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

Achillean Moodiness After An Imagined slight.  His Wife Herself

Saw The Awkwardness Of Their Position Here,  And Cheerfully

Welcomed the Purposed change,  Towards Which Every Step Had Been

Taken But The Last.  But Could He Find It In his Heart--As He

Found It Clearly Enough In his Conscience--To Go Away?

He Drew A Troubled breath,  And Went In-Doors.  Here He Rapidly

Penned a Letter,  Wherein He Withdrew Once For All From The Treaty

For The Budmouth Practice.  As The Postman Had Already Left Little

Hintock For That Night,  He Sent One Of Melbury'S Men To Intercept

A Mail-Cart On Another Turnpike-Road,  And So Got The Letter Off.

The Man Returned,  Met Fitzpiers In the Lane,  And Told Him The

Thing was Done.  Fitzpiers Went Back To His House Musing.  Why Had

He Carried out This Impulse--Taken Such Wild Trouble To Effect A

Probable Injury To His Own And His Young Wife'S Prospects? His

Motive Was Fantastic,  Glowing,  Shapeless As The Fiery Scenery

About The Western Sky.  Mrs. Charmond Could Overtly Be Nothing

More To Him Than A Patient Now,  And To His Wife,  At The Outside,  A

Patron.  In the Unattached bachelor Days Of His First Sojourning

Here How Highly Proper An Emotional Reason For Lingering on Would

Have Appeared to Troublesome Dubiousness.  Matrimonial Ambition Is

Such An Honorable Thing.

"My Father Has Told Me That You Have Sent Off One Of The Men With

A Late Letter To Budmouth," Cried grace,  Coming out Vivaciously To

Meet Him Under The Declining light Of The Sky,  Wherein Hung,

Solitary,  The Folding star.  "I Said At Once That You Had Finally

Agreed to Pay The Premium They Ask,  And That The Tedious Question

Had Been Settled.  When Do We Go,  Edgar?"

"I Have Altered my Mind," Said He.  "They Want Too Much--Seven

Hundred and Fifty Is Too Large A Sum--And In short,  I Have

Declined to Go Further.  We Must Wait For Another Opportunity.  I

Fear I Am Not A Good Business-Man." He Spoke The Last Words With A

Momentary Faltering at The Great Foolishness Of His Act; For,  As

He Looked in her Fair And Honorable Face,  His Heart Reproached him

For What He Had Done.

Her Manner That Evening showed her Disappointment.  Personally She

Liked the Home Of Her Childhood Much,  And She Was Not Ambitious.

But Her Husband Had Seemed so Dissatisfied with The Circumstances

Hereabout Since Their Marriage That She Had Sincerely Hoped to Go

For His Sake.

It Was Two Or Three Days Before He Visited mrs. Charmond Again.

The Morning had Been Windy,  And Little Showers Had Sowed

Themselves Like Grain Against The Walls And Window-Panes Of The

Hintock Cottages.  He Went On Foot Across The Wilder Recesses Of

The Park,  Where Slimy Streams Of Green Moisture,  Exuding from

Decayed holes Caused by Old Amputations,  Ran Down The Bark Of The

Oaks And Elms,  The Rind Below Being coated with A Lichenous Wash

As Green As Emerald.  They Were Stout-Trunked trees,  That Never

Rocked their Stems In the Fiercest Gale,  Responding to It Entirely

By Crooking their Limbs.  Wrinkled like An Old Crone'S Face,  And

Antlered with Dead Branches That Rose Above The Foliage Of Their

Summits,  They Were Nevertheless Still Green--Though Yellow Had

Invaded the Leaves Of Other Trees.

She Was In a Little Boudoir Or Writing-Room On The First Floor,

And Fitzpiers Was Much Surprised to Find That The Window-Curtains

Were Closed and A Red-Shaded lamp And Candles Burning,  Though Out-

Of-Doors It Was Broad Daylight.  Moreover,  A Large Fire Was

Burning in the Grate,  Though It Was Not Cold.

"What Does It All Mean?" He Asked.

She Sat In an Easy-Chair,  Her Face Being turned away.  "Oh," She

Murmured,  "It Is Because The World Is So Dreary Outside.  Sorrow

And Bitterness In the Sky,  And Floods Of Agonized tears Beating

Against The Panes.  I Lay Awake Last Night,  And I Could Hear The

Scrape Of Snails Creeping up The Window-Glass; It Was So Sad! My

Eyes Were So Heavy This Morning that I Could Have Wept My Life

Away.  I Cannot Bear You To See My Face; I Keep It Away From You

Purposely.  Oh! Why Were We Given Hungry Hearts And Wild Desires

If We Have To Live In a World Like This? Why Should Death Only

Lend What Life Is Compelled to Borrow--Rest? Answer That,  Dr.

Fitzpiers."

"You Must Eat Of A Second Tree Of Knowledge Before You Can Do It,

Felice Charmond."

"Then,  When My Emotions Have Exhausted themselves,  I Become Full

Of Fears,  Till I Think I Shall Die For Very Fear.  The Terrible

Insistencies Of Society--How Severe They Are,  And Cold And

Inexorable--Ghastly Towards Those Who Are Made Of Wax And Not Of

Stone.  Oh,  I Am Afraid Of Them; A Stab For This Error,  And A Stab

For That--Correctives And Regulations Framed that Society May Tend

To Perfection--An End Which I Don'T Care For In the Least.  Yet

For This,  All I Do Care For Has To Be Stunted and Starved."

He Drew Back The Window-Curtains,  Whereupon The Red glow Of The

Lamp And The Two Candle-Flames Became Almost Invisible With The

Flood Of Late Autumn Sunlight That Poured in.  "Shall I Come Round

To You?" He Asked,  Her Back Being towards Him.

"No," She Replied.

"Why Not?"

"Because I Am Crying,  And I Don'T Want To See You."

He Stood A Moment Irresolute,  And Regretted that He Had Killed the

Rosy,  Passionate Lamplight By Opening the Curtains And Letting in

Garish Day.

"Then I Am Going," He Said.

"Very Well," She Answered,  Stretching one Hand Round To Him,  And

Patting her Eyes With A Handkerchief Held In the Other.

"Shall I Write A Line To You At--"

"No,  No." A Gentle Reasonableness Came Into Her Tone As She Added,

"It Must Not Be,  You Know.  It Won'T Do."

"Very Well.  Good-By." The Next Moment He Was Gone.

In The Evening,  With Listless Adroitness,  She Encouraged the Maid

Who Dressed her For Dinner To Speak Of Dr. Fitzpiers'S Marriage.

"Mrs. Fitzpiers Was Once Supposed to Favor Mr. Winterborne," Said

The Young Woman.

"And Why Didn'T She Marry Him?" Said Mrs. Charmond.

"Because,  You See,  Ma'Am,  He Lost His Houses."

"Lost His Houses? How Came He To Do That?"

"The Houses Were Held On Lives,  And The Lives Dropped,  And Your

Agent Wouldn'T Renew Them,  Though It Is Said That Mr. Winterborne

Had A Very Good Claim.  That'S As I'Ve Heard It,  Ma'Am,  And It Was

Through It That The Match Was Broke Off."

Being just Then Distracted by A Dozen Emotions,  Mrs. Charmond Sunk

Into A Mood Of Dismal Self-Reproach.  "In Refusing that Poor Man

His Reasonable Request," She Said To Herself,  "I Foredoomed my

Rejuvenated girlhood'S Romance.  Who Would Have Thought Such A

Business Matter Could Have Nettled my Own Heart Like This? Now For

A Winter Of Regrets And Agonies And Useless Wishes,  Till I Forget

Him In the Spring.  Oh! I Am Glad I Am Going away."

She Left Her Chamber And Went Down To Dine With A Sigh.  On The

Stairs She Stood Opposite The Large Window For A Moment,  And

Looked out Upon The Lawn.  It Was Not Yet Quite Dark.  Half-Way Up

The Steep Green Slope Confronting her Stood Old Timothy Tangs,  Who

Was Shortening his Way Homeward By Clambering here Where There Was

No Road,  And In opposition To Express Orders That No Path Was To

Be Made There.  Tangs Had Momentarily Stopped to Take A Pinch Of

Snuff; But Observing mrs. Charmond Gazing at Him,  He Hastened to

Get Over The Top Out Of Hail.  His Precipitancy Made Him Miss His

Footing,  And He Rolled like A Barrel To The Bottom,  His Snuffbox

Rolling in front Of Him.

Her Indefinite,  Idle,  Impossible Passion For Fitzpiers; Her

Constitutional Cloud Of Misery; The Sorrowful Drops That Still

Hung Upon Her Eyelashes,  All Made Way For The Incursive Mood

Started by The Spectacle.  She Burst Into An Immoderate Fit Of

Laughter,  Her Very Gloom Of The Previous Hour Seeming to Render It

The More Uncontrollable.  It Had Not Died out Of Her When She

Reached the Dining-Room; And Even Here,  Before The Servants,  Her

Shoulders Suddenly Shook As The Scene Returned upon Her; And The

Tears Of Her Hilarity Mingled with The Remnants Of Those

Engendered by Her Grief.

She Resolved to Be Sad No More.  She Drank Two Glasses Of

Champagne,  And A Little More Still After Those,  And Amused herself

In The Evening with Singing little Amatory Songs.

"I Must Do Something for That Poor Man Winterborne,  However," She

Said.

A Week Had Passed,  And Mrs. Charmond Had Left Hintock House.

Middleton Abbey,  The Place Of Her Sojourn,  Was About Twenty Miles

Distant By Road,  Eighteen By Bridle-Paths And Footways.

Grace Observed,  For The First Time,  That Her Husband Was Restless,

That At Moments He Even Was Disposed to Avoid Her.  The Scrupulous

Civility Of Mere Acquaintanceship Crept Into His Manner; Yet,  When

Sitting at Meals,  He Seemed hardly To Hear Her Remarks.  Her

Little Doings Interested him No Longer,  While Towards Her Father

His Bearing was Not Far From Supercilious.  It Was Plain That His

Mind Was Entirely Outside Her Life,  Whereabouts Outside It She

Could Not Tell; In some Region Of Science,  Possibly,  Or Of

Psychological Literature.  But Her Hope That He Was Again

Immersing himself In those Lucubrations Which Before Her Marriage

Had Made His Light A Landmark In hintock,  Was Founded simply On

The Slender Fact That He Often Sat Up Late.

One Evening she Discovered him Leaning over A Gate On Rub-Down

Hill,  The Gate At Which Winterborne Had Once Been Standing,  And

Which Opened on The Brink Of A Steep,  Slanting down Directly Into

Blackmoor Vale,  Or The Vale Of The White Hart,  Extending beneath

The Eye At This Point To A