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

"I Can'T Say I'Ve Noticed it Particular Much," Said The Hollow-

Turner,  Blandly.

"Well," Continued upjohn,  Not Disconcerted,  "She Has.  All Women

Under The Sun Be Prettier One Side Than T'Other.  And,  As I Was

Saying,  The Pains She Would Take To Make Me Walk On The Pretty

Side Were Unending! I Warrant That Whether We Were Going with The

Sun Or Against The Sun,  Uphill Or Downhill,  In wind Or In lewth,

That Wart Of Hers Was Always Towards The Hedge,  And That Dimple

Towards Me.  There Was I,  Too Simple To See Her Wheelings And

Turnings; And She So Artful,  Though Two Years Younger,  That She

Could Lead Me With A Cotton Thread,  Like A Blind Ram; For That Was

In The Third Climate Of Our Courtship.  No; I Don'T Think The

Women Have Got Cleverer,  For They Was Never Otherwise."

"How Many Climates May There Be In courtship,  Mr. Upjohn?"

Inquired a Youth--The Same Who Had Assisted at Winterborne'S

Christmas Party.

"Five--From The Coolest To The Hottest--Leastwise There Was Five

In Mine."

"Can Ye Give Us The Chronicle Of 'Em,  Mr. Upjohn?"

"Yes--I Could.  I Could Certainly.  But 'Tis Quite Unnecessary.

They'Ll Come To Ye By Nater,  Young Man,  Too Soon For Your Good."

"At Present Mrs. Fitzpiers Can Lead The Doctor As Your Mis'Ess

Could Lead You," The Hollow-Turner Remarked.  "She'S Got Him Quite

Tame.  But How Long 'Twill Last I Can'T Say.  I Happened to Be

Setting a Wire On The Top Of My Garden One Night When He Met Her

On The Other Side Of The Hedge; And The Way She Queened it,  And

Fenced,  And Kept That Poor Feller At A Distance,  Was Enough To

Freeze Yer Blood.  I Should Never Have Supposed it Of Such A

Girl."

Melbury Now Returned to The Room,  And The Men Having declared

Themselves Refreshed,  They All Started on The Homeward Journey,

Which Was By No Means Cheerless Under The Rays Of The High Moon.

Having to Walk The Whole Distance They Came By A Foot-Path Rather

Shorter Than The Highway,  Though Difficult Except To Those Who

Knew The Country Well.  This Brought Them By Way Of Great Hintock;

And Passing the Church-Yard They Observed,  As They Talked,  A

Motionless Figure Standing by The Gate.

"I Think It Was Marty South," Said The Hollow-Turner,

Parenthetically.

"I Think 'Twas; 'A Was Always A Lonely Maid," Said Upjohn.  And

They Passed on Homeward,  And Thought Of The Matter No More.

It Was Marty,  As They Had Supposed.  That Evening had Been The

Particular One Of The Week Upon Which Grace And Herself Had Been

Accustomed to Privately Deposit Flowers On Giles'S Grave,  And This

Was The First Occasion Since His Death,  Eight Months Earlier,  On

Which Grace Had Failed to Keep Her Appointment.  Marty Had Waited

In The Road Just Outside Little Hintock,  Where Her Fellow-Pilgrim

Had Been Wont To Join Her,  Till She Was Weary; And At Last,

Thinking that Grace Had Missed her And Gone On Alone,  She Followed

The Way To Great Hintock,  But Saw No Grace In front Of Her.  It

Got Later,  And Marty Continued her Walk Till She Reached the

Church-Yard Gate; But Still No Grace.  Yet Her Sense Of

Comradeship Would Not Allow Her To Go On To The Grave Alone,  And

Still Thinking the Delay Had Been Unavoidable,  She Stood There

With Her Little Basket Of Flowers In her Clasped hands,  And Her

Feet Chilled by The Damp Ground,  Till More Than Two Hours Had

Passed.

She Then Heard The Footsteps Of Melbury'S Men,  Who Presently

Passed on Their Return From The Search.  In the Silence Of The

Night Marty Could Not Help Hearing fragments Of Their

Conversation,  From Which She Acquired a General Idea Of What Had

Occurred,  And Where Mrs. Fitzpiers Then Was.

Immediately They Had Dropped down The Hill She Entered the Church-

Yard,  Going to A Secluded corner Behind The Bushes,  Where Rose The

Unadorned stone That Marked the Last Bed of Giles Winterborne.  As

This Solitary And Silent Girl Stood There In the Moonlight,  A

Straight Slim Figure,  Clothed in a Plaitless Gown,  The Contours Of

Womanhood So Undeveloped as To Be Scarcely Perceptible,  The Marks

Of Poverty And Toil Effaced by The Misty Hour,  She Touched

Sublimity At Points,  And Looked almost Like A Being who Had

Rejected with Indifference The Attribute Of Sex For The Loftier

Quality Of Abstract Humanism.  She Stooped down And Cleared away

The Withered flowers That Grace And Herself Had Laid There The

Previous Week,  And Put Her Fresh Ones In their Place.

"Now,  My Own,  Own Love," She Whispered,  "You Are Mine,  And On'Y

Mine; For She Has Forgot 'Ee At Last,  Although For Her You Died.

But I--Whenever I Get Up I'Ll Think Of 'Ee,  And Whenever I Lie

Down I'Ll Think Of 'Ee.  Whenever I Plant The Young Larches I'Ll

Think That None Can Plant As You Planted; And Whenever I Split A

Gad,  And Whenever I Turn The Cider-Wring,  I'Ll Say None Could Do

It Like You.  If Ever I Forget Your Name,  Let Me Forget Home And

Heaven!--But No,  No,  My Love,  I Never Can Forget 'Ee; For You Was

A Good Man,  And Did Good Things!"

Publication Date: 05-20-2014

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