enough, though he was as rough as a hedge. But you would never have
cared to go there, even if you might have, I am well sure."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Your town tastes would find them far too countrified. They sit in the
kitchen, drink mead and elder-wine, and sand the floor to keep it clean.
A sensible way of life; but how would you like it?"

"I thought Mrs. Yeobright was a ladylike woman? A curate's daughter, was
she not?"

"Yes; but she was obliged to live as her husband did; and I suppose
she has taken kindly to it by this time. Ah, I recollect that I once
accidentally offended her, and I have never seen her since."

That night was an eventful one to Eustacia's brain, and one which she
hardly ever forgot. She dreamt a dream; and few human beings, from
Nebuchadnezzar to the Swaffham tinker, ever dreamt a more remarkable
one. Such an elaborately developed, perplexing, exciting dream was
certainly never dreamed by a girl in Eustacia's situation before. It had
as many ramifications as the Cretan labyrinth, as many fluctuations as
the northern lights, as much colour as a parterre in June, and was as
crowded with figures as a coronation. To Queen Scheherazade the dream
might have seemed not far removed from commonplace; and to a girl just
returned from all the courts of Europe it might have seemed not more
than interesting. But amid the circumstances of Eustacia's life it was
as wonderful as a dream could be.

There was, however, gradually evolved from its transformation scenes a