Chapter: <CHAPTER>
3--How a Little Sound Produced a Great Dream


Eustacia stood just within the heath, straining her eyes in the
direction of Mrs. Yeobright's house and premises. No light, sound, or
movement was perceptible there. The evening was chilly; the spot was
dark and lonely. She inferred that the guest had not yet come; and after
lingering ten or fifteen minutes she turned again towards home.

She had not far retraced her steps when sounds in front of her betokened
the approach of persons in conversation along the same path. Soon their
heads became visible against the sky. They were walking slowly; and
though it was too dark for much discovery of character from aspect, the
gait of them showed that they were not workers on the heath. Eustacia
stepped a little out of the foot-track to let them pass. They were
two women and a man; and the voices of the women were those of Mrs.
Yeobright and Thomasin.

They went by her, and at the moment of passing appeared to discern her
dusky form. There came to her ears in a masculine voice, "Good night!"

She murmured a reply, glided by them, and turned round. She could not,
for a moment, believe that chance, unrequested, had brought into her
presence the soul of the house she had gone to inspect, the man without
whom her inspection would not have been thought of.

She strained her eyes to see them, but was unable. Such was her
intentness, however, that it seemed as if her ears were performing the
functions of seeing as well as hearing. This extension of power can
almost be believed in at such moments. The deaf Dr. Kitto was probably
under the influence of a parallel fancy when he described his body as
having become, by long endeavour, so sensitive to vibrations that he had
gained the power of perceiving by it as by ears.

She could follow every word that the ramblers uttered. They were talking
no secrets. They were merely indulging in the ordinary vivacious chat of
relatives who have long been parted in person though not in soul. But
it was not to the words that Eustacia listened; she could not even
have recalled, a few minutes later, what the words were. It was to the
alternating voice that gave out about one-tenth of them--the voice that
had wished her good night. Sometimes this throat uttered Yes, sometimes
it uttered No; sometimes it made inquiries about a time worn denizen
of the place. Once it surprised her notions by remarking upon the
friendliness and geniality written in the faces of the hills around.

The three voices passed on, and decayed and died out upon her ear. Thus
much had been granted her; and all besides withheld. No event could have
been more exciting. During the greater part of the afternoon she had
been entrancing herself by imagining the fascination which must attend
a man come direct from beautiful Paris--laden with its atmosphere,
familiar with its charms. And this man had greeted her.

With the departure of the figures the profuse articulations of the women
wasted away from her memory; but the accents of the other stayed on.
Was there anything in the voice of Mrs. Yeobright's son--for Clym
it was--startling as a sound? No; it was simply comprehensive. All
emotional things were possible to the speaker of that "good night."
Eustacia's imagination supplied the rest--except the solution to one
riddle. What COULD the tastes of that man be who saw friendliness and
geniality in these shaggy hills?

On such occasions as this a thousand ideas pass through a highly charged
woman's head; and they indicate themselves on her face; but the changes,
though actual, are minute. Eustacia's features went through a rhythmical
succession of them. She glowed; remembering the mendacity of the
imagination, she flagged; then she freshened; then she fired; then she
cooled again. It was a cycle of aspects, produced by a cycle of visions.

Eustacia entered her own house; she was excited. Her grandfather was
enjoying himself over the fire, raking about the ashes and exposing the
red-hot surface of the turves, so that their lurid glare irradiated the
chimney-corner with the hues of a furnace.

"Why is it that we are never friendly with the Yeobrights?" she said,
coming forward and stretching her soft hands over the warmth. "I wish we
were. They seem to be very nice people."

"Be hanged if I know why," said the captain. "I liked the old man well
enough, though he was as rough as a hedge. But you would never have
cared to go there, even if you might have, I am well sure."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Your town tastes would find them far too countrified. They sit in the
kitchen, drink mead and elder-wine, and sand the floor to keep it clean.
A sensible way of life; but how would you like it?"

"I thought Mrs. Yeobright was a ladylike woman? A curate's daughter, was
she not?"

"Yes; but she was obliged to live as her husband did; and I suppose
she has taken kindly to it by this time. Ah, I recollect that I once
accidentally offended her, and I have never seen her since."

That night was an eventful one to Eustacia's brain, and one which she
hardly ever forgot. She dreamt a dream; and few human beings, from
Nebuchadnezzar to the Swaffham tinker, ever dreamt a more remarkable
one. Such an elaborately developed, perplexing, exciting dream was
certainly never dreamed by a girl in Eustacia's situation before. It had
as many ramifications as the Cretan labyrinth, as many fluctuations as
the northern lights, as much colour as a parterre in June, and was as
crowded with figures as a coronation. To Queen Scheherazade the dream
might have seemed not far removed from commonplace; and to a girl just
returned from all the courts of Europe it might have seemed not more
than interesting. But amid the circumstances of Eustacia's life it was
as wonderful as a dream could be.

There was, however, gradually evolved from its transformation scenes a
less extravagant episode, in which the heath dimly appeared behind the
general brilliancy of the action. She was dancing to wondrous music, and
her partner was the man in silver armour who had accompanied her through
the previous fantastic changes, the visor of his helmet being closed.
The mazes of the dance were ecstatic. Soft whispering came into her ear
from under the radiant helmet, and she felt like a woman in Paradise.
Suddenly these two wheeled out from the mass of dancers, dived into one
of the pools of the heath, and came out somewhere into an iridescent
hollow, arched with rainbows. "It must be here," said the voice by her
side, and blushingly looking up she saw him removing his casque to kiss
her. At that moment there was a cracking noise, and his figure fell into
fragments like a pack of cards.

She cried aloud. "O that I had seen his face!"

Eustacia awoke. The cracking had been that of the window shutter
downstairs, which the maid-servant was opening to let in the day, now
slowly increasing to Nature's meagre allowance at this sickly time of
the year. "O that I had seen his face!" she said again. "'Twas meant for
Mr. Yeobright!"

When she became cooler she perceived that many of the phases of the
dream had naturally arisen out of the images and fancies of the day
before. But this detracted little from its interest, which lay in the
excellent fuel it provided for newly kindled fervour. She was at the
modulating point between indifference and love, at the stage called
"having a fancy for." It occurs once in the history of the most gigantic
passions, and it is a period when they are in the hands of the weakest
will.

The perfervid woman was by this time half in love with a vision. The
fantastic nature of her passion, which lowered her as an intellect,
raised her as a soul. If she had had a little more self-control she
would have attenuated the emotion to nothing by sheer reasoning, and so
have killed it off. If she had had a little less pride she might have
gone and circumambulated the Yeobrights' premises at Blooms-End at any
maidenly sacrifice until she had seen him. But Eustacia did neither of
these things. She acted as the most exemplary might have acted, being
so influenced; she took an airing twice or thrice a day upon the Egdon
hills, and kept her eyes employed.

The first occasion passed, and he did not come that way.

She promenaded a second time, and was again the sole wanderer there.

The third time there was a dense fog; she looked around, but without
much hope. Even if he had been walking within twenty yards of her she
could not have seen him.

At the fourth attempt to encounter him it began to rain in torrents, and
she turned back.

The fifth sally was in the afternoon; it was fine, and she remained out
long, walking to the very top of the valley in which Blooms-End lay. She
saw the white paling about half a mile off; but he did not appear. It
was almost with heart-sickness that she came home and with a sense of
shame at her weakness. She resolved to look for the man from Paris no
more.

But Providence is nothing if not coquettish; and no sooner had Eustacia
formed this resolve than the opportunity came which, while sought, had
been entirely withholden.


</CHAPTER>

 Eustacia goes a bit Lifetime movie on us and decides to stake out the Yeobright house. The house is dark so she's about to give up and head home. But as she starts back, she hears voices - it's the Yeobrights. The Yeobrights greet Eustacia, and she murmurs a reply. She doesn't get a look at Clym's face, but she does hear his voice. "She strained her eyes to see them, but was unable. Such was her intentness, however, that it seemed as if her ears were performing the functions of seeing as well as hearing" . Eustacia slows and listens to the Yeobrights chat as they walk away. Given how dull the heath is, Eustacia decides that this little incident is the most exciting thing ever. Going off of Clym's voice and her ideas of Paris, Eustacia constructs a fantastic imaginary boyfriend and spends the rest of her evening daydreaming about Clym. When she arrives home she gives her imagination a brief rest and asks her grandfather why they aren't best buds with the Yeobrights. Her grandfather isn't sure. He liked Mr. Yeobright well enough, but he says that Eustacia wouldn't be fond of the family since they are too "countrified" . Yes, he totally said that. Though it's not to be confused with "country-fried," like a KFC commercial. We learn from grandpa that Mrs. Yeobright used to be something of a "lady," but she married a farmer and was obliged to live as a farmer's wife, a step down on the social ladder from where she began. Eustacia goes to bed and has a fantastic dream about dancing with a knight in shining armor, literally. But just as he goes to take off his helmet, she wakes up. She's depressed that she wasn't able to see Clym's face the night before. We think that dancing with a masked knight is a bit creepy, but Eustacia seemed to like her dream, at any rate. If you thought Eustacia's imagination would finally cool it, think again. She spends the next few days daydreaming and obsessing over Clym. She even starts parading around on the heath hoping that she will run into him magically. After a number of trips outside, Eustacia finally gives up, feeing a bit embarrassed. But apparently "Providence" has something in store for her. Foreshadowing!

