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

Employment Now!"

"Do You Know Anything of Mrs. Charmond'S Past History? Perhaps

That Would Throw Some Light Upon Things.  Pefore She Came Here As

The Wife Of Old Charmond Four Or Five Years Ago,  Not A Soul Seems

To Have Heard Aught Of Her.  Why Not Make Inquiries? And Then Do

Ye Wait And See More; There'Ll Be Plenty Of Opportnnity.  Time

Enough To Cry When You Know 'Tis A Crying matter; And 'Tis Bad To

Meet Troubles Half-Way."

There Was Some Good-Sense In the Notion Of Seeing further.

Melbury Resolved to Inquire And Wait,  Hoping still,  Hut Oppressed

Between-Whiles With Much Fear.

Examine Grace As Her Father Might,  She Would Admit Nothing.  For

The Present,  Therefore,  He Simply Watched.

The Suspicion That His Darling child Was Being slighted wrought

Almost A Miraculous Change In melbury'S Nature.  No Man So Furtive

For The Time As The Ingenuous Countryman Who Finds That His

Ingenuousness Has Been Abused.  Melbury'S Heretofore Confidential

Candor Towards His Gentlemanly Son-In-Law Was Displaced by A

Feline Stealth That Did Injnry To His Every Action,  Thought,  And

Mood.  He Knew That A Woman Once Given To A Man For Life Took,  As

A Rule,  Her Lot As It Came And Made The Best Of It,  Without

External Interference; But For The First Time He Asked himself Why

This So Generally Should Be So.  Moreover,  This Case Was Not,  He

Argued,  Like Ordinary Cases.  Leaving out The Question Of Grace

Being anything but An Ordinary Woman,  Her Peculiar Situation,  As

It Were In mid-Air Between Two Planes Of Society,  Together With

The Loneliness Of Hintock,  Made A Husband'S Neglect A Far More

Tragical Matter To Her Than It Would Be To One Who Had A Large

Circle Of Friends To Fall Back Upon.  Wisely Or Unwisely,  And

Whatever Other Fathers Did,  He Resolved to Fight His Daughter'S

Battle Still.

Mrs. Charmond Had Returned.  But Hintock House Scarcely Gave Forth

Signs Of Life,  So Quietly Had She Reentered it.  He Went To Church

At Great Hintock One Afternoon As Usual,  There Being no Service At

The Smaller Village.  A Few Minutes Before His Departure,  He Had

Casually Heard Fitzpiers,  Who Was No Church-Goer,  Tell His Wife

That He Was Going to Walk In the Wood.  Melbury Entered the

Building and Sat Down In his Pew; The Parson Came In,  Then Mrs.

Charmond,  Then Mr. Fitzpiers.

The Service Proceeded,  And The Jealons Father Was Quite Sure That

A Mutual Consciousness Was Uninterruptedly Maintained between

Those Two; He Fancied that More Than Once Their Eyes Met.  At The

End,  Fitzpiers So Timed his Movement Into The Aisle That It

Exactly Coincided with Felice Charmond'S From The Opposite Side,

And They Walked out With Their Garments In contact,  The Surgeon

Being just That Two Or Three Inches In her Rear Which Made It

Convenient For His Eyes To Rest Upon Her Cheek.  The Cheek Warmed

Up To A Richer Tone.

This Was A Worse Feature In the Flirtation Than He Had Expected.

If She Had Been Playing with Him In an Idle Freak The Game Might

Soon Have Wearied her; But The Smallest Germ Of Passion--And Women

Of The World Do Not Change Color For Nothing--Was A Threatening

Development.  The Mere Presence Of Fitzpiers In the Building,

After His Statement,  Was Wellnigh Conclusive As Far As He Was

Concerned; But Melbury Resolved yet To Watch.

He Had To Wait Long.  Autumn Drew Shiveringly To Its End.  One Day

Something seemed to Be Gone From The Gardens; The Tenderer Leaves

Of Vegetables Had Shrunk Under The First Smart Frost,  And Hung

Like Faded linen Rags; Then The Forest Leaves,  Which Had Been

Descending at Leisure,  Descended in haste And In multitudes,  And

All The Golden Colors That Had Hung Overhead Were Now Crowded

Together In a Degraded mass Underfoot,  Where The Fallen Myriads

Got Redder And Hornier,  And Curled themselves Up To Rot.  The Only

Suspicious Features In mrs. Charmond'S Existence At This Season

Were Two: The First,  That She Lived with No Companion Or Relative

About Her,  Which,  Considering her Age And Attractions,  Was

Somewhat Unusual Conduct For A Young Widow In a Lonely Country-

House; The Other,  That She Did Not,  As In previous Years,  Start

From Hintock To Winter Abroad.  In fitzpiers,  The Only Change From

His Last Autnmn'S Habits Lay In his Abandonment Of Night Study--

His Lamp Never Shone From His New Dwelling as From His Old.

If The Suspected ones Met,  It Was By Such Adroit Contrivances That

Even Melbury'S Vigilance Could Not Encounter Them Together.  A

Simple Call At Her House By The Doctor Had Nothing irregular About

It,  And That He Had Paid Two Or Three Such Calls Was Certain.

What Had Passed at Those Interviews Was Known Only To The Parties

Themselves; But That Felice Charmond Was Under Some One'S

Influence Melbury Soon Had Opportunity Of Perceiving.

Winter Had Come On.  Owls Began To Be Noisy In the Mornings And

Evenings,  And Flocks Of Wood-Pigeons Made Themselves Prominent

Again.  One Day In february,  About Six Months After The Marriage

Of Fitzpiers,  Melbury Was Returning from Great Hintock On Foot

Through The Lane,  When He Saw Before Him The Surgeon Also Walking.

Melbury Would Have Overtaken Him,  But At That Moment Fitzpiers

Turned in through A Gate To One Of The Rambling drives Among The

Trees At This Side Of The Wood,  Which Led to Nowhere In

Particular,  And The Beauty Of Whose Serpentine Curves Was The Only

Justification Of Their Existence.  Felice Almost Simultaneously

Trotted down The Lane Towards The Timber-Dealer,  In a Little

Basket-Carriage Which She Sometimes Drove About The Estate, 

Unaccompanied by A Servant.  She Turned in at The Same Place

Without Having seen Either Melbury Or Apparently Fitzpiers.

Melbury Was Soon At The Spot,  Despite His Aches And His Sixty

Years.  Mrs. Charmond Had Come Up With The Doctor,  Who Was

Standing immediately Behind The Carriage.  She Had Turned to Him,

Her Arm Being thrown Carelessly Over The Back Of The Seat.  They

Looked in each Other'S Faces Without Uttering a Word,  An Arch Yet

Gloomy Smile Wreathing her Lips.  Fitzpiers Clasped her Hanging

Hand,  And,  While She Still Remained in the Same Listless Attitude,

Looking volumes Into His Eyes,  He Stealthily Unbuttoned her Glove,

And Stripped her Hand Of It By Rolling back The Gauntlet Over The

Fingers,  So That It Came Off Inside Out.  He Then Raised her Hand

To His Month,  She Still Reclining passively,  Watching him As She

Might Have Watched a Fly Upon Her Dress.  At Last She Said,  "Well,

Sir,  What Excuse For This Disobedience?"

"I Make None."

"Then Go Your Way,  And Let Me Go Mine." She Snatched away Her

Hand,  Touched the Pony With The Whip,  And Left Him Standing there,

Holding the Reversed glove.

Melbury'S First Impulse Was To Reveal His Presence To Fitzpiers,

And Upbraid Him Bitterly.  But A Moment'S Thought Was Sufficient

To Show Him The Futility Of Any Such Simple Proceeding.  There Was

Not,  After All,  So Much In what He Had Witnessed as In what That

Scene Might Be The Surface And Froth Of--Probably A State Of Mind

On Which Censure Operates As An Aggravation Rather Than As A Cure.

Moreover,  He Said To Himself That The Point Of Attack Should Be

The Woman,  If Either.  He Therefore Kept Out Of Sight,  And Musing

Sadly,  Even Tearfully--For He Was Meek As A Child In matters

Concerning his Daughter--Continued his Way Towards Hintock.

The Insight Which Is Bred of Deep Sympathy Was Never More Finely

Exemplified than In this Instance.  Through Her Guarded manner,

Her Dignified speech,  Her Placid Countenance,  He Discerned the

Interior Of Grace'S Life Only Too Truly,  Hidden As Were Its

Incidents From Every Outer Eye.

These Incidents Had Become Painful Enough.  Fitzpiers Had Latterly

Developed an Irritable Discontent Which Vented itself In

Monologues When Grace Was Present To Hear Them.  The Early Morning

Of This Day Had Been Dull,  After A Night Of Wind,  And On Looking

Out Of The Window Fitzpiers Had Observed some Of Melbury'S Men

Dragging away A Large Limb Which Had Been Snapped off A Beech-

Tree.  Everything was Cold And Colorless.

"My Good Heaven!" He Said,  As He Stood In his Dressing-Gown.

"This Is Life!" He Did Not Know Whether Grace Was Awake Or Not,

And He Would Not Turn His Head To Ascertain.  "Ah,  Fool," He Went

On To Himself,  "To Clip Your Own Wings When You Were Free To

Soar!...But I Could Not Rest Till I Had Done It.  Why Do I Never

Recognize An Opportunity Till I Have Missed it,  Nor The Good Or

Ill Of A Step Till It Is Irrevocable!...I Fell In love....Love,

Indeed!--

    "'Love'S But The Frailty Of The Mind

      When 'Tis Not With Ambition Joined;

      A Sickly Flame Which If Not Fed,  Expires,

      And Feeding,  Wastes In self-Consuming fires!'

Ah,  Old Author Of 'The Way Of The World,' You Knew--You Knew!"

Grace Moved.  He Thought She Had Heard Some Part Of His Soliloquy.

He Was Sorry--Though He Had Not Taken Any Precaution To Prevent

Her.

He Expected a Scene At Breakfast,  But She Only Exhibited an

Extreme Reserve.  It Was Enough,  However,  To Make Him Repent That

He Should Have Done Anything to Produce Discomfort; For He

Attributed her Manner Entirely To What He Had Said.  But Grace'S

Manner Had Not Its Cause Either In his Sayings Or In his Doings.

She Had Not Heard A Single Word Of His Regrets.  Something even

Nearer Home Than Her Husband'S Blighted prospects--If Blighted

They Were--Was The Origin Of Her Mood,  A Mood That Was The Mere

Continuation Of What Her Father Had Noticed when He Would Have

Preferred a Passionate Jealousy In her,  As The More Natural.

She Had Made A Discovery--One