Eustacia turned, entered the house, and ascended to the front bedroom, where a shaded light was burning.
The subtle beauties of the heath were lost to Eustacia; she only caught its vapours.
In the evening of this last day of expectation, which was the twenty-third of December, Eustacia was at home alone.
There was a certain obscurity in Eustacia's beauty, and Venn's eye was not trained.
Eustacia at length reached Rainbarrow, and stood still there to think.
It had appreciably influenced Wildeve, but it was influencing Eustacia far more.
Conflicting sensations of love, fear, and shame reduced Eustacia to a state of the utmost uneasiness.
Eustacia stepped a little out of the foot-track to let them pass.
"Yes; come in," reached him in Eustacia's voice from a back quarter.
Eustacia's features went through a rhythmical succession of them.