Instead of remaining at home that night he determined to go and see Thomasin and her husband.  If he found opportunity he would allude to the cause of the separation between Eustacia and himself, keeping silence, however, on the fact that there was a third person in his house when his mother was turned away.  If it proved that Wildeve was innocently there he would doubtless openly mention it.  If he were there with unjust intentions Wildeve, being a man of quick feeling, might possibly say something to reveal the extent to which Eustacia was compromised.

But on reaching his cousin’s house he found that only Thomasin was at home, Wildeve being at that time on his way towards the bonfire innocently lit by Charley at Mistover.  Thomasin then, as always, was glad to see Clym, and took him to inspect the sleeping baby, carefully screening the candlelight from the infant’s eyes with her hand.

“Tamsin, have you heard that Eustacia is not with me now?” he said when they had sat down again.

“No,” said Thomasin, alarmed.

“And not that I have left Alderworth?”

“No.  I never hear tidings from Alderworth unless you bring them.  What is the matter?”

Clym in a disturbed voice related to her his visit to Susan Nunsuch’s boy, the revelation he had made, and what had resulted from his charging Eustacia with having wilfully and heartlessly done the deed.  He suppressed all mention of Wildeve’s presence with her.

“All this, and I not knowing it!” murmured Thomasin in an awestruck tone.  “Terrible!  What could have made her—­O, Eustacia!  And when you found it out you went in hot haste to her?  Were you too cruel?—­or is she really so wicked as she seems?”

“Can a man be too cruel to his mother’s enemy?”

“I can fancy so.”

“Very well, then—­I’ll admit that he can.  But now what is to be done?”

“Make it up again—­if a quarrel so deadly can ever be made up.  I almost wish you had not told me.  But do try to be reconciled.  There are ways, after all, if you both wish to.”

“I don’t know that we do both wish to make it up,” said Clym.  “If she had wished it, would she not have sent to me by this time?”

“You seem to wish to, and yet you have not sent to her.”

“True; but I have been tossed to and fro in doubt if I ought, after such strong provocation.  To see me now, Thomasin, gives you no idea of what I have been; of what depths I have descended to in these few last days.  O, it was a bitter shame to shut out my mother like that!  Can I ever forget it, or even agree to see her again?”

“She might not have known that anything serious would come of it, and perhaps she did not mean to keep aunt out altogether.”

“She says herself that she did not.  But the fact remains that keep her out she did.”

“Believe her sorry, and send for her.”

“How if she will not come?”