laying with
more spirit, if that were possible, than when she had come away. On
reaching the hill the sun had quite disappeared; but this made little
difference either to Eustacia or to the revellers, for a round yellow
moon was rising before her, though its rays had not yet outmastered
those from the west. The dance was going on just the same, but
strangers had arrived and formed a ring around the figure, so that
Eustacia could stand among these without a chance of being recognized.

A whole village-full of sensuous emotion, scattered abroad all the
year long, surged here in a focus for an hour. The forty hearts of
those waving couples were beating as they had not done since, twelve
months before, they had come together in similar jollity. For the
time paganism was revived in their hearts, the pride of life was all
in all, and they adored none other than themselves.

How many of those impassioned but temporary embraces were destined to
become perpetual was possibly the wonder of some of those who indulged
in them, as well as of Eustacia who looked on. She began to envy
those pirouetters, to hunger for the hope and happiness which the
fascination of the dance seemed to engender within them. Desperately
fond of dancing herself, one of Eustacia's expectations of Paris
had been the opportunity it might afford her of indulgence in this
favourite pastime. Unhappily, that expectation was now extinct within
her for ever.

Whilst she abstractedly watched them spinning and fluctuating in the
increasing moonlight she suddenly heard her name whispered by a voice
over her shoulder. Turning in surprise, she beheld at her elbow one
whose presence instantly caused her to flush to the temples.

It was Wildeve. Till this moment he had not met her eye since the
morning of his marriage, when she had been loitering in the church,
and had startled him by lifting her veil and coming forward to
sign the register as witness. Yet why the sight of him should have
instigated that sudden rush of blood she could not tell.

Before she could speak he whispered, "Do you like dancing as much as
ever?"

"I think I do," she replied in a low voice.

"Will you dance with me?"

"It would be a great change for me; but will it not seem strange?"

"What strangeness can there be in relations dancing together?"

"Ah--yes, relations. Perhaps none."

"Still, if you don't like to be seen, pull down your veil; though
there is not much risk of being kno