PREFACE
    The date
         at which the following events
            are assumed
              to have occurred
            may be
                  set down
                       as between 1840 and 1850,
           when the old watering
               place herein called
         "Budmouth"
            still retained sufficient afterglow
               from its Georgian gaiety
                   and prestige
              to lend it
                   an absorbing attractiveness
                 to the romantic
                       and imaginative soul
                           of a lonely dweller inland.

    Under the general name of
         "Egdon Heath,"
            which has been given
               to the sombre scene
                   of the story,
           are united
              or typified heaths
                   of various real names,
         to the number of
               at least a dozen;
        these being virtually one
               in character and aspect,
           though their original unity,
         or partial unity,
           is now somewhat
              disguised by intrusive strips
                   and slices
                 brought under the plough with
                      varying degrees of success,
         or planted to woodland.

    It is pleasant to dream
         that some spot
               in the extensive tract
         whose southwestern quarter
            is here described,
           may be the heath of
             that traditionary King of Wessex
          --Lear.

    July,
           1895.

            "To sorrow
             I bade good morrow,

    And thought
          to leave her
               far away behind;
    But cheerly,
           cheerly,
    She loves me dearly;
        She is so constant
               to me,
           and so kind.
    I would deceive her,
    And so leave her,
           But ah!

    she is so constant
           and so kind."

 
  book one THE THREE WOMEN

 
  1 - A Face on Which Time
       Makes but Little Impression

    A Saturday afternoon in November
        was approaching the time
               of twilight,
           and the vast tract
               of unenclosed wild
              known as Egdon Heath embrowned
                   itself moment by moment.

    Overhead the hollow
           stretch of whitish cloud
               shutting out the sky
        was as a tent
          which had the whole heath
               for its floor.

    The heaven
        being spread
               with this pallid screen
                   and the earth
               with the darkest vegetation,
           their meeting-line at the horizon
            was clearly marked.

    In such contrast the heath
        wore the appearance
               of an instalment of night
          which had
              taken up its place
         before its astronomical hour
            was come:
        darkness had
               to a great extent
            arrived hereon,
           while day
            stood distinct in the sky.

    Looking upwards,
           a furze-cutter
            would have been inclined
                  to continue work;
        looking down,
           he would have decided
              to finish his faggot
            and go home.

    The distant rims
           of the world
         and of the firmament seemed
          to be a division
               in time no
             less than
                   a division in matter.

    The face of the heath
           by its mere complexion
          added half an hour
               to evening;
        it could in like manner
              retard the dawn,
           sadden noon,
         anticipate the frowning
               of storms scarcely generated,
           and intensify the opacity
               of a moonless midnight
             to a cause
                   of shaking and dread.

    In fact,
           precisely at this
             transitional
                point of its nightly roll
               into darkness the great
                   and particular
             glory of the Egdon
              waste began,
         and nobody
            could be said
                  to understand the heath
             who had not
                been there
                       at such a time.

    It could best be felt
         when it
            could not clearly be seen,
           its complete effect and explanation
              lying in this
                   and the succeeding hours
             before the next dawn;
        then,
           and only then,
         did it
              tell its true tale.

    The spot was,
           indeed,
         a near relation of night,
           and when night
              showed itself an apparent tendency
                   to gravitate together
            could be
                  perceived in its shades
                       and the scene.

    The sombre stretch of rounds
           and hollows
        seemed to rise
              and meet the evening gloom
                   in pure sympathy,
           the heath
              exhaling darkness
                   as rapidly
                 as the heavens