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

That Night Than The Wind Began

To Rise,  And,  After A Few Prefatory Blasts,  To Be Accompanied by

Rain.  The Wind Grew More Violent,  And As The Storm Went On,  It

Was Difficult To Believe That No Opaque Body,  But Only An

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Invisible Colorless Thing,  Was Trampling and Climbing over The

Roof,  Making branches Creak,  Springing out Of The Trees Upon The

Chimney,  Popping its Head Into The Flue,  And Shrieking and

Blaspheming at Every Corner Of The Walls.  As In the Old Story,

The Assailant Was A Spectre Which Could Be Felt But Not Seen.  She

Had Never Before Been So Struck With The Devilry Of A Gusty Night

In A Wood,  Because She Had Never Been So Entirely Alone In spirit

As She Was Now.  She Seemed almost To Be Apart From Herself--A

Vacuous Duplicate Only.  The Recent Self Of Physical Animation And

Clear Intentions Was Not There.

 

Sometimes A Bough From An Adjoining tree Was Swayed so Low As To

Smite The Roof In the Manner Of A Gigantic Hand Smiting the Mouth

Of An Adversary,  To Be Followed by A Trickle Of Rain,  As Blood

From The Wound.  To All This Weather Giles Must Be More Or Less

Exposed; How Much,  She Did Not Know.

 

At Last Grace Could Hardly Endure The Idea Of Such A Hardship In

Relation To Him.  Whatever He Was Suffering,  It Was She Who Had

Caused it; He Vacated his House On Account Of Her.  She Was Not

Worth Such Self-Sacrifice; She Should Not Have Accepted it Of Him.

And Then,  As Her Anxiety Increased with Increasing thought,  There

Returned upon Her Mind Some Incidents Of Her Late Intercourse With

Him,  Which She Had Heeded but Little At The Time.  The Look Of His

Face--What Had There Been About His Face Which Seemed different

From Its Appearance As Of Yore?  Was It Not Thinner,  Less Rich In

Hue,  Less Like That Of Ripe Autumn'S Brother To Whom She Had

Formerly Compared him? And His Voice; She Had Distinctly Noticed a

Change In tone.  And His Gait; Surely It Had Been Feebler,

Stiffer,  More Like The Gait Of A Weary Man.  That Slight

Occasional Noise She Had Heard In the Day,  And Attributed to

Squirrels,  It Might Have Been His Cough After All.

 

Thus Conviction Took Root In her Perturbed mind That Winterborne

Was Ill,  Or Had Been So,  And That He Had Carefully Concealed his

Condition From Her That She Might Have No Scruples About Accepting

A Hospitality Which By The Nature Of The Case Expelled her

Entertainer.

 

"My Own,  Own,  True L---,  My Dear Kind Friend!" She Cried to

Herself.  "Oh,  It Shall Not Be--It Shall Not Be!"

 

She Hastily Wrapped herself Up,  And Obtained a Light,  With Which

She Entered the Adjoining room,  The Cot Possessing only One Floor.

Setting down The Candle On The Table Here,  She Went To The Door

With The Key In her Hand,  And Placed it In the Lock.  Before

Turning it She Paused,  Her Fingers Still Clutching it; And

Pressing her Other Hand To Her Forehead,  She Fell Into Agitating

Thought.

 

A Tattoo On The Window,  Caused by The Tree-Droppings Blowing

Against It,  Brought Her Indecision To A Close.  She Turned the Key

And Opened the Door.

 

The Darkness Was Intense,  Seeming to Touch Her Pupils Like A

Substance.  She Only Now Became Aware How Heavy The Rainfall Had

Been And Was; The Dripping of The Eaves Splashed like A Fountain.

She Stood Listening with Parted lips,  And Holding the Door In one

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Hand,  Till Her Eyes,  Growing accustomed to The Obscurity,

Discerned the Wild Brandishing of Their Boughs By The Adjoining

Trees.  At Last She Cried loudly With An Effort,  "Giles! You May

Come In!"

 

There Was No Immediate Answer To Her Cry,  And Overpowered by Her

Own Temerity,  Grace Retreated quickly,  Shut The Door,  And Stood

Looking on The Floor.  But It Was Not For Long.  She Again Lifted

The Latch,  And With Far More Determination Than At First.

 

"Giles,  Giles!" She Cried,  With The Full Strength Of Her Voice,

And Without Any Of The Shamefacedness That Had Characterized her

First Cry.  "Oh,  Come In--Come In!  Where Are You?  I Have Been

Wicked.  I Have Thought Too Much Of Myself!  Do You Hear?  I Don'T

Want To Keep You Out Any Longer.  I Cannot Bear That You Should

Suffer So.  Gi-I-Iles!"

 

A Reply! It Was A Reply! Through The Darkness And Wind A Voice

Reached her,  Floating upon The Weather As Though A Part Of It.

 

"Here I Am--All Right.  Don'T Trouble About Me."

 

"Don'T You Want To Come In? Are You Not Ill? I Don'T Mind What

They Say,  Or What They Think Any More."

 

"I Am All Right," He Repeated.  "It Is Not Necessary For Me To

Come.  Good-Night! Good-Night!"

 

Grace Sighed,  Turned and Shut The Door Slowly.  Could She Have

Been Mistaken About His Health? Perhaps,  After All,  She Had

Perceived a Change In him Because She Had Not Seen Him For So

Long.  Time Sometimes Did His Ageing work In jerks,  As She Knew.

Well,  She Had Done All She Could.  He Would Not Come In.  She

Retired to Rest Again.

 

 

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The Next Morning grace Was At The Window Early.  She Felt

Determined to See Him Somehow That Day,  And Prepared his Breakfast

Eagerly.  Eight O'Clock Struck,  And She Had Remembered that He Had

Not Come To Arouse Her By A Knocking,  As Usual,  Her Own Anxiety

Having caused her To Stir.

 

The Breakfast Was Set In its Place Without.  But He Did Not Arrive

To Take It; And She Waited on.  Nine O'Clock Arrived,  And The

Breakfast Was Cold; And Still There Was No Giles.  A Thrush,  That

Had Been Repeating itself A Good Deal On An Opposite Bush For Some

Time,  Came And Took A Morsel From The Plate And Bolted it,  Waited,

Looked around,  And Took Another.  At Ten O'Clock She Drew In the

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Tray,  And Sat Down To Her Own Solitary Meal.  He Must Have Been

Called away On Business Early,  The Rain Having cleared off.

 

Yet She Would Have Liked to Assure Herself,  By Thoroughly

Exploring the Precincts Of The Hut,  That He Was Nowhere In its

Vicinity; But As The Day Was Comparatively Fine,  The Dread Lest

Some Stray Passenger Or Woodman Should Encounter Her In such A

Reconnoitre Paralyzed her Wish.  The Solitude Was Further

Accentuated to-Day By The Stopping of The Clock For Want Of

Winding,  And The Fall Into The Chimney-Corner Of Flakes Of Soot

Loosened by The Rains.  At Noon She Heard A Slight Rustling

Outside The Window,  And Found That It Was Caused by An Eft Which

Had Crept Out Of The Leaves To Bask In the Last Sun-Rays That

Would Be Worth Having till The Following may.

 

She Continually Peeped out Through The Lattice,  But Could See

Little.  In front Lay The Brown Leaves Of Last Year,  And Upon Them

Some Yellowish-Green Ones Of This Season That Had Been Prematurely

Blown Down By The Gale.  Above Stretched an Old Beech,  With Vast

Armpits,  And Great Pocket-Holes In its Sides Where Branches Had

Been Amputated in past Times; A Black Slug Was Trying to Climb It.

Dead Boughs Were Scattered about Like Ichthyosauri In a Museum,

And Beyond Them Were Perishing woodbine Stems Resembling old

Ropes.

 

From The Other Window All She Could See Were More Trees,  Jacketed

With Lichen And Stockinged with Moss.  At Their Roots Were

Stemless Yellow Fungi Like Lemons And Apricots,  And Tall Fungi

With More Stem Than Stool.  Next Were More Trees Close Together,

Wrestling for Existence,  Their Branches Disfigured with Wounds

Resulting from Their Mutual Rubbings And Blows.  It Was The

Struggle Between These Neighbors That She Had Heard In the Night.

Beneath Them Were The Rotting stumps Of Those Of The Group That

Had Been Vanquished long Ago,  Rising from Their Mossy Setting like

Decayed teeth From Green Gums.  Farther On Were Other Tufts Of

Moss In islands Divided by The Shed leaves--Variety Upon Variety,

Dark Green And Pale Green; Moss-Like Little Fir-Trees,  Like Plush,

Like Malachite Stars,  Like Nothing on Earth Except Moss.

 

The Strain Upon Grace'S Mind In various Ways Was So Great On This

The Most Desolate Day She Had Passed there That She Felt It Would

Be Well-Nigh Impossible To Spend Another In such Circumstances.

The Evening came At Last; The Sun,  When Its Chin Was On The Earth,

Found An Opening through Which To Pierce The Shade,  And Stretched

Irradiated gauzes Across The Damp Atmosphere,  Making the Wet

Trunks Shine,  And Throwing splotches Of Such Ruddiness On The

Leaves Beneath The Beech That They Were Turned to Gory Hues.  When

Night At Last Arrived,  And With It The Time For His Return,  She

Was Nearly Broken Down With Suspense.

 

The Simple Evening meal,  Partly Tea,  Partly Supper,  Which Grace

Had Prepared,  Stood Waiting upon The Hearth; And Yet Giles Did Not

Come.  It Was Now Nearly Twenty-Four Hours Since She Had Seen Him.

As The Room Grew Darker,  And Only The Firelight Broke Against The

Gloom Of The Walls,  She Was Convinced that It Would Be Beyond Her

Staying power To Pass The Night Without Hearing from Him Or From

Somebody.  Yet Eight O'Clock Drew On,  And His Form At The Window

Did Not Appear.