for Clym. The feelings of husband and wife varied,
in some measure, inversely with their positions. Clym, the afflicted
man, was cheerful; and he even tried to comfort her, who had never
felt a moment of physical suffering in her whole life.

"Come, brighten up, dearest; we shall be all right again. Some day
perhaps I shall see as well as ever. And I solemnly promise that I'll
leave off cutting furze as soon as I have the power to do anything
better. You cannot seriously wish me to stay idling at home all day?"

"But it is so dreadful--a furze-cutter! and you a man who have lived
about the world, and speak French, and German, and who are fit for
what is so much better than this."

"I suppose when you first saw me and heard about me I was wrapped in
a sort of golden halo to your eyes--a man who knew glorious things,
and had mixed in brilliant scenes--in short, an adorable, delightful,
distracting hero?"

"Yes," she said, sobbing.

"And now I am a poor fellow in brown leather."

"Don't taunt me. But enough of this. I will not be depressed any
more. I am going from home this afternoon, unless you greatly object.
There is to be a village picnic--a gipsying, they call it--at East
Egdon, and I shall go."

"To dance?"

"Why not? You can sing."

"Well, well, as you will. Must I come to fetch you?"

"If you return soon enough from your work. But do not inconvenience
yourself about it. I know the way home, and the heath has no terror
for me."

"And can you cling to gaiety so eagerly as to walk all the way to a
village festival in search of it?"

"Now, you don't like my going alone! Clym, you are not jealous?"

"No. But I would come with you if it could give you any pleasure;
though, as things stand, perhaps you have too much of me already.
Still, I somehow wish that you did not want to go. Yes, perhaps I
am jealous; and who could be jealous with more reason than I, a
half-blind man, over such a woman as you?"

"Don't think like it. Let me go, and don't take all my spirits away!"

"I would rather lose all my own, my sweet wife. Go and do whatever
you like. Who can forbid your indulgence in any whim? You have all
my heart yet, I believe; and because you bear with me, who am in truth
a drag upon you, I owe you thanks. Yes, go alone and shine. As for
me, I will stick to my doom. At that kind of meeting people would
shun me. My hook and gloves are like the St. Lazarus rattle of the
leper, warning the world to get