["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> <CHAPTER>\n4--The Halt on the Turnpike Road\n\n\nDown, downward they went, and yet further down--their descent at each\nstep seeming to outmeasure their advance. Their skirts were scratched\nnoisily by the furze, their shoulders brushed by the ferns, which,\nthough dead and dry, stood erect as when alive, no sufficient winter\nweather having as yet arrived to beat them down. Their Tartarean\nsituation might by some have been called an imprudent one for two\nunattended women. But these shaggy recesses were at all seasons a\nfamiliar surrounding to Olly and Mrs. Yeobright; and the addition of\ndarkness lends no frightfulness to the face of a friend. \"And so Tamsin has married him at last,\" said Olly, when the incline\nhad become so much less steep that their foot-steps no longer required\nundivided attention. Mrs. Yeobright answered slowly, \"Yes; at last.\" \"How you will miss her--living with 'ee as a daughter, as she always\nhave.\" \"I do miss her.\" Olly, though without the tact to perceive when remarks were untimely,\nwas saved by her very simplicity from rendering them offensive. Questions that would have been resented in others she could ask with\nimpunity. This accounted for Mrs. Yeobright's acquiescence in the\nrevival of an evidently sore subject. \"I was quite strook to hear you'd agreed to it, ma'am, that I was,\"\ncontinued the besom-maker. \"You were not more struck by it than I should have been last year this\ntime, Olly. There are a good many sides to that wedding. I could not\ntell you all of them, even if I tried.\" \"I felt myself that he was hardly solid-going enough to mate with your\nfamily. Keeping an inn--what is it? But 'a's clever, that's true, and\nthey say he was an engineering gentleman once, but has come down by\nbeing too outwardly given.\" \"I saw that, upon the whole, it would be better she should marry where\nshe wished.\" \"Poor little thing, her feelings got the better of her, no doubt. 'Tis\nnature. Well, they may call him what they will--he've several acres\nof heth-ground broke up here, besides the public house, and the\nheth-croppers, and his manners be quite like a gentleman's. And what's\ndone cannot be undone.\" \"It cannot,\" said Mrs. Yeobright. \"See, here's the wagon-track at last. Now we shall get along better.\" The wedding subject was no further dwelt upon; and soon a faint\ndiverging path was reached, where they parted company, Olly first\nbegging her companion to remind Mr. Wildeve that he had not sent\nher sick husband the bottle of wine promised on the occasion of his\nmarriage. The besom-maker turned to the left towards her own house,\nbehind a spur of the hill, and Mrs. Yeobright followed the straight\ntrack, which further on joined the highway by the Quiet Woman Inn,\nwhither she supposed her niece to have returned with Wildeve from their\nwedding at Anglebury that day. She first reached Wildeve's Patch, as it was called, a plot of land\nredeemed from the heath, and after long and laborious years brought into\ncultivation. The man who had discovered that it could be tilled died of\nthe labour; the man who succeeded him in possession ruined himself in\nfertilizing it. Wildeve came like Amerigo Vespucci, and received the\nhonours due to those who had gone before. When Mrs. Yeobright had drawn near to the inn, and was about to enter,\nshe saw a horse and vehicle some two hundred yards beyond it, coming\ntowards her, a man walking alongside with a lantern in his hand. It\nwas soon evident that this was the reddleman who had inquired for her. Instead of entering the inn at once, she walked by it and towards the\nvan. The conveyance came close, and the man was about to pass her with\nlittle notice, when she turned to him and said, \"I think you have been\ninquiring for me? I am Mrs. Yeobright of Blooms-End.\" The reddleman started, and held up his finger. He stopped the horses,\nand beckoned to her to withdraw with him a few yards aside, which she\ndid, wondering. \"You don't know me, ma'am, I suppose?\" he said. \"I do not,\" said she. \"Why, yes, I do! You are young Venn--your father\nwas a dairyman somewhere here?\" \"Yes; and I knew your niece, Miss Tamsin, a little. I have something bad\nto tell you.\" \"About her--no! She has just come home, I believe, with her husband. They arranged to return this afternoon--to the inn beyond here.\" \"She's not there.\" \"How do you know?\" \"Because she's here. She's in my van,\" he added slowly. \"What new trouble has come?\" murmured Mrs. Yeobright, putting her hand\nover her eyes. \"I can't explain much, ma'am. All I know is that, as I was going along\nthe road this morning, about a mile out of Anglebury, I heard something\ntrotting after me like a doe, and looking round there she was, white as\ndeath itself. 'Oh, Diggory Venn!' she said, 'I thought 'twas you--will\nyou help me? I am in trouble.'\" \"How did she know your Christian name?\" said Mrs. Yeobright doubtingly. \"I had met her as a lad before I went away in this trade. She asked then\nif she might ride, and then down she fell in a faint. I picked her up\nand put her in, and there she has been ever since. She has cried a good\ndeal, but she has hardly spoke; all she has told me being that she was\nto have been married this morning. I tried to get her to eat something,\nbut she couldn't; and at last she fell asleep.\" \"Let me see her at once,\" said Mrs. Yeobright, hastening towards the\nvan. The reddleman followed with the lantern, and, stepping up first,\nassisted Mrs. Yeobright to mount beside him. On the door being opened\nshe perceived at the end of the van an extemporized couch, around which\nwas hung apparently all the drapery that the reddleman possessed,\nto keep the occupant of the little couch from contact with the red\nmaterials of his trade. A young girl lay thereon, covered with a cloak. She was asleep, and the light of the lantern fell upon her features. A fair, sweet, and honest country face was revealed, reposing in a nest\nof wavy chestnut hair. It was between pretty and beautiful. Though her\neyes were closed, one could easily imagine the light necessarily shining\nin them as the culmination of the luminous workmanship around. The\ngroundwork of the face was hopefulness; but over it now I ay like a\nforeign substance a film of anxiety and grief. The grief had been there\nso shortly as to have abstracted nothing of the bloom, and had as yet\nbut given a dignity to what it might eventually undermine. The scarlet\nof her lips had not had time to abate, and just now it appeared still\nmore intense by the absence of the neighbouring and more transient\ncolour of her cheek. The lips frequently parted, with a murmur of words. She seemed to belong rightly to a madrigal--to require viewing through\nrhyme and harmony. One thing at least was obvious: she was not made to be looked at\nthus. The reddleman had appeared conscious of as much, and, while Mrs.\nYeobright looked in upon her, he cast his eyes aside with a delicacy\nwhich well became him. The sleeper apparently thought so too, for the\nnext moment she opened her own. The lips then parted with something of anticipation, something more of\ndoubt; and her several thoughts and fractions of thoughts, as signalled\nby the changes on her face, were exhibited by the light to the utmost\nnicety. An ingenuous, transparent life was disclosed, as if the flow of\nher existence could be seen passing within her. She understood the scene\nin a moment. \"O yes, it is I, Aunt,\" she cried. \"I know how frightened you are, and\nhow you cannot believe it; but all the same, it is I who have come home\nlike this!\" \"Tamsin, Tamsin!\" said Mrs. Yeobright, stooping over the young woman and\nkissing her. \"O my dear girl!\" Thomasin was now on the verge of a sob, but by an unexpected\nself-command she uttered no sound. With a gentle panting breath she sat\nupright. \"I did not expect to see you in this state, any more than you me,\" she\nwent on quickly. \"Where am I, Aunt?\" \"Nearly home, my dear. In Egdon Bottom.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-03 The user is reading a book]\n<User> What dreadful thing is it?\" \"I'll tell you in a moment. So near, are we? Then I will get out and\nwalk. I want to go home by the path.\" \"But this kind man who has done so much will, I am sure, take you\nright on to my house?\" said the aunt, turning to the reddleman, who had\nwithdrawn from the front of the van on the awakening of the girl, and\nstood in the road. \"Why should you think it necessary to ask me? I will, of course,\" said\nhe. \"He is indeed kind,\" murmured Thomasin. \"I was once acquainted with him,\nAunt, and when I saw him today I thought I should prefer his van to any\nconveyance of a stranger. But I'll walk now. Reddleman, stop the horses,\nplease.\" The man regarded her with tender reluctance, but stopped them\n\nAunt and niece then descended from the van, Mrs. Yeobright saying to its\nowner, \"I quite recognize you now. What made you change from the nice\nbusiness your father left you?\" \"Well, I did,\" he said, and looked at Thomasin, who blushed a little. \"Then you'll not be wanting me any more tonight, ma'am?\" Mrs. Yeobright glanced around at the dark sky, at the hills, at the\nperishing bonfires, and at the lighted window of the inn they had\nneared. \"I think not,\" she said, \"since Thomasin wishes to walk. We can\nsoon run up the path and reach home--we know it well.\" And after a few further words they parted, the reddleman moving onwards\nwith his van, and the two women remaining standing in the road. As soon\nas the vehicle and its driver had withdrawn so far as to be beyond all\npossible reach of her voice, Mrs. Yeobright turned to her niece. \"Now, Thomasin,\" she said sternly, \"what's the meaning of this\ndisgraceful performance?\" </CHAPTER>\n<CHAPTER>\n5--Perplexity among Honest People\n\n\nThomasin looked as if quite overcome by her aunt's change of manner. \"It means just what it seems to mean: I am--not married,\" she replied\nfaintly. \"Excuse me--for humiliating you, Aunt, by this mishap--I am\nsorry for it. But I cannot help it.\" \"Me? Think of yourself first.\" \"It was nobody's fault. When we got there the parson wouldn't marry us\nbecause of some trifling irregularity in the license.\" \"What irregularity?\" \"I don't know. Mr. Wildeve can explain. I did not think when I went away\nthis morning that I should come back like this.\" It being dark, Thomasin\nallowed her emotion to escape her by the silent way of tears, which\ncould roll down her cheek unseen. \"I could almost say that it serves you right--if I did not feel that\nyou don't deserve it,\" continued Mrs. Yeobright, who, possessing two\ndistinct moods in close contiguity, a gentle mood and an angry, flew\nfrom one to the other without the least warning. \"Remember, Thomasin,\nthis business was none of my seeking; from the very first, when you\nbegan to feel foolish about that man, I warned you he would not make you\nhappy. I felt it so strongly that I did what I would never have believed\nmyself capable of doing--stood up in the church, and made myself the\npublic talk for weeks. But having once consented, I don't submit to\nthese fancies without good reason. Marry him you must after this.\" \"Do you think I wish to do otherwise for one moment?\" said Thomasin,\nwith a heavy sigh. \"I know how wrong it was of me to love him, but don't\npain me by talking like that, Aunt! You would not have had me stay there\nwith him, would you?--and your house is the only home I have to return\nto. He says we can be married in a day or two.\" \"I wish he had never seen you.\" \"Very well; then I will be the miserablest woman in the world, and not\nlet him see me again. No, I won't have him!\" \"It is too late to speak so. Come with me. I am going to the inn to see\nif he has returned. Of course I shall get to the bottom of this story\nat once. Mr. Wildeve must not suppose he can play tricks upon me, or any\nbelonging to me.\" \"It was not that. The license was wrong, and he couldn't get another the\nsame day. He will tell you in a moment how it was, if he comes.\" \"Why didn't he bring you back?\" \"That was me!\" again sobbed Thomasin. \"When I found we could not be\nmarried I didn't like to come back with him, and I was very ill. Then\nI saw Diggory Venn, and was glad to get him to take me home. I cannot\nexplain it any better, and you must be angry with me if you will.\" \"I shall see about that,\" said Mrs. Yeobright; and they turned towards\nthe inn, known in the neighbourhood as the Quiet Woman, the sign of\nwhich represented the figure of a matron carrying her head under her\narm, beneath which gruesome design was written the couplet so well known\nto frequenters of the inn:--\n\n\nSINCE THE WOMAN'S QUIET LET NO MAN BREED A RIOT. (1)\n\n     (1) The inn which really bore this sign and legend stood\n     some miles to the northwest of the present scene, wherein\n     the house more immediately referred to is now no longer an\n     inn; and the surroundings are much changed. But another inn,\n     some of whose features are also embodied in this\n     description, the RED LION at Winfrith, still remains as a\n     haven for the wayfarer (1912). The front of the house was towards the heath and Rainbarrow, whose dark\nshape seemed to threaten it from the sky. Upon the door was a neglected\nbrass plate, bearing the unexpected inscription, \"Mr. Wildeve,\nEngineer\"--a useless yet cherished relic from the time when he had been\nstarted in that profession in an office at Budmouth by those who had\nhoped much from him, and had been disappointed. The garden was at the\nback, and behind this ran a still deep stream, forming the margin of the\nheath in that direction, meadow-land appearing beyond the stream. But the thick obscurity permitted only skylines to be visible of any\nscene at present. The water at the back of the house could be\nheard, idly spinning whirpools in its creep between the rows of dry\nfeather-headed reeds which formed a stockade along each bank. Their\npresence was denoted by sounds as of a congregation praying humbly,\nproduced by their rubbing against each other in the slow wind. The window, whence the candlelight had shone up the vale to the eyes\nof the bonfire group, was uncurtained, but the sill lay too high for a\npedestrian on the outside to look over it into the room. A vast shadow,\nin which could be dimly traced portions of a masculine contour, blotted\nhalf the ceiling. \"He seems to be at home,\" said Mrs. Yeobright. \"Must I come in, too, Aunt?\" asked Thomasin faintly. \"I suppose not; it\nwould be wrong.\" \"You must come, certainly--to confront him, so that he may make no false\nrepresentations to me. We shall not be five minutes in the house, and\nthen we'll walk home.\" Entering the open passage, she tapped at the door of the private\nparlour, unfastened it, and looked in. The back and shoulders of a man came between Mrs. Yeobright's eyes and\nthe fire. Wildeve, whose form it was, immediately turned, arose, and\nadvanced to meet his visitors. He was quite a young man, and of the two properties, form and motion,\nthe latter first attracted the eye in him. The grace of his movement\nwas singular--it was the pantomimic expression of a lady-killing career. Next came into notice the more material qualities, among which was a\nprofuse crop of hair impending over the top of his face, lending to his\nforehead the high-cornered outline of an early Gothic shield; and a neck\nwhich was smooth and round as a cylinder. The lower half of his figure\nwas of light build. Altogether he was one in whom no man would have seen\nanything to admire, and in whom no woman would have seen anything to\ndislike. He discerned the young girl's form in the passage, and said, \"Thomasin,\nthen, has reached home. How could you leave me in that way, darling?\" And turning to Mrs. Yeobright--\"It was useless to argue with her. She\nwould go, and go alone.\" \"But what's the meaning of it all?\" demanded Mrs. Yeobright haughtily.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-03, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> \"Take a seat,\" said Wildeve, placing chairs for the two women. \"Well,\nit was a very stupid mistake, but such mistakes will happen. The license\nwas useless at Anglebury. It was made out for Budmouth, but as I didn't\nread it I wasn't aware of that.\" \"But you had been staying at Anglebury?\" \"No. I had been at Budmouth--till two days ago--and that was where I\nhad intended to take her; but when I came to fetch her we decided upon\nAnglebury, forgetting that a new license would be necessary. There was\nnot time to get to Budmouth afterwards.\" \"I think you are very much to blame,\" said Mrs. Yeobright. \"It was quite my fault we chose Anglebury,\" Thomasin pleaded. \"I\nproposed it because I was not known there.\" \"I know so well that I am to blame that you need not remind me of it,\"\nreplied Wildeve shortly. \"Such things don't happen for nothing,\" said the aunt. \"It is a great\nslight to me and my family; and when it gets known there will be a\nvery unpleasant time for us. How can she look her friends in the face\ntomorrow? It is a very great injury, and one I cannot easily forgive. It\nmay even reflect on her character.\" \"Nonsense,\" said Wildeve. Thomasin's large eyes had flown from the face of one to the face of\nthe other during this discussion, and she now said anxiously, \"Will you\nallow me, Aunt, to talk it over alone with Damon for five minutes? Will\nyou, Damon?\" \"Certainly, dear,\" said Wildeve, \"if your aunt will excuse us.\" He led\nher into an adjoining room, leaving Mrs. Yeobright by the fire. As soon as they were alone, and the door closed, Thomasin said, turning\nup her pale, tearful face to him, \"It is killing me, this, Damon! I did\nnot mean to part from you in anger at Anglebury this morning; but I was\nfrightened and hardly knew what I said. I've not let Aunt know how much\nI suffered today; and it is so hard to command my face and voice, and to\nsmile as if it were a slight thing to me; but I try to do so, that she\nmay not be still more indignant with you. I know you could not help it,\ndear, whatever Aunt may think.\" \"She is very unpleasant.\" \"Yes,\" Thomasin murmured, \"and I suppose I seem so now.... Damon, what do\nyou mean to do about me?\" \"Do about you?\" \"Yes. Those who don't like you whisper things which at moments make me\ndoubt you. We mean to marry, I suppose, don't we?\" \"Of course we do. We have only to go to Budmouth on Monday, and we marry\nat once.\" \"Then do let us go!--O Damon, what you make me say!\" She hid her face in\nher handkerchief. \"Here am I asking you to marry me, when by rights\nyou ought to be on your knees imploring me, your cruel mistress, not\nto refuse you, and saying it would break your heart if I did. I used to\nthink it would be pretty and sweet like that; but how different!\" \"Yes, real life is never at all like that.\" \"But I don't care personally if it never takes place,\" she added with a\nlittle dignity; \"no, I can live without you. It is Aunt I think of. She\nis so proud, and thinks so much of her family respectability, that she\nwill be cut down with mortification if this story should get abroad\nbefore--it is done. My cousin Clym, too, will be much wounded.\" \"Then he will be very unreasonable. In fact, you are all rather\nunreasonable.\" Thomasin coloured a little, and not with love. But whatever the\nmomentary feeling which caused that flush in her, it went as it came,\nand she humbly said, \"I never mean to be, if I can help it. I merely\nfeel 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\nwhat I have gone through to win her consent; the insult that it is to\nany man to have the banns forbidden--the double insult to a man unlucky\nenough to be cursed with sensitiveness, and blue demons, and Heaven\nknows what, as I am. I can never forget those banns. A harsher man would\nrejoice now in the power I have of turning upon your aunt by going no\nfurther in the business.\" She looked wistfully at him with her sorrowful eyes as he said those\nwords, and her aspect showed that more than one person in the room could\ndeplore the possession of sensitiveness. Seeing that she was really\nsuffering he seemed disturbed and added, \"This is merely a reflection\nyou know. I have not the least intention to refuse to complete the\nmarriage, Tamsie mine--I could not bear it.\" \"You could not, I know!\" said the fair girl, brightening. \"You, who\ncannot bear the sight of pain in even an insect, or any disagreeable\nsound, or unpleasant smell even, will not long cause pain to me and\nmine.\" \"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\nfront of the house. Among these, two made themselves prominent by their\npeculiarity: one was a very strong bass, the other a wheezy thin piping. Thomasin recognized them as belonging to Timothy Fairway and Grandfer\nCantle respectively. \"What does it mean--it is not skimmity-riding, I hope?\" she said, with a\nfrightened gaze at Wildeve. \"Of course not; no, it is that the heath-folk have come to sing to us\na welcome. This is intolerable!\" He began pacing about, the men outside\nsinging cheerily--\n\n\n\"He told' her that she' was the joy' of his life', And if' she'd\ncon-sent' he would make her his wife'; She could' not refuse' him;\nto church' so they went', Young Will was forgot', and young Sue' was\ncontent'; And then' was she kiss'd' and set down' on his knee', No man'\nin the world' was so lov'-ing as he'!\" Mrs. Yeobright burst in from the outer room. \"Thomasin, Thomasin!\" she\nsaid, looking indignantly at Wildeve; \"here's a pretty exposure! Let us\nescape at once. Come!\" It was, however, too late to get away by the passage. A rugged knocking\nhad begun upon the door of the front room. Wildeve, who had gone to the\nwindow, came back. \"Stop!\" he said imperiously, putting his hand upon Mrs. Yeobright's arm. \"We are regularly besieged. There are fifty of them out there if there's\none. You stay in this room with Thomasin; I'll go out and face them. You\nmust stay now, for my sake, till they are gone, so that it may seem as\nif all was right. Come, Tamsie dear, don't go making a scene--we must\nmarry after this; that you can see as well as I. Sit still, that's\nall--and don't speak much. I'll manage them. Blundering fools!\" He pressed the agitated girl into a seat, returned to the outer room and\nopened the door. Immediately outside, in the passage, appeared Grandfer\nCantle singing in concert with those still standing in front of the\nhouse. He came into the room and nodded abstractedly to Wildeve, his\nlips still parted, and his features excruciatingly strained in the\nemission of the chorus. This being ended, he said heartily, \"Here's\nwelcome to the new-made couple, and God bless 'em!\" \"Thank you,\" said Wildeve, with dry resentment, his face as gloomy as a\nthunderstorm. At the Grandfer's heels now came the rest of the group, which included\nFairway, Christian, Sam the turf-cutter, Humphrey, and a dozen others. All smiled upon Wildeve, and upon his tables and chairs likewise, from\na general sense of friendliness towards the articles as well as towards\ntheir owner. \"We be not here afore Mrs. Yeobright after all,\" said Fairway,\nrecognizing the matron's bonnet through the glass partition which\ndivided the public apartment they had entered from the room where the\nwomen sat. \"We struck down across, d'ye see, Mr. Wildeve, and she went\nround by the path.\" \"And I see the young bride's little head!\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-06 The user is reading a book]\n<User> said Grandfer, peeping in the\nsame direction, and discerning Thomasin, who was waiting beside her aunt\nin a miserable and awkward way. \"Not quite settled in yet--well, well,\nthere's plenty of time.\" Wildeve made no reply; and probably feeling that the sooner he treated\nthem the sooner they would go, he produced a stone jar, which threw a\nwarm halo over matters at once. \"That's a drop of the right sort, I can see,\" said Grandfer Cantle, with\nthe air of a man too well-mannered to show any hurry to taste it. \"Yes,\" said Wildeve, \"'tis some old mead. I hope you will like it.\" \"O ay!\" replied the guests, in the hearty tones natural when the words\ndemanded by politeness coincide with those of deepest feeling. \"There\nisn't a prettier drink under the sun.\" \"I'll take my oath there isn't,\" added Grandfer Cantle. \"All that can be\nsaid against mead is that 'tis rather heady, and apt to lie about a man\na good while. But tomorrow's Sunday, thank God.\" \"I feel'd for all the world like some bold soldier after I had had some\nonce,\" said Christian. \"You shall feel so again,\" said Wildeve, with condescension, \"Cups or\nglasses, gentlemen?\" \"Well, if you don't mind, we'll have the beaker, and pass 'en round;\n'tis better than heling it out in dribbles.\" \"Jown the slippery glasses,\" said Grandfer Cantle. \"What's the good of\na thing that you can't put down in the ashes to warm, hey, neighbours;\nthat's what I ask?\" \"Right, Grandfer,\" said Sam; and the mead then circulated. \"Well,\" said Timothy Fairway, feeling demands upon his praise in some\nform or other, \"'tis a worthy thing to be married, Mr. Wildeve; and the\nwoman you've got is a dimant, so says I. Yes,\" he continued, to Grandfer\nCantle, raising his voice so as to be heard through the partition, \"her\nfather (inclining his head towards the inner room) was as good a\nfeller as ever lived. He always had his great indignation ready against\nanything underhand.\" \"Is that very dangerous?\" said Christian. \"And there were few in these parts that were upsides with him,\" said\nSam. \"Whenever a club walked he'd play the clarinet in the band that\nmarched before 'em as if he'd never touched anything but a clarinet all\nhis life. And then, when they got to church door he'd throw down the\nclarinet, mount the gallery, snatch up the bass viol, and rozum away as\nif he'd never played anything but a bass viol. Folk would say--folk that\nknowed what a true stave was--'Surely, surely that's never the same man\nthat I saw handling the clarinet so masterly by now!\" \"I can mind it,\" said the furze-cutter. \"'Twas a wonderful thing that\none body could hold it all and never mix the fingering.\" \"There was Kingsbere church likewise,\" Fairway recommenced, as one\nopening a new vein of the same mine of interest. Wildeve breathed the breath of one intolerably bored, and glanced\nthrough the partition at the prisoners. \"He used to walk over there of a Sunday afternoon to visit his old\nacquaintance Andrew Brown, the first clarinet there; a good man enough,\nbut rather screechy in his music, if you can mind?\" \"'A was.\" \"And neighbour Yeobright would take Andrey's place for some part of\nthe service, to let Andrey have a bit of a nap, as any friend would\nnaturally do.\" \"As any friend would,\" said Grandfer Cantle, the other listeners\nexpressing the same accord by the shorter way of nodding their heads. \"No sooner was Andrey asleep and the first whiff of neighbour\nYeobright's wind had got inside Andrey's clarinet than everyone in\nchurch feeled in a moment there was a great soul among 'em. All heads\nwould turn, and they'd say, 'Ah, I thought 'twas he!' One Sunday I can\nwell mind--a bass viol day that time, and Yeobright had brought his own. 'Twas the Hundred-and-thirty-third to 'Lydia'; and when they'd come\nto 'Ran down his beard and o'er his robes its costly moisture shed,'\nneighbour Yeobright, who had just warmed to his work, drove his bow into\nthem strings that glorious grand that he e'en a'most sawed the bass\nviol into two pieces. Every winder in church rattled as if 'twere a\nthunderstorm. Old Pa'son Williams lifted his hands in his great holy\nsurplice as natural as if he'd been in common clothes, and seemed to say\nhisself, 'O for such a man in our parish!' But not a soul in Kingsbere\ncould hold a candle to Yeobright.\" \"Was it quite safe when the winder shook?\" Christian inquired. He received no answer, all for the moment sitting rapt in admiration\nof the performance described. As with Farinelli's singing before the\nprincesses, Sheridan's renowned Begum Speech, and other such examples,\nthe fortunate condition of its being for ever lost to the world invested\nthe deceased Mr. Yeobright's tour de force on that memorable afternoon\nwith a cumulative glory which comparative criticism, had that been\npossible, might considerably have shorn down. \"He was the last you'd have expected to drop off in the prime of life,\"\nsaid Humphrey. \"Ah, well; he was looking for the earth some months afore he went. At\nthat time women used to run for smocks and gown-pieces at Greenhill\nFair, and my wife that is now, being a long-legged slittering maid,\nhardly husband-high, went with the rest of the maidens, for 'a was a\ngood, runner afore she got so heavy. When she came home I said--we were\nthen just beginning to walk together--'What have ye got, my honey?' 'I've won--well, I've won--a gown-piece,' says she, her colours coming\nup in a moment. 'Tis a smock for a crown, I thought; and so it turned\nout. Ay, when I think what she'll say to me now without a mossel of red\nin her face, it do seem strange that 'a wouldn't say such a little thing\nthen.... However, then she went on, and that's what made me bring up the\nstory. Well, whatever clothes I've won, white or figured, for eyes to\nsee or for eyes not to see' ('a could do a pretty stroke of modesty in\nthose days), 'I'd sooner have lost it than have seen what I have. Poor\nMr. Yeobright was took bad directly he reached the fair ground, and was\nforced to go home again.' That was the last time he ever went out of the\nparish.\" \"'A faltered on from one day to another, and then we heard he was gone.\" \"D'ye think he had great pain when 'a died?\" said Christian. \"O no--quite different. Nor any pain of mind. He was lucky enough to be\nGod A'mighty's own man.\" \"And other folk--d'ye think 'twill be much pain to 'em, Mister Fairway?\" \"That depends on whether they be afeard.\" \"I bain't afeard at all, I thank God!\" said Christian strenuously. \"I'm\nglad I bain't, for then 'twon't pain me.... I don't think I be afeard--or\nif I be I can't help it, and I don't deserve to suffer. I wish I was not\nafeard at all!\" There was a solemn silence, and looking from the window, which was\nunshuttered and unblinded, Timothy said, \"Well, what a fess little\nbonfire that one is, out by Cap'n Vye's! 'Tis burning just the same now\nas ever, upon my life.\" All glances went through the window, and nobody noticed that Wildeve\ndisguised a brief, telltale look. Far away up the sombre valley of\nheath, and to the right of Rainbarrow, could indeed be seen the light,\nsmall, but steady and persistent as before. \"It was lighted before ours was,\" Fairway continued; \"and yet every one\nin the country round is out afore 'n.\" \"Perhaps there's meaning in it!\" murmured Christian. \"How meaning?\" said Wildeve sharply. Christian was too scattered to reply, and Timothy helped him. \"He means, sir, that the lonesome dark-eyed creature up there that some\nsay is a witch--ever I should call a fine young woman such a name--is\nalways up to some odd conceit or other; and so perhaps 'tis she.\" \"I'd be very glad to ask her in wedlock, if she'd hae me and take\nthe risk of her wild dark eyes ill-wishing me,\" said Grandfer Cantle\nstaunchly.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-06, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> \"Don't ye say it, Father!\" implored Christian. \"Well, be dazed if he who do marry the maid won't hae an uncommon\npicture for his best parlour,\" said Fairway in a liquid tone, placing\ndown the cup of mead at the end of a good pull. \"And a partner as deep as the North Star,\" said Sam, taking up the cup\nand finishing the little that remained. \"Well, really, now I think we\nmust be moving,\" said Humphrey, observing the emptiness of the vessel. \"But we'll gie 'em another song?\" said Grandfer Cantle. \"I'm as full of\nnotes as a bird!\" \"Thank you, Grandfer,\" said Wildeve. \"But we will not trouble you now. Some other day must do for that--when I have a party.\" \"Be jown'd if I don't learn ten new songs for't, or I won't learn a\nline!\" said Grandfer Cantle. \"And you may be sure I won't disappoint ye\nby biding away, Mr. Wildeve.\" \"I quite believe you,\" said that gentleman. All then took their leave, wishing their entertainer long life and\nhappiness as a married man, with recapitulations which occupied some\ntime. Wildeve attended them to the door, beyond which the deep-dyed\nupward stretch of heath stood awaiting them, an amplitude of darkness\nreigning from their feet almost to the zenith, where a definite form\nfirst became visible in the lowering forehead of Rainbarrow. Diving\ninto the dense obscurity in a line headed by Sam the turf-cutter, they\npursued their trackless way home. When the scratching of the furze against their leggings had fainted upon\nthe ear, Wildeve returned to the room where he had left Thomasin and her\naunt. The women were gone. They could only have left the house in one way, by the back window; and\nthis was open. Wildeve laughed to himself, remained a moment thinking, and idly\nreturned to the front room. Here his glance fell upon a bottle of wine\nwhich stood on the mantelpiece. \"Ah--old Dowden!\" he murmured; and going\nto the kitchen door shouted, \"Is anybody here who can take something to\nold Dowden?\" There was no reply. The room was empty, the lad who acted as his\nfactotum having gone to bed. Wildeve came back put on his hat, took the\nbottle, and left the house, turning the key in the door, for there was\nno guest at the inn tonight. As soon as he was on the road the little\nbonfire on Mistover Knap again met his eye. \"Still waiting, are you, my lady?\" he murmured. However, he did not proceed that way just then; but leaving the hill to\nthe left of him, he stumbled over a rutted road that brought him to a\ncottage which, like all other habitations on the heath at this hour, was\nonly saved from being visible by a faint shine from its bedroom window. This house was the home of Olly Dowden, the besom-maker, and he entered. The lower room was in darkness; but by feeling his way he found a table,\nwhereon he placed the bottle, and a minute later emerged again upon the\nheath. He stood and looked northeast at the undying little fire--high up\nabove him, though not so high as Rainbarrow. We have been told what happens when a woman deliberates; and the epigram\nis not always terminable with woman, provided that one be in the case,\nand that a fair one. Wildeve stood, and stood longer, and breathed\nperplexedly, and then said to himself with resignation, \"Yes--by Heaven,\nI must go to her, I suppose!\" Instead of turning in the direction of home he pressed on rapidly by a\npath under Rainbarrow towards what was evidently a signal light. </CHAPTER>\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-08", "answer": "Mrs. Yeobright, Diggory Venn, Quiet Woman Inn, Thomasin, marriage not taken place, Wildeve, wedding plans, confrontation, Rainbarrow, heath people, newlyweds serenade, mead, Eustacia, bonfire signal, Mistover Knap, aunt-niece relationship, Wildeve-Thomasin relationship, interrupted conversation, van, departure, high spirits"}]