Part 69

“Mine?” asked Christian, with a vacant stare from his target eyes. “I—I haven’t got neither maid, wife, nor widder belonging to me at all, and I’m afeard it will make me laughed at to ha’e it, Master Traveller. What with being curious to join in I never thought of that! What shall I do wi’ a woman’s clothes in my bedroom, and not lose my decency!”

“Keep ’em, to be sure,” said Fairway, “if it is only for luck. Perhaps ’twill tempt some woman that thy poor carcase had no power over when standing empty-handed.”

“Keep it, certainly,” said Wildeve, who had idly watched the scene from a distance.

The table was then cleared of the articles, and the men began to drink.

“Well, to be sure!” said Christian, half to himself. “To think I should have been born so lucky as this, and not have found it out until now! What curious creatures these dice be—powerful rulers of us all, and yet at my command! I am sure I never need be afeared of anything after this.” He handled the dice fondly one by one. “Why, sir,” he said in a confidential whisper to Wildeve, who was near his left hand, “if I could only use this power that’s in me of multiplying money I might do some good to a near relation of yours, seeing what I’ve got about me of hers—eh?” He tapped one of his money-laden boots upon the floor.

“What do you mean?” said Wildeve.

“That’s a secret. Well, I must be going now.” He looked anxiously towards Fairway.

“Where are you going?” Wildeve asked.

“To Mistover Knap. I have to see Mrs. Thomasin there—that’s all.”

“I am going there, too, to fetch Mrs. Wildeve. We can walk together.”

Wildeve became lost in thought, and a look of inward illumination came into his eyes. It was money for his wife that Mrs. Yeobright could not trust him with. “Yet she could trust this fellow,” he said to himself. “Why doesn’t that which belongs to the wife belong to the husband too?”

He called to the pot-boy to bring him his hat, and said, “Now, Christian, I am ready.”

“Mr. Wildeve,” said Christian timidly, as he turned to leave the room, “would you mind lending me them wonderful little things that carry my luck inside ’em, that I might practise a bit by myself, you know?” He looked wistfully at the dice and box lying on the mantlepiece.

“Certainly,” said Wildeve carelessly. “They were only cut out by some lad with his knife, and are worth nothing.” And Christian went back and privately pocketed them.

Wildeve opened the door and looked out. The night was warm and cloudy. “By Gad! ’tis dark,” he continued. “But I suppose we shall find our way.”

“If we should lose the path it might be awkward,” said Christian. “A lantern is the only shield that will make it safe for us.”

“Let’s have a lantern by all means.” The stable lantern was fetched and lighted. Christian took up his gownpiece, and the two set out to ascend the hill.

Within the room the men fell into chat till their attention was for a moment drawn to the chimney-corner. This was large, and, in addition to its proper recess, contained within its jambs, like many on Egdon, a receding seat, so that a person might sit there absolutely unobserved, provided there was no fire to light him up, as was the case now and throughout the summer. From the niche a single object protruded into the light from the candles on the table. It was a clay pipe, and its colour was reddish. The men had been attracted to this object by a voice behind the pipe asking for a light.

“Upon my life, it fairly startled me when the man spoke!” said Fairway, handing a candle. “Oh—’tis the reddleman! You’ve kept a quiet tongue, young man.”

“Yes, I had nothing to say,” observed Venn. In a few minutes he arose and wished the company good night.

Meanwhile Wildeve and Christian had plunged into the heath.

It was a stagnant, warm, and misty night, full of all the heavy perfumes of new vegetation not yet dried by hot sun, and among these particularly the scent of the fern. The lantern, dangling from Christian’s hand, brushed the feathery fronds in passing by, disturbing moths and other winged insects, which flew out and alighted upon its horny panes.

“So you have money to carry to Mrs. Wildeve?” said Christian’s companion, after a silence. “Don’t you think it very odd that it shouldn’t be given to me?”

“As man and wife be one flesh, ’twould have been all the same, I should think,” said Christian. “But my strict documents was, to give the money into Mrs. Wildeve’s hand—and ’tis well to do things right.”

“No doubt,” said Wildeve. Any person who had known the circumstances might have perceived that Wildeve was mortified by the discovery that the matter in transit was money, and not, as he had supposed when at Blooms-End, some fancy nick-nack which only interested the two women themselves. Mrs. Yeobright’s refusal implied that his honour was not considered to be of sufficiently good quality to make him a safer bearer of his wife’s property.

“How very warm it is tonight, Christian!” he said, panting, when they were nearly under Rainbarrow. “Let us sit down for a few minutes, for Heaven’s sake.”

Wildeve flung himself down on the soft ferns; and Christian, placing the lantern and parcel on the ground, perched himself in a cramped position hard by, his knees almost touching his chin. He presently thrust one hand into his coat-pocket and began shaking it about.

“What are you rattling in there?” said Wildeve.