lace left him, and it seemed as if
he and his mother were as when he was a child with her many years
ago on this heath at hours similar to the present. Then he awoke to
activity; and bending yet lower he found that she still breathed, and
that her breath though feeble was regular, except when disturbed by an
occasional gasp.

"O, what is it! Mother, are you very ill--you are not dying?" he
cried, pressing his lips to her face. "I am your Clym. How did you
come here? What does it all mean?"

At that moment the chasm in their lives which his love for Eustacia
had caused was not remembered by Yeobright, and to him the present
joined continuously with that friendly past that had been their
experience before the division.

She moved her lips, appeared to know him, but could not speak; and
then Clym strove to consider how best to move her, as it would be
necessary to get her away from the spot before the dews were intense.
He was able-bodied, and his mother was thin. He clasped his arms
round her, lifted her a little, and said, "Does that hurt you?"

She shook her head, and he lifted her up; then, at a slow pace, went
onward with his load. The air was now completely cool; but whenever
he passed over a sandy patch of ground uncarpeted with vegetation
there was reflected from its surface into his face the heat which it
had imbibed during the day. At the beginning of his undertaking he
had thought but little of the distance which yet would have to be
traversed before Blooms-End could be reached; but though he had slept
that afternoon he soon began to feel the weight of his burden. Thus
he proceeded, like Aeneas with his father; the bats circling round his
head, nightjars flapping their wings within a yard of his face, and
not a human being within call.

While he was yet nearly a mile from the house his mother exhibited
signs of restlessness under the constraint of being borne along, as
if his arms were irksome to her. He lowered her upon his knees and
looked around. The point they had now reached, though far from any
road, was not more than a mile from the Blooms-End cottages occupied
by Fairway, Sam, Humphrey, and the Cantles. Moreover, fifty yards off
stood a hut, built of clods and covered with thin turves, but now
entirely disused. The simple outline of the lonely shed was visible,
and thither he determined to direct his steps. As soon as he arrived
he laid her down carefully by the entrance, and then ran and cut with