The Return of the Native | Page 5

woman."
"The deuce you have! Why did she cry out?"
"Oh, she has fallen asleep, and not being used to traveling, she's uneasy,
and keeps dreaming."
"A young woman?"
"Yes, a young woman."
"That would have interested me forty years ago. Perhaps she's your
wife?"
"My wife!" said the other bitterly. "She's above mating with such as I.
But there's no reason why I should tell you about that."
"That's true. And there's no reason why you should not. What harm can
I do to you or to her?"
The reddleman looked in the old man's face. "Well, sir," he said at last,
"I knew her before today, though perhaps it would have been better if I
had not. But she's nothing to me, and I am nothing to her; and she

wouldn't have been in my van if any better carriage had been there to
take her."
"Where, may I ask?"
"At Anglebury."
"I know the town well. What was she doing there?"
"Oh, not much--to gossip about. However, she's tired to death now, and
not at all well, and that's what makes her so restless. She dropped off
into a nap about an hour ago, and 'twill do her good."
"A nice-looking girl, no doubt?"
"You would say so."
The other traveller turned his eyes with interest towards the van
window, and, without withdrawing them, said, "I presume I might look
in upon her?"
"No," said the reddleman abruptly. "It is getting too dark for you to see
much of her; and, more than that, I have no right to allow you. Thank
God she sleeps so well: I hope she won't wake till she's home."
"Who is she? One of the neighbourhood?"
"'Tis no matter who, excuse me."
"It is not that girl of Blooms-End, who has been talked about more or
less lately? If so, I know her; and I can guess what has happened."
"'Tis no matter... Now, sir, I am sorry to say that we shall soon have to
part company. My ponies are tired, and I have further to go, and I am
going to rest them under this bank for an hour."
The elder traveller nodded his head indifferently, and the reddleman
turned his horses and van in upon the turf, saying, "Good night." The
old man replied, and proceeded on his way as before.

The reddleman watched his form as it diminished to a speck on the
road and became absorbed in the thickening films of night. He then
took some hay from a truss which was slung up under the van, and,
throwing a portion of it in front of the horses, made a pad of the rest,
which he laid on the ground beside his vehicle. Upon this he sat down,
leaning his back against the wheel. From the interior a low soft
breathing came to his ear. It appeared to satisfy him, and he musingly
surveyed the scene, as if considering the next step that he should take.
To do things musingly, and by small degrees, seemed, indeed, to be a
duty in the Egdon valleys at this transitional hour, for there was that in
the condition of the heath itself which resembled protracted and halting
dubiousness. It was the quality of the repose appertaining to the scene.
This was not the repose of actual stagnation, but the apparent repose of
incredible slowness. A condition of healthy life so nearly resembling
the torpor of death is a noticeable thing of its sort; to exhibit the
inertness of the desert, and at the same time to be exercising powers
akin to those of the meadow, and even of the forest, awakened in those
who thought of it the attentiveness usually engendered by
understatement and reserve.
The scene before the reddleman's eyes was a gradual series of ascents
from the level of the road backward into the heart of the heath. It
embraced hillocks, pits, ridges, acclivities, one behind the other, till all
was finished by a high hill cutting against the still light sky. The
traveller's eye hovered about these things for a time, and finally settled
upon one noteworthy object up there. It was a barrow. This bossy
projection of earth above its natural level occupied the loftiest ground
of the loneliest height that the heath contained. Although from the vale
it appeared but as a wart on an Atlantean brow, its actual bulk was great.
It formed the pole and axis of this heathery world.
As the resting man looked at the barrow he became aware that its
summit, hitherto the highest object in the whole prospect round, was
surmounted by something higher. It rose from the semi-globular mound
like a spike from a helmet. The first instinct of an imaginative stranger
might have been to suppose it the