When she got into the outer air she found that it had begun to rain, and as she stood pausing at the door it increased, threatening to come on heavily.But having committed herself to this line of action there was no retreating for bad weather.Even the receipt of Clym's letter would not have stopped her now.The gloom of the night was funereal; all nature seemed clothed in crape.
The spiky points of the fir trees behind the house rose into the sky like the turrets and pinnacles of an abbey.
Nothing below the horizon was visible save a light which was still burning in the cottage of Susan Nunsuch.
Eustacia opened her umbrella and went out from the enclosure by the steps over the bank, after which she was beyond all danger of being perceived.Skirting the pool, she followed the path towards Rainbarrow, occasionally stumbling over twisted furze roots, tufts of rushes, or oozing lumps of fleshy fungi, which at this season lay scattered about the heath like the rotten liver and lungs of some colossal animal.The moon and stars were closed up by cloud and rain to the degree of extinction.
It was a night which led the traveller's thoughts instinctively to dwell on nocturnal scenes of disaster in the chronicles of the world, on all that is terrible and dark in history and legend--the last plague of Egypt, the destruction of Sennacherib's host, the agony in Gethsemane.
Eustacia at length reached Rainbarrow, and stood still there to think.Never was harmony more perfect than that between the chaos of her mind and the chaos of the world without.
A sudden recollection had flashed on her this moment--she had not money enough for undertaking a long journey.
Amid the fluctuating sentiments of the day her unpractical mind had not dwelt on the necessity of being well-provided, and now that she thoroughly realized the conditions she sighed bitterly and ceased to stand erect, gradually crouching down under the umbrella as if she were drawn into the Barrow by a hand from beneath.
Could it be that she was to remain a captive still?
Money--she had never felt its value before.Even to efface herself from the country means were required.
To ask Wildeve for pecuniary aid without allowing him to accompany her was impossible to a woman with a shadow of pride left in her; to fly as his mistress--and she knew that he loved her--was of the nature of humiliation.
Anyone who had stood by now would have pitied her, not so much on account of her exposure to weather, and isolation from all of humanity except the mouldered remains inside the tumulus; but for that other form of misery which was denoted by the slightly rocking movement that her feelings imparted to her person.
Extreme unhappiness weighed visibly upon her.Between the drippings of the rain from her umbrella to her mantle, from her mantle to the heather, from the heather to the earth, very similar sounds could be heard coming from her lips;and the tearfulness of the outer scene was repeated upon her face.The wings of her soul were broken by the cruel obstructiveness of all about her; and even had she seen herself in a promising way of getting to Budmouth, entering a steamer, and sailing to some opposite port, she would have been but little more buoyant, so fearfully malignant were other things.She uttered words aloud.
When a woman in such a situation, neither old, deaf, crazed, nor whimsical, takes upon herself to sob and soliloquize aloud there is something grievous the matter.
"Can I go, can I go?" she moaned."He's not GREATenough for me to give myself to--he does not suffice for my desire!...If he had been a Saul or a Bonaparte--ah! But to break my marriage vow for him--it is too poor a luxury!...And I have no money to go alone! And if I could, what comfort to me? I must drag on next year, as I have dragged on this year, and the year after that as before.
How I have tried and tried to be a splendid woman, and how destiny has been against me!...I do not deserve my lot!" she cried in a frenzy of bitter revolt.
"O, the cruelty of putting me into this ill-conceived world! I was capable of much; but I have been injured and blighted and crushed by things beyond my control! O, how hard it is of Heaven to devise such tortures for me, who have done no harm to Heaven at all!"The distant light which Eustacia had cursorily observed in leaving the house came, as she had divined, from the cottage window of Susan Nunsuch.What Eustacia did not divine was the occupation of the woman within at that moment.
Susan's sight of her passing figure earlier in the evening, not five minutes after the sick boy's exclamation, "Mother, I do feel so bad!" persuaded the matron that an evil influence was certainly exercised by Eustacia's propinquity.
On this account Susan did not go to bed as soon as the evening's work was over, as she would have done at ordinary times.To counteract the malign spell which she imagined poor Eustacia to be working, the boy's mother busied herself with a ghastly invention of superstition, calculated to bring powerlessness, atrophy, and annihilation on any human being against whom it was directed.
It was a practice well known on Egdon at that date, and one that is not quite extinct at the present day.
She passed with her candle into an inner room, where, among other utensils, were two large brown pans, containing together perhaps a hundredweight of liquid honey, the produce of the bees during the foregoing summer.
On a shelf over the pans was a smooth and solid yellow mass of a hemispherical form, consisting of beeswax from the same take of honey.Susan took down the lump, and cutting off several thin slices, heaped them in an iron ladle, with which she returned to the living-room, and placed the vessel in the hot ashes of the fireplace.
As soon as the wax had softened to the plasticity of dough she kneaded the pieces together.And now her face became more intent.She began moulding the wax;and it was evident from her manner of manipulation that she was endeavouring to give it some preconceived form.
The form was human.
