of intrigue, and except at the dance on the green
he had not once met Eustacia since her marriage. But that the spirit
of intrigue was in him had been shown by a recent romantic habit of
his: a habit of going out after dark and strolling towards Alderworth,
there looking at the moon and stars, looking at Eustacia's house, and
walking back at leisure.

Accordingly, when watching on the night after the festival, the
reddleman saw him ascend by the little path, lean over the front gate
of Clym's garden, sigh, and turn to go back again. It was plain that
Wildeve's intrigue was rather ideal than real. Venn retreated before
him down the hill to a place where the path was merely a deep groove
between the heather; here he mysteriously bent over the ground for a
few minutes, and retired. When Wildeve came on to that spot his ankle
was caught by something, and he fell headlong.

As soon as he had recovered the power of respiration he sat up and
listened. There was not a sound in the gloom beyond the spiritless
stir of the summer wind. Feeling about for the obstacle which had
flung him down, he discovered that two tufts of heath had been tied
together across the path, forming a loop, which to a traveller was
certain overthrow. Wildeve pulled off the string that bound them, and
went on with tolerable quickness. On reaching home he found the cord
to be of a reddish colour. It was just what he had expected.

Although his weaknesses were not specially those akin to physical
fear, the species of _coup-de-Jarnac_ from one he knew too well
troubled the mind of Wildeve. But his movements were unaltered
thereby. A night or two later he again went along the vale to
Alderworth, taking the precaution of keeping out of any path. The
sense that he was watched, that craft was employed to circumvent his
errant tastes, added piquancy to a journey so entirely sentimental,
so long as the danger was of no fearful sort. He imagined that Venn
and Mrs. Yeobright were in league, and felt that there was a certain
legitimacy in combating such a coalition.

The heath tonight appeared to be totally deserted: and Wildeve, after
looking over Eustacia's garden gate for some little time, with a cigar
in his mouth, was tempted by the fascination that emotional smuggling
had for his nature to advance towards the window, which was not quite
closed, the blind being only partly drawn down. He could see into
the room, and Eustacia was sitting there alone. Wildeve