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XVIII. Boldwood in Meditation—Regret

           Hesawnoabsurdsidestothefolliesoflife,andthus,thoughnotquitecompanionableintheeyesofmerrymenandscoffers,andthosetowhomallthingsshowlifeasajest,hewasnotintolerabletotheearnestandthoseacquaintedwithgrief.Beingamanwhoreadallthedramasoflifeseriously,ifhefailedtopleasewhentheywerecomedies,therewasnofrivoloustreatmenttoreproachhimforwhentheychancedtoendtragically.

           Bathshebawasfarfromdreamingthatthedarkandsilentshapeuponwhichshehadsocarelesslythrownaseedwasahotbedoftropicintensity.HadsheknownBoldwood’smoods,herblamewouldhavebeenfearful,andthestainuponherheartineradicable.Moreover,hadsheknownherpresentpowerforgoodoreviloverthisman,shewouldhavetrembledatherresponsibility.Luckilyforherpresent,unluckilyforherfuturetranquillity,herunderstandinghadnotyettoldherwhatBoldwoodwas.Nobodyknewentirely;forthoughitwaspossibletoformguessesconcerninghiswildcapabilitiesfromoldfloodmarksfaintlyvisible,hehadneverbeenseenatthehightideswhichcausedthem.

           FarmerBoldwoodcametothestable-doorandlookedforthacrossthelevelfields.Beyondthefirstenclosurewasahedge,andontheothersideofthisameadowbelongingtoBathsheba’sfarm.

           Itwasnowearlyspring—thetimeofgoingtograsswiththesheep,whentheyhavethefirstfeedofthemeadows,beforethesearelaidupformowing.Thewind,whichhadbeenblowingeastforseveralweeks,hadveeredtothesouthward,andthemiddleofspringhadcomeabruptly—almostwithoutabeginning.

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