第72章 A FEW CRUSTED CHARACTERS(17)

'At first she said he might have them for all that she cared,and took them out of the bureau where she kept them.Then she glanced over the outside one of the packet,and suddenly altering her mind,she told him shortly that his request was a silly one,and slipped the letters into her aunt's work-box,which stood open on the table,locking it,and saying with a bantering laugh that of course she thought it best to keep 'em,since they might be useful to produce as evidence that she had good cause for declining to marry him.

'He blazed up hot."Give me those letters!"he said."They are mine!""No,they are not,"she replied;"they are mine.""Whos'ever they are I want them back,"says he."I don't want to be made sport of for my penmanship:you've another young man now!he has your confidence,and you pour all your tales into his ear.

You'll be showing them to him!"

"Perhaps,"said my lady Harriet,with calm coolness,like the heartless woman that she was.

Her manner so maddened him that he made a step towards the work-box,but she snatched it up,locked it in the bureau,and turned upon him triumphant.For a moment he seemed to be going to wrench the key of the bureau out of her hand;but he stopped himself,and swung round upon his heel and went away.

When he was out-of-doors alone,and it got night,he walked about restless,and stinging with the sense of being beaten at all points by her.He could not help fancying her telling her new lover or her acquaintances of this scene with himself,and laughing with them over those poor blotted,crooked lines of his that he had been so anxious to obtain.As the evening passed on he worked himself into a dogged resolution to have them back at any price,come what might.

At the dead of night he came out of his mother's house by the back door,and creeping through the garden hedge went along the field adjoining till he reached the back of her aunt's dwelling.The moon struck bright and flat upon the walls,'twas said,and every shiny leaf of the creepers was like a little looking-glass in the rays.

From long acquaintance Jack knew the arrangement and position of everything in Mrs.Palmley's house as well as in his own mother's.

The back window close to him was a casement with little leaded squares,as it is to this day,and was,as now,one of two lighting the sitting-room.The other,being in front,was closed up with shutters,but this back one had not even a blind,and the moonlight as it streamed in showed every article of the furniture to him outside.To the right of the room is the fireplace,as you may remember;to the left was the bureau at that time;inside the bureau was Harriet's work-box,as he supposed (though it was really her aunt's),and inside the work-box were his letters.Well,he took out his pocket-knife,and without noise lifted the leading of one of the panes,so that he could take out the glass,and putting his hand through the hole he unfastened the casement,and climbed in through the opening.All the household--that is to say,Mrs.Palmley,Harriet,and the little maid-servant--were asleep.Jack went straight to the bureau,so he said,hoping it might have been unfastened again--it not being kept locked in ordinary--but Harriet had never unfastened it since she secured her letters there the day before.Jack told afterward how he thought of her asleep upstairs,caring nothing for him,and of the way she had made sport of him and of his letters;and having advanced so far,he was not to be hindered now.By forcing the large blade of his knife under the flap of the bureau,he burst the weak lock;within was the rosewood work-box just as she had placed it in her hurry to keep it from him.There being no time to spare for getting the letters out of it then,he took it under his arm,shut the bureau,and made the best of his way out of the house,latching the casement behind him,and refixing the pane of glass in its place.

Winter found his way back to his mother's as he had come,and being dog-tired,crept upstairs to bed,hiding the box till he could destroy its contents.The next morning early he set about doing this,and carried it to the linhay at the back of his mother's dwelling.Here by the hearth he opened the box,and began burning one by one the letters that had cost him so much labour to write and shame to think of,meaning to return the box to Harriet,after repairing the slight damage he had caused it by opening it without a key,with a note--the last she would ever receive from him--telling her triumphantly that in refusing to return what he had asked for she had calculated too surely upon his submission to her whims.

But on removing the last letter from the box he received a shock;for underneath it,at the very bottom,lay money--several golden guineas--"Doubtless Harriet's pocket-money,"he said to himself;though it was not,but Mrs.Palmley's.Before he had got over his qualms at this discovery he heard footsteps coming through the house-passage to where he was.In haste he pushed the box and what was in it under some brushwood which lay in the linhay;but Jack had been already seen.Two constables entered the out-house,and seized him as he knelt before the fireplace,securing the work-box and all it contained at the same moment.They had come to apprehend him on a charge of breaking into the dwelling-house of Mrs.Palmley on the night preceding;and almost before the lad knew what had happened to him they were leading him along the lane that connects that end of the village with this turnpike-road,and along they marched him between 'em all the way to Casterbridge jail.

Jack's act amounted to night burglary--though he had never thought of it--and burglary was felony,and a capital offence in those days.