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Updated: June 16, 2025
She threw a slipper at the retreating figure of the girl, who turned, smiled, and went on again. A few steps further, and she looked back. "Did you call me, aunt?" she tremulously inquired. "Good-bye!" Moved by an uncontrollable feeling as she looked upon Mrs. Yeobright's worn, wet face, she ran back, when her aunt came forward, and they met again.
Charley seasoned his admiration with criticism of the gentlest kind, for the touch of Eustacia's hand yet remained with him. "And now for your excuse to the others," she said. "Where do you meet before you go to Mrs. Yeobright's?" "We thought of meeting here, miss, if you have nothing to say against it. At eight o'clock, so as to get there by nine." "Yes. Well, you of course must not appear.
Yeobright's house at Bloom's-End. There was a slight hoar-frost that night, and the moon, though not more than half full, threw a spirited and enticing brightness upon the fantastic figures of the mumming band, whose plumes and ribbons rustled in their walk like autumn leaves. Their path was not over Rainbarrow now, but down a valley which left that ancient elevation a little to the east.
Moreover, he was now no longer gambling for his wife's money, but for Yeobright's; though of this fact Christian, in his apprehensiveness, did not inform him till afterwards. It was nearly eleven o'clock, when, with almost a shriek, Christian placed Yeobright's last gleaming guinea upon the stone. In thirty seconds it had gone the way of its companions.
In Mrs. Yeobright's garden large-leaved plants of a tender kind flagged by ten o'clock in the morning; rhubarb bent downward at eleven; and even stiff cabbages were limp by noon. It was about eleven o'clock on this day that Mrs. Yeobright started across the heath towards her son's house, to do her best in getting reconciled with him and Eustacia, in conformity with her words to the reddleman.
"Christian, now listen to me." "Yes, sure, Mr. Yeobright." "Did you see my mother the day before she died?" "No, I did not." Yeobright's face expressed disappointment. "But I zeed her the morning of the same day she died." Clym's look lighted up. "That's nearer still to my meaning," he said.
As with Farinelli's singing before the princesses, Sheridan's renowned Begum Speech, and other such examples, the fortunate condition of its being for ever lost to the world invested the deceased Mr. Yeobright's tour de force on that memorable afternoon with a cumulative glory which comparative criticism, had that been possible, might considerably have shorn down.
All that evening smart sounds denoting an active packing up came from Yeobright's room to the ears of his mother downstairs. Next morning he departed from the house and again proceeded across the heath. A long day's march was before him, his object being to secure a dwelling to which he might take Eustacia when she became his wife.
He lowered his eyes and went on without another word. Before he had gone half a mile he had forgotten all about her, except that she was a woman who had sat down to rest. Mrs. Yeobright's exertions, physical and emotional, had well-nigh prostrated her; but she continued to creep along in short stages with long breaks between.
Charley seasoned his admiration with criticism of the gentlest kind, for the touch of Eustacia's hand yet remained with him. "And now for your excuse to the others," she said. "Where do you meet before you go to Mrs. Yeobright's?" "We thought of meeting here, miss, if you have nothing to say against it. At eight o'clock, so as to get there by nine." "Yes. Well, you of course must not appear.
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