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III. The First Act in a Timeworn Drama

           

           YeobrightandEustacialookedateachotherforoneinstant,asifeachhadinmindthosefewmomentsduringwhichacertainmoonlightscenewascommontoboth.Withtheglancethecalmfixityofherfeaturessublimeditselftoanexpressionofrefinementandwarmth;itwaslikegarishnoonrisingtothedignityofsunsetinacoupleofseconds.

           “Thankyou;itwillhardlybenecessary,”shereplied.

           “Butifyouhavenowater?”

           “Well,itiswhatIcallnowater,”shesaid,blushing,andliftingherlong-lashedeyelidsasiftoliftthemwereaworkrequiringconsideration.“Butmygrandfathercallsitwaterenough.I’llshowyouwhatImean.”

           Shemovedawayafewyards,andClymfollowed.Whenshereachedthecorneroftheenclosure,wherethestepswereformedformountingtheboundarybank,shesprangupwithalightnesswhichseemedstrangeafterherlistlessmovementtowardsthewell.Itincidentallyshowedthatherapparentlanguordidnotarisefromlackofforce.

           Clymascendedbehindher,andnoticedacircularburntpatchatthetopofthebank.“Ashes?”hesaid.

           “Yes,”saidEustacia.“WehadalittlebonfireherelastFifthofNovember,andthosearethemarksofit.”

           OnthatspothadstoodthefireshehadkindledtoattractWildeve.

           “That’stheonlykindofwaterwehave,”shecontinued,tossingastoneintothepool,whichlayontheoutsideofthebanklikethewhiteofaneyewithoutitspupil.Thestonefellwithaflounce,butnoWildeveappearedontheotherside,asonapreviousoccasionthere.

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