“Then he will be very unreasonable.  In fact, you are all rather unreasonable.”

Thomasin coloured a little, and not with love.  But whatever the momentary feeling which caused that flush in her, it went as it came, and she humbly said, “I never mean to be, if I can help it.  I merely feel that you have my aunt to some extent in your power at last.”

“As a matter of justice it is almost due to me,” said Wildeve.  “Think what I have gone through to win her consent; the insult that it is to any man to have the banns forbidden:  the double insult to a man unlucky enough to be cursed with sensitiveness, and blue demons, and Heaven knows what, as I am.  I can never forget those banns.  A harsher man would rejoice now in the power I have of turning upon your aunt by going no further in the business.”

She looked wistfully at him with her sorrowful eyes as he said those words, and her aspect showed that more than one person in the room could deplore the possession of sensitiveness.  Seeing that she was really suffering he seemed disturbed and added, “This is merely a reflection you know.  I have not the least intention to refuse to complete the marriage, Tamsie mine—­I could not bear it.”

“You could not, I know!” said the fair girl, brightening.  “You, who cannot bear the sight of pain in even an insect, or any disagreeable sound, or unpleasant smell even, will not long cause pain to me and mine.”

“I will not, if I can help it.”

“Your hand upon it, Damon.”

He carelessly gave her his hand.

“Ah, by my crown, what’s that?” he said suddenly.

There fell upon their ears the sound of numerous voices singing in front of the house.  Among these, two made themselves prominent by their peculiarity:  one was a very strong bass, the other a wheezy thin piping.  Thomasin recognized them as belonging to Timothy Fairway and Grandfer Cantle respectively.

“What does it mean—­it is not skimmity-riding, I hope?” she said, with a frightened gaze at Wildeve.

“Of course not; no, it is that the heath-folk have come to sing to us a welcome.  This is intolerable!” He began pacing about, the men outside singing cheerily—­

   “He told’ her that she’ was the joy’ of his life’. 
    And if’ she’d con-sent’ he would make her his wife’;
    She could’ not refuse’ him; to church’ so they went’,
    Young Will was forgot’, and young Sue’ was content’;
    And then’ was she kiss’d’ and set down’ on his knee’,
    No man’ in the world’ was so lov’-ing as he’!”

Mrs. Yeobright burst in from the outer room.  “Thomasin, Thomasin!” she said, looking indignantly at Wildeve; “here’s a pretty exposure!  Let us escape at once.  Come!”

It was, however, too late to get away by the passage.  A rugged knocking had begun upon the door of the front room.  Wildeve, who had gone to the window, came back.