The Project Gutenberg EBook of Desperate Remedies, by Thomas Hardy This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Desperate Remedies Author: Thomas Hardy Release Date: May 25, 2009 [EBook #3044] Last Updated: October 14, 2016 Language: English *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DESPERATE REMEDIES *** Produced by Les Bowler, and David Widger DESPERATE REMEDIES By Thomas Hardy CONTENTS PREFATORY NOTE I THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS II THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT III THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS IV THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY V THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY VI THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS VII THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS VIII THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS IX THE EVENTS OF TEN WEEKS X THE EVENTS OF A DAY AND NIGHT XI THE EVENTS OF FIVE DAYS XII THE EVENTS OF TEN MONTHS XIII THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY XIV THE EVENTS OF FIVE WEEKS XV THE EVENTS OF THREE WEEKS XVI THE EVENTS OF ONE WEEK XVII THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY XVIII THE EVENTS OF THREE DAYS XIX THE EVENTS OF A DAY AND NIGHT XX THE EVENTS OF THREE HOURS XXI THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN HOURS SEQUEL PREFATORY NOTE The following story, the first published by the author, was written nineteen years ago, at a time when he was feeling his way to a method The principles observed in its composition are, no doubt, too exclusively those in which mystery, entanglement, surprise, and moral obliquity are depended on for exciting interest; but some of the scenes, and at least one of the characters, have been deemed not unworthy of a little longer preservation; and as they could hardly be reproduced in a fragmentary form the novel is reissued complete—the more readily that it has for some considerable time been reprinted and widely circulated in America January 1889 To the foregoing note I have only to add that, in the present edition of ‘Desperate Remedies,’ some Wessex towns and other places that are common to the scenes of several of these stories have been called for the first time by the names under which they appear elsewhere, for the satisfaction of any reader who may care for consistency in such matters This is the only material change; for, as it happened that certain characteristics which provoked most discussion in my latest story were present in this my first —published in 1871, when there was no French name for them it has seemed best to let them stand unaltered T.H February 1896 I THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS DECEMBER AND JANUARY, 1835-36 In the long and intricately inwrought chain of circumstance which renders worthy of record some experiences of Cytherea Graye, Edward Springrove, and others, the first event directly influencing the issue was a Christmas visit In the above-mentioned year, 1835, Ambrose Graye, a young architect who had just begun the practice of his profession in the midland town of Hocbridge, to the north of Christminster, went to London to spend the Christmas holidays with a friend who lived in Bloomsbury They had gone up to Cambridge in the same year, and, after graduating together, Huntway, the friend, had taken orders Graye was handsome, frank, and gentle He had a quality of thought which, exercised on homeliness, was humour; on nature, picturesqueness; on abstractions, poetry Being, as a rule, broadcast, it was all three Of the wickedness of the world he was too forgetful To discover evil in a new friend is to most people only an additional experience: to him it was ever a surprise While in London he became acquainted with a retired officer in the Navy named Bradleigh, who, with his wife and their daughter, lived in a street not far from Russell Square Though they were in no more than comfortable circumstances, the captain’s wife came of an ancient family whose genealogical tree was interlaced with some of the most illustrious and well-known in the kingdom The young lady, their daughter, seemed to Graye by far the most beautiful and queenly being he had ever beheld She was about nineteen or twenty, and her name was Cytherea In truth she was not so very unlike country girls of that type of beauty, except in one respect She was perfect in her manner and bearing, and they were not A mere distinguishing peculiarity, by catching the eye, is often read as the pervading characteristic, and she appeared to him no less than perfection throughout—transcending her rural rivals in very nature Graye did a thing the blissfulness of which was only eclipsed by its hazardousness He loved her at first sight His introductions had led him into contact with Cytherea and her parents two or three times on the first week of his arrival in London, and accident and a lover’s contrivance brought them together as frequently the week following The parents liked young Graye, and having few friends (for their equals in blood were their superiors in position), he was received on very generous terms His passion for Cytherea grew not only strong, but ineffably exalted: she, without positively encouraging him, tacitly assented to his schemes for being near her Her father and mother seemed to have lost all confidence in nobility of birth, without money to give effect to its presence, and looked upon the budding consequence of the young people’s reciprocal glances with placidity, if not actual favour Graye’s whole impassioned dream terminated in a sad and unaccountable episode After passing through three weeks of sweet experience, he had arrived at the last stage—a kind of moral Gaza—before plunging into an emotional desert The second week in January had come round, and it was necessary for the young architect to leave town Throughout his acquaintanceship with the lady of his heart there had been this marked peculiarity in her love: she had delighted in his presence as a sweetheart should do, yet from first to last she had repressed all recognition of the true nature of the thread which drew them together, blinding herself to its meaning and only natural tendency, and appearing to dread his announcement of them The present seemed enough for her without cumulative hope: usually, even if love is in itself an end, it must be regarded as a beginning to be enjoyed In spite of evasions as an obstacle, and in consequence of them as a spur, he would put the matter off no longer It was evening He took her into a little conservatory on the landing, and there among the evergreens, by the light of a few tiny lamps, infinitely enhancing the freshness and beauty of the leaves, he made the declaration of a love as fresh and beautiful as they ‘My love—my darling, be my wife!’ She seemed like one just awakened ‘Ah—we must part now!’ she faltered, in a voice of anguish ‘I will write to you.’ She loosened her hand and rushed away In a wild fever Graye went home and watched for the next morning Who shall express his misery and wonder when a note containing these words was put into his hand? ‘Good-bye; good-bye for ever As recognized lovers something divides us eternally Forgive me—I should have told you before; but your love was sweet! Never mention me.’ That very day, and as it seemed, to put an end to a painful condition of things, daughter and parents left London to pay off a promised visit to a relative in a western county No message or letter of entreaty could wring from her any explanation She begged him not to follow her, and the most bewildering point was that her father and mother appeared, from the tone of a letter Graye received from them, as vexed and sad as he at this sudden renunciation One thing was plain: without admitting her reason as valid, they knew what that reason was, and did not intend to reveal it A week from that day Ambrose Graye left his friend Huntway’s house and saw no more of the Love he mourned From time to time his friend answered any inquiry Graye made by letter respecting her But very poor food to a lover is intelligence of a mistress filtered through a friend Huntway could tell nothing definitely He said he believed there had been some prior flirtation between Cytherea and her cousin, an officer of the line, two or three years before Graye met her, which had suddenly been terminated by the cousin’s departure for India, and the young lady’s travelling on the Continent with her parents the whole of the ensuing summer, on account of delicate health Eventually Huntway said that circumstances had rendered Graye’s attachment more hopeless still Cytherea’s mother had unexpectedly inherited a large fortune and estates in the west of England by the rapid fall of some intervening lives This had caused their removal from the small house in Bloomsbury, and, as it appeared, a renunciation of their old friends in that quarter Young Graye concluded that his Cytherea had forgotten him and his love But he could not forget her FROM 1843 TO 1861 Eight years later, feeling lonely and depressed—a man without relatives, with many acquaintances but no friends—Ambrose Graye met a young lady of a different kind, fairly endowed with money and good gifts As to caring very deeply for another woman after the loss of Cytherea, it was an absolute impossibility with him With all, the beautiful things of the earth become more dear as they elude pursuit; but with some natures utter elusion is the one special event which will make a passing love permanent for ever This second young lady and Graye were married That he did not, first or last, love his wife as he should have done, was known to all; but few knew that his unmanageable heart could never be weaned from useless repining at the loss of its first idol His character to some extent deteriorated, as emotional constitutions will under the long sense of disappointment at having missed their imagined destiny And thus, though naturally of a gentle and pleasant disposition, he grew to be not so tenderly regarded by his acquaintances as it is the lot of some of those persons to be The winning and sanguine receptivity of his early life developed by degrees a moody nervousness, and when not picturing prospects drawn from baseless hope he was the victim of indescribable depression The practical issue of such a condition was improvidence, originally almost an unconscious improvidence, for every debt incurred had been mentally paid off with a religious exactness from the treasures of expectation before mentioned But as years revolved, the same course was continued from the lack of spirit sufficient for shifting out of an old groove when it has been found to lead to disaster In the year 1861 his wife died, leaving him a widower with two children The elder, a son named Owen, now just turned seventeen, was taken from school, and initiated as pupil to the profession of architect in his father’s office The remaining child was a daughter, and Owen’s junior by a year Her christian name was Cytherea, and it is easy to guess why OCTOBER THE TWELFTH, 1863 We pass over two years in order to reach the next cardinal event of these persons’ lives The scene is still the Grayes’ native town of Hocbridge, but as it appeared on a Monday afternoon in the month of October The weather was sunny and dry, but the ancient borough was to be seen wearing one of its least attractive aspects First on account of the time It was that stagnant hour of the twenty-four when the practical garishness of Day, having escaped from the fresh long shadows and enlivening newness of the morning, has not yet made any perceptible advance towards acquiring those mellow and soothing tones which grace its decline Next, it was that stage in the progress of the week when business—which, carried on under the gables of an old country place, is not devoid of a romantic sparkle—was well-nigh extinguished Lastly, the town was intentionally bent upon being attractive by exhibiting to an influx of visitors the local talent for dramatic recitation, and provincial towns trying to be lively are the dullest of dull things Little towns are like little children in this respect, that they interest most when they are enacting native peculiarities unconscious of beholders Discovering themselves to be watched they attempt to be entertaining by putting on an antic, and produce disagreeable caricatures which spoil them The weather-stained clock-face in the low church tower standing at the intersection of the three chief streets was expressing half-past two to the Town Hall opposite, where the much talked-of reading from Shakespeare was about to begin The doors were open, and those persons who had already assembled within the building were noticing the entrance of the new-comers—silently criticizing their dress—questioning the genuineness of their teeth and hair— estimating their private means Among these later ones came an exceptional young maiden who glowed amid the dulness like a single bright-red poppy in a field of brown stubble She wore an elegant dark jacket, lavender dress, hat with grey strings and trimmings, and gloves of a colour to harmonize She lightly walked up the side passage of the room, cast a slight glance around, and entered the seat pointed out to her The young girl was Cytherea Graye; her age was now about eighteen During her entry, and at various times whilst sitting in her seat and listening to the reader on the platform, her personal appearance formed an interesting subject of study for several neighbouring eyes Her face was exceedingly attractive, though artistically less perfect than her figure, which approached unusually near to the standard of faultlessness But even this feature of hers yielded the palm to the gracefulness of her movement, which was fascinating and delightful to an extreme degree Indeed, motion was her speciality, whether shown on its most extended scale of bodily progression, or minutely, as in the uplifting of her eyelids, the bending of her fingers, the pouting of her lip The carriage of her head—motion within motion—a glide upon a glide—was as delicate as that of a magnetic needle And this flexibility and elasticity had never been taught her by rule, nor even been acquired by observation, but, nullo cultu, had naturally developed itself with her years In childhood, a stone or stalk in the way, which had been the inevitable occasion of a fall to her playmates, had usually left her safe and upright on her feet after the narrowest escape by oscillations and whirls for the preservation of her balance At mixed Christmas parties, when she numbered but twelve or thirteen years, and was heartily despised on that account by lads who deemed themselves men, her apt lightness in the dance covered this incompleteness in her womanhood, and compelled the self-same youths in spite of resolutions to seize upon her childish figure as a partner whom they could not afford to contemn And in later years, when the instincts of her sex had shown her this point as the best and rarest feature in her external self, she was not found wanting in attention to the cultivation of finish in its details Her hair rested gaily upon her shoulders in curls and was of a shining corn yellow in the high lights, deepening to a definite nut-brown as each curl wound round into the shade She had eyes of a sapphire hue, though rather darker than the gem ordinarily appears; they possessed the affectionate and liquid sparkle of fire had degenerated to mere phosphorescence now ‘But you are your brother’s housekeeper?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, of course you cannot stay with me on a sudden like this Go home, or he will be at a loss for things And to-morrow morning come again, won’t you, dearest, come again—we’ll fetch you But you mustn’t stay now, and put Owen out O no—it would be absurd.’ The absorbing concern about trifles of daily routine, which is so often seen in very sick people, was present here Cytherea promised to go home, and come the next morning to stay continuously ‘Stay till I die then, will you not? Yes, till I die—I shan’t die till to-morrow.’ ‘We hope for your recovery—all of us.’ ‘I know best Come at six o’clock, darling.’ ‘As soon as ever I can,’ returned Cytherea tenderly ‘But six is too early—you will have to think of your brother’s breakfast Leave Tolchurch at eight, will you?’ Cytherea consented to this Miss Aldclyffe would never have known had her companion stayed in the house all night; but the honesty of Cytherea’s nature rebelled against even the friendly deceit which such a proceeding would have involved An arrangement was come to whereby she was to be taken home in the ponycarriage instead of the brougham that fetched her; the carriage to put up at Tolchurch farm for the night, and on that account to be in readiness to bring her back earlier MARCH THE THIRTIETH DAYBREAK The third and last instance of Cytherea’s subjection to those periodic terrors of the night which had emphasized her connection with the Aldclyffe name and blood occurred at the present date It was about four o’clock in the morning when Cytherea, though most probably dreaming, seemed to awake—and instantly was transfixed by a sort of spell, that had in it more of awe than of affright At the foot of her bed, looking her in the face with an expression of entreaty beyond the power of words to portray, was the form of Miss Aldclyffe—wan and distinct No motion was perceptible in her; but longing—earnest longing—was written in every feature Cytherea believed she exercised her waking judgment as usual in thinking, without a shadow of doubt, that Miss Aldclyffe stood before her in flesh and blood Reason was not sufficiently alert to lead Cytherea to ask herself how such a thing could have occurred ‘I would have remained with you—why would you not allow me to stay!’ Cytherea exclaimed The spell was broken: she became broadly awake; and the figure vanished It was in the grey time of dawn She trembled in a sweat of disquiet, and not being able to endure the thought of her brother being asleep, she went and tapped at his door ‘Owen!’ He was not a heavy sleeper, and it was verging upon his time to rise ‘What do you want, Cytherea?’ ‘I ought not to have left Knapwater last night I wish I had not I really think I will start at once She wants me, I know.’ ‘What time is it?’ ‘A few minutes past four.’ ‘You had better not Keep to the time agreed upon Consider, we should have such a trouble in rousing the driver, and other things.’ Upon the whole it seemed wiser not to act on a mere fancy She went to bed again An hour later, when Owen was thinking of getting up, a knocking came to the front door The next minute something touched the glass of Owen’s window He waited—the noise was repeated A little gravel had been thrown against it to arouse him He crossed the room, pulled up the blind, and looked out A solemn white face was gazing upwards from the road, expectantly straining to catch the first glimpse of a person within the panes It was the face of a Knapwater man sitting on horseback Owen saw his errand There is an unmistakable look in the face of every man who brings tidings of death Graye opened the window ‘Miss Aldclyffe ’ said the messenger, and paused ‘Ah—dead?’ ‘Yes—she is dead.’ ‘When did she die?’ ‘At ten minutes past four, after another effusion She knew best, you see, sir I started directly, by the rector’s orders.’ SEQUEL Fifteen months have passed, and we are brought on to Midsummer Night, 1867 The picture presented is the interior of the old belfry of Carriford Church, at ten o’clock in the evening Six Carriford men and one stranger are gathered there, beneath the light of a flaring candle stuck on a piece of wood against the wall The six Carriford men are the well-known ringers of the fine-toned old bells in the key of F, which have been music to the ears of Carriford parish and the outlying districts for the last four hundred years The stranger is an assistant, who has appeared from nobody knows where The six natives—in their shirt-sleeves, and without hats—pull and catch frantically at the dancing bellropes, the locks of their hair waving in the breeze created by their quick motions; the stranger, who has the treble bell, does likewise, but in his right mind and coat Their ever-changing shadows mingle on the wall in an endless variety of kaleidoscopic forms, and the eyes of all the seven are religiously fixed on a diagram like a large addition sum, which is chalked on the floor Vividly contrasting with the yellow light of the candle upon the four unplastered walls of the tower, and upon the faces and clothes of the men, is the scene discernible through the screen beneath the tower archway At the extremity of the long mysterious avenue of the nave and chancel can be seen shafts of moonlight streaming in at the east window of the church—blue, phosphoric, and ghostly A thorough renovation of the bell-ringing machinery and accessories had taken place in anticipation of an interesting event New ropes had been provided; every bell had been carefully shifted from its carriage, and the pivots lubricated Bright red ‘sallies’ of woollen texture—soft to the hands and easily caught— glowed on the ropes in place of the old ragged knots, all of which newness in small details only rendered more evident the irrepressible aspect of age in the mass surrounding them The triple-bob-major was ended, and the ringers wiped their faces and rolled down their shirt-sleeves, previously to tucking away the ropes and leaving the place for the night ‘Piph—h—h—h! A good forty minutes,’ said a man with a streaming face, and blowing out his breath—one of the pair who had taken the tenor bell ‘Our friend here pulled proper well—that ‘a did—seeing he’s but a stranger,’ said Clerk Crickett, who had just resigned the second rope, and addressing the man in the black coat ‘’A did,’ said the rest ‘I enjoyed it much,’ said the man modestly ‘What we should ha’ done without you words can’t tell The man that d’belong by rights to that there bell is ill o’ two gallons o’ wold cider.’ ‘And now so’s,’ remarked the fifth ringer, as pertaining to the last allusion, ‘we’ll finish this drop o’ metheglin and cider, and every man home—along straight as a line.’ ‘Wi’ all my heart,’ Clerk Crickett replied ‘And the Lord send if I ha’n’t done my duty by Master Teddy Springrove—that I have so.’ ‘And the rest o’ us,’ they said, as the cup was handed round ‘Ay, ay—in ringen—but I was spaken in a spiritual sense o’ this mornen’s business o’ mine up by the chancel rails there ‘Twas very convenient to lug her here and marry her instead o’ doen it at that twopenny-halfpenny town o’ Budm’th Very convenient.’ ‘Very There was a little fee for Master Crickett.’ ‘Ah—well Money’s money—very much so—very—I always have said it But ‘twas a pretty sight for the nation He coloured up like any maid, that ‘a did.’ ‘Well enough ‘a mid colour up ‘Tis no small matter for a man to play wi’ fire.’ ‘Whatever it may be to a woman,’ said the clerk absently ‘Thou’rt thinken o’ thy wife, clerk,’ said Gad Weedy ‘She’ll play wi’it again when thou’st got mildewed.’ ‘Well—let her, God bless her; for I’m but a poor third man, I The Lord have mercy upon the fourth! Ay, Teddy’s got his own at last What little white ears that maid hev, to be sure! choose your wife as you choose your pig—a small ear and a small tale—that was always my joke when I was a merry feller, ah—years agone now! But Teddy’s got her Poor chap, he was getten as thin as a hermit wi’ grief—so was she.’ ‘Maybe she’ll pick up now.’ ‘True—‘tis nater’s law, which no man shall gainsay Ah, well I bear in mind what I said to Pa’son Raunham, about thy mother’s family o’ seven, Gad, the very first week of his comen here, when I was just in my prime “And how many daughters has that poor Weedy got, clerk?” he says “Six, sir,” says I, “and every one of ‘em has a brother!” “Poor woman,” says he, “a dozen children!— give her this half-sovereign from me, clerk.” ‘A laughed a good five minutes afterwards, when he found out my merry nater—‘a did But there, ‘tis over wi’ me now Enteren the Church is the ruin of a man’s wit for wit’s nothen without a faint shadder o’ sin.’ ‘If so be Teddy and the lady had been kept apart for life, they’d both ha’ died,’ said Gad emphatically ‘But now instead o’ death there’ll be increase o’ life,’ answered the clerk ‘It all went proper well,’ said the fifth bell-ringer ‘They didn’t flee off to Babylonish places—not they.’ He struck up an attitude—‘Here’s Master Springrove standen so: here’s the married woman standen likewise; here they d’walk across to Knapwater House; and there they d’bide in the chimley corner, hard and fast.’ ‘Yes, ‘twas a pretty wedden, and well attended,’ added the clerk ‘Here was my lady herself—red as scarlet: here was Master Springrove, looken as if he half wished he’d never a-come—ah, poor souls!—the men always do! The women do stand it best—the maid was in her glory Though she was so shy the glory shone plain through that shy skin Ah, it did so’s.’ ‘Ay,’ said Gad, ‘and there was Tim Tankins and his five journeymen carpenters, standen on tiptoe and peepen in at the chancel winders There was Dairyman Dodman waiten in his new spring-cart to see ‘em come out—whip in hand—that ‘a was Then up comes two master tailors Then there was Christopher Runt wi’ his pickaxe and shovel There was wimmen-folk and there was men-folk traypsen up and down church’ard till they wore a path wi’ traypsen so—letten the squallen children slip down through their arms and nearly skinnen o’ em And these were all over and above the gentry and Sunday-clothes folk inside Well, I seed Mr Graye at last dressed up quite the dand “Well, Mr Graye,” says I from the top o’ church’ard wall, “how’s yerself?” Mr Graye never spoke—he’d prided away his hearen Seize the man, I didn’ want en to spak Teddy hears it, and turns round: “All right, Gad!” says he, and laughed like a boy There’s more in Teddy.’ ‘Well,’ said Clerk Crickett, turning to the man in black, ‘now you’ve been among us so long, and d’know us so well, won’t ye tell us what ye’ve come here for, and what your trade is?’ ‘I am no trade,’ said the thin man, smiling, ‘and I came to see the wickedness of the land.’ ‘I said thou wast one o’ the devil’s brood wi’ thy black clothes,’ replied a sturdy ringer, who had not spoken before ‘No, the truth is,’ said the thin man, retracting at this horrible translation, ‘I came for a walk because it is a fine evening.’ ‘Now let’s be off, neighbours,’ the clerk interrupted The candle was inverted in the socket, and the whole party stepped out into the churchyard The moon was shining within a day or two of full, and just overlooked the three or four vast yews that stood on the south-east side of the church, and rose in unvaried and flat darkness against the illuminated atmosphere behind them ‘Good-night,’ the clerk said to his comrades, when the door was locked ‘My nearest way is through the park.’ ‘I suppose mine is too?’ said the stranger ‘I am going to the railway-station.’ ‘Of course—come on.’ The two men went over a stile to the west, the remainder of the party going into the road on the opposite side ‘And so the romance has ended well,’ the clerk’s companion remarked, as they brushed along through the grass ‘But what is the truth of the story about the property?’ ‘Now look here, neighbour,’ said Clerk Crickett, ‘if so be you’ll tell me what your line o’ life is, and your purpose in comen here to-day, I’ll tell you the truth about the wedden particulars.’ ‘Very well—I will when you have done,’ said the other man ‘’Tis a bargain; and this is the right o’ the story When Miss Aldclyffe’s will was opened, it was found to have been drawn up on the very day that Manston (her love-child) married Miss Cytherea Graye And this is what that deep woman did Deep? she was as deep as the North Star She bequeathed all her property, real and personal, to “THE WIFE OF AENEAS MANSTON” (with one exception): failen her life to her husband: failen his life to the heirs of his head— body I would say: failen them to her absolutely and her heirs for ever: failen these to Pa’son Raunham, and so on to the end o’ the human race Now do you see the depth of her scheme? Why, although upon the surface it appeared her whole property was for Miss Cytherea, by the word “wife” being used, and not Cytherea’s name, whoever was the wife o’ Manston would come in for’t Wasn’t that rale depth? It was done, of course, that her son AEneas, under any circumstances, should be master o’ the property, without folk knowen it was her son or suspecting anything, as they would if it had been left to en straightway.’ ‘A clever arrangement! And what was the exception?’ ‘The payment of a legacy to her relative, Pa’son Raunham.’ ‘And Miss Cytherea was now Manston’s widow and only relative, and inherited all absolutely.’ ‘True, she did “Well,” says she, “I shan’t have it” (she didn’t like the notion o’ getten anything through Manston, naturally enough, pretty dear) She waived her right in favour o’ Mr Raunham Now, if there’s a man in the world that d’care nothen about land—I don’t say there is, but if there is—‘tis our pa’son He’s like a snail He’s a-growed so to the shape o’ that there rectory that ‘a wouldn’ think o’ leaven it even in name “‘Tis yours, Miss Graye,” says he “No, ‘tis yours,” says she “‘Tis’n’ mine,” says he The Crown had cast his eyes upon the case, thinken o’ forfeiture by felony—but ‘twas no such thing, and ‘a gied it up, too Did you ever hear such a tale?—three people, a man and a woman, and a Crown—neither o’ em in a madhouse—flingen an estate backwards and forwards like an apple or nut? Well, it ended in this way Mr Raunham took it: young Springrove was had as agent and steward, and put to live in Knapwater House, close here at hand—just as if ‘twas his own He does just what he’d like —Mr Raunham never interferen—and hither to-day he’s brought his new wife, Cytherea And a settlement ha’ been drawn up this very day, whereby their children, heirs, and cetrer, be to inherit after Mr Raunham’s death Good fortune came at last Her brother, too, is doen well He came in first man in some architectural competition, and is about to move to London Here’s the house, look Stap out from these bushes, and you’ll get a clear sight o’t.’ They emerged from the shrubbery, breaking off towards the lake, and down the south slope When they arrived exactly opposite the centre of the mansion, they halted It was a magnificent picture of the English country-house The whole of the severe regular front, with its columns and cornices, was built of a white smoothly-faced freestone, which appeared in the rays of the moon as pure as Pentelic marble The sole objects in the scene rivalling the fairness of the facade were a dozen swans floating upon the lake At this moment the central door at the top of the steps was opened, and two figures advanced into the light Two contrasting figures were they A young lithe woman in an airy fairy dress—Cytherea Springrove: a young man in black stereotype raiment—Edward, her husband They stood at the top of the steps together, looking at the moon, the water, and the general loveliness of the prospect ‘That’s the married man and wife—there, I’ve illustrated my story by rale liven specimens,’ the clerk whispered ‘To be sure, how close together they do stand! You couldn’ slip a penny-piece between ‘em—that you couldn’! Beautiful to see it, isn’t it—beautiful! But this is a private path, and we won’t let ‘em see us, as all the ringers be goen there to a supper and dance to-morrow night.’ The speaker and his companion softly moved on, passed through the wicket, and into the coach-road Arrived at the clerk’s house at the further boundary of the park, they paused to part ‘Now for your half o’ the bargain,’ said Clerk Crickett ‘What’s your line o’ life, and what d’ye come here for?’ ‘I’m the reporter to the Casterbridge Chronicle, and I come to pick up the news Good-night.’ Meanwhile Edward and Cytherea, after lingering on the steps for several minutes, slowly descended the slope to the lake The skiff was lying alongside ‘O, Edward,’ said Cytherea, ‘you must do something that has just come into my head!’ ‘Well, dearest—I know.’ ‘Yes—give me one half-minute’s row on the lake here now, just as you did on Budmouth Bay three years ago.’ He handed her into the boat, and almost noiselessly pulled off from shore When they were half-way between the two margins of the lake, he paused and looked at her ‘Ah, darling, I remember exactly how I kissed you that first time,’ said Springrove ‘You were there as you are now I unshipped the sculls in this way Then I turned round and sat beside you—in this way Then I put my hand on the other side of your little neck—’ ‘I think it was just on my cheek, in this way.’ ‘Ah, so it was Then you moved that soft red mouth round to mine—’ ‘But, dearest—you pressed it round if you remember; and of course I couldn’t then help letting it come to your mouth without being unkind to you, and I wouldn’t be that.’ ‘And then I put my cheek against that cheek, and turned my two lips round upon those two lips, and kissed them—so.’ End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Desperate Remedies, by Thomas Hardy *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DESPERATE REMEDIES *** ***** This file should be named 3044-h.htm or 3044-h.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: 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