“Then I give in.  Do whatever will be most comfortable to yourself.”

Clym retired to his lodging at the housetop much relieved, and occupied himself during the afternoon in noting down the heads of a sermon, with which he intended to initiate all that really seemed practicable of the scheme that had originally brought him hither, and that he had so long kept in view under various modifications, and through evil and good report.  He had tested and weighed his convictions again and again, and saw no reason to alter them, though he had considerably lessened his plan.  His eyesight, by long humouring in his native air, had grown stronger, but not sufficiently strong to warrant his attempting his extensive educational project.  Yet he did not repine:  there was still more than enough of an unambitious sort to tax all his energies and occupy all his hours.

Evening drew on, and sounds of life and movement in the lower part of the domicile became more pronounced, the gate in the palings clicking incessantly.  The party was to be an early one, and all the guests were assembled long before it was dark.  Yeobright went down the back staircase and into the heath by another path than that in front, intending to walk in the open air till the party was over, when he would return to wish Thomasin and her husband good-bye as they departed.  His steps were insensibly bent towards Mistover by the path that he had followed on that terrible morning when he learnt the strange news from Susan’s boy.

He did not turn aside to the cottage, but pushed on to an eminence, whence he could see over the whole quarter that had once been Eustacia’s home.  While he stood observing the darkening scene somebody came up.  Clym, seeing him but dimly, would have let him pass silently, had not the pedestrian, who was Charley, recognized the young man and spoken to him.

“Charley, I have not seen you for a length of time,” said Yeobright.  “Do you often walk this way?”

“No,” the lad replied.  “I don’t often come outside the bank.”

“You were not at the Maypole.”

“No,” said Charley, in the same listless tone.  “I don’t care for that sort of thing now.”

“You rather liked Miss Eustacia, didn’t you?” Yeobright gently asked.  Eustacia had frequently told him of Charley’s romantic attachment.

“Yes, very much.  Ah, I wish—­”

“Yes?”

“I wish, Mr. Yeobright, you could give me something to keep that once belonged to her—­if you don’t mind.”

“I shall be very happy to.  It will give me very great pleasure, Charley.  Let me think what I have of hers that you would like.  But come with me to the house, and I’ll see.”

They walked towards Blooms-End together.  When they reached the front it was dark, and the shutters were closed, so that nothing of the interior could be seen.

“Come round this way,” said Clym.  “My entrance is at the back for the present.”