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She
could
follow
every
word
that
the
ramblers
uttered
.
They
were
talking
no
secrets
.
They
were
merely
indulging
in
the
ordinary
vivacious
chat
of
relatives
who
have
long
been
parted
in
person
though
not
in
soul
.
But
it
was
not
to
the
words
that
Eustacia
listened
;
she
could
not
even
have
recalled
,
a
few
minutes
later
,
what
the
words
were
.
It
was
to
the
alternating
voice
that
gave
out
about
one
-
tenth
of
them
—
the
voice
that
had
wished
her
good
night
.
Sometimes
this
throat
uttered
Yes
,
sometimes
it
uttered
No
;
sometimes
it
made
inquiries
about
a
time
worn
denizen
of
the
place
.
Once
it
surprised
her
notions
by
remarking
upon
the
friendliness
and
geniality
written
in
the
faces
of
the
hills
around
.
The
three
voices
passed
on
,
and
decayed
and
died
out
upon
her
ear
.
Thus
much
had
been
granted
her
;
and
all
besides
withheld
.
No
event
could
have
been
more
exciting
.
During
the
greater
part
of
the
afternoon
she
had
been
entrancing
herself
by
imagining
the
fascination
which
must
attend
a
man
come
direct
from
beautiful
Paris
—
laden
with
its
atmosphere
,
familiar
with
its
charms
.
And
this
man
had
greeted
her
.
With
the
departure
of
the
figures
the
profuse
articulations
of
the
women
wasted
away
from
her
memory
;
but
the
accents
of
the
other
stayed
on
.
Was
there
anything
in
the
voice
of
Mrs
.
Yeobright
’
s
son
—
for
Clym
it
was
—
startling
as
a
sound
?
No
;
it
was
simply
comprehensive
.
All
emotional
things
were
possible
to
the
speaker
of
that
“
good
night
.
”
Eustacia
’
s
imagination
supplied
the
rest
—
except
the
solution
to
one
riddle
.
What
COULD
the
tastes
of
that
man
be
who
saw
friendliness
and
geniality
in
these
shaggy
hills
?
On
such
occasions
as
this
a
thousand
ideas
pass
through
a
highly
charged
woman
’
s
head
;
and
they
indicate
themselves
on
her
face
;
but
the
changes
,
though
actual
,
are
minute
.
Eustacia
’
s
features
went
through
a
rhythmical
succession
of
them
.
She
glowed
;
remembering
the
mendacity
of
the
imagination
,
she
flagged
;
then
she
freshened
;
then
she
fired
;
then
she
cooled
again
.
It
was
a
cycle
of
aspects
,
produced
by
a
cycle
of
visions
.
Eustacia
entered
her
own
house
;
she
was
excited
.
Her
grandfather
was
enjoying
himself
over
the
fire
,
raking
about
the
ashes
and
exposing
the
red
-
hot
surface
of
the
turves
,
so
that
their
lurid
glare
irradiated
the
chimney
-
corner
with
the
hues
of
a
furnace
.
“
Why
is
it
that
we
are
never
friendly
with
the
Yeobrights
?
”
she
said
,
coming
forward
and
stretching
her
soft
hands
over
the
warmth
.
“
I
wish
we
were
.
They
seem
to
be
very
nice
people
.
”
“
Be
hanged
if
I
know
why
,
”
said
the
captain
.
“
I
liked
the
old
man
well
enough
,
though
he
was
as
rough
as
a
hedge
.
But
you
would
never
have
cared
to
go
there
,
even
if
you
might
have
,
I
am
well
sure
.
”
“
Why
shouldn
’
t
I
?
”
“
Your
town
tastes
would
find
them
far
too
countrified
.
They
sit
in
the
kitchen
,
drink
mead
and
elder
-
wine
,
and
sand
the
floor
to
keep
it
clean
.
A
sensible
way
of
life
;
but
how
would
you
like
it
?
”
