Возвращение на родину

VIII. Rain, Darkness, and Anxious Wanderers

           Whatdoeshewantbanknotesfor,ifheisonlygoingoffforaday?WhenhehadgonedownIthoughtofEustacia,andhowhehadmetherthenightbefore—Iknowhedidmeether,Clym,forIfollowedhimpartoftheway;butIdidnotliketotellyouwhenyoucalled,andsomakeyouthinkillofhim,asIdidnotthinkitwassoserious.ThenIcouldnotstayinbed;Igotupanddressedmyself,andwhenIheardhimoutinthestableIthoughtIwouldcomeandtellyou.SoIcamedownstairswithoutanynoiseandslippedout.”

           “Thenhewasnotabsolutelygonewhenyouleft?”

           “No.Willyou,dearCousinClym,goandtrytopersuadehimnottogo?HetakesnonoticeofwhatIsay,andputsmeoffwiththestoryofhisgoingonajourney,andwillbehometomorrow,andallthat;butIdon’tbelieveit.Ithinkyoucouldinfluencehim.”

           “I’llgo,”saidClym.“O,Eustacia!”

           Thomasincarriedinherarmsalargebundle;andhavingbythistimeseatedherselfshebegantounrollit,whenababyappearedasthekerneltothehusks—dry,warm,andunconsciousoftravelorroughweather.Thomasinbrieflykissedthebaby,andthenfoundtimetobegincryingasshesaid,“Ibroughtbaby,forIwasafraidwhatmighthappentoher.Isupposeitwillbeherdeath,butIcouldn’tleaveherwithRachel!”

           Clymhastilyputtogetherthelogsonthehearth,rakedabroadtheembers,whichwerescarcelyyetextinct,andblewupaflamewiththebellows.

           “Dryyourself,”hesaid.“I’llgoandgetsomemorewood.”

           “No,no—don’tstayforthat.I’llmakeupthefire.

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