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“
I
cannot
help
feeling
that
I
did
my
best
to
kill
her
.
”
“
No
,
Clym
.
”
“
Yes
,
it
was
so
;
it
is
useless
to
excuse
me
!
My
conduct
to
her
was
too
hideous
—
I
made
no
advances
;
and
she
could
not
bring
herself
to
forgive
me
.
Now
she
is
dead
!
If
I
had
only
shown
myself
willing
to
make
it
up
with
her
sooner
,
and
we
had
been
friends
,
and
then
she
had
died
,
it
wouldn
’
t
be
so
hard
to
bear
.
But
I
never
went
near
her
house
,
so
she
never
came
near
mine
,
and
didn
’
t
know
how
welcome
she
would
have
been
—
that
’
s
what
troubles
me
.
She
did
not
know
I
was
going
to
her
house
that
very
night
,
for
she
was
too
insensible
to
understand
me
.
If
she
had
only
come
to
see
me
!
I
longed
that
she
would
.
But
it
was
not
to
be
.
”
There
escaped
from
Eustacia
one
of
those
shivering
sighs
which
used
to
shake
her
like
a
pestilent
blast
.
She
had
not
yet
told
.
But
Yeobright
was
too
deeply
absorbed
in
the
ramblings
incidental
to
his
remorseful
state
to
notice
her
.
During
his
illness
he
had
been
continually
talking
thus
.
Despair
had
been
added
to
his
original
grief
by
the
unfortunate
disclosure
of
the
boy
who
had
received
the
last
words
of
Mrs
.
Yeobright
—
words
too
bitterly
uttered
in
an
hour
of
misapprehension
.
Then
his
distress
had
overwhelmed
him
,
and
he
longed
for
death
as
a
field
labourer
longs
for
the
shade
.
It
was
the
pitiful
sight
of
a
man
standing
in
the
very
focus
of
sorrow
.
He
continually
bewailed
his
tardy
journey
to
his
mother
’
s
house
,
because
it
was
an
error
which
could
never
be
rectified
,
and
insisted
that
he
must
have
been
horribly
perverted
by
some
fiend
not
to
have
thought
before
that
it
was
his
duty
to
go
to
her
,
since
she
did
not
come
to
him
.
He
would
ask
Eustacia
to
agree
with
him
in
his
self
-
condemnation
;
and
when
she
,
seared
inwardly
by
a
secret
she
dared
not
tell
,
declared
that
she
could
not
give
an
opinion
,
he
would
say
,
“
That
’
s
because
you
didn
’
t
know
my
mother
’
s
nature
.
She
was
always
ready
to
forgive
if
asked
to
do
so
;
but
I
seemed
to
her
to
be
as
an
obstinate
child
,
and
that
made
her
unyielding
.
Yet
not
unyielding
—
she
was
proud
and
reserved
,
no
more
.
.
.
.
Yes
,
I
can
understand
why
she
held
out
against
me
so
long
.
She
was
waiting
for
me
.
I
dare
say
she
said
a
hundred
times
in
her
sorrow
,
’
What
a
return
he
makes
for
all
the
sacrifices
I
have
made
for
him
!
’
I
never
went
to
her
!
When
I
set
out
to
visit
her
it
was
too
late
.
To
think
of
that
is
nearly
intolerable
!
”
Sometimes
his
condition
had
been
one
of
utter
remorse
,
unsoftened
by
a
single
tear
of
pure
sorrow
:
and
then
he
writhed
as
he
lay
,
fevered
far
more
by
thought
than
by
physical
ills
.
“
If
I
could
only
get
one
assurance
that
she
did
not
die
in
a
belief
that
I
was
resentful
,
”
he
said
one
day
when
in
this
mood
,
“
it
would
be
better
to
think
of
than
a
hope
of
heaven
.
But
that
I
cannot
do
.
”
“
You
give
yourself
up
too
much
to
this
wearying
despair
,
”
said
Eustacia
.
“
Other
men
’
s
mothers
have
died
.
”
“
That
doesn
’
t
make
the
loss
of
mine
less
.
Yet
it
is
less
the
loss
than
the
circumstances
of
the
loss
.
I
sinned
against
her
,
and
on
that
account
there
is
no
light
for
me
.
”
