ther proof even of Heaven's
reprobation. Do you think, Thomasin, that she knew me--that she did
not die in that horrid mistaken notion about my not forgiving her,
which I can't tell you how she acquired? If you could only assure me
of that! Do you think so, Eustacia? Do speak to me."

"I think I can assure you that she knew better at last," said
Thomasin. The pallid Eustacia said nothing.

"Why didn't she come to my house? I would have taken her in and
showed her how I loved her in spite of all. But she never came; and I
didn't go to her, and she died on the heath like an animal kicked out,
nobody to help her till it was too late. If you could have seen her,
Thomasin, as I saw her--a poor dying woman, lying in the dark upon the
bare ground, moaning, nobody near, believing she was utterly deserted
by all the world, it would have moved you to anguish, it would have
moved a brute. And this poor woman my mother! No wonder she said to
the child, 'You have seen a broken-hearted woman.' What a state she
must have been brought to, to say that! and who can have done it but
I? It is too dreadful to think of, and I wish I could be punished
more heavily than I am. How long was I what they called out of my
senses?"

"A week, I think."

"And then I became calm."

"Yes, for four days."

"And now I have left off being calm."

"But try to be quiet: please do, and you will soon be strong. If you
could remove that impression from your mind--"

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "But I don't want to get strong.
What's the use of my getting well? It would be better for me if I
die, and it would certainly be better for Eustacia. Is Eustacia
there?"

"Yes."

"It would be better for you, Eustacia, if I were to die?"

"Don't press such a question, dear Clym."

"Well, it really is but a shadowy supposition; for unfortunately I am
going to live. I feel myself getting better. Thomasin, how long are
you going to stay at the inn, now that all this money has come to your
husband?"

"Another month or two, probably; until my illness is over. We cannot
get off till then. I think it will be a month or more."

"Yes, yes. Of course. Ah, Cousin Tamsie, you will get over your
trouble--one little month will take you through it, and bring
something to console you; but I shall never get over mine, and no
consolation will come!"

"Clym, you are unjust to yourself. Depend upon it, aunt thought
kindly of you. I know that, if she had lived, you