Under the Greenwood Tree HTML version

PART IV: 6. Into Temptation
The day was done, and Fancy was again in the school-house. About five o'clock it began
to rain, and in rather a dull frame of mind she wandered into the schoolroom, for want of
something better to do. She was thinking--of her lover Dick Dewy? Not precisely. Of
how weary she was of living alone: how unbearable it would be to return to Yalbury
under the rule of her strange-tempered step- mother; that it was far better to be married to
anybody than do that; that eight or nine long months had yet to be lived through ere the
wedding could take place.
At the side of the room were high windows of Ham-hill stone, upon either sill of which
she could sit by first mounting a desk and using it as a footstool. As the evening advanced
here she perched herself, as was her custom on such wet and gloomy occasions, put on a
light shawl and bonnet, opened the window, and looked out at the rain.
The window overlooked a field called the Grove, and it was the position from which she
used to survey the crown of Dick's passing hat in the early days of their acquaintance and
meetings. Not a living soul was now visible anywhere; the rain kept all people indoors
who were not forced abroad by necessity, and necessity was less importunate on Sundays
than during the week.
Sitting here and thinking again--of her lover, or of the sensation she had created at church
that day?--well, it is unknown--thinking and thinking she saw a dark masculine figure
arising into distinctness at the further end of the Grove--a man without an umbrella.
Nearer and nearer he came, and she perceived that he was in deep mourning, and then
that it was Dick. Yes, in the fondness and foolishness of his young heart, after walking
four miles, in a drizzling rain without overcoat or umbrella, and in face of a remark from
his love that he was not to come because he would be tired, he had made it his business to
wander this mile out of his way again, from sheer wish of spending ten minutes in her
"O Dick, how wet you are!" she said, as he drew up under the window. "Why, your coat
shines as if it had been varnished, and your hat--my goodness, there's a streaming hat!"
"O, I don't mind, darling!" said Dick cheerfully. "Wet never hurts me, though I am rather
sorry for my best clothes. However, it couldn't be helped; we lent all the umbrellas to the
women. I don't know when I shall get mine back!"
"And look, there's a nasty patch of something just on your shoulder."