The next day Yeobright set out for the old house at Blooms…End； which； with the garden； was now his own。 His severe illness had hindered all preparations for his removal thither； but it had bee necessary that he should go and overlook its contents； as administrator to his mother’s little property； for which purpose he decided to pass the next night on the premises。
He journeyed onward； not quickly or decisively； but in the slow walk of one who has been awakened from a stupefying sleep。 It was early afternoon when he reached the valley。 The expression of the place； the tone of the hour； were precisely those of many such occasions in days gone by； and these antecedent similarities fostered the illusion that she； who was there no longer； would e out to wele him。 The garden gate was locked and the shutters were closed； just as he himself had left them on the evening after the funeral。 He unlocked the gate； and found that a spider had already constructed a large web； tying the door to the lintel； on the supposition that it was never to be opened again。 When he had entered the house and flung back the shutters he set about his task of overhauling the cupboards and closets； burning papers； and considering how best to arrange the place for Eustacia’s reception； until such time as he might be in a position to carry out his long…delayed scheme； should that time ever arrive。
As he surveyed the rooms he felt strongly disinclined for the alterations which would have to be made in the time…honoured furnishing of his parents and grandparents； to suit Eustacia’s modern ideas。 The gaunt oak…cased clock； with the picture of the Ascension on the door panel and the Miraculous Draught of Fishes on the base； his grandmother’s corner cupboard with the glass door； through which the spotted china was visible； the dumb…waiter； the wooden tea trays； the hanging fountain with the brass tap—whither would these venerable articles have to be banished？
He noticed that the flowers in the window had died for want of water； and he placed them out upon the ledge； that they might be taken away。 While thus engaged he heard footsteps on the gravel without； and somebody knocked at the door。
Yeobright opened it； and Venn was standing before him。
“Good morning；” said the reddleman。 “Is Mrs。 Yeobright at home？”
Yeobright looked upon the ground。 “Then you have not seen Christian or any of the Egdon folks？” he said。
“No。 I have only just returned after a long stay away。
I called here the day before I left。”
“And you have heard nothing？”
“Nothing。”
“My mother is—dead。”
“Dead！” said Venn mechanically。
“Her home now is where I shouldn’t mind having mine。”
Venn regarded him； and then said； “If I didn’t see your face I could never believe your words。 Have you been ill？”
“I had an illness。”
“Well； the change！ When I parted from her a month ago everything seemed to say that she was going to begin a new life。”
“And what seemed came true。”
“You say right； no doubt。 Trouble has taught you a deeper vein of talk than mine。 All I meant was regarding her life here。 She has died too soon。”
“Perhaps through my living too long。 I have had a bitter experience on that score this last month； Diggory。 But e in； I have been wanting to see you。”
He conducted the reddleman into the large room where the dancing had taken place the previous Christmas； and they sat down in the settle together。 “There’s the cold fireplace； you see；” said Clym。 “When that half…burnt log and those cinders were alight she was alive！ Little has been changed here yet。 I can do nothing。
My life creeps like a snail。”
“How came she to die？” said Venn。
Yeobright gave him some particulars of her illness and death； and continued： “After this no kind of pain will ever seem more than an indisposition to me。 I began saying that I wanted to ask you something； but I stray from subjects like a drunken man。 I am anxious to know what my mother said to you when she last saw you。 You talked with her a long time； I think？”
“I talked with her more than half an hour。”
“About me？”
“Yes。 And it must have been on account of what we said that she was on the heath。 Without question she was ing to see you。”
“But why should she e to see me if she felt so bitterly against me？ There’s the mystery。”
“Yet I know she quite forgave ‘ee。”
“But； Diggory—would a woman； who had quite forgiven her son； say； when she felt herself ill on the way to his house； that she was broken…hearted because of his ill…usage？ Never！”
“What I know is that she didn’t blame you at all。
She blamed herself for what had happened； and only herself。
I had it from her own lips。”
“You had it from her lips that I had NOT ill…treated her； and at the same time another had it from her lips that I HAD ill…treated her？ My mother was no impulsive woman who changed her opinion every hour without reason。 How can it be； Venn； that she should have told such different stories in close succession？”
“I cannot say。 It is certainly odd； when she had forgiven you； and had forgiven your wife； and was going to see ye on purpose to make friends。”
“If there was one thing wanting to bewilder me it was this inprehensible thing！。。。Diggory； if we； who remain alive； were only allowed to hold conversation with the dead—just once； a bare minute； even through a screen of iron bars； as with persons in prison—what we might learn！ How many who now ride smiling would hide their heads！ And this mystery—I should then be at the bottom of it at once。 But the grave has forever shut her in； and how shall it be found out now？”
No reply was returned by his panion； since none could be given； and when Venn left； a few minutes later； Clym had passed from the dullness of sorrow to the fluctuation of carking incertitude。
He continued in the same state all the afternoon。 A bed was made up for him in the same house by a neighbour； that he might not have to return again the next day； and when he retired to rest in the deserted place it was only to remain awake hour after hour thinking the same thoughts。 How to discover a solution to this riddle of death seemed a query of more importance than highest problems of the living。 There was housed in his memory a vivid picture of the face of a little boy as he entered the hovel where Clym’s mother lay。 The round eyes； eager gaze； the piping voice which enunciated the words； had operated like stilettos on his brain。
A visit to the boy suggested itself as a means of gleaning new particulars； though it might be quite unproductive。 To probe a child’s mind after the lapse of six weeks； not for facts which the child had seen and understood； but to get at those which were in their nature beyond him； did not promise much； yet when every obvious channel is blocked we grope towards the small and obscure。 There was nothing else left to do； after that he would allow the enigma to drop into the abyss of undiscoverable things。
It was about daybreak when he had reached this decision； and he at once arose。 He locked up the house and went out into the green patch which merged in heather further on。 In front of the white garden…palings the path