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XXXI. Blame—Fury

           Thereareaccentsintheeyewhicharenotonthetongue,andmoretalescomefrompalelipsthancanenteranear.Itisboththegrandeurandthepainoftheremotermoodsthattheyavoidthepathwayofsound.Boldwood’slookwasunanswerable.

           Seeingsheturnedalittleaside,hesaid,"What,areyouafraidofme?"

           "Whyshouldyousaythat?"saidBathsheba.

           "Ifanciedyoulookedso,"saidhe."Anditismoststrange,becauseofitscontrastwithmyfeelingforyou."

           Sheregainedself-possession,fixedhereyescalmly,andwaited.

           "Youknowwhatthatfeelingis,"continuedBoldwood,deliberately."Athingstrongasdeath.Nodismissalbyahastyletteraffectsthat."

           "Iwishyoudidnotfeelsostronglyaboutme,"shemurmured."Itisgenerousofyou,andmorethanIdeserve,butImustnothearitnow."

           "Hearit?WhatdoyouthinkIhavetosay,then?Iamnottomarryyou,andthat’senough.Yourletterwasexcellentlyplain.Iwantyoutohearnothing—notI."

           Bathshebawasunabletodirectherwillintoanydefinitegrooveforfreeingherselffromthisfearfullyawkwardposition.Sheconfusedlysaid,"Goodevening,"andwasmovingon.Boldwoodwalkeduptoherheavilyanddully.

           "Bathsheba—darling—isitfinalindeed?"

           "Indeeditis."

           "Oh,Bathsheba—havepityuponme!"Boldwoodburstout."God’ssake,yes—Iamcometothatlow,loweststage—toaskawomanforpity!Still,sheisyou—sheisyou."

           Bathshebacommandedherselfwell.Butshecouldhardlygetaclearvoiceforwhatcameinstinctivelytoherlips:"Thereislittlehonourtothewomaninthatspeech.

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