The Woodlanders Part 2 by Thomas Hardy (best romantic books to read txt) 📕

Panes,  And Waited to See The Result.  The Night-Bell Which Had

Been Fixed when Fitzpiers First Took Up His Residence There Still

Remained; But As It Had Fallen Into Disuse With The Collapse Of

His Practice,  And His Elopement,  She Did Not Venture To Pull It

Now.

Whoever Slept In the Room Had Heard Her Signal,  Slight As It Was.

In Half A Minute The Window Was Opened,  And A Voice Said "Yes?"

Inquiringly.  Grace Recognized her Husband In the Speaker At Once.

Her Effort Was Now To Disguise Her Own Accents.

"Doctor," She Said,  In as Unusual A Tone As She Could Command,  "A

Man Is Dangerously Ill In one-Chimney Hut,  Out Towards Delborough,

And You Must Go To Him At Once--In All Mercy!"

"I Will,  Readily."

The Alacrity,  Surprise,  And Pleasure Expressed in his Reply Amazed

Her For A Moment.  But,  In truth,  They Denoted the Sudden Relief

Of A Man Who,  Having got Back In a Mood Of Contrition,  From

Erratic Abandonment To Fearful Joys,  Found The Soothing routine Of

Professional Practice Unexpectedly Opening anew To Him.  The

Highest Desire Of His Soul Just Now Was For A Respectable Life Of

Painstaking.  If This,  His First Summons Since His Return,  Had

Been To Attend Upon A Cat Or Dog,  He Would Scarcely Have Refused

It In the Circumstances.

"Do You Know The Way?" She Asked.

"Yes," Said He.

"One-Chimney Hut," She Repeated.  "And--Immediately!"

"Yes,  Yes," Said Fitzpiers.

Grace Remained no Longer.  She Passed out Of The White Gate

Without Slamming it,  And Hastened on Her Way Back.  Her Husband,

Then,  Had Re-Entered her Father'S House.  How He Had Been Able To

Effect A Reconciliation With The Old Man,  What Were The Terms Of

The Treaty Between Them,  She Could Not So Much As Conjecture.

Some Sort Of Truce Must Have Been Entered into,  That Was All She

Could Say.  But Close As The Question Lay To Her Own Life,  There

Was A More Urgent One Which Banished it; And She Traced her Steps

Quickly Along The Meandering track-Ways.

Meanwhile,  Fitzpiers Was Preparing to Leave The House.  The State

Of His Mind,  Over And Above His Professional Zeal,  Was Peculiar.

At Grace'S First Remark He Had Not Recognized or Suspected her

Presence; But As She Went On,  He Was Awakened to The Great

Resemblance Of The Speaker'S Voice To His Wife'S.  He Had Taken In

Such Good Faith The Statement Of The Household On His Arrival,

That She Had Gone On A Visit For A Time Because She Could Not At

Once Bring her Mind To Be Reconciled to Him,  That He Could Not

Quite Actually Believe This Comer To Be She.  It Was One Of The

Features Of Fitzpiers'S Repentant Humor At This Date That,  On

Receiving the Explanation Of Her Absence,  He Had Made No Attempt

To Outrage Her Feelings By Following her; Though Nobody Had

Informed him How Very Shortly Her Departure Had Preceded his

Entry,  And Of All That Might Have Been Inferred from Her

Precipitancy.

Melbury,  After Much Alarm And Consideration,  Had Decided not To

Follow Her Either.  He Sympathized with Her Flight,  Much As He

Deplored it; Moreover,  The Tragic Color Of The Antecedent Events

That He Had Been A Great Means Of Creating checked his Instinct To

Interfere.  He Prayed and Trusted that She Had Got Into No Danger

On Her Way (As He Supposed) To Sherton,  And Thence To Exbury,  If

That Were The Place She Had Gone To,  Forbearing all Inquiry Which

The Strangeness Of Her Departure Would Have Made Natural.  A Few

Months Before This Time A Performance By Grace Of One-Tenth The

Magnitude Of This Would Have Aroused him To Unwonted

Investigation.

It Was In the Same Spirit That He Had Tacitly Assented to

Fitzpiers'S Domicilation There.  The Two Men Had Not Met Face To

Face,  But Mrs. Melbury Had Proposed herself As An Intermediary,

Who Made The Surgeon'S Re-Entrance Comparatively Easy To Him.

Everything was Provisional,  And Nobody Asked questions.  Fitzpiers

Had Come In the Performance Of A Plan Of Penitence,  Which Had

Originated in circumstances Hereafter To Be Explained; His Self-

Humiliation To The Very Bass-String was Deliberate; And As Soon As

A Call Reached him From The Bedside Of A Dying man His Desire Was

To Set To Work And Do As Much Good As He Could With The Least

Possible Fuss Or Show.  He Therefore Refrained from Calling up A

Stableman To Get Ready Any Horse Or Gig,  And Set Out For One-

Chimney Hut On Foot,  As Grace Had Done.

She Re-Entered the Hut,  Flung Off Her Bonnet And Cloak,  And

Approached the Sufferer.  He Had Begun Anew Those Terrible

Mutterings,  And His Hands Were Cold.  As Soon As She Saw Him There

Returned to Her That Agony Of Mind Which The Stimulus Of Her

Journey Had Thrown Off For A Time.

Could He Really Be Dying? She Bathed him,  Kissed him,  Forgot All

Things But The Fact That Lying there Before Her Was He Who Had

Loved her More Than The Mere Lover Would Have Loved; Had Martyred

Himself For Her Comfort,  Cared more For Her Self-Respect Than She

Had Thought Of Caring.  This Mood Continued till She Heard Quick,

Smart Footsteps Without; She Knew Whose Footsteps They Were.

Grace Sat On The Inside Of The Bed against The Wall,  Holding

Giles'S Hand,  So That When Her Husband Entered the Patient Lay

Between Herself And Him.  He Stood Transfixed at First,  Noticing

Grace Only.  Slowly He Dropped his Glance And Discerned who The

Prostrate Man Was.  Strangely Enough,  Though Grace'S Distaste For

Her Husband'S Company Had Amounted almost To Dread,  And Culminated

In Actual Flight,  At This Moment Her Last And Least Feeling was

Personal.  Sensitive Femininity Was Eclipsed by Self-Effacing

Purpose,  And That It Was A Husband Who Stood There Was Forgotten.

The First Look That Possessed her Face Was Relief; Satisfaction At

The Presence Of The Physician Obliterated thought Of The Man,

Which Only Returned in the Form Of A Sub-Consciousness That Did

Not Interfere With Her Words.

"Is He Dying--Is There Any Hope?" She Cried.

"Grace!" Said Fitzpiers,  In an Indescribable Whisper--More Than

Invocating,  If Not Quite Deprecatory.

He Was Arrested by The Spectacle,  Not So Much In its Intrinsic

Character--Though That Was Striking enough To A Man Who Called

Himself The Husband Of The Sufferer'S Friend And Nurse--But In its

Character As The Counterpart Of One That Had Its Hour Many Months

Before,  In which He Had Figured as The Patient,  And The Woman Had

Been Felice Charmond.

"Is He In great Danger--Can You Save Him?" She Cried again.

Fitzpiers Aroused himself,  Came A Little Nearer,  And Examined

Winterborne As He Stood.  His Inspection Was Concluded in a Mere

Glance.  Before He Spoke He Looked at Her Contemplatively As To

The Effect Of His Coming words.

"He Is Dying," He Said,  With Dry Precision.

"What?" Said She.

"Nothing can Be Done,  By Me Or Any Other Man.  It Will Soon Be All

Over.  The Extremities Are Dead Already."  His Eyes Still Remained

Fixed on Her; The Conclusion To Which He Had Come Seeming to End

His Interest,  Professional And Otherwise,  In winterborne Forever.

"But It Cannot Be!  He Was Well Three Days Ago."

"Not Well,  I Suspect.  This Seems Like A Secondary Attack,  Which

Has Followed some Previous Illness--Possibly Typhoid--It May Have

Been Months Ago,  Or Recently."

"Ah--He Was Not Well--You Are Right.  He Was Ill--He Was Ill When

I Came."

There Was Nothing more To Do Or Say.  She Crouched down At The

Side Of The Bed,  And Fitzpiers Took A Seat.  Thus They Remained in

Silence,  And Long As It Lasted she Never Turned her Eyes,  Or

Apparently Her Thoughts,  At All To Her Husband.  He Occasionally

Murmured,  With Automatic Authority,  Some Slight Directions For

Alleviating the Pain Of The Dying man,  Which She Mechanically

Obeyed,  Bending over Him During the Intervals In silent Tears.

Winterborne Never Recovered consciousness Of What Was Passing; And

That He Was Going became Soon Perceptible Also To Her.  In less

Than An Hour The Delirium Ceased; Then There Was An Interval Of

Somnolent Painlessness And Soft Breathing,  At The End Of Which

Winterborne Passed quietly Away.

Then Fitzpiers Broke The Silence.  "Have You Lived here Long?"

Said He.

Grace Was Wild With Sorrow--With All That Had Befallen Her--With

The Cruelties That Had Attacked her--With Life--With Heaven.  She

Answered at Random.  "Yes.  By What Right Do You Ask?"

"Don'T Think I Claim Any Right," Said Fitzpiers,  Sadly.  "It Is

For You To Do And Say What You Choose.  I Admit,  Quite As Much As

You Feel,  That I Am A Vagabond--A Brute--Not Worthy To Possess The

Smallest Fragment Of You.  But Here I Am,  And I Have Happened to

Take Sufficient Interest In you To Make That Inquiry."

"He Is Everything to Me!" Said Grace,  Hardly Heeding her Husband,

And Laying her Hand Reverently On The Dead Man'S Eyelids,  Where

She Kept It A Long Time,  Pressing down Their Lashes With Gentle

Touches,  As If She Were Stroking a Little Bird.

He Watched her A While,  And Then Glanced round The Chamber Where

His Eyes Fell Upon A Few Dressing necessaries That She Had

Brought.

"Grace--If I May Call You So," He Said,  "I Have Been Already

Humiliated almost To The Depths.  I Have Come Back Since You

Refused to Join Me Elsewhere--I Have Entered your Father'S House,

And Borne All That That Cost Me Without Flinching,  Because I Have

Felt That I Deserved humiliation.  But Is There A Yet Greater

Humiliation In store For Me?  You Say You Have Been Living here--

That He Is Everything to You.  Am I To Draw From That The Obvious,

The Extremest Inference?"

Triumph At Any Price Is Sweet To Men And Women--Especially The

Latter.  It Was Her First And