for mercy--I cannot
bear this any longer--it is inhuman to go further with this! If I
had--killed your--mother with my own hand--I should not deserve such a
scourging to the bone as this. O, O! God have mercy upon a miserable
woman!... You have beaten me in this game--I beg you to stay your hand
in pity!... I confess that I--wilfully did not undo the door the first
time she knocked--but--I--should have unfastened it the second--if
I had not thought you had gone to do it yourself. When I found you
had not I opened it, but she was gone. That's the extent of my
crime--towards HER. Best natures commit bad faults sometimes, don't
they?--I think they do. Now I will leave you--for ever and ever!"

"Tell all, and I WILL pity you. Was the man in the house with you
Wildeve?"

"I cannot tell," she said desperately through her sobbing. "Don't
insist further--I cannot tell. I am going from this house. We cannot
both stay here."

"You need not go: I will go. You can stay here."

"No, I will dress, and then I will go."

"Where?"

"Where I came from, or ELSEwhere."

She hastily dressed herself, Yeobright moodily walking up and down
the room the whole of the time. At last all her things were on. Her
little hands quivered so violently as she held them to her chin to
fasten her bonnet that she could not tie the strings, and after a few
moments she relinquished the attempt. Seeing this he moved forward
and said, "Let me tie them."

She assented in silence, and lifted her chin. For once at least in
her life she was totally oblivious of the charm of her attitude. But
he was not, and he turned his eyes aside, that he might not be tempted
to softness.

The strings were tied; she turned from him. "Do you still prefer
going away yourself to my leaving you?" he inquired again.

"I do."

"Very well--let it be. And when you will confess to the man I may
pity you."

She flung her shawl about her and went downstairs, leaving him
standing in the room.

Eustacia had not long been gone when there came a knock at the door
of the bedroom; and Yeobright said, "Well?"

It was the servant; and she replied, "Somebody from Mrs. Wildeve's
have called to tell 'ee that the mis'ess and the baby are getting on
wonderful well, and the baby's name is to be Eustacia Clementine."
And the girl retired.

"What a mockery!" said Clym. "This unhappy marriage of mine to be
perpetuated in that child's name!"

IV

The Ministrations of a Hal