The Woodlanders Part 2 by Thomas Hardy (best short books to read TXT) 📖

Both Petticoat The First And Petticoat

The Second Of Her Bien-Aime Had Silently Disappeared.  They Had,

In All Probability,  Heard The Words Of Her Father,  And Departed

With Their Anxieties Relieved.

 

Presently Her Parents Came Up To Grace,  And Busied themselves To

See That She Was Comfortable.  Perceiving soon That She Would

Prefer To Be Left Alone They Went Away.

 

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Grace Waited on.  The Clock Raised its Voice Now And Then,  But Her

Husband Did Not Return.  At Her Father'S Usual Hour For Retiring

He Again Came In to See Her.  "Do Not Stay Up," She Said,  As Soon

As He Entered.  "I Am Not At All Tired.  I Will Sit Up For Him."

 

"I Think It Will Be Useless,  Grace," Said Melbury,  Slowly.

 

"Why?"

 

"I Have Had A Bitter Quarrel With Him; And On That Account I

Hardly Think He Will Return To-Night."

 

"A Quarrel?  Was That After The Fall Seen By The Boy?"

 

Melbury Nodded an Affirmative,  Without Taking his Eyes Off The

Candle.

 

"Yes; It Was As We Were Coming home Together," He Said.

 

Something had Been Swelling up In grace While Her Father Was

Speaking.  "How Could You Want To Quarrel With Him?" She Cried,

Suddenly.  "Why Could You Not Let Him Come Home Quietly If He Were

Inclined to?  He Is My Husband; And Now You Have Married me To Him

Surely You Need not Provoke Him Unnecessarily.  First You Induce

Me To Accept Him,  And Then You Do Things That Divide Us More Than

We Should Naturally Be Divided!"

 

"How Can You Speak So Unjustly To Me,  Grace?" Said Melbury,  With

Indignant Sorrow.  "I Divide You From Your Husband,  Indeed!  You

Little Think--"

 

He Was Inclined to Say More--To Tell Her The Whole Story Of The

Encounter,  And That The Provocation He Had Received had Lain

Entirely In hearing her Despised.  But It Would Have Greatly

Distressed her,  And He Forbore.  "You Had Better Lie Down.  You

Are Tired," He Said,  Soothingly.  "Good-Night."

 

The Household Went To Bed,  And A Silence Fell Upon The Dwelling,

Broken Only By The Occasional Skirr Of A Halter In melbury'S

Stables.  Despite Her Father'S Advice Grace Still Waited up.  But

Nobody Came.

 

It Was A Critical Time In grace'S Emotional Life That Night.  She

Thought Of Her Husband A Good Deal,  And For The Nonce Forgot

Winterborne.

 

"How These Unhappy Women Must Have Admired edgar!" She Said To

Herself.  "How Attractive He Must Be To Everybody; And,  Indeed,  He

Is Attractive." The Possibility Is That,  Piqued by Rivalry,  These

Ideas Might Have Been Transformed into Their Corresponding

Emotions By A Show Of The Least Reciprocity In fitzpiers.  There

Was,  In truth,  A Love-Bird Yearning to Fly From Her Heart; And It

Wanted a Lodging badly.

 

But No Husband Came.  The Fact Was That Melbury Had Been Much

Mistaken About The Condition Of Fitzpiers.  People Do Not Fall

Headlong On Stumps Of Underwood With Impunity.  Had The Old Man

Been Able To Watch Fitzpiers Narrowly Enough,  He Would Have

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Observed that On Rising and Walking into The Thicket He Dropped

Blood As He Went; That He Had Not Proceeded fifty Yards Before He

Showed signs Of Being dizzy,  And,  Raising his Hands To His Head,

Reeled and Fell Down.

 

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Grace Was Not The Only One Who Watched and Meditated in hintock

That Night.  Felice Charmond Was In no Mood To Retire To Rest At A

Customary Hour; And Over Her Drawing-Room Fire At The Manor House

She Sat As Motionless And In as Deep A Reverie As Grace In her

Little Apartment At The Homestead.

 

Having caught Ear Of Melbury'S Intelligence While She Stood On The

Landing at His House,  And Been Eased of Much Of Her Mental

Distress,  Her Sense Of Personal Decorum Returned upon Her With A

Rush.  She Descended the Stairs And Left The Door Like A Ghost,

Keeping close To The Walls Of The Building till She Got Round To

The Gate Of The Quadrangle,  Through Which She Noiselessly Passed

Almost Before Grace And Her Father Had Finished their Discourse.

Suke Damson Had Thought It Well To Imitate Her Superior In this

Respect,  And,  Descending the Back Stairs As Felice Descended the

Front,  Went Out At The Side Door And Home To Her Cottage.

 

Once Outside Melbury'S Gates Mrs. Charmond Ran With All Her Speed

To The Manor House,  Without Stopping or Turning her Head,  And

Splitting her Thin Boots In her Haste.  She Entered her Own

Dwelling,  As She Had Emerged from It,  By The Drawing-Room Window.

In Other Circumstances She Would Have Felt Some Timidity At

Undertaking such An Unpremeditated excursion Alone; But Her

Anxiety For Another Had Cast Out Her Fear For Herself.

 

Everything in her Drawing-Room Was Just As She Had Left It--The

Candles Still Burning,  The Casement Closed,  And The Shutters

Gently Pulled to,  So As To Hide The State Of The Window From The

Cursory Glance Of A Servant Entering the Apartment.  She Had Been

Gone About Three-Quarters Of An Hour By The Clock,  And Nobody

Seemed to Have Discovered her Absence.  Tired in body But Tense In

Mind,  She Sat Down,  Palpitating,  Round-Eyed,  Bewildered at What

She Had Done.

 

She Had Been Betrayed by Affrighted love Into A Visit Which,  Now

That The Emotion Instigating it Had Calmed down Under Her Belief

That Fitzpiers Was In no Danger,  Was The Saddest Surprise To Her.

This Was How She Had Set About Doing her Best To Escape Her

Passionate Bondage To Him! Somehow,  In declaring to Grace And To

Herself The Unseemliness Of Her Infatuation,  She Had Grown A

Convert To Its Irresistibility.  If Heaven Would Only Give Her

Strength; But Heaven Never Did! One Thing was Indispensable; She

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Must Go Away From Hintock If She Meant To Withstand Further

Temptation.  The Struggle Was Too Wearying,  Too Hopeless,  While

She Remained.  It Was But A Continual Capitulation Of Conscience

To What She Dared not Name.

 

By Degrees,  As She Sat,  Felice'S Mind--Helped perhaps By The

Anticlimax Of Learning that Her Lover Was Unharmed after All Her

Fright About Him--Grew Wondrously Strong In wise Resolve.  For The

Moment She Was In a Mood,  In the Words Of Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu,

"To Run Mad With Discretion;" And Was So Persuaded that Discretion

Lay In departure That She Wished to Set About Going that Very

Minute.  Jumping up From Her Seat,  She Began To Gather Together

Some Small Personal Knick-Knacks Scattered about The Room,  To Feel

That Preparations Were Really In train.

 

While Moving here And There She Fancied that She Heard A Slight

Noise Out-Of-Doors,  And Stood Still.  Surely It Was A Tapping at

The Window.  A Thought Entered her Mind,  And Burned her Cheek.  He

Had Come To That Window Before; Yet Was It Possible That He Should

Dare To Do So Now! All The Servants Were In bed,  And In the

Ordinary Course Of Affairs She Would Have Retired also.  Then She

Remembered that On Stepping in by The Casement And Closing it,  She

Had Not Fastened the Window-Shutter,  So That A Streak Of Light

From The Interior Of The Room Might Have Revealed her Vigil To An

Observer On The Lawn.  How All Things Conspired against Her

Keeping faith With Grace!

 

The Tapping recommenced,  Light As From The Bill Of A Little Bird;

Her Illegitimate Hope Overcame Her Vow; She Went And Pulled back

The Shutter,  Determining,  However,  To Shake Her Head At Him And

Keep The Casement Securely Closed.

 

What She Saw Outside Might Have Struck Terror Into A Heart Stouter

Than A Helpless Woman'S At Midnight.  In the Centre Of The Lowest

Pane Of The Window,  Close To The Glass,  Was A Human Face,  Which

She Barely Recognized as The Face Of Fitzpiers.  It Was Surrounded

With The Darkness Of The Night Without,  Corpse-Like In its Pallor,

And Covered with Blood.  As Disclosed in the Square Area Of The

Pane It Met Her Frightened eyes Like A Replica Of The Sudarium Of

St. Veronica.

 

He Moved his Lips,  And Looked at Her Imploringly.  Her Rapid Mind

Pieced together In an Instant A Possible Concatenation Of Events

Which Might Have Led to This Tragical Issue.  She Unlatched the

Casement With A Terrified hand,  And Bending down To Where He Was

Crouching,  Pressed her Face To His With Passionate Solicitude.

She Assisted him Into The Room Without A Word,  To Do Which It Was

Almost Necessary To Lift Him Bodily.  Quickly Closing the Window

And Fastening the Shutters,  She Bent Over Him Breathlessly.

 

"Are You Hurt Much--Much?" She Cried,  Faintly.  "Oh,  Oh,  How Is

This!"

 

"Rather Much--But Don'T Be Frightened," He Answered in a Difficult

Whisper,  And Turning himself To Obtain An Easier Position If

Possible.  "A Little Water,  Please."

 

She Ran Across Into The Dining-Room,  And Brought A Bottle And

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Glass,  From Which He Eagerly Drank.  He Could Then Speak Much

Better,  And With Her Help Got Upon The Nearest Couch.

 

"Are You Dying,  Edgar?" She Said.  "Do Speak To Me!"

 

"I Am Half