还乡The Return Of The Native-第10章

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n。
It　might　reasonably　have　been　supposed　that　she　was　listening　to　the　wind；　which　rose　somewhat　as　the　night　advanced；　and　laid　hold　of　the　attention。　　The　wind；　indeed；　seemed　made　for　the　scene；　as　the　scene　seemed　made　for　the　hour。　　Part　of　its　tone　was　quite　special；　what　was　heard　there　could　be　heard　nowhere　else。　　Gusts　in　innumerable　series　followed　each　other　from　the　northwest；　and　when　each　one　of　them　raced　past　the　sound　of　its　progress　resolved　into　three。　　Treble；　tenor；　and　bass　notes　were　to　be　found　therein。　　The　general　ricochet　of　the　whole　over　pits　and　prominences　had　the　gravest　pitch　of　the　chime。　　Next　there　could　be　heard　the　baritone　buzz　of　a　holly　tree。　　Below　these　in　force；　above　them　in　pitch；　a　dwindled　voice　strove　hard　at　a　husky　tune；　which　was　the　peculiar　local　sound　alluded　to。　　Thinner　and　less　immediately　traceable　than　the　other　two；　it　was　far　more　impressive　than　either。　　In　it　lay　what　may　be　called　the　linguistic　peculiarity　of　the　heath；　and　being　audible　nowhere　on　earth　off　a　heath；　it　afforded　a　shadow　of　reason　for　the　woman’s　tenseness；　which　continued　as　unbroken　as　ever。
Throughout　the　blowing　of　these　plaintive　November　winds　that　note　bore　a　great　resemblance　to　the　ruins　of　human　song　which　remain　to　the　throat　of　fourscore　and　ten。　　It　was　a　worn　whisper；　dry　and　papery；　and　it　brushed　so　distinctly　across　the　ear　that；　by　the　accustomed；　the　material　minutiae　in　which　it　originated　could　be　realized　as　by　touch。　　It　was　the　united　products　of　infinitesimal　vegetable　causes；　and　these　were　neither　stems；　leaves；　fruit；　blades；　prickles；　lichen；　nor　moss。　
They　were　the　mummied　heathbells　of　the　past　summer；　originally　tender　and　purple；　now　washed　colourless　by　Michaelmas　rains；　and　dried　to　dead　skins　by　October　suns。　　So　low　was　an　individual　sound　from　these　that　a　bination　of　hundreds　only　just　emerged　from　silence；　and　the　myriads　of　the　whole　declivity　reached　the　woman’s　ear　but　as　a　shrivelled　and　intermittent　recitative。　　Yet　scarcely　a　single　accent　among　the　many　afloat　tonight　could　have　such　power　to　impress　a　listener　with　thoughts　of　its　origin。　　One　inwardly　saw　the　infinity　of　those　bined　multitudes；　and　perceived　that　each　of　the　tiny　trumpets　was　seized　on　entered；　scoured　and　emerged　from　by　the　wind　as　thoroughly　as　if　it　were　as　vast　as　a　crater。　
“The　spirit　moved　them。”　　A　meaning　of　the　phrase　forced　itself　upon　the　attention；　and　an　emotional　listener’s　fetichistic　mood　might　have　ended　in　one　of　more　advanced　quality。　　It　was　not；　after　all；　that　the　left…hand　expanse　of　old　blooms　spoke；　or　the　right…hand；　or　those　of　the　slope　in　front；　but　it　was　the　single　person　of　something　else　speaking　through　each　at　once。　
Suddenly；　on　the　barrow；　there　mingled　with　all　this　wild　rhetoric　of　night　a　sound　which　modulated　so　naturally　into　the　rest　that　its　beginning　and　ending　were　hardly　to　be　distinguished。　　The　bluffs；　and　the　bushes；　and　the　heather…bells　had　broken　silence；　at　last；　so　did　the　woman；　and　her　articulation　was　but　as　another　phrase　of　the　same　discourse　as　theirs。　　Thrown　out　on　the　winds　it　became　twined　in　with　them；　and　with　them　it　flew　away。　
What　she　uttered　was　a　lengthened　sighing；　apparently　at　something　in　her　mind　which　had　led　to　her　presence　here。　　There　was　a　spasmodic　abandonment　about　it　as　if；　in　allowing　herself　to　utter　the　sound。　　the　woman’s　brain　had　authorized　what　it　could　not　regulate。　　One　point　was　evident　in　this；　that　she　had　been　existing　in　a　suppressed　state；　and　not　in　one　of　languor；　or　stagnation。
Far　away　down　the　valley　the　faint　shine　from　the　window　of　the　inn　still　lasted　on；　and　a　few　additional　moments　proved　that　the　window；　or　what　was　within　it；　had　more　to　do　with　the　woman’s　sigh　than　had　either　her　own　actions　or　the　scene　immediately　around。　　She　lifted　her　left　hand；　which　held　a　closed　telescope。　　This　she　rapidly　extended；　as　if　she　were　well　accustomed　to　the　operation；　and　raising　it　to　her　eye　directed　it　towards　the　light　beaming　from　the　inn。　
The　handkerchief　which　had　hooded　her　head　was　now　a　little　thrown　back；　her　face　being　somewhat　elevated。　　A　profile　was　visible　against　the　dull　monochrome　of　cloud　around　her；　and　it　was　as　though　side　shadows　from　the　features　of　Sappho　and　Mrs。　Siddons　had　converged　upwards　from　the　tomb　to　form　an　image　like　neither　but　suggesting　both。　　This；　however；　was　mere　superficiality。　　In　respect　of　character　a　face　may　make　certain　admissions　by　its　outline；　but　it　fully　confesses　only　in　its　changes。　　So　much　is　this　the　case　that　what　is　called　the　play　of　the　features　often　helps　more　in　understanding　a　man　or　woman　than　the　earnest　labours　of　all　the　other　members　together。　　Thus　the　night　revealed　little　of　her　whose　form　it　was　embracing；　for　the　mobile　parts　of　her　countenance　could　not　be　seen。　
At　last　she　gave　up　her　spying　attitude；　closed　the　telescope；　and　turned　to　the　decaying　embers。　　From　these　no　appreciable　beams　now　radiated；　except　when　a　more　than　usually　smart　gust　brushed　over　their　faces　and　raised　a　fitful　glow　which　came　and　went　like　the　blush　of　a　girl。　　She　stooped　over　the　silent　circle；　and　selecting　from　the　brands　a　piece　of　stick　which　bore　the　largest　live　coal　at　its　end；　brought　it　to　where　she　had　been　standing　before。
She　held　the　brand　to　the　ground；　blowing　the　red　coal　with　her　mouth　at　the　same　time；　till　it　faintly　illuminated　the　sod；　and　revealed　a　small　object；　which　turned　out　to　be　an　hourglass；　though　she　wore　a　watch。　　She　blew　long　enough　to　show　that　the　sand　had　all　slipped　through。
“Ah！”　she　said；　as　if　surprised。
The　light　raised　by　her　breath　had　been　very　fitful；　and　a　momentary　irradiation　of　flesh　was　all　that　it　had　disclosed　of　her　face。　　That　consisted　of　two　matchless　lips　and　a　cheek　only；　her　head　being　still　enveloped。　　She　threw　away　the　stick；　took　the　glass　in　her　hand；　the　telescope　under　her　arm；　and　moved　on。
Along　the　ridge　ran　a　faint　foot…track；　which　the　lady　followed。　　Those　who　knew　it　well　called　it　a　path；　and；　while　a　mere　visitor　would　have　passed　it　unnoticed　even　by　day；　the　regular　haunters　of　the　heath　were　at　no　loss　for　it　at　midnight。　　The　whole　secret　of　following　these　incipient　paths；　when　there　was　not　light　enough　in　the　atmosphere　to　show　a　turnpike　road；　lay　in　the　development　of　the　sense　of　touch　in　the　feet；　which　es　with　years　of　night…rambling　in　little…trodden　spots。　　To　a　walker　practised　in　such　places　a　difference　between　impact　on　maiden　herbage；　and　on　the　crippled　stalks　of　a　slight　footway；　is　perceptible　through　the　thickest　boot　or　shoe。　
The　solitary　figure　who　walked　this　beat　took　no　notice　of　the　windy　tune　still　played　on　the　dead　heathbells。　　She　did　not　turn　her　head　to　look　at　a　group　of　dark　creatures　further　on；　who　fled　from　her　presence　as　she　skirted　a　ravine　where　they　fed。　　They　were　about　a　score　of　the　small　wild　ponies　known　as　heath…croppers。　They　roamed　at　large　on　the　undulations　of　Egdon；　but　in　numbers　too　few　to　detract　much　from　the　solitude。　
The　pedestrian　noticed　nothing　just　now；　and　a　clue　to　her　abstraction　was　afforded　by　a　trivial　incident。　　A　bramble　caught　hold　of　her　skirt；　and　checked　her　progress。　　Instead　of　putting　it　off　and　hastening　along；　she　yielded　herself　up　to　the　pull；　and　stood　passively　still。　　When　she　began　to　extricate　herself　it　was　by　turning　round　and　round；　and　so　unwinding　the　prickly　switch。　　She　was　in　a　desponding　reverie。　
Her　course　was　in　the　direction　of　the　small　undying　fire　which　had　drawn　the　attention　of　the　men　on　Rainbarrow　and　of　Wildeve　in　the　valley　below。　　A　faint　illumination　from　its　rays　began　to　glow　upon　her　face；　and　the　fire　soon　revealed　itself　to　be　lit；　not　on　the　level　ground；　but　on　a　salient　corner　or　redan　of　earth；　at　the　junction　of　two　converging　bank　fences。　　Outside　was　a　ditch；　dry　except　immediately　under　the　fire；　where　there　was　a　large　pool；　bearded　all　round　by　heather　and　rushes。　　In　the　smooth　water　of　the　pool　the　fire　appeared　upside　down。　
The　banks　meeting　behind　were　bare　of　a　hedge；　save　such　as　was　formed　by　disconnected　tufts　of　furze；　standing　upon　stems　along　the　top；　like　impaled　heads　above　a　city　wall。　　A　white　mast；　fitted　up　with　spars　and　other　nautical　tackle；　could　be　seen　rising　against　the　dark　clouds　whenever　the　flames　played　brightly　enough　to　reach　it。　　Altogether　the　scene　had　much　the　appearance　of　a　fortification　upon　which　had　been　kindled　a　beacon　fire。　
Nobody　was　visible；　but　ever　and　anon　a　whitish　something　moved　above　the　bank　from　behind；　and　vanished　again。　　This　was　a　small　human　hand；　in　the　act　of　lifting　pieces　of　fuel　into　the　fire；　but　for　all　that　could　be　seen　the　hand；　like　that　which　troubled　Belshazzar；　was　there　alone。　　Occasionally　an　ember　rolled　off　the　bank；　and　dropped　with　a　hiss　into　the　pool。　
At　one　side　of　the　pool　rough　steps　built　of　clods　enabled　everyone　who　wished　to　do　so　to　mount　the　bank；　which　the　woman　did。　　Within　was　a　paddock　in　an　uncultivated　state；　though　bearing　evidence　of　having　once　been　tilled；　but　the　heath　and　fern　had　insidiously　crept　in；　and　were　reasserting　their　old　supremacy。　　Further　ahead　were　dimly　visible　an　irregular　dwelling…house；　garden；　and　outbuildings；　backed　by　a　clump　of　firs。
The　young　lady—for　youth　had　revealed　its　presence　in　her　buoyant　bound　up　the　bank—walked　along　the　top　instead　of　descending　inside；　and　came　to　the　corner　where　the　fire　was　burning。　　One　reason　for　the　permanence　of　the　blaze　was　now　manifest：　the　fuel　consisted　of　hard　pieces　of　wood；　cleft　and　sawn—the　knotty　boles　of　old　thorn　trees　which　grew　in　twos　and　threes　about　the　hillsides。　　A　yet　unconsumed　pile　of　these　lay　in　the　inner　angle　of　the　bank；　and　from　this　corner　the　upturned　face　of　a　little　boy　greeted　her　eves。　　He　was　dilatorily　throwing　up　a　piece　of　wood　into　the　fire　every　now　and　then；　a　business　which　seemed　to　have　engaged　him　a　considerable　part　of　the　evening；　for　his　face　was　somewhat　weary。　
“I　am　glad　you　have　e；　Miss　Eustacia；”　he　said；　with　a　sigh　of　relief。　　“I　don’t　like　biding　by　myself。”
“Nonsense。　I　have　only　been　a　little　way　for　a　walk。　
I　have　been　gone　only　twenty　minutes。”
“It　seemed　long；”　murmured　the　sad　boy。　　“And　you　have　been　so　many　times。”
“Why；　I　thought　you　would　be　pleased　to　have　a　bonfire。　
Are　you　not　much　obliged　to　me　for　making　you　one？”
“Yes；　but　there’s　nobody　here　to　play　wi’　me。”
“I　suppose　nobody　has　e　while　I’ve　been　away？”
“Nobody　except　your　grandfather—he　looked　out　of　doors　once　for　‘ee。　I　told　him　you　were　walking　round　upon　the　hill　to　look　at　the　other　bonfires。”
“A　good　boy。”
“I　think　I　hear　him　ing　again；　miss。”
An　old　man　came　into　the　remoter　light　of　the　fire　from　the　direction　of　the　homestead。　　He　was　the　same　who　had　overtaken　the　reddleman　on　the　road　that　afternoon。　　He　looked　wistfully　to　the　top　of　the　bank　at　the　woman　who　stood　there；　and　his　teeth；　which　were　quite　unimpaired；　showed　like　parian　from　his　parted　lips。　
“When　are　you　ing　indoors；　Eustacia？”　he　asked。　　“’Tis　almost　bedtime。　　I’ve　been　home　these　two　hours；　and　am　tired　out。　　Surely　‘tis　somewhat　childish　of　you　to　stay　out　playing　at　bonfires　s