ned and walked
away across the enclosure to the gate, and was hidden by the bank.

When she had disappeared Charley, with misgiving in his eyes, slowly
came from the stable door, and going to another point in the bank he
looked over. Eustacia was leaning against it on the outside, her face
covered with her hands, and her head pressing the dewy heather which
bearded the bank's outer side. She appeared to be utterly indifferent to
the circumstance that her bonnet, hair, and garments were becoming
wet and disarranged by the moisture of her cold, harsh pillow. Clearly
something was wrong.

Charley had always regarded Eustacia as Eustacia had regarded Clym
when she first beheld him--as a romantic and sweet vision, scarcely
incarnate. He had been so shut off from her by the dignity of her look
and the pride of her speech, except at that one blissful interval when
he was allowed to hold her hand, that he had hardly deemed her a woman,
wingless and earthly, subject to household conditions and domestic jars.
The inner details of her life he had only conjectured. She had been a
lovely wonder, predestined to an orbit in which the whole of his own was
but a point; and this sight of her leaning like a helpless, despairing
creature against a wild wet bank filled him with an amazed horror. He
could no longer remain where he was. Leaping over, he came up, touched
her with his finger, and said tenderly, "You are poorly, ma'am. What can
I do?"

Eustacia started up, and said, "Ah, Charley--you have followed me. You
did not think when I left home in the summer that I should come back
like this!"

"I did not, dear ma'am. Can I help you now?"

"I am afraid not. I wish I could get into the house. I feel
giddy--that's all."

"Lean on my arm, ma'am, till we get to the porch, and I will try to open
the door."

He supported her to the porch, and there depositing her on a seat
hastened to the back, climbed to a window by the help of a ladder, and
descending inside opened the door. Next he assisted her into the room,
where there was an old-fashioned horsehair settee as large as a donkey
wagon. She lay down here, and Charley covered her with a cloak he found
in the hall.

"Shall I get you something to eat and drink?" he said.

"If you please, Charley. But I suppose there is no fire?"

"I can light it, ma'am."

He vanished, and she heard a splitting of wood and a blowing of bellows;
and presently he returned, saying, "I have lighted a