ew.

VI

Thomasin Argues with Her Cousin, and He Writes a Letter

Yeobright was at this time at Blooms-End, hoping that Eustacia would
return to him. The removal of furniture had been accomplished only
that day, though Clym had lived in the old house for more than a week.
He had spent the time in working about the premises, sweeping leaves
from the garden-paths, cutting dead stalks from the flower-beds, and
nailing up creepers which had been displaced by the autumn winds. He
took no particular pleasure in these deeds, but they formed a screen
between himself and despair. Moreover, it had become a religion with
him to preserve in good condition all that had lapsed from his
mother's hands to his own.

During these operations he was constantly on the watch for Eustacia.
That there should be no mistake about her knowing where to find him
he had ordered a notice board to be affixed to the garden gate at
Alderworth, signifying in white letters whither he had removed. When a
leaf floated to the earth he turned his head, thinking it might be her
footfall. A bird searching for worms in the mould of the flower-beds
sounded like her hand on the latch of the gate; and at dusk, when
soft, strange ventriloquisms came from holes in the ground, hollow
stalks, curled dead leaves, and other crannies wherein breezes, worms,
and insects can work their will, he fancied that they were Eustacia,
standing without and breathing wishes of reconciliation.

Up to this hour he had persevered in his resolve not to invite her
back. At the same time the severity with which he had treated her
lulled the sharpness of his regret for his mother, and awoke some
of his old solicitude for his mother's supplanter. Harsh feelings
produce harsh usage, and this by reaction quenches the sentiments that
gave it birth. The more he reflected the more he softened. But to
look upon his wife as innocence in distress was impossible, though he
could ask himself whether he had given her quite time enough--if he
had not come a little too suddenly upon her on that sombre morning.

Now that the first flush of his anger had paled he was disinclined to
ascribe to her more than an indiscreet friendship with Wildeve, for
there had not appeared in her manner the signs of dishonour. And this
once admitted, an absolutely dark interpretation of her act towards
his mother was no longer forced upon him.

On the evening of the fifth November his thoughts of Eustacia wer