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n upper window when they were outside—the window； probably； of Thomasin’s room。 A nose； chin； hands； knees； and toes projected from the seat within the chimney opening； which members she found to unite in the person of Grandfer Cantle； Mrs。 Yeobright’s occasional assistant in the garden； and therefore one of the invited。 The smoke went up from an Etna of peat in front of him； played round the notches of the chimney…crook； struck against the salt…box； and got lost among the flitches。
Another part of the room soon riveted her gaze。 At the other side of the chimney stood the settle； which is the necessary supplement to a fire so open that nothing less than a strong breeze will carry up the smoke。 It is； to the hearths of old…fashioned cavernous fireplaces； what the east belt of trees is to the exposed country estate； or the north wall to the garden。 Outside the settle candles gutter； locks of hair wave； young women shiver； and old men sneeze。 Inside is Paradise。 Not a symptom of a draught disturbs the air； the sitters’ backs are as warm as their faces； and songs and old tales are drawn from the occupants by the fortable heat； like fruit from melon plants in a frame。
It was； however； not with those who sat in the settle that Eustacia was concerned。 A face showed itself with marked distinctness against the dark…tanned wood of the upper part。 The owner； who was leaning against the settle’s outer end； was Clement Yeobright； or Clym； as he was called here； she knew it could be nobody else。 The spectacle constituted an area of two feet in Rembrandt’s intensest manner。 A strange power in the lounger’s appearance lay in the fact that； though his whole figure was visible； the observer’s eye was only aware of his face。
To one of middle age the countenance was that of a young man； though a youth might hardly have seen any necessity for the term of immaturity。 But it was really one of those faces which convey less the idea of so many years as its age than of so much experience as its store。 The number of their years may have adequately summed up Jared； Mahalaleel； and the rest of the antediluvians； but the age of a modern man is to be measured by the intensity of his history。
The face was well shaped； even excellently。 But the mind within was beginning to use it as a mere waste tablet whereon to trace its idiosyncrasies as they developed themselves。 The beauty here visible would in no long time be ruthlessly over…run by its parasite； thought； which might just as well have fed upon a plainer exterior where there was nothing it could harm。 Had Heaven preserved Yeobright from a wearing habit of meditation； people would have said； “A handsome man。” Had his brain unfolded under sharper contours they would have said； “A thoughtful man。” But an inner strenuousness was preying upon an outer symmetry； and they rated his look as singular。
Hence people who began by beholding him ended by perusing him。
His countenance was overlaid with legible meanings。 Without being thought…worn he yet had certain marks derived from a perception of his surroundings； such as are not unfrequently found on men at the end of the four or five years of endeavour which follow the close of placid pupilage。 He already showed that thought is a disease of flesh； and indirectly bore evidence that ideal physical beauty is inpatible with emotional development and a full recognition of the coil of things。 Mental luminousness must be fed with the oil of life； even though there is already a physical need for it； and the pitiful sight of two demands on one supply was just showing itself here。
When standing before certain men the philosopher regrets that thinkers are but perishable tissue； the artist that perishable tissue has to think。 Thus to deplore； each from his point of view； the mutually destructive interdependence of spirit and flesh would have been instinctive with these in critically observing Yeobright。
As for his look； it was a natural cheerfulness striving against depression from without； and not quite succeeding。 The look suggested isolation； but it revealed something more。 As is usual with bright natures； the deity that lies ignominiously chained within an ephemeral human carcase shone out of him like a ray。
The effect upon Eustacia was palpable。 The extraordinary pitch of excitement that she had reached beforehand would； indeed； have caused her to be influenced by the most monplace man。 She was troubled at Yeobright’s presence。
The remainder of the play ended—the Saracen’s head was cut off； and Saint George stood as victor。 Nobody mented； any more than they would have mented on the fact of mushrooms ing in autumn or snowdrops in spring。 They took the piece as phlegmatically as did the actors themselves。 It was a phase of cheerfulness which was； as a matter of course； to be passed through every Christmas； and there was no more to be said。
They sang the plaintive chant which follows the play； during which all the dead men rise to their feet in a silent and awful manner； like the ghosts of Napoleon’s soldiers in the Midnight Review。 Afterwards the door opened； and Fairway appeared on the threshold； acpanied by Christian and another。 They had been waiting outside for the conclusion of the play； as the players had waited for the conclusion of the dance。
“e in； e in；” said Mrs。 Yeobright； and Clym went forward to wele them。 “How is it you are so late？ Grandfer Cantle has been here ever so long； and we thought you’d have e with him； as you live so near one another。”
“Well； I should have e earlier；” Mr。 Fairway said and paused to look along the beam of the ceiling for a nail to hang his hat on； but； finding his accustomed one to be occupied by the mistletoe； and all the nails in the walls to be burdened with bunches of holly； he at last relieved himself of the hat by ticklishly balancing it between the candle…box and the head of the clock…case。 “I should have e earlier； ma’am；” he resumed； with a more posed air； “but I know what parties be； and how there’s none too much room in folks’ houses at such times； so I thought I wouldn’t e till you’d got settled a bit。”
“And I thought so too； Mrs。 Yeobright；” said Christian earnestly； “but Father there was so eager that he had no manners at all； and left home almost afore ‘twas dark。 I told him ‘twas barely decent in a’ old man to e so oversoon； but words be wind。”
“Klk！ I wasn’t going to bide waiting about； till half the game was over！ I’m as light as a kite when anything’s going on！” crowed Grandfer Cantle from the chimneyseat。
Fairway had meanwhile concluded a critical gaze at Yeobright。 “Now； you may not believe it；” he said to the rest of the room； “but I should never have knowed this gentleman if I had met him anywhere off his own he’th—he’s altered so much。”
“You too have altered； and for the better； I think Timothy；” said Yeobright； surveying the firm figure of Fairway。
“Master Yeobright； look me over too。 I have altered for the better； haven’t I； hey？” said Grandfer Cantle； rising and placing himself something above half a foot from Clym’s eye； to induce the most searching criticism。
“To be sure we will；” said Fairway； taking the candle and moving it over the surface of the Grandfer’s countenance； the subject of his scrutiny irradiating himself with light and pleasant smiles； and giving himself jerks of juvenility。
“You haven’t changed much；” said Yeobright。
“If there’s any difference； Grandfer is younger；” appended Fairway decisively。
“And yet not my own doing； and I feel no pride in it；” said the pleased ancient。 “But I can’t be cured of my vagaries； them I plead guilty to。 Yes； Master Cantle always was that； as we know。 But I am nothing by the side of you； Mister Clym。”
“Nor any o’ us；” said Humphrey； in a low rich tone of admiration； not intended to reach anybody’s ears。
“Really； there would have been nobody here who could have stood as decent second to him； or even third； if I hadn’t been a soldier in the Bang…up Locals （as we was called for our smartness）；” said Grandfer Cantle。 “And even as ‘tis we all look a little scammish beside him。 But in the year four ‘twas said there wasn’t a finer figure in the whole South Wessex than I； as I looked when dashing past the shop…winders with the rest of our pany on the day we ran out o’ Budmouth because it was thoughted that Boney had landed round the point。 There was I； straight as a young poplar； wi’ my firelock； and my bagnet； and my spatterdashes； and my stock sawing my jaws off； and my accoutrements sheening like the seven stars！ Yes； neighbours； I was a pretty sight in my soldiering days。 You ought to have seen me in four！”
“’Tis his mother’s side where Master Clym’s figure es from； bless ye；” said Timothy。 “I know’d her brothers well。 Longer coffins were never made in the whole country of South Wessex； and ‘tis said that poor George’s knees were crumpled up a little e’en as ‘twas。”
“Coffins； where？” inquired Christian； drawing nearer。
“Have the ghost of one appeared to anybody； Master Fairway？”
“No； no。 Don’t let your mind so mislead your ears； Christian； and be a man；” said Timothy reproachfully。
“I will。” said Christian。 “But now I think o’t my shadder last night seemed just the shape of a coffin。 What is it a sign of when your shade’s like a coffin； neighbours？ It can’t be nothing to be afeared of； I suppose？”
“Afeared； no！” said the Grandfer。 “Faith； I was never afeard of nothing except Boney； or I shouldn’t ha’ been the soldier I was。 Yes； ‘tis a thousand pities you didn’t see me in four！”
By this time the mummers were preparing to leave； but Mrs。 Yeobright stopped them by asking them to sit down and have a little supper。 To this invitation Father Christmas； in the name of them all； readily agreed。
Eustacia was happy in the opportunity of staying a little longer。
The cold and frosty night without was doubly frigid to her。
But the lingering was not without its difficulties。 Mrs。 Yeobright； for want of room in the larger apartment； placed a bench for the mummers halfway through the pantry door； which opened from the sitting…room。 Here they seated themselves in a row； the door being left open—thus they were still virtually in the same apartment。 Mrs。 Yeobright now murmured a few words to her son； who crossed the room to the pantry door； striking his head against the mistletoe as he passed； and brought the mummers beef and bread； cake pastry； mead； and elder…wine； the waiting being done by him and his mother； that the little maid…servant might sit as guest。 The mummers doffed their helmets； and began to eat and drink。
“But you will surely have some？” said Clym to the Turkish Knight； as he stood before that warrior； tray in hand。 She had refused； and still sat covered； only the sparkle of her eyes being visible between the ribbons which covered her face。
“None； thank you；” replied Eustacia。
“He’s quite a youngster；” said the Saracen apologetically； “and you must excuse him。 He’s not one of the old set； but have jined us because t’other couldn’t e。”
“But he will take something？” persisted Yeobright。
“Try a glass of mead or elder…wine。”
“Yes； you had better try that；” said the Saracen。
“It will keep the cold out going home…along。”
Though Eustacia could not eat without uncovering her face she could drink easily enough beneath her disguise。 The elder…wine was accordingly accepted； and the glass vanished inside the ribbons。
At moments during this performance Eustacia was half in doubt about the security of her position； yet it had a fearful joy。 A series of attentions paid to her； and yet not to her but to some imaginary person； by the first man she had ever been inclined to adore； plicated her emotions indescribably。 She had loved him partly because he was exceptional in this scene； partly because she had determined to love him； chiefly because she was in desperate need of loving somebody after wearying of Wildeve。 Believing that she must love him in spite of herself； she had been influenced after the fashion of the second Lord Lyttleton and other persons； who have dreamed that they were to die on a certain day； and by stress of a morbid imagination have actually brought about that event。 Once let a maiden admit the possibility of her being stricken with love for someone at a certain hour and place； and the thing is as good as done。
Did anything at this moment suggest to Yeobright the sex of the creature whom that fantastic guise inclosed； how extended was her scope both in feeling and in making others feel； and how far her pass transcended that of her panions in the band？ When the disguised Queen of Love appeared before Aeneas a preternatural perfume acpanied her presence and betrayed her quality。 If such a mysterious emanation ever was projected by the emotions of an earthly woman upon their object； it must have signified Eustacia’s presence to Yeobright now。 He looked at her wistfully； then seemed to fall into a reverie； as if he were forgetting what he observed。 The momentary situation ended； he passed on； and Eustacia sipped her wine without knowing what she drank。 The man for whom she had pre…determined to nourish a passion we