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

Doings.  She Had Tried to Persuade Herself That He Might Have Died

Of His Illness,  Even If She Had Not Taken Possession Of His House.

Sometimes She Succeeded in her Attempt; Sometimes She Did Not.

They Stood By The Grave Together,  And Though The Sun Had Gone

Down,  They Could See Over The Woodland For Miles,  And Down To The

Vale In which He Had Been Accustomed to Descend Every Year,  With

His Portable Mill And Press,  To Make Cider About This Time.

Perhaps Grace'S First Grief,  The Discovery That If He Had Lived he

Could Never Have Claimed her,  Had Some Power In softening this,

The Second.  On Marty'S Part There Was The Same Consideration;

Never Would She Have Been His.  As No Anticipation Of Gratified

Affection Had Been In existence While He Was With Them,  There Was

None To Be Disappointed now That He Had Gone.

Grace Was Abased when,  By Degrees,  She Found That She Had Never

Understood Giles As Marty Had Done.  Marty South Alone,  Of All The

Women In hintock And The World,  Had Approximated to Winterborne'S

Level Of Intelligent Intercourse With Nature.  In that Respect She

Had Formed the Complement To Him In the Other Sex,  Had Lived as

His Counterpart,  Had Subjoined her Thought To His As A Corollary.

The Casual Glimpses Which The Ordinary Population Bestowed upon

That Wondrous World Of Sap And Leaves Called the Hintock Woods Had

Been With These Two,  Giles And Marty,  A Clear Gaze.  They Had Been

Possessed of Its Finer Mysteries As Of Commonplace Knowledge; Had

Been Able To Read Its Hieroglyphs As Ordinary Writing; To Them The

Sights And Sounds Of Night,  Winter,  Wind,  Storm,  Amid Those Dense

Boughs,  Which Had To Grace A Touch Of The Uncanny,  And Even The

Supernatural,  Were Simple Occurrences Whose Origin,  Continuance,

And Laws They Foreknew.  They Had Planted together,  And Together

They Had Felled; Together They Had,  With The Run Of The Years,

Mentally Collected those Remoter Signs And Symbols Which,  Seen In

Few,  Were Of Runic Obscurity,  But All Together Made An Alphabet.

From The Light Lashing of The Twigs Upon Their Faces,  When

Brushing through Them In the Dark,  They Could Pronounce Upon The

Species Of The Tree Whence They Stretched; From The Quality Of The

Wind'S Murmur Through A Bough They Could In like Manner Name Its

Sort Afar Off.  They Knew By A Glance At A Trunk If Its Heart Were

Sound,  Or Tainted with Incipient Decay,  And By The State Of Its

Upper Twigs,  The Stratum That Had Been Reached by Its Roots.  The

Artifices Of The Seasons Were Seen By Them From The Conjuror'S Own

Point Of View,  And Not From That Of The Spectator'S.

"He Ought To Have Married you,  Marty,  And Nobody Else In the

World!" Said Grace,  With Conviction,  After Thinking somewhat In

The Above Strain.

Marty Shook Her Head.  "In All Our Out-Door Days And Years

Together,  Ma'Am," She Replied,  "The One Thing he Never Spoke Of To

Me Was Love; Nor I To Him."

"Yet You And He Could Speak In a Tongue That Nobody Else Knew--Not

Even My Father,  Though He Came Nearest Knowing--The Tongue Of The

Trees And Fruits And Flowers Themselves."

She Could Indulge In mournful Fancies Like This To Marty; But The

Hard Core To Her Grief--Which Marty'S Had Not--Remained.  Had She

Been Sure That Giles'S Death Resulted entirely From His Exposure,

It Would Have Driven Her Well-Nigh To Insanity; But There Was

Always That Bare Possibility That His Exposure Had Only

Precipitated what Was Inevitable.  She Longed to Believe That It

Had Not Done Even This.

There Was Only One Man Whose Opinion On The Circumstances She

Would Be At All Disposed to Trust.  Her Husband Was That Man.  Yet

To Ask Him It Would Be Necessary To Detail The True Conditions In

Which She And Winterborne Had Lived during these Three Or Four

Critical Days That Followed her Flight; And In withdrawing her

Original Defiant Announcement On That Point,  There Seemed a

Weakness She Did Not Care To Show.  She Never Doubted that

Fitzpiers Would Believe Her If She Made A Clean Confession Of The

Actual Situation; But To Volunteer The Correction Would Seem Like

Signalling for A Truce,  And That,  In her Present Frame Of Mind,

Was What She Did Not Feel The Need of.

It Will Probably Not Appear A Surprising statement,  After What Has

Been Already Declared of Fitzpiers,  That The Man Whom Grace'S

Fidelity Could Not Keep Faithful Was Stung Into Passionate Throbs

Of Interest Concerning her By Her Avowal Of The Contrary.

He Declared to Himself That He Had Never Known Her Dangerously

Full Compass If She Were Capable Of Such A Reprisal; And,

Melancholy As It May Be To Admit The Fact,  His Own Humiliation And

Regret Engendered a Smouldering admiration Of Her.

He Passed a Month Or Two Of Great Misery At Exbury,  The Place To

Which He Had Retired--Quite As Much Misery Indeed as Grace,  Could

She Have Known Of It,  Would Have Been Inclined to Inflict Upon Any

Living creature,  How Much Soever He Might Have Wronged her.  Then

A Sudden Hope Dawned upon Him; He Wondered if Her Affirmation Were

True.  He Asked himself Whether It Were Not The Act Of A Woman

Whose Natural Purity And Innocence Had Blinded her To The

Contingencies Of Such An Announcement.  His Wide Experience Of The

Sex Had Taught Him That,  In many Cases,  Women Who Ventured on

Hazardous Matters Did So Because They Lacked an Imagination

Sensuous Enough To Feel Their Full Force.  In this Light Grace'S

Bold Avowal Might Merely Have Denoted the Desperation Of One Who

Was A Child To The Realities Of Obliquity.

Fitzpiers'S Mental Sufferings And Suspense Led him At Last To Take

A Melancholy Journey To The Neighborhood Of Little Hintock; And

Here He Hovered for Hours Around The Scene Of The Purest Emotional

Experiences That He Had Ever Known In his Life.  He Walked about

The Woods That Surrounded melbury'S House,  Keeping out Of Sight

Like A Criminal.  It Was A Fine Evening,  And On His Way Homeward

He Passed near Marty South'S Cottage.  As Usual She Had Lighted

Her Candle Without Closing her Shutters; He Saw Her Within As He

Had Seen Her Many Times Before.

She Was Polishing tools,  And Though He Had Not Wished to Show

Himself,  He Could Not Resist Speaking in to Her Through The Half-

Open Door.  "What Are You Doing that For,  Marty?"

"Because I Want To Clean Them.  They Are Not Mine." He Could See,

Indeed,  That They Were Not Hers,  For One Was A Spade,  Large And

Heavy,  And Another Was A Bill-Hook Which She Could Only Have Used

With Both Hands.  The Spade,  Though Not A New One,  Had Been So

Completely Burnished that It Was Bright As Silver.

Fitzpiers Somehow Divined that They Were Giles Winterborne'S,  And

He Put The Question To Her.

She Replied in the Affirmative.  "I Am Going to Keep 'Em," She

Said,  "But I Can'T Get His Apple-Mill And Press.  I Wish Could; It

Is Going to Be Sold,  They Say."

"Then I Will Buy It For You," Said Fitzpiers.  "That Will Be

Making you A Return For A Kindness You Did Me."  His Glance Fell

Upon The Girl'S Rare-Colored hair,  Which Had Grown Again.  "Oh,

Marty,  Those Locks Of Yours--And That Letter! But It Was A

Kindness To Send It,  Nevertheless," He Added,  Musingly.

After This There Was Confidence Between Them--Such Confidence As

There Had Never Been Before.  Marty Was Shy,  Indeed,  Of Speaking

About The Letter,  And Her Motives In writing it; But She Thanked

Him Warmly For His Promise Of The Cider-Press.  She Would Travel

With It In the Autumn Season,  As He Had Done,  She Said.  She Would

Be Quite Strong Enough,  With Old Creedle As An Assistant.

"Ah! There Was One Nearer To Him Than You," Said Fitzpiers,

Referring to Winterborne.  "One Who Lived where He Lived,  And Was

With Him When He Died."

Then Marty,  Suspecting that He Did Not Know The True

Circumstances,  From The Fact That Mrs. Fitzpiers And Himself Were

Living apart,  Told Him Of Giles'S Generosity To Grace In giving up

His House To Her At The Risk,  And Possibly The Sacrifice,  Of His

Own Life.  When The Surgeon Heard It He Almost Envied giles His

Chivalrous Character.  He Expressed a Wish To Marty That His Visit

To Her Should Be Kept Secret,  And Went Home Thoughtful,  Feeling

That In more That One Sense His Journey To Hintock Had Not Been In

Vain.

He Would Have Given Much To Win Grace'S Forgiveness Then.  But

Whatever He Dared hope For In that Kind From The Future,  There Was

Nothing to Be Done Yet,  While Giles Winterborne'S Memory Was

Green.  To Wait Was Imperative.  A Little Time Might Melt Her

Frozen Thoughts,  And Lead Her To Look On Him With Toleration,  If

Not With Love.

Weeks And Months Of Mourning for Winterborne Had Been Passed by

Grace In the Soothing monotony Of The Memorial Act To Which She

And Marty Had Devoted themselves.  Twice A Week The Pair Went In

The Dusk To Great Hintock,  And,  Like The Two Mourners In

Cymbeline,  Sweetened his Sad Grave With Their Flowers And Their

Tears.  Sometimes Grace Thought That It Was A Pity Neither One Of

Them Had Been His Wife For A Little While,  And Given The World A

Copy Of Him Who Was So Valuable In their Eyes.  Nothing ever Had

Brought Home To Her With Such Force As This Death How Little

Acquirements And Culture Weigh Beside Sterling personal Character.

While Her Simple Sorrow For His Loss Took A Softer Edge With The

Lapse Of The Autumn And Winter Seasons,  Her Self-Reproach At

Having had A Possible Hand In causing it Knew Little Abatement.

Little Occurred at Hintock During these Months Of The Fall And

Decay Of The Leaf.  Discussion Of The Almost Contemporaneous Death

Of Mrs. Charmond Abroad Had Waxed and Waned.  Fitzpiers Had Had A

Marvellous Escape From Being dragged into The Inquiry Which

Followed it,  Through The Accident Of Their Having parted just

Before Under The Influence Of Marty South'S Letter--The Tiny

Instrument Of A Cause Deep In nature.

Her Body Was Not Brought Home.  It Seemed to Accord Well With The

Fitful Fever Of That Impassioned woman'S Life That She Should Not

Have Found A Native Grave.  She Had Enjoyed but A Life-Interest In

The Estate,  Which,  After Her Death,  Passed to A Relative Of Her

Husband'S--One Who Knew Not Felice,  One Whose Purpose Seemed to Be

To Blot Out Every