Chapter: <CHAPTER>
7--The Morning and the Evening of a Day


The wedding morning came. Nobody would have imagined from appearances
that Blooms-End had any interest in Mistover that day. A solemn
stillness prevailed around the house of Clym's mother, and there was no
more animation indoors. Mrs. Yeobright, who had declined to attend the
ceremony, sat by the breakfast table in the old room which communicated
immediately with the porch, her eyes listlessly directed towards the
open door. It was the room in which, six months earlier, the merry
Christmas party had met, to which Eustacia came secretly and as a
stranger. The only living thing that entered now was a sparrow; and
seeing no movements to cause alarm, he hopped boldly round the
room, endeavoured to go out by the window, and fluttered among the
pot-flowers. This roused the lonely sitter, who got up, released the
bird, and went to the door. She was expecting Thomasin, who had written
the night before to state that the time had come when she would wish to
have the money and that she would if possible call this day.

Yet Thomasin occupied Mrs. Yeobright's thoughts but slightly as she
looked up the valley of the heath, alive with butterflies, and with
grasshoppers whose husky noises on every side formed a whispered chorus.
A domestic drama, for which the preparations were now being made a mile
or two off, was but little less vividly present to her eyes than if
enacted before her. She tried to dismiss the vision, and walked about
the garden plot; but her eyes ever and anon sought out the direction
of the parish church to which Mistover belonged, and her excited fancy
clove the hills which divided the building from her eyes. The morning
wore away. Eleven o'clock struck--could it be that the wedding was
then in progress? It must be so. She went on imagining the scene at
the church, which he had by this time approached with his bride. She
pictured the little group of children by the gate as the pony carriage
drove up in which, as Thomasin had learnt, they were going to perform
the short journey. Then she saw them enter and proceed to the chancel
and kneel; and the service seemed to go on.

She covered her face with her hands. "O, it is a mistake!" she groaned.
"And he will rue it some day, and think of me!"

While she remained thus, overcome by her forebodings, the old clock
indoors whizzed forth twelve strokes. Soon after, faint sounds floated
to her ear from afar over the hills. The breeze came from that quarter,
and it had brought with it the notes of distant bells, gaily starting
off in a peal: one, two, three, four, five. The ringers at East Egdon
were announcing the nuptials of Eustacia and her son.

"Then it is over," she murmured. "Well, well! and life too will be over
soon. And why should I go on scalding my face like this? Cry about one
thing in life, cry about all; one thread runs through the whole piece.
And yet we say, 'a time to laugh!'"

Towards evening Wildeve came. Since Thomasin's marriage Mrs. Yeobright
had shown him that grim friendliness which at last arises in all such
cases of undesired affinity. The vision of what ought to have been
is thrown aside in sheer weariness, and browbeaten human endeavour
listlessly makes the best of the fact that is. Wildeve, to do him
justice, had behaved very courteously to his wife's aunt; and it was
with no surprise that she saw him enter now.

"Thomasin has not been able to come, as she promised to do," he replied
to her inquiry, which had been anxious, for she knew that her niece was
badly in want of money. "The captain came down last night and
personally pressed her to join them today. So, not to be unpleasant,
she determined to go. They fetched her in the pony-chaise, and are
going to bring her back."

"Then it is done," said Mrs. Yeobright. "Have they gone to their new
home?"

"I don't know. I have had no news from Mistover since Thomasin left to
go."

"You did not go with her?" said she, as if there might be good reasons
why.

"I could not," said Wildeve, reddening slightly. "We could not both
leave the house; it was rather a busy morning, on account of Anglebury
Great Market. I believe you have something to give to Thomasin? If you
like, I will take it."

Mrs. Yeobright hesitated, and wondered if Wildeve knew what the
something was. "Did she tell you of this?" she inquired.

"Not particularly. She casually dropped a remark about having arranged
to fetch some article or other."

"It is hardly necessary to send it. She can have it whenever she chooses
to come."

"That won't be yet. In the present state of her health she must not go
on walking so much as she has done." He added, with a faint twang of
sarcasm, "What wonderful thing is it that I cannot be trusted to take?"

"Nothing worth troubling you with."

"One would think you doubted my honesty," he said, with a laugh, though
his colour rose in a quick resentfulness frequent with him.

"You need think no such thing," said she drily. "It is simply that I,
in common with the rest of the world, feel that there are certain things
which had better be done by certain people than by others."

"As you like, as you like," said Wildeve laconically. "It is not worth
arguing about. Well, I think I must turn homeward again, as the inn must
not be left long in charge of the lad and the maid only."

He went his way, his farewell being scarcely so courteous as his
greeting. But Mrs. Yeobright knew him thoroughly by this time, and took
little notice of his manner, good or bad.

When Wildeve was gone Mrs. Yeobright stood and considered what would be
the best course to adopt with regard to the guineas, which she had not
liked to entrust to Wildeve. It was hardly credible that Thomasin had
told him to ask for them, when the necessity for them had arisen
from the difficulty of obtaining money at his hands. At the same time
Thomasin really wanted them, and might be unable to come to Blooms-End
for another week at least. To take or send the money to her at the inn
would be impolite, since Wildeve would pretty surely be present, or
would discover the transaction; and if, as her aunt suspected, he
treated her less kindly than she deserved to be treated, he might
then get the whole sum out of her gentle hands. But on this particular
evening Thomasin was at Mistover, and anything might be conveyed to
her there without the knowledge of her husband. Upon the whole the
opportunity was worth taking advantage of.

Her son, too, was there, and was now married. There could be no more
proper moment to render him his share of the money than the present.
And the chance that would be afforded her, by sending him this gift,
of showing how far she was from bearing him ill-will, cheered the sad
mother's heart.

She went upstairs and took from a locked drawer a little box, out of
which she poured a hoard of broad unworn guineas that had lain there
many a year. There were a hundred in all, and she divided them into two
heaps, fifty in each. Tying up these in small canvas bags, she went down
to the garden and called to Christian Cantle, who was loitering about in
hope of a supper which was not really owed him. Mrs. Yeobright gave
him the moneybags, charged him to go to Mistover, and on no account
to deliver them into any one's hands save her son's and Thomasin's. On
further thought she deemed it advisable to tell Christian precisely
what the two bags contained, that he might be fully impressed with their
importance. Christian pocketed the moneybags, promised the greatest
carefulness, and set out on his way.

"You need not hurry," said Mrs. Yeobright. "It will be better not to get
there till after dusk, and then nobody will notice you. Come back here
to supper, if it is not too late."

It was nearly nine o'clock when he began to ascend the vale towards
Mistover; but the long days of summer being at their climax, the first
obscurity of evening had only just begun to tan the landscape. At
this point of his journey Christian heard voices, and found that they
proceeded from a company of men and women who were traversing a hollow
ahead of him, the tops only of their heads being visible.

He paused and thought of the money he carried. It was almost too early
even for Christian seriously to fear robbery; nevertheless he took
a precaution which ever since his boyhood he had adopted whenever he
carried more than two or three shillings upon his person--a precaution
somewhat like that of the owner of the Pitt Diamond when filled with
similar misgivings. He took off his boots, untied the guineas, and
emptied the contents of one little bag into the right boot, and of
the other into the left, spreading them as flatly as possible over the
bottom of each, which was really a spacious coffer by no means limited
to the size of the foot. Pulling them on again and lacing them to the
very top, he proceeded on his way, more easy in his head than under his
soles.

His path converged towards that of the noisy company, and on coming
nearer he found to his relief that they were several Egdon people whom
he knew very well, while with them walked Fairway, of Blooms-End.

"What! Christian going too?" said Fairway as soon as he recognized the
newcomer. "You've got no young woman nor wife to your name to gie a
gown-piece to, I'm sure."

"What d'ye mean?" said Christian.

"Why, the raffle. The one we go to every year. Going to the raffle as
well as ourselves?"

"Never knew a word o't. Is it like cudgel playing or other sportful
forms of bloodshed? I don't want to go, thank you, Mister Fairway, and
no offence."

"Christian don't know the fun o't, and 'twould be a fine sight for him,"
said a buxom woman. "There's no danger at all, Christian. Every man
puts in a shilling apiece, and one wins a gown-piece for his wife or
sweetheart if he's got one."

"Well, as that's not my fortune there's no meaning in it to me. But I
should like to see the fun, if there's nothing of the black art in it,
and if a man may look on without cost or getting into any dangerous
wrangle?"

"There will be no uproar at all," said Timothy. "Sure, Christian, if
you'd like to come we'll see there's no harm done."

"And no ba'dy gaieties, I suppose? You see, neighbours, if so, it
would be setting father a bad example, as he is so light moral'd. But
a gown-piece for a shilling, and no black art--'tis worth looking in to
see, and it wouldn't hinder me half an hour. Yes, I'll come, if you'll
step a little way towards Mistover with me afterwards, supposing night
should have closed in, and nobody else is going that way?"

One or two promised; and Christian, diverging from his direct path,
turned round to the right with his companions towards the Quiet Woman.

When they entered the large common room of the inn they found assembled
there about ten men from among the neighbouring population, and the
group was increased by the new contingent to double that number. Most of
them were sitting round the room in seats divided by wooden elbows like
those of crude cathedral stalls, which were carved with the initials of
many an illustrious drunkard of former times who had passed his days
and his nights between them, and now lay as an alcoholic cinder in the
nearest churchyard. Among the cups on the long table before the
sitters lay an open parcel of light drapery--the gown-piece, as it was
called--which was to be raffled for. Wildeve was standing with his back
to the fireplace smoking a cigar; and the promoter of the raffle, a
packman from a distant town, was expatiating upon the value of the
fabric as material for a summer dress.

"Now, gentlemen," he continued, as the newcomers drew up to the table,
"there's five have entered, and we want four more to make up the number.
I think, by the faces of those gentlemen who have just come in, that
they are shrewd enough to take advantage of this rare opportunity of
beautifying their ladies at a very trifling expense."

Fairway, Sam, and another placed their shillings on the table, and the
man turned to Christian.

"No, sir," said Christian, drawing back, with a quick gaze of misgiving.
"I am only a poor chap come to look on, an it please ye, sir. I don't
so much as know how you do it. If so be I was sure of getting it I would
put down the shilling; but I couldn't otherwise."

"I think you might almost be sure," said the pedlar. "In fact, now I
look into your face, even if I can't say you are sure to win, I can say
that I never saw anything look more like winning in my life."

"You'll anyhow have the same chance as the rest of us," said Sam.

"And the extra luck of being the last comer," said another.

"And I was born wi' a caul, and perhaps can be no more ruined than
drowned?" Christian added, beginning to give way.

Ultimately Christian laid down his shilling, the raffle began, and the
dice went round. When it came to Christian's turn he took the box with a
trembling hand, shook it fearfully, and threw a pair-royal. Three of the
others had thrown common low pairs, and all the rest mere points.

"The gentleman looked like winning, as I said," observed the chapman
blandly. "Take it, sir; the article is yours."

"Haw-haw-haw!" said Fairway. "I'm damned if this isn't the quarest start
that ever I knowed!"

"Mine?" asked Christian, with a vacant stare from his target eyes. "I--I
haven't got neither maid, wife, nor widder belonging to me at all, and
I'm afeard it will make me laughed at to ha'e it, Master Traveller. What
with being curious to join in I never thought of that! What shall I do
wi' a woman's clothes in MY bedroom, and not lose my decency!"

"Keep 'em, to be sure," said Fairway, "if it is only for luck. Perhaps
'twill tempt some woman that thy poor carcase had no power over when
standing empty-handed."

"Keep it, certainly," said Wildeve, who had idly watched the scene from
a distance.

The table was then cleared of the articles, and the men began to drink.

"Well, to be sure!" said Christian, half to himself. "To think I should
have been born so lucky as this, and not have found it out until now!
What curious creatures these dice be--powerful rulers of us all, and
yet at my command! I am sure I never need be afeared of anything after
this." He handled the dice fondly one by one. "Why, sir," he said in a
confidential whisper to Wildeve, who was near his left hand, "if I could
only use this power that's in me of multiplying money I might do some
good to a near relation of yours, seeing what I've got about me of
hers--eh?" He tapped one of his money-laden boots upon the floor.

"What do you mean?" said Wildeve.

"That's a secret. Well, I must be going now." He looked anxiously
towards Fairway.

"Where are you going?" Wildeve asked.

"To Mistover Knap. I have to see Mrs. Thomasin there--that's all."

"I am going there, too, to fetch Mrs. Wildeve. We can walk together."

Wildeve became lost in thought, and a look of inward illumination came
into his eyes. It was money for his wife that Mrs. Yeobright could not
trust him with. "Yet she could trust this fellow," he said to himself.
"Why doesn't that which belongs to the wife belong to the husband too?"

He called to the pot-boy to bring him his hat, and said, "Now,
Christian, I am ready."

"Mr. Wildeve," said Christian timidly, as he turned to leave the room,
"would you mind lending me them wonderful little things that carry my
luck inside 'em, that I might practise a bit by myself, you know?" He
looked wistfully at the dice and box lying on the mantlepiece.

"Certainly," said Wildeve carelessly. "They were only cut out by some
lad with his knife, and are worth nothing." And Christian went back and
privately pocketed them.

Wildeve opened the door and looked out. The night was warm and cloudy.
"By Gad! 'tis dark," he continued. "But I suppose we shall find our
way."

"If we should lose the path it might be awkward," said Christian. "A
lantern is the only shield that will make it safe for us."

"Let's have a lantern by all means." The stable lantern was fetched and
lighted. Christian took up his gownpiece, and the two set out to ascend
the hill.

Within the room the men fell into chat till their attention was for a
moment drawn to the chimney-corner. This was large, and, in addition
to its proper recess, contained within its jambs, like many on Egdon, a
receding seat, so that a person might sit there absolutely unobserved,
provided there was no fire to light him up, as was the case now and
throughout the summer. From the niche a single object protruded into the
light from the candles on the table. It was a clay pipe, and its colour
was reddish. The men had been attracted to this object by a voice behind
the pipe asking for a light.

"Upon my life, it fairly startled me when the man spoke!" said Fairway,
handing a candle. "Oh--'tis the reddleman! You've kept a quiet tongue,
young man."

"Yes, I had nothing to say," observed Venn. In a few minutes he arose
and wished the company good night.

Meanwhile Wildeve and Christian had plunged into the heath.

It was a stagnant, warm, and misty night, full of all the heavy perfumes
of new vegetation not yet dried by hot sun, and among these particularly
the scent of the fern. The lantern, dangling from Christian's hand,
brushed the feathery fronds in passing by, disturbing moths and other
winged insects, which flew out and alighted upon its horny panes.

"So you have money to carry to Mrs. Wildeve?" said Christian's
companion, after a silence. "Don't you think it very odd that it
shouldn't be given to me?"

"As man and wife be one flesh, 'twould have been all the same, I should
think," said Christian. "But my strict documents was, to give the money
into Mrs. Wildeve's hand--and 'tis well to do things right."

"No doubt," said Wildeve. Any person who had known the circumstances
might have perceived that Wildeve was mortified by the discovery that
the matter in transit was money, and not, as he had supposed when at
Blooms-End, some fancy nick-nack which only interested the two women
themselves. Mrs. Yeobright's refusal implied that his honour was not
considered to be of sufficiently good quality to make him a safer bearer
of his wife's property.

"How very warm it is tonight, Christian!" he said, panting, when they
were nearly under Rainbarrow. "Let us sit down for a few minutes, for
Heaven's sake."

Wildeve flung himself down on the soft ferns; and Christian, placing the
lantern and parcel on the ground, perched himself in a cramped position
hard by, his knees almost touching his chin. He presently thrust one
hand into his coat-pocket and began shaking it about.

"What are you rattling in there?" said Wildeve.

"Only the dice, sir," said Christian, quickly withdrawing his hand.
"What magical machines these little things be, Mr. Wildeve! 'Tis a
game I should never get tired of. Would you mind my taking 'em out and
looking at 'em for a minute, to see how they are made? I didn't like
to look close before the other men, for fear they should think it bad
manners in me." Christian took them out and examined them in the hollow
of his hand by the lantern light. "That these little things should carry
such luck, and such charm, and such a spell, and such power in 'em,
passes all I ever heard or zeed," he went on, with a fascinated gaze at
the dice, which, as is frequently the case in country places, were made
of wood, the points being burnt upon each face with the end of a wire.

"They are a great deal in a small compass, You think?"

"Yes. Do ye suppose they really be the devil's playthings, Mr. Wildeve?
If so, 'tis no good sign that I be such a lucky man."

"You ought to win some money, now that you've got them. Any woman would
marry you then. Now is your time, Christian, and I would recommend you
not to let it slip. Some men are born to luck, some are not. I belong to
the latter class."

"Did you ever know anybody who was born to it besides myself?"

"O yes. I once heard of an Italian, who sat down at a gaming table with
only a louis, (that's a foreign sovereign), in his pocket. He played on
for twenty-four hours, and won ten thousand pounds, stripping the
bank he had played against. Then there was another man who had lost a
thousand pounds, and went to the broker's next day to sell stock, that
he might pay the debt. The man to whom he owed the money went with him
in a hackney-coach; and to pass the time they tossed who should pay
the fare. The ruined man won, and the other was tempted to continue the
game, and they played all the way. When the coachman stopped he was told
to drive home again: the whole thousand pounds had been won back by the
man who was going to sell."

"Ha--ha--splendid!" exclaimed Christian. "Go on--go on!"

"Then there was a man of London, who was only a waiter at White's
clubhouse. He began playing first half-crown stakes, and then higher and
higher, till he became very rich, got an appointment in India, and rose
to be Governor of Madras. His daughter married a member of Parliament,
and the Bishop of Carlisle stood godfather to one of the children."

"Wonderful! wonderful!"

"And once there was a young man in America who gambled till he had lost
his last dollar. He staked his watch and chain, and lost as before;
staked his umbrella, lost again; staked his hat, lost again; staked his
coat and stood in his shirt-sleeves, lost again. Began taking off his
breeches, and then a looker-on gave him a trifle for his pluck. With
this he won. Won back his coat, won back his hat, won back his umbrella,
his watch, his money, and went out of the door a rich man."

"Oh, 'tis too good--it takes away my breath! Mr. Wildeve, I think I will
try another shilling with you, as I am one of that sort; no danger can
come o't, and you can afford to lose."

"Very well," said Wildeve, rising. Searching about with the lantern, he
found a large flat stone, which he placed between himself and Christian,
and sat down again. The lantern was opened to give more light, and it's
rays directed upon the stone. Christian put down a shilling, Wildeve
another, and each threw. Christian won. They played for two, Christian
won again.

"Let us try four," said Wildeve. They played for four. This time the
stakes were won by Wildeve.

"Ah, those little accidents will, of course, sometimes happen, to the
luckiest man," he observed.

"And now I have no more money!" explained Christian excitedly. "And yet,
if I could go on, I should get it back again, and more. I wish this was
mine." He struck his boot upon the ground, so that the guineas chinked
within.

"What! you have not put Mrs. Wildeve's money there?"

"Yes. 'Tis for safety. Is it any harm to raffle with a married lady's
money when, if I win, I shall only keep my winnings, and give her her
own all the same; and if t'other man wins, her money will go to the
lawful owner?"

"None at all."

Wildeve had been brooding ever since they started on the mean estimation
in which he was held by his wife's friends; and it cut his heart
severely. As the minutes passed he had gradually drifted into a
revengeful intention without knowing the precise moment of forming it.
This was to teach Mrs. Yeobright a lesson, as he considered it to be;
in other words, to show her if he could that her niece's husband was the
proper guardian of her niece's money.

"Well, here goes!" said Christian, beginning to unlace one boot. "I
shall dream of it nights and nights, I suppose; but I shall always swear
my flesh don't crawl when I think o't!"

He thrust his hand into the boot and withdrew one of poor Thomasin's
precious guineas, piping hot. Wildeve had already placed a sovereign on
the stone. The game was then resumed. Wildeve won first, and Christian
ventured another, winning himself this time. The game fluctuated, but
the average was in Wildeve's favour. Both men became so absorbed in
the game that they took no heed of anything but the pigmy objects
immediately beneath their eyes, the flat stone, the open lantern, the
dice, and the few illuminated fern-leaves which lay under the light,
were the whole world to them.

At length Christian lost rapidly; and presently, to his horror, the
whole fifty guineas belonging to Thomasin had been handed over to his
adversary.

"I don't care--I don't care!" he moaned, and desperately set about
untying his left boot to get at the other fifty. "The devil will toss me
into the flames on his three-pronged fork for this night's work, I know!
But perhaps I shall win yet, and then I'll get a wife to sit up with
me o' nights and I won't be afeard, I won't! Here's another for'ee, my
man!" He slapped another guinea down upon the stone, and the dice-box
was rattled again.

Time passed on. Wildeve began to be as excited as Christian himself.
When commencing the game his intention had been nothing further than
a bitter practical joke on Mrs. Yeobright. To win the money, fairly
or otherwise, and to hand it contemptuously to Thomasin in her aunt's
presence, had been the dim outline of his purpose. But men are drawn
from their intentions even in the course of carrying them out, and
it was extremely doubtful, by the time the twentieth guinea had been
reached, whether Wildeve was conscious of any other intention than that
of winning for his own personal benefit. Moreover, he was now no longer
gambling for his wife's money, but for Yeobright's; though of this fact
Christian, in his apprehensiveness, did not inform him till afterwards.

It was nearly eleven o'clock, when, with almost a shriek, Christian
placed Yeobright's last gleaming guinea upon the stone. In thirty
seconds it had gone the way of its companions.

Christian turned and flung himself on the ferns in a convulsion of
remorse, "O, what shall I do with my wretched self?" he groaned. "What
shall I do? Will any good Heaven hae mercy upon my wicked soul?"

"Do? Live on just the same."

"I won't live on just the same! I'll die! I say you are a--a----"

"A man sharper than my neighbour."

"Yes, a man sharper than my neighbour; a regular sharper!"

"Poor chips-in-porridge, you are very unmannerly."

"I don't know about that! And I say you be unmannerly! You've got money
that isn't your own. Half the guineas are poor Mr. Clym's."

"How's that?"

"Because I had to gie fifty of 'em to him. Mrs. Yeobright said so."

"Oh?... Well, 'twould have been more graceful of her to have given them
to his wife Eustacia. But they are in my hands now."

Christian pulled on his boots, and with heavy breathings, which could be
heard to some distance, dragged his limbs together, arose, and tottered
away out of sight. Wildeve set about shutting the lantern to return to
the house, for he deemed it too late to go to Mistover to meet his wife,
who was to be driven home in the captain's four-wheel. While he was
closing the little horn door a figure rose from behind a neighbouring
bush and came forward into the lantern light. It was the reddleman
approaching.


</CHAPTER>
<CHAPTER>
8--A New Force Disturbs the Current


Wildeve stared. Venn looked coolly towards Wildeve, and, without a word
being spoken, he deliberately sat himself down where Christian had been
seated, thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out a sovereign, and laid
it on the stone.

"You have been watching us from behind that bush?" said Wildeve.

The reddleman nodded. "Down with your stake," he said. "Or haven't you
pluck enough to go on?"

Now, gambling is a species of amusement which is much more easily begun
with full pockets than left off with the same; and though Wildeve in
a cooler temper might have prudently declined this invitation, the
excitement of his recent success carried him completely away. He placed
one of the guineas on a slab beside the reddleman's sovereign. "Mine is
a guinea," he said.

"A guinea that's not your own," said Venn sarcastically.

"It is my own," answered Wildeve haughtily. "It is my wife's, and what
is hers is mine."

"Very well; let's make a beginning." He shook the box, and threw eight,
ten, and nine; the three casts amounted to twenty-seven.

This encouraged Wildeve. He took the box; and his three casts amounted
to forty-five.

Down went another of the reddleman's sovereigns against his first one
which Wildeve laid. This time Wildeve threw fifty-one points, but no
pair. The reddleman looked grim, threw a raffle of aces, and pocketed
the stakes.

"Here you are again," said Wildeve contemptuously. "Double the stakes."
He laid two of Thomasin's guineas, and the reddleman his two pounds.
Venn won again. New stakes were laid on the stone, and the gamblers
proceeded as before.

Wildeve was a nervous and excitable man, and the game was beginning
to tell upon his temper. He writhed, fumed, shifted his seat, and the
beating of his heart was almost audible. Venn sat with lips impassively
closed and eyes reduced to a pair of unimportant twinkles; he scarcely
appeared to breathe. He might have been an Arab, or an automaton; he
would have been like a red sandstone statue but for the motion of his
arm with the dice-box.

The game fluctuated, now in favour of one, now in favour of the other,
without any great advantage on the side of either. Nearly twenty minutes
were passed thus. The light of the candle had by this time attracted
heath-flies, moths, and other winged creatures of night, which floated
round the lantern, flew into the flame, or beat about the faces of the
two players.

But neither of the men paid much attention to these things, their eyes
being concentrated upon the little flat stone, which to them was an
arena vast and important as a battlefield. By this time a change had
come over the game; the reddleman won continually. At length sixty
guineas--Thomasin's fifty, and ten of Clym's--had passed into his hands.
Wildeve was reckless, frantic, exasperated.

"'Won back his coat,'" said Venn slily.

Another throw, and the money went the same way.

"'Won back his hat,'" continued Venn.

"Oh, oh!" said Wildeve.

"'Won back his watch, won back his money, and went out of the door a
rich man,'" added Venn sentence by sentence, as stake after stake passed
over to him.

"Five more!" shouted Wildeve, dashing down the money. "And three casts
be hanged--one shall decide."

The red automaton opposite lapsed into silence, nodded, and followed
his example. Wildeve rattled the box, and threw a pair of sixes and five
points. He clapped his hands; "I have done it this time--hurrah!"

"There are two playing, and only one has thrown," said the reddleman,
quietly bringing down the box. The eyes of each were then so intently
converged upon the stone that one could fancy their beams were visible,
like rays in a fog.

Venn lifted the box, and behold a triplet of sixes was disclosed.

Wildeve was full of fury. While the reddleman was grasping the stakes
Wildeve seized the dice and hurled them, box and all, into the darkness,
uttering a fearful imprecation. Then he arose and began stamping up and
down like a madman.

"It is all over, then?" said Venn.

"No, no!" cried Wildeve. "I mean to have another chance yet. I must!"

"But, my good man, what have you done with the dice?"

"I threw them away--it was a momentary irritation. What a fool I am!
Here--come and help me to look for them--we must find them again."

Wildeve snatched up the lantern and began anxiously prowling among the
furze and fern.

"You are not likely to find them there," said Venn, following. "What did
you do such a crazy thing as that for? Here's the box. The dice can't be
far off."

Wildeve turned the light eagerly upon the spot where Venn had found
the box, and mauled the herbage right and left. In the course of a few
minutes one of the dice was found. They searched on for some time, but
no other was to be seen.

"Never mind," said Wildeve; "let's play with one."

"Agreed," said Venn.

Down they sat again, and recommenced with single guinea stakes; and the
play went on smartly. But Fortune had unmistakably fallen in love
with the reddleman tonight. He won steadily, till he was the owner of
fourteen more of the gold pieces. Seventy-nine of the hundred guineas
were his, Wildeve possessing only twenty-one. The aspect of the two
opponents was now singular. Apart from motions, a complete diorama
of the fluctuations of the game went on in their eyes. A diminutive
candle-flame was mirrored in each pupil, and it would have been possible
to distinguish therein between the moods of hope and the moods of
abandonment, even as regards the reddleman, though his facial muscles
betrayed nothing at all. Wildeve played on with the recklessness of
despair.

"What's that?" he suddenly exclaimed, hearing a rustle; and they both
looked up.

They were surrounded by dusky forms between four and five feet high,
standing a few paces beyond the rays of the lantern. A moment's
inspection revealed that the encircling figures were heath-croppers,
their heads being all towards the players, at whom they gazed intently.

"Hoosh!" said Wildeve, and the whole forty or fifty animals at once
turned and galloped away. Play was again resumed.

Ten minutes passed away. Then a large death's head moth advanced from
the obscure outer air, wheeled twice round the lantern, flew straight
at the candle, and extinguished it by the force of the blow. Wildeve had
just thrown, but had not lifted the box to see what he had cast; and now
it was impossible.

"What the infernal!" he shrieked. "Now, what shall we do? Perhaps I have
thrown six--have you any matches?"

"None," said Venn.

"Christian had some--I wonder where he is. Christian!"

But there was no reply to Wildeve's shout, save a mournful whining
from the herons which were nesting lower down the vale. Both men looked
blankly round without rising. As their eyes grew accustomed to the
darkness they perceived faint greenish points of light among the
grass and fern. These lights dotted the hillside like stars of a low
magnitude.

"Ah--glowworms," said Wildeve. "Wait a minute. We can continue the
game."

Venn sat still, and his companion went hither and thither till he had
gathered thirteen glowworms--as many as he could find in a space of four
or five minutes--upon a fox-glove leaf which he pulled for the purpose.
The reddleman vented a low humorous laugh when he saw his adversary
return with these. "Determined to go on, then?" he said drily.

"I always am!" said Wildeve angrily. And shaking the glowworms from
the leaf he ranged them with a trembling hand in a circle on the stone,
leaving a space in the middle for the descent of the dice-box, over
which the thirteen tiny lamps threw a pale phosphoric shine. The game
was again renewed. It happened to be that season of the year at which
glowworms put forth their greatest brilliancy, and the light they
yielded was more than ample for the purpose, since it is possible on
such nights to read the handwriting of a letter by the light of two or
three.

The incongruity between the men's deeds and their environment was great.
Amid the soft juicy vegetation of the hollow in which they sat, the
motionless and the uninhabited solitude, intruded the chink of guineas,
the rattle of dice, the exclamations of the reckless players.

Wildeve had lifted the box as soon as the lights were obtained, and the
solitary die proclaimed that the game was still against him.

"I won't play any more--you've been tampering with the dice," he
shouted.

"How--when they were your own?" said the reddleman.

"We'll change the game: the lowest point shall win the stake--it may cut
off my ill luck. Do you refuse?"

"No--go on," said Venn.

"O, there they are again--damn them!" cried Wildeve, looking up. The
heath-croppers had returned noiselessly, and were looking on with erect
heads just as before, their timid eyes fixed upon the scene, as if they
were wondering what mankind and candlelight could have to do in these
haunts at this untoward hour.

"What a plague those creatures are--staring at me so!" he said, and
flung a stone, which scattered them; when the game was continued as
before.

Wildeve had now ten guineas left; and each laid five. Wildeve threw
three points; Venn two, and raked in the coins. The other seized the
die, and clenched his teeth upon it in sheer rage, as if he would bite
it in pieces. "Never give in--here are my last five!" he cried, throwing
them down. "Hang the glowworms--they are going out. Why don't you burn,
you little fools? Stir them up with a thorn."

He probed the glowworms with a bit of stick, and rolled them over, till
the bright side of their tails was upwards.

"There's light enough. Throw on," said Venn.

Wildeve brought down the box within the shining circle and looked
eagerly. He had thrown ace. "Well done!--I said it would turn, and it
has turned." Venn said nothing; but his hand shook slightly.

He threw ace also.

"O!" said Wildeve. "Curse me!"

The die smacked the stone a second time. It was ace again. Venn looked
gloomy, threw--the die was seen to be lying in two pieces, the cleft
sides uppermost.

"I've thrown nothing at all," he said.

"Serves me right--I split the die with my teeth. Here--take your money.
Blank is less than one."

"I don't wish it."

"Take it, I say--you've won it!" And Wildeve threw the stakes against
the reddleman's chest. Venn gathered them up, arose, and withdrew from
the hollow, Wildeve sitting stupefied.

When he had come to himself he also arose, and, with the extinguished
lantern in his hand, went towards the highroad. On reaching it he stood
still. The silence of night pervaded the whole heath except in one
direction; and that was towards Mistover. There he could hear the noise
of light wheels, and presently saw two carriagelamps descending the
hill. Wildeve screened himself under a bush and waited.

The vehicle came on and passed before him. It was a hired carriage,
and behind the coachman were two persons whom he knew well. There sat
Eustacia and Yeobright, the arm of the latter being round her waist.
They turned the sharp corner at the bottom towards the temporary home
which Clym had hired and furnished, about five miles to the eastward.

Wildeve forgot the loss of the money at the sight of his lost love,
whose preciousness in his eyes was increasing in geometrical progression
with each new incident that reminded him of their hopeless division.
Brimming with the subtilized misery that he was capable of feeling, he
followed the opposite way towards the inn.

About the same moment that Wildeve stepped into the highway Venn also
had reached it at a point a hundred yards further on; and he, hearing
the same wheels, likewise waited till the carriage should come up. When
he saw who sat therein he seemed to be disappointed. Reflecting a minute
or two, during which interval the carriage rolled on, he crossed the
road, and took a short cut through the furze and heath to a point where
the turnpike road bent round in ascending a hill. He was now again in
front of the carriage, which presently came up at a walking pace. Venn
stepped forward and showed himself.

Eustacia started when the lamp shone upon him, and Clym's arm was
involuntarily withdrawn from her waist. He said, "What, Diggory? You are
having a lonely walk."

"Yes--I beg your pardon for stopping you," said Venn. "But I am
waiting about for Mrs. Wildeve: I have something to give her from Mrs.
Yeobright. Can you tell me if she's gone home from the party yet?"

"No. But she will be leaving soon. You may possibly meet her at the
corner."

Venn made a farewell obeisance, and walked back to his former position,
where the byroad from Mistover joined the highway. Here he remained
fixed for nearly half an hour, and then another pair of lights came down
the hill. It was the old-fashioned wheeled nondescript belonging to the
captain, and Thomasin sat in it alone, driven by Charley.

The reddleman came up as they slowly turned the corner. "I beg pardon
for stopping you, Mrs. Wildeve," he said. "But I have something to
give you privately from Mrs. Yeobright." He handed a small parcel; it
consisted of the hundred guineas he had just won, roughly twisted up in
a piece of paper.

Thomasin recovered from her surprise, and took the packet. "That's all,
ma'am--I wish you good night," he said, and vanished from her view.

Thus Venn, in his anxiety to rectify matters, had placed in Thomasin's
hands not only the fifty guineas which rightly belonged to her, but also
the fifty intended for her cousin Clym. His mistake had been based upon
Wildeve's words at the opening of the game, when he indignantly denied
that the guinea was not his own. It had not been comprehended by the
reddleman that at halfway through the performance the game was continued
with the money of another person; and it was an error which afterwards
helped to cause more misfortune than treble the loss in money value
could have done.

The night was now somewhat advanced; and Venn plunged deeper into the
heath, till he came to a ravine where his van was standing--a spot
not more than two hundred yards from the site of the gambling bout. He
entered this movable home of his, lit his lantern, and, before closing
his door for the night, stood reflecting on the circumstances of the
preceding hours. While he stood the dawn grew visible in the northeast
quarter of the heavens, which, the clouds having cleared off, was bright
with a soft sheen at this midsummer time, though it was only between one
and two o'clock. Venn, thoroughly weary, then shut his door and flung
himself down to sleep.





</CHAPTER>

 While the marriage of Clym and Eustacia takes place, Mrs. Yeobright stays at home, miserable and unable to avoid thinking about it. When Wildeve calls to pick up something Thomasin was going to get from her aunt, though he doesn't know it is money , Mrs. Yeobright refuses to send the coins with him but decides it would be a good time to send them to Thomasin and Clym, both of whom are at Mistover. She trusts Christian Cantle with their delivery. Christian falls in with a group going to a raffle at the Quiet Woman Inn and after, to his surprise winning it, walks with Wildeve toward Mistover Knap to deliver the money. On the way when they pause for a rest, Christian is so fascinated by a pair of dice, with which he won the raffle and which Wildeve then gave him, that he wants to gamble with the innkeeper. When Wildeve discovers that Christian is carrying money for Thomasin, the innkeeper decides to win it all, at first to get back at Mrs. Yeobright, but later to benefit himself personally. After he has won all the money from Christian, Wildeve discovers that half of it was intended for Clym. Having watched the game from the shadows, Venn appears and challenges Wildeve to continue. The reddleman succeeds in winning back all the money from Wildeve, though they must finish the game with light from glowworms and only one die. Not realizing that half of the money is Clym's, Venn stops Thomasin on her way home from the wedding celebration and gives her the 100 guineas.

