerned hiswife's happiness.

  'She tells me,' continued Miss Aldclyffe, 'how utterly alone inthe world she stands, and that is an additional reason why I shouldsympathize with her. Instead, then, of requesting the favour of yourretirement from the post, and dismissing your interests altogether, Iwill retain you as my steward still, on condition that you bring homeyour wife, and live with her respectably, in short, as if you loved her;you understand
. I _wish_ you to stay here if you grant that everythingshall flow smoothly between yourself and her.'

  The breast and shoulders of the steward rose, as if an expressionof defiance was about to be poured forth; before it took form, hecontrolled himself and said, in his natural voice--

  'My part of the performance shall be carried out, madam.'

  'And her anxiety to obtain a standing in the world ensures that herswill,' replied Miss Aldclyffe. 'That will be satisfactory, then.'

  After a few additional remarks, she gently signified that she wished toput an end to the interview. The steward took the hint and retired.

  He felt vexed and mortified; yet in walking homeward he was convincedthat telling the whole truth as he had done, with the single exceptionof his love for Cytherea (which he tried to hide even from himself), hadnever served him in better stead than it had done that night.

  Manston went to his desk and thought of Cytherea's beauty with thebitterest, wildest regret. After the lapse of a few minutes he calmedhimself by a stoical effort, and wrote the subjoined letter to hiswife:--

  'KNAPWATER, November 21, 1864.

  'DEAR EUNICE,--I hope you reached London safely after your flighty visitto me.

  'As I promised, I have thought over our conversation that night, andyour wish that your coming here should be no longer delayed. After all,it was perfectly natural that you should have spoken unkindly as youdid, ignorant as you were of the circumstances which bound me.

  'So I have made arrangements to fetch you home at once. It is hardlyworth while for you to attempt to bring with you any luggage you mayhave gathered about you (beyond mere clothing). Dispose of superfluousthings at a broker's; your bringing them would only make a talk inthis parish, and lead people to believe we had long been keeping houseseparately.

  'Will next Monday suit you for coming? You have nothing to do that canoccupy you for more than a day or two, as far as I can see, and theremainder of this week will afford ample time. I can be in London thenight before, and we will come down together by the mid-day train--Yourvery affectionate husband,

  'AENEAS MANSTON.

  'Now, of course, I shall no longer write to you as Mrs. Rondley.'

  The address on the envelope was--

  MRS. MANSTON, 41 CHARLES SQUARE, HOXTON, LONDON, N.

  He took the letter to the house, and it being too late for the countrypost, sent one of the stablemen with it to Casterbridge, instead oftroubling to go to Budmouth with it himself as heretofore. He had nolonger any necessity to keep his condition a secret.

  7. FROM THE TWENTY-SECOND TO THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF NOVEMBER

  But the next morning Manston found that he had been forgetful of anothermatter, in naming the following Monday to his wife for the journey.

  The fact was this. A letter had just come, reminding him that he hadleft the whole of the succeeding week open for an important businessengagement with a neighbouring land-agent, at that gentleman's residencethirteen miles off. The particular day he had suggested to his wife,had, in the interim, been appropriated by his correspondent. The meetingcould not now be put off.

  So he wrote again to his wife, stating that business, which could notbe postponed, called him away from home on Monday, and would entirelyprevent him coming all the way to fetch her on Sunday night as he hadintended, but that he would meet her at the Carriford Road Station witha conveyance when she arrived there in the evening.

  The next day came his wife's answer to his first letter, in which shesaid that she would be ready to be fetched at the time named. Havingalready written his second letter, which was by that time in her hands,he made no further reply.

  The week passed away. The steward had, in the meantime, let it becomegenerally known in the village that he was a married man, and by alittle judicious management, sound family reasons for his past secrecyupon the subject, which were floated as adjuncts to the story, wereplacidly received; they seemed so natural and justifiable to theunsophisticated minds of nine-tenths of his neighbours, that curiosityin the matter, beyond a strong curiosity to see the lady's face, waswell-nigh extinguished.