Chapter: <CHAPTER>
8--Firmness Is Discovered in a Gentle Heart


On that evening the interior of Blooms-End, though cosy and comfortable,
had been rather silent. Clym Yeobright was not at home. Since the
Christmas party he had gone on a few days' visit to a friend about ten
miles off.

The shadowy form seen by Venn to part from Wildeve in the porch, and
quickly withdraw into the house, was Thomasin's. On entering she threw
down a cloak which had been carelessly wrapped round her, and came
forward to the light, where Mrs. Yeobright sat at her work-table,
drawn up within the settle, so that part of it projected into the
chimney-corner.

"I don't like your going out after dark alone, Tamsin," said her aunt
quietly, without looking up from her work.

"I have only been just outside the door."

"Well?" inquired Mrs. Yeobright, struck by a change in the tone of
Thomasin's voice, and observing her. Thomasin's cheek was flushed to a
pitch far beyond that which it had reached before her troubles, and her
eyes glittered.

"It was HE who knocked," she said.

"I thought as much."

"He wishes the marriage to be at once."

"Indeed! What--is he anxious?" Mrs. Yeobright directed a searching look
upon her niece. "Why did not Mr. Wildeve come in?"

"He did not wish to. You are not friends with him, he says. He would
like the wedding to be the day after tomorrow, quite privately; at the
church of his parish--not at ours."

"Oh! And what did you say?"

"I agreed to it," Thomasin answered firmly. "I am a practical woman
now. I don't believe in hearts at all. I would marry him under any
circumstances since--since Clym's letter."

A letter was lying on Mrs. Yeobright's work-basket, and at Thomasin's
words her aunt reopened it, and silently read for the tenth time that
day:--



What is the meaning of this silly story that people are circulating
about Thomasin and Mr. Wildeve? I should call such a scandal humiliating
if there was the least chance of its being true. How could such a gross
falsehood have arisen? It is said that one should go abroad to hear news
of home, and I appear to have done it. Of course I contradict the
tale everywhere; but it is very vexing, and I wonder how it could have
originated. It is too ridiculous that such a girl as Thomasin could so
mortify us as to get jilted on the wedding day. What has she done?



"Yes," Mrs. Yeobright said sadly, putting down the letter. "If you
think you can marry him, do so. And since Mr. Wildeve wishes it to be
unceremonious, let it be that too. I can do nothing. It is all in your
own hands now. My power over your welfare came to an end when you
left this house to go with him to Anglebury." She continued, half in
bitterness, "I may almost ask, why do you consult me in the matter at
all? If you had gone and married him without saying a word to me, I
could hardly have been angry--simply because, poor girl, you can't do a
better thing."

"Don't say that and dishearten me."

"You are right--I will not."

"I do not plead for him, Aunt. Human nature is weak, and I am not a
blind woman to insist that he is perfect. I did think so, but I don't
now. But I know my course, and you know that I know it. I hope for the
best."

"And so do I, and we will both continue to," said Mrs. Yeobright, rising
and kissing her. "Then the wedding, if it comes off, will be on the
morning of the very day Clym comes home?"

"Yes. I decided that it ought to be over before he came. After that you
can look him in the face, and so can I. Our concealments will matter
nothing."

Mrs. Yeobright moved her head in thoughtful assent, and presently said,
"Do you wish me to give you away? I am willing to undertake that, you
know, if you wish, as I was last time. After once forbidding the banns I
think I can do no less."

"I don't think I will ask you to come," said Thomasin reluctantly, but
with decision. "It would be unpleasant, I am almost sure. Better let
there be only strangers present, and none of my relations at all. I
would rather have it so. I do not wish to do anything which may touch
your credit, and I feel that I should be uncomfortable if you were
there, after what has passed. I am only your niece, and there is no
necessity why you should concern yourself more about me."

"Well, he has beaten us," her aunt said. "It really seems as if he had
been playing with you in this way in revenge for my humbling him as I
did by standing up against him at first."

"O no, Aunt," murmured Thomasin.

They said no more on the subject then. Diggory Venn's knock came soon
after; and Mrs. Yeobright, on returning from her interview with him in
the porch, carelessly observed, "Another lover has come to ask for you."

"No?"

"Yes, that queer young man Venn."

"Asks to pay his addresses to me?"

"Yes; and I told him he was too late."

Thomasin looked silently into the candle-flame. "Poor Diggory!" she
said, and then aroused herself to other things.

The next day was passed in mere mechanical deeds of preparation, both
the women being anxious to immerse themselves in these to escape the
emotional aspect of the situation. Some wearing apparel and other
articles were collected anew for Thomasin, and remarks on domestic
details were frequently made, so as to obscure any inner misgivings
about her future as Wildeve's wife.

The appointed morning came. The arrangement with Wildeve was that he
should meet her at the church to guard against any unpleasant curiosity
which might have affected them had they been seen walking off together
in the usual country way.

Aunt and niece stood together in the bedroom where the bride was
dressing. The sun, where it could catch it, made a mirror of Thomasin's
hair, which she always wore braided. It was braided according to a
calendar system--the more important the day the more numerous the
strands in the braid. On ordinary working-days she braided it in threes;
on ordinary Sundays in fours; at Maypolings, gipsyings, and the like,
she braided it in fives. Years ago she had said that when she married
she would braid it in sevens. She had braided it in sevens today.

"I have been thinking that I will wear my blue silk after all," she
said. "It is my wedding day, even though there may be something sad
about the time. I mean," she added, anxious to correct any wrong
impression, "not sad in itself, but in its having had great
disappointment and trouble before it."

Mrs. Yeobright breathed in a way which might have been called a sigh. "I
almost wish Clym had been at home," she said. "Of course you chose the
time because of his absence."

"Partly. I have felt that I acted unfairly to him in not telling him
all; but, as it was done not to grieve him, I thought I would carry out
the plan to its end, and tell the whole story when the sky was clear."

"You are a practical little woman," said Mrs. Yeobright, smiling. "I
wish you and he--no, I don't wish anything. There, it is nine o'clock,"
she interrupted, hearing a whizz and a dinging downstairs.

"I told Damon I would leave at nine," said Thomasin, hastening out of
the room.

Her aunt followed. When Thomasin was going up the little walk from the
door to the wicket-gate, Mrs. Yeobright looked reluctantly at her, and
said, "It is a shame to let you go alone."

"It is necessary," said Thomasin.

"At any rate," added her aunt with forced cheerfulness, "I shall
call upon you this afternoon, and bring the cake with me. If Clym has
returned by that time he will perhaps come too. I wish to show Mr.
Wildeve that I bear him no ill-will. Let the past be forgotten. Well,
God bless you! There, I don't believe in old superstitions, but I'll
do it." She threw a slipper at the retreating figure of the girl, who
turned, smiled, and went on again.

A few steps further, and she looked back. "Did you call me, Aunt?" she
tremulously inquired. "Good-bye!"

Moved by an uncontrollable feeling as she looked upon Mrs. Yeobright's
worn, wet face, she ran back, when her aunt came forward, and they met
again. "O--Tamsie," said the elder, weeping, "I don't like to let you
go."

"I--I am--" Thomasin began, giving way likewise. But, quelling her
grief, she said "Good-bye!" again and went on.

Then Mrs. Yeobright saw a little figure wending its way between the
scratching furze-bushes, and diminishing far up the valley--a pale-blue
spot in a vast field of neutral brown, solitary and undefended except by
the power of her own hope.

But the worst feature in the case was one which did not appear in the
landscape; it was the man.

The hour chosen for the ceremony by Thomasin and Wildeve had been so
timed as to enable her to escape the awkwardness of meeting her cousin
Clym, who was returning the same morning. To own to the partial truth
of what he had heard would be distressing as long as the humiliating
position resulting from the event was unimproved. It was only after a
second and successful journey to the altar that she could lift up her
head and prove the failure of the first attempt a pure accident.

She had not been gone from Blooms-End more than half an hour when
Yeobright came by the meads from the other direction and entered the
house.

"I had an early breakfast," he said to his mother after greeting her.
"Now I could eat a little more."

They sat down to the repeated meal, and he went on in a low, anxious
voice, apparently imagining that Thomasin had not yet come downstairs,
"What's this I have heard about Thomasin and Mr. Wildeve?"

"It is true in many points," said Mrs. Yeobright quietly; "but it is all
right now, I hope." She looked at the clock.

"True?"

"Thomasin is gone to him today."

Clym pushed away his breakfast. "Then there is a scandal of some sort,
and that's what's the matter with Thomasin. Was it this that made her
ill?"

"Yes. Not a scandal--a misfortune. I will tell you all about it, Clym.
You must not be angry, but you must listen, and you'll find that what we
have done has been done for the best."

She then told him the circumstances. All that he had known of the affair
before he returned from Paris was that there had existed an
attachment between Thomasin and Wildeve, which his mother had at first
discountenanced, but had since, owing to the arguments of Thomasin,
looked upon in a little more favourable light. When she, therefore,
proceeded to explain all he was greatly surprised and troubled.

"And she determined that the wedding should be over before you came
back," said Mrs. Yeobright, "that there might be no chance of her
meeting you, and having a very painful time of it. That's why she has
gone to him; they have arranged to be married this morning."

"But I can't understand it," said Yeobright, rising. "'Tis so unlike
her. I can see why you did not write to me after her unfortunate return
home. But why didn't you let me know when the wedding was going to
be--the first time?"

"Well, I felt vexed with her just then. She seemed to me to be
obstinate; and when I found that you were nothing in her mind I vowed
that she should be nothing in yours. I felt that she was only my
niece after all; I told her she might marry, but that I should take no
interest in it, and should not bother you about it either."

"It wouldn't have been bothering me. Mother, you did wrong."

"I thought it might disturb you in your business, and that you might
throw up your situation, or injure your prospects in some way because of
it, so I said nothing. Of course, if they had married at that time in a
proper manner, I should have told you at once."

"Tamsin actually being married while we are sitting here!"

"Yes. Unless some accident happens again, as it did the first time. It
may, considering he's the same man."

"Yes, and I believe it will. Was it right to let her go? Suppose Wildeve
is really a bad fellow?"

"Then he won't come, and she'll come home again."

"You should have looked more into it."

"It is useless to say that," his mother answered with an impatient look
of sorrow. "You don't know how bad it has been here with us all these
weeks, Clym. You don't know what a mortification anything of that sort
is to a woman. You don't know the sleepless nights we've had in this
house, and the almost bitter words that have passed between us since
that Fifth of November. I hope never to pass seven such weeks again.
Tamsin has not gone outside the door, and I have been ashamed to look
anybody in the face; and now you blame me for letting her do the only
thing that can be done to set that trouble straight."

"No," he said slowly. "Upon the whole I don't blame you. But just
consider how sudden it seems to me. Here was I, knowing nothing; and
then I am told all at once that Tamsie is gone to be married. Well,
I suppose there was nothing better to do. Do you know, Mother," he
continued after a moment or two, looking suddenly interested in his own
past history, "I once thought of Tamsin as a sweetheart? Yes, I did. How
odd boys are! And when I came home and saw her this time she seemed so
much more affectionate than usual, that I was quite reminded of those
days, particularly on the night of the party, when she was unwell. We
had the party just the same--was not that rather cruel to her?"

"It made no difference. I had arranged to give one, and it was not worth
while to make more gloom than necessary. To begin by shutting ourselves
up and telling you of Tamsin's misfortunes would have been a poor sort
of welcome."

Clym remained thinking. "I almost wish you had not had that party," he
said; "and for other reasons. But I will tell you in a day or two. We
must think of Tamsin now."

They lapsed into silence. "I'll tell you what," said Yeobright again,
in a tone which showed some slumbering feeling still. "I don't think it
kind to Tamsin to let her be married like this, and neither of us there
to keep up her spirits or care a bit about her. She hasn't disgraced
herself, or done anything to deserve that. It is bad enough that the
wedding should be so hurried and unceremonious, without our keeping away
from it in addition. Upon my soul, 'tis almost a shame. I'll go."

"It is over by this time," said his mother with a sigh; "unless they
were late, or he--"

"Then I shall be soon enough to see them come out. I don't quite like
your keeping me in ignorance, Mother, after all. Really, I half hope he
has failed to meet her!"

"And ruined her character?"

"Nonsense--that wouldn't ruin Thomasin."

He took up his hat and hastily left the house. Mrs. Yeobright looked
rather unhappy, and sat still, deep in thought. But she was not long
left alone. A few minutes later Clym came back again, and in his company
came Diggory Venn.

"I find there isn't time for me to get there," said Clym.

"Is she married?" Mrs. Yeobright inquired, turning to the reddleman a
face in which a strange strife of wishes, for and against, was apparent.

Venn bowed. "She is, ma'am."

"How strange it sounds," murmured Clym.

"And he didn't disappoint her this time?" said Mrs. Yeobright.

"He did not. And there is now no slight on her name. I was hastening
ath'art to tell you at once, as I saw you were not there."

"How came you to be there? How did you know it?" she asked.

"I have been in that neighbourhood for some time, and I saw them go in,"
said the reddleman. "Wildeve came up to the door, punctual as the clock.
I didn't expect it of him." He did not add, as he might have added, that
how he came to be in that neighbourhood was not by accident; that,
since Wildeve's resumption of his right to Thomasin, Venn, with the
thoroughness which was part of his character, had determined to see the
end of the episode.

"Who was there?" said Mrs. Yeobright.

"Nobody hardly. I stood right out of the way, and she did not see me."
The reddleman spoke huskily, and looked into the garden.

"Who gave her away?"

"Miss Vye."

"How very remarkable! Miss Vye! It is to be considered an honour, I
suppose?"

"Who's Miss Vye?" said Clym.

"Captain Vye's granddaughter, of Mistover Knap."

"A proud girl from Budmouth," said Mrs. Yeobright. "One not much to my
liking. People say she's a witch, but of course that's absurd."

The reddleman kept to himself his acquaintance with that fair personage,
and also that Eustacia was there because he went to fetch her, in
accordance with a promise he had given as soon as he learnt that the
marriage was to take place. He merely said, in continuation of the
story----

"I was sitting on the churchyard wall when they came up, one from one
way, the other from the other; and Miss Vye was walking thereabouts,
looking at the headstones. As soon as they had gone in I went to the
door, feeling I should like to see it, as I knew her so well. I pulled
off my boots because they were so noisy, and went up into the gallery. I
saw then that the parson and clerk were already there."

"How came Miss Vye to have anything to do with it, if she was only on a
walk that way?"

"Because there was nobody else. She had gone into the church just before
me, not into the gallery. The parson looked round before beginning, and
as she was the only one near he beckoned to her, and she went up to the
rails. After that, when it came to signing the book, she pushed up her
veil and signed; and Tamsin seemed to thank her for her kindness." The
reddleman told the tale thoughtfully for there lingered upon his vision
the changing colour of Wildeve, when Eustacia lifted the thick veil
which had concealed her from recognition and looked calmly into his
face. "And then," said Diggory sadly, "I came away, for her history as
Tamsin Yeobright was over."

"I offered to go," said Mrs. Yeobright regretfully. "But she said it was
not necessary."

"Well, it is no matter," said the reddleman. "The thing is done at last
as it was meant to be at first, and God send her happiness. Now I'll
wish you good morning."

He placed his cap on his head and went out.

From that instant of leaving Mrs. Yeobright's door, the reddleman was
seen no more in or about Egdon Heath for a space of many months. He
vanished entirely. The nook among the brambles where his van had been
standing was as vacant as ever the next morning, and scarcely a sign
remained to show that he had been there, excepting a few straws, and a
little redness on the turf, which was washed away by the next storm of
rain.

The report that Diggory had brought of the wedding, correct as far as it
went, was deficient in one significant particular, which had escaped him
through his being at some distance back in the church. When Thomasin
was tremblingly engaged in signing her name Wildeve had flung towards
Eustacia a glance that said plainly, "I have punished you now." She had
replied in a low tone--and he little thought how truly--"You mistake; it
gives me sincerest pleasure to see her your wife today."


</CHAPTER>

 Time for a flashback! Clym is out visiting a friend and Thomasin comes in to tell her aunt that the wedding with Damon is back on. Her aunt is cautiously optimistic about the whole thing. Clym wrote a letter asking what's going on with Thomasin - he's shocked by the whole thing and wonders how Thomasin could "mortify" them so badly by getting jilted . Thomasin and her aunt discuss the situation. Thomasin knows that Damon is a jerk but feels she should make the best of it. Marriage would solve the scandal problem, at least. Diggory arrives in the flashback and we get the scene from Thomasin and Mrs. Yeobright's perspective this time. Then we jump forward in time to the wedding day. Thomasin is getting dressed and she elaborately braids her hair for the occasion, like she's Princess Leia or something. Thomasin goes to leave but then rushes back to hug her aunt. The two cry and part sadly. Clym returns home and asks what the deal is with Thomasin. His mom tells him the whole story and Clym is upset that no one filled him in earlier. Mrs. Yeobright tells him he doesn't know how hard it's been for Thomasin and to stuff it. Clym decides to attend the wedding, but Mrs. Yeobright tells him it's probably over by now. Diggory Venn shows up again and informs them that he spied on the wedding and everything went off without a hitch this time. But then Diggory informs everyone that Eustacia Vye was in attendance and stood up with Thomasin. The Yeobrights think it's bizarre. The narrator busts in and tells us that Eustacia came to stick it to Damon and the two had a rather tense confrontation at the wedding. Damon tries to gloat, but Eustacia knocks him down a few pegs by saying "You mistake; it gives me sincerest pleasure to see her your wife today" . So, there's an odd scene in which Mrs. Yeobright throws her shoe at Thomasin as she walks away. What's the deal here? Was she really that mad about the wedding? Well, actually, tossing a shoe at a bride was a good-luck custom at the time. Weird, but true.

