onths. All the known
incidents of their love were enlarged, distorted, touched up, and
modified, till the original reality bore but a slight resemblance to
the counterfeit presentation by surrounding tongues. Yet, upon the
whole, neither the man nor the woman lost dignity by sudden death.
Misfortune had struck them gracefully, cutting off their erratic
histories with a catastrophic dash, instead of, as with many,
attenuating each life to an uninteresting meagreness, through long
years of wrinkles, neglect, and decay.

On those most nearly concerned the effect was somewhat different.
Strangers who had heard of many such cases now merely heard of one
more; but immediately where a blow falls no previous imaginings
amount to appreciable preparation for it. The very suddenness of
her bereavement dulled, to some extent, Thomasin's feelings; yet,
irrationally enough, a consciousness that the husband she had lost
ought to have been a better man did not lessen her mourning at all.
On the contrary, this fact seemed at first to set off the dead husband
in his young wife's eyes, and to be the necessary cloud to the
rainbow.

But the horrors of the unknown had passed. Vague misgivings about her
future as a deserted wife were at an end. The worst had once been
matter of trembling conjecture; it was now matter of reason only,
a limited badness. Her chief interest, the little Eustacia, still
remained. There was humility in her grief, no defiance in her
attitude; and when this is the case a shaken spirit is apt to be
stilled.

Could Thomasin's mournfulness now and Eustacia's serenity during life
have been reduced to common measure, they would have touched the same
mark nearly. But Thomasin's former brightness made shadow of that
which in a sombre atmosphere was light itself.

The spring came and calmed her; the summer came and soothed her; the
autumn arrived, and she began to be comforted, for her little girl was
strong and happy, growing in size and knowledge every day. Outward
events flattered Thomasin not a little. Wildeve had died intestate,
and she and the child were his only relatives. When administration
had been granted, all the debts paid, and the residue of her husband's
uncle's property had come into her hands, it was found that the sum
waiting to be invested for her own and the child's benefit was little
less than ten thousand pounds.

Where should she live? The obvious place was Blooms-End. The old
rooms, it is true