July sun shone over Egdon and fired its crimson heather to scarlet.
It was the one season of the year, and the one weather of the season,
in which the heath was gorgeous. This flowering period represented the
second or noontide division in the cycle of those superficial changes
which alone were possible here; it followed the green or young-fern
period, representing the morn, and preceded the brown period, when the
heathbells and ferns would wear the russet tinges of evening; to be in
turn displaced by the dark hue of the winter period, representing night.

Clym and Eustacia, in their little house at Alderworth, beyond East
Egdon, were living on with a monotony which was delightful to them. The
heath and changes of weather were quite blotted out from their eyes for
the present. They were enclosed in a sort of luminous mist, which hid
from them surroundings of any inharmonious colour, and gave to all
things the character of light. When it rained they were charmed, because
they could remain indoors together all day with such a show of reason;
when it was fine they were charmed, because they could sit together on
the hills. They were like those double stars which revolve round and
round each other, and from a distance appear to be one. The absolute
solitude in which they lived intensified their reciprocal thoughts; yet
some might have said that it had the disadvantage of consuming their
mutual affections at a fearfully prodigal rate. Yeobright did not fear
for his own part; but recollection of Eustacia's old speech about the
evanescence of love, now apparently forgotten by her, sometimes caused
him to ask himself a question; and he recoiled at the thought that the
quality of finiteness was not foreign to Eden.

When three or four weeks had been passed thus, Yeobright resumed his
reading in earnest. To make up for lost time he studied indefatigably,
for he wished to enter his new profession with the least possible delay.

Now, Eustacia's dream had always been that, once married to Clym,
she would have the power of inducing him to return to Paris. He had
carefully withheld all promise to do so; but would he be proof against
her coaxing and argument? She had calculated to such a degree on the
probability of success that she had represented Paris, and not Budmouth,
to her grandfather as in all likelihood their future home. Her hopes
were bound up in this dream. In the quiet days since their marriage,
when Yeobright had been p