ed to him that she was thinking of taking
her life, but bound him to secrecy, and promised never to think of
such a thing again. I hardly suppose she will ever have bravado
enough to use one of them; but it shows what has been lurking in her
mind; and people who think of that sort of thing once think of it
again."

"Where are the pistols?"

"Safely locked up. O no, she won't touch them again. But there are
more ways of letting out life than through a bullet-hole. What did
you quarrel about so bitterly with her to drive her to all this? You
must have treated her badly indeed. Well, I was always against the
marriage, and I was right."

"Are you going with me?" said Yeobright, paying no attention to the
captain's latter remark. "If so I can tell you what we quarrelled
about as we walk along."

"Where to?"

"To Wildeve's--that was her destination, depend upon it."

Thomasin here broke in, still weeping: "He said he was only going on
a sudden short journey; but if so why did he want so much money? O,
Clym, what do you think will happen? I am afraid that you, my poor
baby, will soon have no father left to you!"

"I am off now," said Yeobright, stepping into the porch.

"I would fain go with 'ee," said the old man doubtfully. "But I begin
to be afraid that my legs will hardly carry me there such a night as
this. I am not so young as I was. If they are interrupted in their
flight she will be sure to come back to me, and I ought to be at the
house to receive her. But be it as 'twill I can't walk to the Quiet
Woman, and that's an end on't. I'll go straight home."

"It will perhaps be best," said Clym. "Thomasin, dry yourself, and be
as comfortable as you can."

With this he closed the door upon her, and left the house in company
with Captain Vye, who parted from him outside the gate, taking the
middle path, which led to Mistover. Clym crossed by the right-hand
track towards the inn.

Thomasin, being left alone, took off some of her wet garments,
carried the baby upstairs to Clym's bed, and then came down to the
sitting-room again, where she made a larger fire, and began drying
herself. The fire soon flared up the chimney, giving the room an
appearance of comfort that was doubled by contrast with the drumming
of the storm without, which snapped at the window-panes and breathed
into the chimney strange low utterances that seemed to be the prologue
to some tragedy.

But the least part of Thomasin was in the house, f