Twenty Eight: Far From The Madding Crowd: Sword Exercises of Bathsheba
The hill at one end of Bathsheba's dwelling extended into an uncultivated tract of land, covered with tall thickets of brake fern, plump and transparent, in hues of clear and untainted green. At eight o'clock this midsummer evening, while the sun in the west still swept the tips of the ferns with its long, luxuriant rays Bathsheba appeared in their midst, their soft feathery arms caressed her upto her shoulders. She paused, turned, went back over the hill, and down again to her own door, from where she cast a farewell glance upon the spot she had just left, having resolved not to remain near the place afterall. She saw a dim spot of artificial red moving round the shoulder of the rise. It disappeared on the other side. She had doubts about the temerity of her decision. Whether to go and abide by her promise, or remain here as nothing had happened. But her penchant for a visual of the sword exercise moved her legs towards the direction she traversed a few minutes ...