LITMIR.BIZ

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it has been like living under stagnant water.”

      “I would rather bear tediousness, dear, than have time made short by such means as have shortened mine.”

      “In what way is that? You have been thinking you wished you did not love me.”

      “How can a man wish that, and yet love on? No, Eustacia.”

      “Men can, women cannot.”

      “Well, whatever I may have thought, one thing is certain — I do love you — past all compass and description. I love you to oppressiveness — I, who have never before felt more than a pleasant passing fancy for any woman I have ever seen. Let me look right into your moonlit face and dwell on every line and curve in it! Only a few hairbreadths make the difference between this face and faces I have seen many times before I knew you; yet what a difference — the difference between everything and nothing at all. One touch on that mouth again! there, and there, and there. Your eyes seem heavy, Eustacia.”

      “No, it is my general way of looking. I think it arises from my feeling sometimes an agonizing pity for myself that I ever was born.”

      “You don’t feel it now?”

      “No. Yet I know that we shall not love like this always. Nothing can ensure the continuance of love. It will evaporate like a spirit, and so I feel full of fears.”

      “You need not.”

      “Ah, you don’t know. You have seen more than I, and have been into cities and among people that I have only heard of, and have lived more years than I; but yet I am older at this than you. I loved another man once, and now I love you.”

      “In God’s mercy don’t talk so, Eustacia!”

      “But I do not think I shall be the one who wearies first. It will, I fear, end in this way: your mother will find out that you meet me, and she will influence you against me!”

      “That can never be. She knows of these meetings already.”

      “And she speaks against me?”

      “I will not say.”

      “There, go away! Obey her. I shall ruin you. It is foolish of you to meet me like this. Kiss me, and go away forever. Forever — do you hear? — forever!”

      “Not I.”

      “It is your only chance. Many a man’s love has been a curse to him.”

      “You are desperate, full of fancies, and wilful; and you misunderstand. I have an additional reason for seeing you tonight besides love of you. For though, unlike you, I feel our affection may be eternal. I feel with you in this, that our present mode of existence cannot last.”

      “Oh! ’tis your mother. Yes, that’s it! I knew it.”

      “Never mind what it is. Believe this, I cannot let myself lose you. I must have you always with me. This very evening I do not like to let you go. There is only one cure for this anxiety, dearest — you must be my wife.”

      She started — then endeavoured to say calmly, “Cynics say that cures the anxiety by curing the love.”

      “But you must answer me. Shall I claim you some day — I don’t mean at once?”

      “I must think,” Eustacia murmured. “At present speak of Paris to me. Is there any place like it on earth?”

      “It is very beautiful. But will you be mine?”

      “I will be nobody else’s in the world — does that satisfy you?”

      “Yes, for the present.”

      “Now tell me of the Tuileries, and the Louvre,” she continued evasively.

      “I hate talking of Paris! Well, I remember one sunny room in the Louvre which would make a fitting place for you to live in — the Galerie d’Apollon. Its windows are mainly east; and in the early morning, when the sun is bright, the whole apartment is in a perfect blaze of splendour. The rays bristle and dart from the encrustations of gilding to the magnificent inlaid coffers, from the coffers to the gold and silver plate, from the plate to the jewels and precious stones, from these to the enamels, till there is a perfect network of light which quite dazzles the eye. But now, about our marriage ——”

      “And Versailles — the King’s Gallery is some such gorgeous room, is it not?”

      “Yes. But what’s the use of talking of gorgeous rooms? By the way, the Little Trianon would suit us beautifully to live in, and you might walk in the gardens in the moonlight and think you were in some English shrubbery; It is laid out in English fashion.”

      “I should hate to think that!”

      “Then you could keep to the lawn in front of the Grand Palace. All about there you would doubtless feel in a world of historical romance.”

      He went on, since it was all new to her, and described Fontainebleau, St. Cloud, the Bois, and many other familiar haunts of the Parisians; till she said —

      “When used you to go to these places?”

      “On Sundays.”

      “Ah, yes. I dislike English Sundays. How I should chime in with their manners over there! Dear Clym, you’ll go back again?”

      Clym shook his head, and looked at the eclipse.

      “If you’ll go back again I’ll — be something,” she said tenderly, putting her head near his breast. “If you’ll agree I’ll give my promise, without making you wait a minute longer.”

      “How extraordinary that you and my mother should be of one mind about this!” said Yeobright. “I have vowed not to go back, Eustacia. It is not the place I dislike; it is the occupation.”

      “But you can go in some other capacity.”

      “No. Besides, it would interfere with my scheme. Don’t press that, Eustacia. Will you marry me?”

      “I cannot tell.”

      “Now — never mind Paris; it is no better than other spots. Promise, sweet!”

      “You will never adhere to your education plan, I am quite sure; and then it will be all right for me; and so I promise to be yours for ever and ever.”

      Clym brought her face towards his by a gentle pressure of the hand, and kissed her.

      “Ah! but you don’t know what you have got in me,” she said. “Sometimes I think there is not that in Eustacia Vye which will make a good homespun wife. Well, let it go — see how our time is slipping, slipping, slipping!” She pointed towards the half-eclipsed moon.

      “You are too mournful.”

      “No. Only I dread to think of anything beyond the present. What is, we know. We are together now, and it is unknown how long we shall be so; the unknown always fills my mind with terrible possibilities, even when I may reasonably expect it to be cheerful. . . . Clym, the eclipsed moonlight shines upon your face with a strange foreign colour, and shows its shape as if it were cut out in gold. That means that you should be doing better things than this.”

      “You are ambitious, Eustacia — no, not exactly ambitious, luxurious. I ought to be of the same vein, to make you happy, I suppose. And yet, far from that, I could live and die in a hermitage here, with proper work to do.”

      There was that in his tone which implied distrust of his position as a solicitous lover, a doubt if he were acting fairly towards one whose tastes touched his own only at rare and infrequent points. She saw his meaning, and whispered, in a low, full accent of eager assurance “Don’t mistake me, Clym — though I should like Paris, I love you for yourself alone. To be your wife and live in Paris would be heaven to me; but I would rather live with you in a hermitage here than not be yours at all. It is gain to me either way, and very great gain. There’s my too candid confession.”

      “Spoken

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