by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE STORM--THE TWO TOGETHER
A light flapped over the scene, as if reflected from phosphorescentwings crossing the sky, and a rumble filled the air. It was thefirst move of the approaching storm.
The second peal was noisy, with comparatively little visiblelightning. Gabriel saw a candle shining in Bathsheba's bedroom,and soon a shadow swept to and fro upon the blind.
Then there came a third flash. Manoeuvres of a most extraordinarykind were going on in the vast firmamental hollows overhead. Thelightning now was the colour of silver, and gleamed in the heavenslike a mailed army. Rumbles became rattles. Gabriel from hiselevated position could see over the landscape at least half-a-dozenmiles in front. Every hedge, bush, and tree was distinct as in aline engraving. In a paddock in the same direction was a herd ofheifers, and the forms of these were visible at this moment in theact of galloping about in the wildest and maddest confusion, flingingtheir heels and tails high into the air, their heads to earth.A poplar in the immediate foreground was like an ink stroke onburnished tin. Then the picture vanished, leaving the darkness sointense that Gabriel worked entirely by feeling with his hands.
He had stuck his ricking-rod, or poniard, as it was indifferentlycalled--a long iron lance, polished by handling--into the stack,used to support the sheaves instead of the support called a groomused on houses. A blue light appeared in the zenith, and in someindescribable manner flickered down near the top of the rod. Itwas the fourth of the larger flashes. A moment later and there wasa smack--smart, clear, and short. Gabriel felt his position to beanything but a safe one, and he resolved to descend.
Not a drop of rain had fallen as yet. He wiped his weary brow, andlooked again at the black forms of the unprotected stacks. Was hislife so valuable to him after all? What were his prospects that heshould be so chary of running risk, when important and urgent labourcould not be carried on without such risk? He resolved to stick tothe stack. However, he took a precaution. Under the staddles was along tethering chain, used to prevent the escape of errant horses.This he carried up the ladder, and sticking his rod through the clogat one end, allowed the other end of the chain to trail upon theground. The spike attached to it he drove in. Under the shadow ofthis extemporized lightning-conductor he felt himself comparativelysafe.
Before Oak had laid his hands upon his tools again out leapt thefifth flash, with the spring of a serpent and the shout of a fiend.It was green as an emerald, and the reverberation was stunning. Whatwas this the light revealed to him? In the open ground before him,as he looked over the ridge of the rick, was a dark and apparentlyfemale form. Could it be that of the only venturesome woman in theparish--Bathsheba? The form moved on a step: then he could see nomore.
"Is that you, ma'am?" said Gabriel to the darkness.
"Who is there?" said the voice of Bathsheba.
"Gabriel. I am on the rick, thatching."
"Oh, Gabriel!--and are you? I have come about them. The weatherawoke me, and I thought of the corn. I am so distressed aboutit--can we save it anyhow? I cannot find my husband. Is he withyou?"
"He is not here."
"Do you know where he is?"
"Asleep in the barn."
"He promised that the stacks should be seen to, and now they are allneglected! Can I do anything to help? Liddy is afraid to come out.Fancy finding you here at such an hour! Surely I can do something?"
"You can bring up some reed-sheaves to me, one by one, ma'am; if youare not afraid to come up the ladder in the dark," said Gabriel."Every moment is precious now, and that would save a good deal oftime. It is not very dark when the lightning has been gone a bit."
"I'll do anything!" she said, resolutely. She instantly took a sheafupon her shoulder, clambered up close to his heels, placed it behindthe rod, and descended for another. At her third ascent the ricksuddenly brightened with the brazen glare of shining majolica--everyknot in every straw was visible. On the slope in front of himappeared two human shapes, black as jet. The rick lost itssheen--the shapes vanished. Gabriel turned his head. It had beenthe sixth flash which had come from the east behind him, and the twodark forms on the slope had been the shadows of himself andBathsheba.
Then came the peal. It hardly was credible that such a heavenlylight could be the parent of such a diabolical sound.
"How terrible!" she exclaimed, and clutched him by the sleeve.Gabriel turned, and steadied her on her aerial perch by holdingher arm. At the same moment, while he was still reversed in hisattitude, there was more light, and he saw, as it were, a copy of thetall poplar tree on the hill drawn in black on the wall of the barn.It was the shadow of that tree, thrown across by a secondary flashin the west.
The next flare came. Bathsheba was on the ground now, shoulderinganother sheaf, and she bore its dazzle without flinching--thunderand all--and again ascended with the load. There was then a silenceeverywhere for four or five minutes, and the crunch of the spars, asGabriel hastily drove them in, could again be distinctly heard. Hethought the crisis of the storm had passed. But there came a burstof light.
"Hold on!" said Gabriel, taking the sheaf from her shoulder, andgrasping her arm again.
Heaven opened then, indeed. The flash was almost too novel for itsinexpressibly dangerous nature to be at once realized, and they couldonly comprehend the magnificence of its beauty. It sprang fromeast, west, north, south, and was a perfect dance of death. Theforms of skeletons appeared in the air, shaped with blue fire forbones--dancing, leaping, striding, racing around, and minglingaltogether in unparalleled confusion. With these were intertwinedundulating snakes of green, and behind these was a broad mass oflesser light. Simultaneously came from every part of the tumblingsky what may be called a shout; since, though no shout ever camenear it, it was more of the nature of a shout than of anything elseearthly. In the meantime one of the grisly forms had alighted uponthe point of Gabriel's rod, to run invisibly down it, down the chain,and into the earth. Gabriel was almost blinded, and he could feelBathsheba's warm arm tremble in his hand--a sensation novel andthrilling enough; but love, life, everything human, seemed small andtrifling in such close juxtaposition with an infuriated universe.
Oak had hardly time to gather up these impressions into a thought,and to see how strangely the red feather of her hat shone in thislight, when the tall tree on the hill before mentioned seemed on fireto a white heat, and a new one among these terrible voices mingledwith the last crash of those preceding. It was a stupefying blast,harsh and pitiless, and it fell upon their ears in a dead, flat blow,without that reverberation which lends the tones of a drum to moredistant thunder. By the lustre reflected from every part of theearth and from the wide domical scoop above it, he saw that thetree was sliced down the whole length of its tall, straight stem, ahuge riband of bark being apparently flung off. The other portionremained erect, and revealed the bared surface as a strip of whitedown the front. The lightning had struck the tree. A sulphuroussmell filled the air; then all was silent, and black as a cave inHinnom.
"We had a narrow escape!" said Gabriel, hurriedly. "You had bettergo down."
Bathsheba said nothing; but he could distinctly hear her rhythmicalpants, and the recurrent rustle of the sheaf beside her in responseto her frightened pulsations. She descended the ladder, and, onsecond thoughts, he followed her. The darkness was now impenetrableby the sharpest vision. They both stood still at the bottom, side byside. Bathsheba appeared to think only of the weather--Oak thoughtonly of her just then. At last he said--
"The storm seems to have passed now, at any rate."
"I think so too," said Bathsheba. "Though there are multitudes ofgleams, look!"
The sky was now filled with an incessant light, frequent repetitionmelting into complete continuity, as an unbroken sound results fromthe successive strokes on a gong.
"Nothing serious," said he. "I cannot understand no rain falling.But Heaven be praised, it is all the better for us
. I am now goingup again."
"Gabriel, you are kinder than I deserve! I will stay and help youyet. Oh, why are not some of the others here!"
"They would have been here if they could," said Oak, in a hesitatingway.
"O, I know it all--all," she said, adding slowly: "They are allasleep in the barn, in a drunken sleep, and my husband among them.That's it, is it not? Don't think I am a timid woman and can'tendure things."
"I am not certain," said Gabriel. "I will go and see."
He crossed to the barn, leaving her there alone. He looked throughthe chinks of the door. All was in total darkness, as he had leftit, and there still arose, as at the former time, the steady buzz ofmany snores.
He felt a zephyr curling about his cheek, and turned. It wasBathsheba's breath--she had followed him, and was looking into thesame chink.
He endeavoured to put off the immediate and painful subject oftheir thoughts by remarking gently, "If you'll come back again,miss--ma'am, and hand up a few more; it would save much time."
Then Oak went back again, ascended to the top, stepped off the ladderfor greater expedition, and went on thatching. She followed, butwithout a sheaf.
"Gabriel," she said, in a strange and impressive voice.
Oak looked up at her. She had not spoken since he left the barn.The soft and continual shimmer of the dying lightning showed a marbleface high against the black sky of the opposite quarter. Bathshebawas sitting almost on the apex of the stack, her feet gathered upbeneath her, and resting on the top round of the ladder.
"Yes, mistress," he said.
"I suppose you thought that when I galloped away to Bath that nightit was on purpose to be married?"
"I did at last--not at first," he answered, somewhat surprised at theabruptness with which this new subject was broached.
"And others thought so, too?"
"Yes."
"And you blamed me for it?"
"Well--a little."
"I thought so. Now, I care a little for your good opinion, andI want to explain something--I have longed to do it ever since Ireturned, and you looked so gravely at me. For if I were to die--andI may die soon--it would be dreadful that you should always thinkmistakenly of me. Now, listen."
Gabriel ceased his rustling.
"I went to Bath that night in the full intention of breaking off myengagement to Mr. Troy. It was owing to circumstances which occurredafter I got there that--that we were married. Now, do you see thematter in a new light?"
"I do--somewhat."
"I must, I suppose, say more, now that I have begun. And perhapsit's no harm, for you are certainly under no delusion that I everloved you, or that I can have any object in speaking, more than thatobject I have mentioned. Well, I was alone in a strange city, andthe horse was lame. And at last I didn't know what to do. I saw,when it was too late, that scandal might seize hold of me for meetinghim alone in that way. But I was coming away, when he suddenly saidhe had that day seen a woman more beautiful than I, and that hisconstancy could not be counted on unless I at once became his....And I was grieved and troubled--" She cleared her voice, and waiteda moment, as if to gather breath. "And then, between jealousyand distraction, I married him!" she whispered with desperateimpetuosity.
Gabriel made no reply.
"He was not to blame, for it was perfectly true about--about hisseeing somebody else," she quickly added. "And now I don't wish fora single remark from you upon the subject--indeed, I forbid it. Ionly wanted you to know that misunderstood bit of my history beforea time comes when you could never know it.--You want some moresheaves?"
She went down the ladder, and the work proceeded. Gabriel soonperceived a languor in the movements of his mistress up and down, andhe said to her, gently as a mother--
"I think you had better go indoors now, you are tired. I can finishthe rest alone. If the wind does not change the rain is likely tokeep off."
"If I am useless I will go," said Bathsheba, in a flagging cadence."But O, if your life should be lost!"
"You are not useless; but I would rather not tire you longer. Youhave done well."
"And you better!" she said, gratefully. "Thank you for yourdevotion, a thousand times, Gabriel! Goodnight--I know you are doingyour very best for me."
She diminished in the gloom, and vanished, and he heard the latchof the gate fall as she passed through. He worked in a reverienow, musing upon her story, and upon the contradictoriness of thatfeminine heart which had caused her to speak more warmly to himto-night than she ever had done whilst unmarried and free to speakas warmly as she chose.
He was disturbed in his meditation by a grating noise from thecoach-house. It was the vane on the roof turning round, and thischange in the wind was the signal for a disastrous rain.