Eustacia was not one to commit herself to such a position without good ground.  He said quietly, “No.”

“Not even on the shoulders of Thomasin?”

“Thomasin is a pleasing and innocent woman.”

“That’s nothing to do with it,” she cried with quick passionateness.  “We will leave her out; there are only you and me now to think of.”  After a long look at him she resumed with the old quiescent warmth:  “Must I go on weakly confessing to you things a woman ought to conceal; and own that no words can express how gloomy I have been because of that dreadful belief I held till two hours ago—­that you had quite deserted me?”

“I am sorry I caused you that pain.”

“But perhaps it is not wholly because of you that I get gloomy,” she archly added.  “It is in my nature to feel like that.  It was born in my blood, I suppose.”

“Hypochondriasis.”

“Or else it was coming into this wild heath.  I was happy enough at Budmouth.  O the times, O the days at Budmouth!  But Egdon will be brighter again now.”

“I hope it will,” said Wildeve moodily.  “Do you know the consequence of this recall to me, my old darling?  I shall come to see you again as before, at Rainbarrow.”

“Of course you will.”

“And yet I declare that until I got here tonight I intended, after this one good-bye, never to meet you again.”

“I don’t thank you for that,” she said, turning away, while indignation spread through her like subterranean heat.  “You may come again to Rainbarrow if you like, but you won’t see me; and you may call, but I shall not listen; and you may tempt me, but I won’t give myself to you any more.”

“You have said as much before, sweet; but such natures as yours don’t so easily adhere to their words.  Neither, for the matter of that, do such natures as mine.”

“This is the pleasure I have won by my trouble,” she whispered bitterly.  “Why did I try to recall you?  Damon, a strange warring takes place in my mind occasionally.  I think when I become calm after your woundings, ‘Do I embrace a cloud of common fog after all?’ You are a chameleon, and now you are at your worst colour.  Go home, or I shall hate you!”

He looked absently towards Rainbarrow while one might have counted twenty, and said, as if he did not much mind all this, “Yes, I will go home.  Do you mean to see me again?”

“If you own to me that the wedding is broken off because you love me best.”

“I don’t think it would be good policy,” said Wildeve, smiling.  “You would get to know the extent of your power too clearly.”

“But tell me!”

“You know.”

“Where is she now?”

“I don’t know.  I prefer not to speak of her to you.  I have not yet married her; I have come in obedience to your call.  That is enough.”

“I merely lit that fire because I was dull, and thought I would get a little excitement by calling you up and triumphing over you as the Witch of Endor called up Samuel.  I determined you should come; and you have come!  I have shown my power.  A mile and half hither, and a mile and half back again to your home—­three miles in the dark for me.  Have I not shown my power?”