this moment: she had not money enough for undertaking a long
journey. Amid the fluctuating sentiments of the day her unpractical
mind had not dwelt on the necessity of being well-provided, and now
that she thoroughly realized the condition she sighed bitterly and
ceased to stand erect, gradually crouching down under the umbrella as
if she were drawn into the Barrow by a hand from beneath. Could it
be that she was to remain a captive still? Money: she had never felt
its value before. Even to efface herself from the country means were
required. To ask Wildeve for pecuniary aid without allowing him to
accompany her was impossible to a woman with a shadow of pride left in
her; to fly as his mistress--and she knew that he loved her--was of
the nature of humiliation.

Anyone who had stood by now would have pitied her, not so much on
account of her exposure to weather, and isolation from all of humanity
except the mouldered remains inside the tumulus; but for that other
form of misery which was denoted by the slightly rocking movement
that her feelings imparted to her person. Extreme unhappiness weighed
visibly upon her. Between the drippings of the rain from her umbrella
to her mantle, from her mantle to the heather, from the heather to
the earth, very similar sounds could be heard coming from her lips;
and the tearfulness of the outer scene was repeated upon her face.
The wings of her soul were broken by the cruel obstructiveness of all
about her; and even had she seen herself in a promising way of getting
to Budmouth, entering a steamer, and sailing to some opposite port,
she would have been but little more buoyant, so fearfully malignant
were other things. She uttered words aloud. When a woman in such
a situation, neither old, deaf, crazed, nor whimsical, takes upon
herself to sob and soliloquize aloud there is something grievous the
matter.

"Can I go, can I go?" she moaned. "He's not GREAT enough for me to
give myself to--he does not suffice for my desire!... If he had been
a Saul or a Buonaparte--ah! But to break my marriage vow for him--it
is too poor a luxury!... And I have no money to go alone! And if
I could, what comfort to me? I must drag on next year, as I have
dragged on this year, and the year after that as before. How I have
tried and tried to be a splendid woman, and how destiny has been
against me!... I do not deserve my lot!" she cried in a frenzy of
bitter revolt. "O, the cruelty of putting me into this