He journeyed onward, not quickly or decisively, but in the slow walk of one who has been awakened from a stupefying sleep.  It was early afternoon when he reached the valley.  The expression of the place, the tone of the hour, were precisely those of many such occasions in days gone by; and these antecedent similarities fostered the illusion that she, who was there no longer, would come out to welcome him.  The garden gate was locked and the shutters were closed, just as he himself had left them on the evening after the funeral.  He unlocked the gate, and found that a spider had already constructed a large web, tying the door to the lintel, on the supposition that it was never to be opened again.  When he had entered the house and flung back the shutters he set about his task of overhauling the cupboards and closets, burning papers, and considering how best to arrange the place for Eustacia’s reception, until such time as he might be in a position to carry out his long-delayed scheme, should that time ever arrive.

As he surveyed the rooms he felt strongly disinclined for the alterations which would have to be made in the time-honoured furnishing of his parents and grandparents, to suit Eustacia’s modern ideas.  The gaunt oak-cased clock, with the picture of the Ascension on the door-panel and the Miraculous Draught of Fishes on the base; his grandmother’s corner cupboard with the glass door, through which the spotted china was visible; the dumb-waiter; the wooden tea-trays; the hanging fountain with the brass tap—­whither would these venerable articles have to be banished?

He noticed that the flowers in the window had died for want of water, and he placed them out upon the ledge, that they might be taken away.  While thus engaged he heard footsteps on the gravel without, and somebody knocked at the door.

Yeobright opened it, and Venn was standing before him.

“Good morning,” said the reddleman.  “Is Mrs. Yeobright at home?”

Yeobright looked upon the ground.  “Then you have not seen Christian or any of the Egdon folks?” he said.

“No.  I have only just returned after a long stay away.  I called here the day before I left.”

“And you have heard nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“My mother is—­dead.”

“Dead!” said Venn mechanically.

“Her home now is where I shouldn’t mind having mine.”

Venn regarded him, and then said, “If I didn’t see your face I could never believe your words.  Have you been ill?”

“I had an illness.”

“Well, the change!  When I parted from her a month ago everything seemed to say that she was going to begin a new life.”

“And what seemed came true.”

“You say right, no doubt.  Trouble has taught you a deeper vein of talk than mine.  All I meant was regarding her life here.  She has died too soon.”

“Perhaps through my living too long.  I have had a bitter experience on that score this last month, Diggory.  But come in; I have been wanting to see you.”