ook at what seems."

"But, darling, what shall we do?" said he.

"Still go on as we do now--just live on from meeting to meeting, never
minding about another day. You, I know, are always thinking of that--I
can see you are. But you must not--will you, dear Clym?"

"You are just like all women. They are ever content to build their lives
on any incidental position that offers itself; whilst men would fain
make a globe to suit them. Listen to this, Eustacia. There is a subject
I have determined to put off no longer. Your sentiment on the wisdom
of Carpe diem does not impress me today. Our present mode of life must
shortly be brought to an end."

"It is your mother!"

"It is. I love you none the less in telling you; it is only right you
should know."

"I have feared my bliss," she said, with the merest motion of her lips.
"It has been too intense and consuming."

"There is hope yet. There are forty years of work in me yet, and why
should you despair? I am only at an awkward turning. I wish people
wouldn't be so ready to think that there is no progress without
uniformity."

"Ah--your mind runs off to the philosophical side of it. Well, these sad
and hopeless obstacles are welcome in one sense, for they enable us to
look with indifference upon the cruel satires that Fate loves to indulge
in. I have heard of people, who, upon coming suddenly into happiness,
have died from anxiety lest they should not live to enjoy it. I felt
myself in that whimsical state of uneasiness lately; but I shall be
spared it now. Let us walk on."

Clym took the hand which was already bared for him--it was a favourite
way with them to walk bare hand in bare hand--and led her through the
ferns. They formed a very comely picture of love at full flush, as they
walked along the valley that late afternoon, the sun sloping down on
their right, and throwing their thin spectral shadows, tall as poplar
trees, far out across the furze and fern. Eustacia went with her head
thrown back fancifully, a certain glad and voluptuous air of triumph
pervading her eyes at having won by her own unaided self a man who was
her perfect complement in attainment, appearance, and age. On the young
man's part, the paleness of face which he had brought with him
from Paris, and the incipient marks of time and thought, were less
perceptible than when he returned, the healthful and energetic
sturdiness which was his by nature having partially recovered its
original propor