 CHAPTER 32 The village of Weatherbury was quiet as the graveyard in its midst, and the living were lying well nigh as still as the dead. The church-clock struck eleven. The air was so empty of other sounds that the whir of the clockwork immediately before the strokes was distinct, and so was the click of the same at her clothes. The notes flew forth with the usual blind obtuseness of inanimate things, flapping and rebounding among walls, undulating against the scattered clouds, spreading through their interstices into unexplored miles of space. Those crannied and mouldy walls were to-night occupied only by Marianne, Liddy being, as was stated, with her sister, whom Bathsheba had set out to visit. A few minutes after eleven had struck, Marianne turned in her bed with a sense of being disturbed. She was totally unconscious of the nature of the interruption to her sleep. It led to a dream and a dream to an awakening with an uneasy sensation that something had happened. She left her bed and looked out of the window. The paddock abutted on this end of the building, and in the paddock she could just discern by the uncertain grey a moving figure approaching the horse that was feeding there. The figure seized the horse by the forelock and led it to the corner of the field. Here she could see some objects which circumstances proved to be a vehicle. For after a few minutes spent apparently in harnessing she heard the trot of the horse down the road, mingled with the sound of light-wheels. Two varieties only of humanity could have entered the paddock with the ghostlike blight of that mysterious figure. They were a woman and a gypsy man. A woman was out of the question in such an occupation at this hour, and a commer could be no less than a thief, who might probably have known the weakness of the household on this particular night, and have chosen it on that account for his daring attempt. Moreover, to raise suspicion to conviction itself there were gypsies in Weatherbury Bottom. Miriam, who had been afraid to shout in the robber's presence, having seen him depart, had no fear. She hastily slipped on her clothes, stumped down the disjointed staircase with its hundred creeks, ran to Coggan's, the nearest house, and raised an alarm. Coggan called Gabriel, who now again lodged in his house as at first, and together they went to the paddock. Beyond all doubt the horse was gone. Hark! said Gabriel. They listened. Distinct upon the stagnant air came the sounds of a trotting horse, passing up Long Puddle Lane, just beyond the gypsy's encampment in Weatherbury Bottom. That's how Dainy, I'll swear to her, step! said Jan. Might ye me? Won't Mrs. Storman call us stupid when she comes back? moaned Mary Ann. How I wish it had happened when she was at home, and none of us had been answerable. We must ride after. said Gabriel decisively. I'll be responsible to Miss Everdeen for what we do. Yes, we'll follow. Faith, I don't see how, said Coggan. All our horses are too heavy for that trick except little puppet. I've watched shade between two of us. If we only had that pair over the hedge we might do something. Which pair? Mr. Bouldwoods, Tidy and Mall. Then wait here till I come hither again, said Gabriel. He ran down the hill towards Farmer Bouldwoods. Farmer Bouldwoods not at home, said Mary Ann. All the better, said Coggan, I know what he's gone for. Less than five minutes brought a bulk again, running at the same pace with two halters dangling from his hand. Where did you find him? said Coggan, turning round and leaping upon the hedge without waiting for an answer. Under the eaves, I knew where they were kept, said Gabriel, following him. Coggan, can you ride barebacked, and there's no time to look for saddles? Like a hero, said Jan. Mary Ann, you go to bed, shouted Gabriel to her from the top of the hedge. Springing down into Bouldwoods' pastures, each pocketed his halter to hide it from the horses, who, seeing the men empty-handed, docilely allowed themselves to be seized by the main, when the horses were dexterously slipped on. Having neither bit nor bridle, Oak and Coggan extemporised the former by passing the rope in each case, through the animal's mouth and looping it on the other side. Oak vaulted astride, and Coggan clambered up by aid of the bank, when they ascended to the gate and galloped off in the direction taken by Bathsheba's horse and the robber. Whose vehicle the horse had been harnessed to was a matter of some uncertainty. Whetherbury Bottom was reached in three or four minutes. They scanned the shady green patch by the roadside. The gypsies were gone. The villains, said Gabriel, which way have they gone, I wonder? Straight on, as sure as God made the little apples, said Jan. Very well, we are better mounted. We must overtake them, said Oak. Now, on a full speed. No sound of the rider in the van could now be discovered. The road-metal grew softer and more clayed as Wetherbury was left behind, and the late rain had whetted its surface to a somewhat plastic and but not muddy state. They came to cross-roads. Coggan suddenly pulled up-mall and slipped off. What's the matter, said Gabriel? We must try and track them, since we can't hear them, said Jan fumbling in his pockets. He struck a light and held the match to the ground. The rain had been heavier here, and all foot-and-horse-tracks made previous to the storm had been abraded and blurred by the drops, and there were now so many little scoops of water which reflected the flame of the match like eyes. One set of tracks was fresh and had no water in them. One pair of ruts was also empty, and not small canals like the others. The footprints forming this recent impression were full of information as to pace. They were in equidistant pairs, three or four feet apart, the right and left foot of each pair being exactly opposite one another. Straight on, exclaimed Jan, tracks like that mean a stiff gallop. No wonder we don't hear them, and the horse is harnessed. Look at the ruts. Aye, that's our mare, sure enough. How do you know? Old Jimmy Harris only shewed her last week, and I'd swear to his make among ten thousand. The rest of the gypsies must have gone on earlier, or some other way, said Oak. You saw there were no other tracks. True. They rode along silently for a long weary time. Coggan carried an old pinch-beck repeater which he had inherited from some genius in his family, and it now struck one. He lighted another match, and examined the ground again. "'Tis a canter now,' he said, throwing away the light. A twisty, rickety pace for a gig. The fact is, they overdrove her at starting. We shall catch him yet." Again they hastened on, and entered Blackmore Vale. Coggan's watch struck one. When they looked again, the hoof marks were so spaced as to form a sort of zigzag if united, like the lamps along a street. "'That's a trot, I know,' said Gabriel. "'The only a trot now,' said Coggan cheerfully. "'We shall overtake him in time.' They pushed rapidly on for yet two or three miles. "'Ah! A moment,' said Jan. "'Let's see how she was driven up this hill, to help us.' A light was promptly struck upon his gators as before, and the examination made. "'Rah!' said Coggan, she's walked up here, and well she might. We shall get him in two miles for a crown.' They rode three and listened. No sound was to be heard save a mill-pond trickling hoarsely through a hatch, and suggesting gloomy possibilities of drowning by jumping in. Gabriel dismounted when they came to a turning. The tracks were absolutely the only guide as to the direction that they now had, and great caution was necessary to avoid confusing them with some others which had made their appearance lately. "'What does this mean, though, I guess?' said Gabriel, looking up at Coggan as he moved the match over the ground about the turning. Coggan, who no less than the panting horse had laterally shown signs of weariness, again scrutinized the mystic characters. This time only three were of the regular horseshoe shape. Every fourth was a dot. He screwed up his face, and admitted along, "'Hew!' "'Lame!' said Oak. "'Yes, dainty is lame. The near foot of Thor,' said Coggan, slowly, staring still at the footprints. "'We push on,' said Gabriel, remounting his humid steed. Although the road along its greater part had been as good as any turnpike road in the country, it was nominally only a byway. The last turning had brought him to the high road leading to Bath. Coggan recollected himself. "'We shall have him now,' he exclaimed. "'Where?' "'Sherton Turnpike. The keeper of that gate is the sleepiest man between here and London, Dan Randle, that's his name, nodding for years when he was a castor-bridge gate, between the lameness and the gate is a done job.' They now advanced with extreme caution. Nothing was said until, against the shady background of foliage, five white bars were visible, crossing their route a little way ahead. "'Hush! We are almost close,' said Gabriel. "'Ambul upon the grass,' said Coggan. The white bars were blotted out in the midst by a dark shape in front of them. The silence of this lonely time was pierced by an exclamation from that quarter. "'Hoi! Ahoy! Gate!' It appeared there had been a previous call which they had not noticed, for on their close approach the door of the Turnpike house opened and the keeper came out half dressed with a candle in his hand. The rays illuminated the whole group. "'Keep the gate closed,' shouted Gabriel. "'He has stolen the horse.' "'Who?' said the Turnpike man. Gabriel looked at the driver of the gate and saw a woman. Bathsheba, his mistress. On hearing his voice she had turned her face away from the light. Coggan had, however, caught sight of her in the meanwhile. "'Wait! His mistress will take my oath,' he said, amazed. Bathsheba it certainly was, and she had by this time done the trick she could do so well in crises not of love, namely mask a surprise by coolness of manner. "'Well, Gabriel,' she inquired quietly, "'where are you going?' "'We thought,' began Gabriel. "'I am driving to Bath,' she said, taking for her own use the assurance that Gabriel lacked. An important matter made it necessary for me to give up my visit to Liddy and go off at once. "'What, then, were you following me?' We thought the horse was stole. "'Well, what a thing! How very foolish of you not to know that I had taken the trap and horse. I could neither wake Mary Ann nor get into the house, though I hammered for ten minutes against her window-sill. Fortunately I could get the key of the coach-house, so it troubled no one further. Didn't you think it might be me? Why, should we miss?' "'Perhaps not. Why, those are never farm-abold with horses. Goodness mercy! What have you been doing, bringing trouble upon me in this way? What, mustn't the lady move an inch from her door without being dogged like a thief?' "'But I was we to know, if you left no account of your doings,' expostulated Coggan, and ladies don't drive at these hours miss, as a general rule of society.' "'I did leave an account, and you would have seen it in the morning. I wrote in chalk on the chalk-house doors that I had come back for the horse and gig and driven off, that I could arouse nobody and should return soon.' "'But you'll consider, ma'am, that we couldn't see that till it got daylight.' "'True,' she said, and though vexed at first she had too much sense to blame them long or seriously, for a devotion to her that was as valuable as it was rare. She added, with a very pretty grace, "'Well, I really thank you heartily for taking all this trouble, but I wish you had borrowed anybody's horses but Mr. Bouldwood's.' "'Dainty is laying, miss,' said Coggan, "'can you go on?' "'It was only stone in her shoe, and I got down and pulled it out a hundred yards back. I can manage very well, thank you. I shall be in bath by daylight. Will you now return, please?' She turned her head, the gateman's candle shimmering upon her quick clear eyes as she did so, passed through the gate, and was soon wrapped in the empowering shades of mysterious summer boughs. Coggan and Gabriel put about their horses, and fanned by the velvety air of this July night retraced the road by which they had come. "'A strange vagary, this of hers, isn't an oak,' said Coggan curiously. "'Yes,' said Gabriel shortly, "'she won't be in bath by no daily.' "'Coggan, suppose we keep this night's work as quiet as we can. I am of one on the same mind. Very well. We should be home by three o'clock or so, and can creep into the parish-league-lams.' Bathsheba's perturbed meditations by the roadside had ultimately evolved a conclusion that there were only two remedies for the present desperate state of affairs. The first was merely to keep Troy away from Wetherbury till Bouldwood's indignation had cooled, the second to listen to oaks and treaties, and Bouldwood's denunciations, and give up Troy altogether. Alas! could she give up this new love, induce him to renounce her by saying she did not like him, could no more speak to him and beg him for her good, to end his furlough in bath, and see her and Wetherbury no more? This was a picture full of misery, but for a while she contemplated it firmly, allowing herself nevertheless, as girls will, to dwell upon the happy life she would have enjoyed had Troy been Bouldwood, and the path of love, the path of duty, inflicting upon herself gratuitous tortures by imagining him the lover of another woman after forgetting her. For she had penetrated Troy's nature so far as to estimate his tendencies pretty accurately, but, unfortunately, loved him no less in thinking that he might soon cease to love her, indeed considerably more. She jumped to her feet, she would see him at once. Yes, she would implore him by word of mouth to assist her in this dilemma. A letter to keep him away could not reach him in time, even if he should be disposed to listen to it. Was Bathsheba altogether blind to the obvious fact that the support of a lover's arms is not of a kind best calculated to assist the resolve to renounce him? Or was she sophistically sensible, with a thrill of pleasure, that by adopting this course of getting rid of him she was ensuring a meeting with him, at any rate, once more? It was now dark, and the hour must have been nearly ten. The only way to accomplish her purpose was to give up her idea of visiting Liddy at Yalbury, return to Weatherbury Farm, and put the horse into the gig, and drive at once to Bath. The scheme seemed at first impossible. The journey was a fearfully heavy one, even for a strong horse at her own estimate, and she much underrated the distance. It was most venturesome for a woman, at night and alone. But could she go on to Liddy's, and leave things to take their course? No. No, anything but that. Bathsheba was full of a stimulating turbulence, besides which caution vainly prayed for a hearing. She turned back towards the village. Her walk was slow, for she wished not to enter Weatherbury till the cottages were in bed, and particularly till Bould was secure. Her plan was now to drive to Bath during the night. See Sergeant Troy in the morning before he set out to come to her, bid him farewell, and dismiss him. Then to rest the horse thoroughly, herself to weep the while she thought, starting early the next morning on her return journey. By this arrangement she could trot dainty gently all the day, reach Liddy at Yalbury in the evening, and come home to Weatherbury with her whenever they chose, so nobody would know she had been to Bath at all. Such was Bathsheba's scheme. But in her topographical ignorance as a latecomer to the place, she misreckoned the distance of her journey as not much more than half what it really was. This idea she proceeded to carry out, with what initial success we have already seen. End of CHAPTER XXXII A week passed, and there were no tidings of Bathsheba, nor was there any explanation of her Gilpin's rig. Then a note came for Mary Ann, stating that the business which had called her mistress to Bath, still detained her there, but that she hoped to return in the course of another week. Another week passed. The oat harvest began, and all the men were afield under a monochromatic lamest sky, amid the trembling air and short shadows of noon. Indoors nothing was to be heard save the droning of blue bottle-flies. Out of doors the wetting of sides and the hiss of tressy out-ears, rubbing together as their perpendicular stalks of amber-yellow, fell heavily to each suede. Every drop of moisture, not in the men's bottles and flagons in the form of siler, was raining as perspiration from their foreheads and cheeks, drought was everywhere else. They were about to withdraw for a while into the charitable shade of a tree in the fence, when Coggan saw a figure in a blue coat and brass buttons running to them across the field. "'I wonder who that is,' he said. "'I hope nothing is wrong about mistress,' said Mary Ann, who, with some other women, was tying the bundles, oats always been sheafed on this farm. "'But an unlucky token came to me indoors this morning. I went to unlock the door and drop the key, and I fell upon the stone floor and broke into two pieces. Making a key is a dreadful bowdement. I wish Mrs. was home.' "'Tis came ball,' said Gabriel, pausing from wetting his re-pook. Oak was not bound by his agreement to assist in the cornfield, but the harvest month is an anxious time for a farmer, and the corn was Bathsheba's, so he lent a hand. "'He's dressed up in his best clothes,' said Matthew Moon. "'He's been away from home for a few days, since he's had that felon upon his finger, for, he said, "'since I can't work, I'll have all our day.' "'A good time for one, an excellent time,' said Joseph, poor grass straightening his back, for he, like some of the others, had a way of resting a while from his labour on such hot days, for reasons preternaturally small. Of which Cain Ball's advent on a weekday in his Sunday clothes was one of the first magnitude. "'Tis a bad leg, allowed me to read the Pilgrim's progress, and Mark Clarke learned all fours in a whitlow. "'Aye, and my father put his arm out a-joint to have time to go to Caughton,' said Jan Coggan, in an eclipsing tone, wiping his face with his short sleeve and thrusting back his hat upon the nape of his neck. By this time Cainy was nearing the group of harvesters, and was perceived to be carrying a large slice of bread and ham in one hand, from which he took mouthfuls as he ran, the other being wrapped in a bandage. When he came close, his mouth assumed the bell-shape, and he began to cough violently. "'Now, Cainy,' said Gabriel, sternly, "'how many more times must I tell you to keep from running so fast when you be eating? You choke yourself some day. That's what you'll do, Cain Ball.' "'H-h-h-h-h,' replied Cain, "'come on, my victuals, went the wrong way.' "'That's what it is, Mr. Oak, and I've been visiting to Bath, because I had a felon on my tongue. Yes, and I said, "'H-h-h.'" Directly Cain mentioned Bath. They all threw down their hooks and forks and drew around him. Unfortunately, the erratic crumb did not improve his narrative powers, and a supplementary hindrance was that of a sneeze, jerking from his pocket his rather large watch, which dangled in front of the young man, pendulum-wise. "'Yes,' he continued, directing his thoughts to Bath, and letting his eyes follow. "'I've seen the world last, and I've seen our Mrs.' "'H-h-h-h.'" "'Bothered a boy,' said Gabriel, "'something is always going the wrong way down your throat, so that you can't tell what's necessary to be told.' "'H-h-h-h,' replied Cain, "'there, please, Mr. Oak, and that has just led into my stomach and brought the cough on again.' "'Yes, that's just it. Your mouth is always open, your young rascal.' "'Tis terrible bad to have a nap-fly down your throat, poor boy,' said Matthew Moon. "'Well, at Bath, you saw,' prompted Gabriel. "'I saw our Mistress,' continued the junior shepherd, and a soldier walking along, and by me boy, they got closer and closer, and then they went arm-in-crook, like carton-complete.' "'H-h-h-h.'" "'Like carton-complete.' "'H-h-h-h.'" "'Carton-complete.' "'Losing the thread of his narrative at this point, simultaneously with his loss of breath, their informant looked up and down the field, apparently for some clue to it. "'Well, I see our Mistress and a soldier.' "'H-h-h-h.'" "'Damn the boy,' said Gabriel. "'Tis only me, my man, our Mr. Oak, if you'll excuse it,' said Cain-Ball, looking reproachfully at Oak, with eyes drenched in their own dew. "'Here's some cider for him, that'll cure his throat,' said Jan Coggan, lifting a flagon of cider, and pulling out the cork and applying the hole to Cainey's mouth, and Joseph porgras in the meantime, beginning to think apprehensively of the serious consequences that would follow Cainey-Ball's strangulation in his cough, and the history of his bath-adventures dying with him. "'For my poor self, I always say, please, God, for I do nothing,' said Joseph, in an unbossful voice. "'And so should you, Cain-Ball, to the great safeguard, and might perhaps save you from being choked to death some day.'" Mr. Coggan poured the liquor with unstinted liberality at the suffering Cainey's circular mouth, half of it running down the side of the flagon, and half of what reaches mouth running down the outside of his throat, and half of what ran in going the wrong way, and being coughed and sneezed around the persons of the gathered reapers in the form of a cider-fog, which, for a moment, hung in the sunnier like a small exhalation. "'There's a great clumsy sneeze. Why can't you have better manners, you young dog?' said Coggan, withdrawing the flagon. "'This cider went on my nose,' cried Cainey as soon as he could speak, and now it has gone down my neck, and into my poor dumb felon, and over my shiny buttons and all my best clothes.' "'The poor lad's coffee is terrible unfortunate,' said Matthew Moon, and a great history on hand, too. The bump was back, shepherd. "'Tis my nater,' mourned Cain. Mother says, I always was so excitable when my feelings were worked up to a point.' "'True, true,' said Joseph Porgrass. The balls always were a very excitable family. I know the boy's grandfather, a truly nervous and modest man, even to gentile refinery, to as blush blush with him, almost as much as it is with me. Not but that it's a fault in me.' "'Not at all, Master Porgrass,' said Coggan. "'Tis a very noble quality in he.' "'Well, I wish to know he's nothing abroad, nothing at all,' murmured Porgrass diffidently. But we'd be born to things. That's true. Yet I would rather my trifle were hid, that though perhaps a high nater is a little high, and at my birth all things were possible to my maker, and he may have begrudged no gifts. But under your bushel, Joseph, under your bushel we. A strange desire, neighbours. This desire to hide, and no praise due. Yet there is a sermon on the mount with a calendar of the blessed at the head, and certain meek men may be named therein.' "'Kenny's grandfather was a very clever man,' said Matthew Moon, invented a apple-tree out of his own head, which is called by his name to-day the Early Ball. You know him, Jan. A quarrandon grafted from a tom-putt, and I'd rather write but punt-hopper that again. Tis true, I used to buy'd about in a public house with a woman in a way he had no business to buy rights, but there I were a clever man in the sense of the term.' "'Now, then,' said Gabriel impatiently, what did you see, Cain?' "'I see'd our missus go into a sort of park-place, where there seats, and shrubs, and flowers, arm and crook with a soldier,' continued Cain firmly, and with a dim sense that his words were very effective as regarded Gabriel's emotions. And I think the soldier was sergeant Troy, and they sat together for more than half an hour, talking moving things, and she once was crying almost to death, and when they came out her eyes were shining, and she was as white as a lily, and they looked into one another's faces, as far gone friendly as a man and woman can be.' Gabriel's features seemed to get thinner. "'Well, what did you see besides?' "'Ah, all sorts. "'White as a lily. You were short with she?' "'Oh, yes.' "'Well, what besides?' "'Great glass wind is to the shops, and great clouds in the sky, full of rain, and old wooden trees in the country round.' "'You stonepal, what do you say next?' said Coggan. "'Letting alone,' interposed Joseph Porgrass, the boy's mainan is, that the sky on earth in the kingdom of Bath is not altogether different from ours here. It is for our good to gain knowledge of strange cities, and as such the boy's words shall be suffered, so to speak it.' "'And the people of Bath,' continued Cain, "'never need to light their fires except as a luxury, for the water springs up out with the earth ready boiled for use.' "'Tis true as the light,' testified Matthew Moon, "'I've heard other navigators say the same thing.' "'They drink nothing else there,' said Cain, "'and seem to enjoy it, to see how they swallow it down.' "'Well, it seems a barbarian practice enough to us, "'but I dare say the natives think nothing of it,' said Matthew. "'And don't victuals spring up as well as drink?' asked Coggan, twirling his eye. "'No, I own to a blot there in Bath, a true blot. God didn't provide him with victuals as well as drink, and towards a drawback I couldn't get over at all.' "'Well, tis a curious place to say the least,' observed Moon, "'and there must be a curious people that live therein. "'Is Everdeen and the soldier were walking about together, you say?' said Gabriel, returning to the group. "'Aye, and she wore a beautiful gold-coloured silk gown, "'trimmed a black glaze, that would have stood alone without legs inside if required. "'Twas a very winsome sight, and her hair was brushed splendid, "'and when the sun shone upon the bright gown and his red coat, "'my, how handsome they looked! "'You could see them all the length of the street.' "'And what then?' murmured Gabriel. "'And then I went to Griffins to have me boots harboured, "'and then I went to Riggs's batty cake-shop, "'and asked them for a penance of the cheapest and nicest "'stales, that were all but blue-moldy, and but not quaint. "'And once I was charmed them down, I walked on, "'and see their clock with a face as big as a bacon-trendle.' "'But that's nothing to do with mistress.' "'I'm common to that if you leave me alone, Mr. Oak,' "'remonstrated Caney. "'If you excites me, perhaps you'll bring on my cough, "'and then I shall be able to tell you nothing.' "'Yes, let him tell it his own way,' said Coggan. Gabriel settled into a despairing attitude of patience, and Caney went on. "'And there were great large houses, "'and more people all the week long than at "'weathery walking-club on White Tuesdays. "'And I went to grand churches and chapels, "'and how the parson would pray! "'Yes, he would kneel down and put up his hands together, "'and make the holy gold rings on his fingers gleam "'and twinkle in your eyes. "'That he'd earned by praying so excellent well. "'Ah, yes, I wish I lived there.' "'Our poor parson totally can't get no money to buy such rings,' said Matthew Moon thoughtfully. "'And as good a man has ever walked, "'I don't believe poor totally have a single one, "'even of the humblest tin or copper. "'Such a great ornament as they beat to him on a dull afternoon, "'when he's opened a pulpit lighted by the wax candles, "'but it's impossible, poor man, "'ah, to think how unequal things be.' "'Perhaps he's made of different stuff than the wearum,' said Gabriel grimly. "'Well, that's enough of this. "'Go on, Caney, quick.' "'Oh, and the new style of parson's wear mustaches "'and long beards,' continued the illustrious traveller, "'and looked like Moses and Aaron complete, "'and make we folks in the congregation "'feel all over like the children of Israel.' "'A very great feeling, very,' said Joseph Porgrass. "'And there's two religions going on in the nation now, "'high church and high chapel, "'and, thinks I, I'll play fair. "'So I went to high church in the morning "'and high chapel in the afternoon.' "'A great and proper boy,' said Joseph Porgrass. "'Well, at high church they pray singing "'and worship all the colours of the rainbow. "'And at high chapel they pray preaching "'and worship drab and whitewash only. "'And then I didn't see no more of Mrs. Everdeen at all.' "'Why didn't you say so before, then?' exclaimed Oak "'with much disappointment.' "'Ah,' said Matthew Moon, "'she'll wish her cake dough if so be, "'she's over-intimate with that man.' "'She's not over-intimate with him,' said Gabriel indignantly. "'She should know better,' said Coggin. "'Our Mrs. has too much sense under the knots of black hair "'to do such a mad thing.' "'You see, he's not a coarse ignorant man, "'for he was well brought up,' said Matthew dubiously. "'It was only wildest that made him a soldier, "'and maids rather like your man a sin.' "'Now, Cain Ball,' said Gabriel restlessly, "'can you swear in the most awful form "'that the woman you saw was Mrs. Everdeen?' "'Cain Ball, you no longer be a babe in suckling,' said Joseph, in the sepulchral tone the circumstances demanded. "'And you know what taking a note is. "'It is a horrible testament, mind ye, "'which you should say in seal with your blood-stone, "'and the prophet Matthew tells us that on whom, "'soever it shall fall, it will grind them to powder. "'Now, before all the work-folk here assembled, "'can you swear to your words?' as the shepherd asked ye.' "'Please, no, Mr. Oak,' said Cainey, "'looking from one to the other with great uneasiness "'at the spiritual magnitude as a physician. "'I don't mind saying it is true, "'but I don't like to say it is damn true, "'if that's what you mean.' "'Cain, Cain, how can you?' asked Joseph sternly. "'You be asked to swear in a holy manner, "'and you swear like wicked shy-my, "'the son of Gera, who cursed as he came. "'Young man, fly!' "'No, I don't. "'Tis you want to squander a poor boy's soul?' "'Joseph, poor grass, that's what it is,' said Cainey, beginning to cry. "'All I mean is that in common truth, "'twas Miss Everdeen and Sergeant Try, "'but in the horrible so-helpy truth "'that you want to make of it, "'perhaps twas somebody else.' "'There is no getting to the rites of it,' said Gabriel, turning to his work. "'Cain, ball, you'll come to a bit of bread,' groaned Joseph, poor grass. Then the reapers' hooks were flourished again, and the old sounds went on. Gabriel, without making any pretense of being lively, did nothing to show that he was particularly dull. However, Coggin knew pretty nearly how the land lay, and when they were in a nook together, he said, "'Don't take on about her, Gabriel. "'What difference does it make, "'who's sweetheart she is, since she can't be yours?' "'That's the very thing I say to myself,' said Gabriel. "'End of Chapter 33. "'That same evening at dusk, "'Gabriel was leaning over Coggin's garden gate, "'taking an up-and-down survey before retiring to rest. "'A vehicle of some kind was softly creeping along "'the grassy margin of the lane. "'From it spread the tones of two women talking. "'The tones were natural and not at all suppressed. "'Oak instantly knew the voices to be those of Bathsheba and Liddy.' "'The carriage came opposite and passed by. "'It was Miss Everdeen's gig, "'and Liddy and her mistress were the only occupants of the seat. "'Liddy was asking questions about the city of Bath, "'and her companion was answering them listlessly and unconcernedly. "'Both Bathsheba and the horse seemed weary.' "'The exquisite relief of finding that she was here again, "'safe and sound, overpowered all reflection, "'and Oak could only luxuriate in the sense of it. "'All grave reports were forgotten.' "'He lingered and lingered on till there was no difference "'between the eastern and western expanses of sky, "'and the timid hairs began to limp courageously round the dim hillocks. "'Gabriel might have been there an additional half-hour "'when a dark form walked slowly by.' "'Good night, Gabriel,' the passer said. "'It was Bouldwood.' "'Good night, sir,' said Gabriel.' Bouldwood likewise vanished up the road, and Oak shortly afterwards turned indoors to bed. Farmer Bouldwood went on to Miss Everdeen's house. He reached the front, and approaching the entrance saw a light in the parlor. The blind was not drawn down, and inside the room was Bathsheba, looking over some papers or letters. Her back was towards Bouldwood. He went to the door, knocked and waited with tense muscles, and an aching brow. Bouldwood had not been outside his garden since his meeting with Bathsheba, in the row to Yalbury. Silent and alone he had remained in moody meditation on women's ways, deeming as essentials of the whole sex the accidents of the single one or the number he had ever closely beheld. By degrees a more charitable temper had pervaded him, and this was the reason of a sally to-night. He had come to apologize and beg forgiveness of Bathsheba, with something like a sense of shame at his violence, having but just now learnt that she had returned, only from the visitor Liddy as he supposed, the bath-escapade being quite unknown to him. He inquired for Miss Everdeen. Liddy's manner was odd, but he did not notice it. She went in, leaving him standing there, and in her absence the blind of the room containing Bathsheba was pulled down. Bouldwood augured ill from that sign. Liddy came out. My mistress said she can't see you, sir, she said. The farmer instantly went out by the gate. He was unforgiven, that was the issue of it all. He had seen her who was to him simultaneously a delight and a torture, sitting in the room he had shared with her, as a peculiarly privileged guest, only a little earlier in the summer, and she had denied him an entrance there now. Bouldwood did not hurry homeward. It was ten o'clock, at least, when walking deliberately through the lower part of Wetherbury, he heard the carrier spring-van entering the village. The van ran to and from the town in an order and direction, and it was owned and driven by a Wetherbury man, at the door of whose house it now pulled up. The lamp fixed to the head of the hood, illuminated a scarlet and gilded form, who was the first to alight. Ah! said Bouldwood to himself. Come to see her again. Troy entered the carrier's house, which had been the place of his lodging on his last visit to his native place. Bouldwood was moved by a sudden determination. He hastened home. In ten minutes he was back again, and made as if he were going to call upon Troy at the carriers. But as he approached, someone opened the door and came out. He heard this person say, Good-night, to the inmates, and the voice was Troy's. This was strange, coming so immediately after his arrival. Bouldwood, however, hastened up to him. Troy had what appeared to be a carpet-bag in his hand, the same that he had brought with him. It seemed as if he were going to leave again this very night. Troy turned up the hill and quickened his pace. Bouldwood stepped forward. The sergeant Troy. Yes, I am sergeant Troy. Just arrived from up the country, I think. Just arrived from Bath. I am William Bouldwood. Indeed. The tone in which this word was uttered was all that had been wanted, to bring Bouldwood to the point. I wish to speak a word with you, he said. What about? About her who lives just ahead there, and about the woman you have wronged. I wonder at your impertinence, said Troy, moving on. Now look here, said Bouldwood, standing in front of him. Wonder or not, you are going to hold a conversation with me. Troy heard a dull determination in Bouldwood's voice, looked at his stalwart frame, then at the tick cudgel he carried in his hand. He remembered it was past ten o'clock. It seemed worthwhile to be civil to Bouldwood. Very well, I listen with pleasure, said Troy, placing his bag on the ground. Only speak low, for somebody or other may overhear us in the farmhouse there. Well, then, I know a good deal concerning your fanny Robbins' attachment to you. I may say, too, that I believe I am the only person in the village accepting Gabriel Oak, who does know it. You ought to marry her. I suppose I ought. Indeed, I wish to, but I cannot. Why? Troy was about to utter something hastily. He then checked himself and said, I am too poor. His voice was changed. Previously it had had a devil-may-care tone. It is the voice of a trickster now. Bouldwood's present mood was not critically enough to notice tones. He continued, I may as well speak plainly, and understand I don't wish to enter into the questions of right or wrong, woman's honour and shame, or to express any opinion on your conduct. I intend a business transaction with you. I say, said Troy, suppose we sit down here. An old tree-trunk lay under the hedge, immediately opposite, and they sat down. I was engaged to be married to Miss Everdeen, said Bouldwood, but you came and— Not engaged, said Troy. As good as engaged? If I had not turned up, she might have become engaged to you. Hang might. Would, then. If you had not come, I should certainly. Yes, certainly have been accepted by this time. If you had not seen her, you might have been married to Fanny. Well, there's too much difference between Miss Everdeen's station and your own for this flirtation with her, to ever benefit you by ending in marriage. So all I ask is, don't molest her any more. Marry Fanny. I'll make it worth your while. How will you? I'll pay you well now. I'll settle the sum of money upon her, and I'll see that you don't suffer from poverty in the future. I'll put it clearly. Bathsheba is only playing with you. You were too poor for her, as I said. So give up wasting your time about a great match you'll never make, for a moderate and rightful match. You may make tomorrow. Take up your carpet-bag, and turn about. Leave Wetherbury now, this night, and you shall take fifty pounds with you. Fanny shall have fifty to enable her to prepare for the wedding, when you have told me where she is living, and she shall have five hundred paid down on her wedding day. In making this statement, Bouldard's voice revealed only too clearly a consciousness of the weakness of his position, his aims, and his method. His manner had lapsed quite from that of the firm and dignified bold-wood of former times, and such a scheme, as he had now engaged in, he would have condemned as childishly imbecile only a few months ago. We discern a grand force in the lover which he lacks whilst a free man, but there is a breadth of vision in the free man which, in the lover, we vainly seek. Where there is much bias there must be some narrowness, and love, though added emotion, is subtracted capacity. Bouldard exemplified this to an abnormal degree. He knew nothing of Fanny Robin's circumstances or whereabouts. He knew nothing of Troy's possibilities, yet that was what he said. I like Fanny best, said Troy, and if, as you say, Miss Everdeen is out of my reach, why I'll have all to gain by accepting your money and marrying Fan, but she's only a servant. Never mind. Do you agree to my arrangement? I do. Ah, said Bouldard, in a more elastic voice. Oh, Troy, if you like her best, then why did you step in here and injure my happiness? I love Fanny best now, said Troy, but Batch, Miss Everdeen, inflamed me, and displaced Fanny for a time. It is over now. Why should it be over so soon? And why then did you come here again? There are weighty reasons. Fifty pounds at once, you said. I did, said Bouldard, and here they are, fifty sovereigns. He handed Troy a small packet. You have everything ready. It seems that you calculated on my accepting them, said the sergeant, taking the packet. I thought you might accept them, said Bouldard. You've only my word that a program shall be adhered to, whilst I, at any rate, have fifty pounds. I had thought of that, and I have considered that if I can't appeal to your honour, I can trust your well shrewdness, we'll call it, not to lose five hundred pounds in prospect, and also make a bitter enemy of a man who is willing to be an extremely useful friend. Stop! Listen! said Troy, in a whisper. A light pit-pat was audible upon the road just above them. By George, to she, he continued, I must go and meet her. She? Who? Bathsheba. Bathsheba, out alone at this time of night, said Bouldard in amazement, and, starting up, why must you meet her? She was expecting me to-night, and I must now speak to her, and wish I could buy, according to your wish. I don't see the necessity of speaking. It can do no harm, and she'll be wondering about looking for me if I don't. Neutral hear all I say to her, and it will help in your love-making when I am gone. Your tone is mocking. Oh, no! and remember this. If she does not know what has become of me, she will think more about me than if I tell her flatly I have come to give her up. Will you confine your words to that one point? Shall I hear every word you say? Every word. Now sit there, and hold my carpet-bag for me, and mark what you hear. The light-foot-step came closer, halting occasionally, as if the walker listened for a sound. Troy whistled a double note in a soft, fluty tone. Come to that, is it? murmured Bouldard uneasily. You promised silence, said Troy. I promise again. Troy stepped forward. Frank, dearest, is that you? The tones were Bathshebas. Oh, God! said Bouldwood. Yes! said Troy to her. How late you are! she continued tenderly. Did you come by the carrier? I listened and heard his wheels entering the village, but it was some time ago, and I had almost given up on you, Frank. I was sure to come, said Frank. You knew I should. Did you not? Well, I thought you would. She said playfully, and Frank, it is so lucky. There's not a soul in my house but me to-night. I've packed them all off, so nobody on earth will know of your visit to your lady's bower. Liddy wanted to go to her grandfather's, to tell him about her holiday, and I said she might stay with him till to-morrow, when you'll be gone again. Capital, said Troy, but dear me, I had better go back for my bag, because my slippers and brush and comb are in it. You run home whilst I fetch it, and I'll promise to be in your parlor in ten minutes. Yes. She turned and tripped up the hill again. During the progress of this dialogue, there was a nervous twitching of Bouldwood's tightly closed lips, and his face became bathed in a clammy dew. He now started forwards towards Troy. Troy turned to him and tug up the bag. Shall I tell her I have come to give her up, and cannot marry her? said the soldier, mockingly. No, no, wait a minute. I want to say more to you. More to you, said Bouldwood, in a hoarse whisper. Now, said Troy, you see my dilemma, and perhaps I am a bad man, the victim of my impulses, led a way to do what I ought to leave undone. I can't, however, marry them both. And I have two reasons for choosing, Thani. First, I like her best upon the whole, and second, you make it worth my while. At the same instant Bouldwood sprang upon him, and held him by the neck. Troy felt Bouldwood's grasp slowly tightening. The move was absolutely unexpected. A moment, he gasped, you are injuring her, you love. Well, what do you mean? said the farmer. Give me breath, said Troy. Bouldwood loosened his hand, saying, and by heaven, I have a mind to kill you. And ruin her? Save her? Oh, how can she be saved now, unless I marry her? Bouldwood groaned. He reluctantly released the soldier, and flung him back against the hedge. The devil, you torture me, he said. Troy rebounded like a ball, and was about to make a dash at the farmer, but checked himself, saying lightly, It is not worthwhile to measure my strength with you. Indeed, it is a barbarous way of settling a quarrel. I shall shortly leave the army, because of that same conviction. Now, after that revelation of how the land lies with Vashiva, could be a mistake to kill me, would it not? Could be a mistake to kill you, repeated Bouldwood mechanically with a bowed head. Better kill yourself. Far better. I'm glad you see it. Troy, make her your wife, and don't act upon what I arranged just now. The alternative is dreadful, but take Vashiva. I give her up. She must love you indeed to sell soul and body to you so utterly as she has done. Wretched woman, deluded woman, you are Vashiva. But about Fanny? Vashiva is a woman well to do, continued Bouldwood in nervous anxiety, and Troy, she will make a good wife, and indeed she is worth your hastening on your marriage with her. But she has a will not to say a temper, and I shall be a mere slave to her, and I could do anything with poor Fanny Robin. Troy, said Bouldwood imploringly, I'll do anything for you, only don't desert her. Pray, don't desert her, Troy. Which, poor Fanny? No, Vashiva ever did. Love her best, love her tenderly. How shall I get you to see how advantageous it will be to you to secure her at once? I don't wish to secure her in any new way. Bouldwood's arm moves spasmodically towards Troy's person again. He repressed the instinct, and his form drooped as with pain. Troy went on. I shall soon purchase my discharge, and then— But I wish you to hasten on this marriage. It will be better for you both. You love each other, and you must let me help you to do it. How? Why, by settling the five hundred on Bathsheba instead of Fanny, to enable you to marry at once? No, she wouldn't have it of me. I'll pay it down to you on the wedding day. Troy paused in secret amazement at Bouldwood's wild infatuation. He carelessly said, And am I to have anything now? Yes, if you wish to. But I have not much additional money with me. I did not expect this. But all I have is yours. Bouldwood, more like a sonambulist than a wakeful man, pulled out a large canvas bag he carried by way of a purse, and searched it. I have twenty-one pounds more with me, he said, two notes and a sovereign. But before I leave you, I must have a paper signed. Pay me the money, and we go straight to her parlor, and make any arrangement you please to secure my compliance with your wishes. But she must know nothing of this cash business. Nothing, nothing! said Bouldwood, hastily. Here is the sum, and if you'll come to my house, we'll write out the agreement for the remainder, and the terms also. First we'll call upon her. But why? Come with me to-night, and go with me to-morrow to the surrogates. But she must be consulted, not any rate informed. Very well. Go on. They went up the hill to Bathsheba's house. When they stood at the entrance Troy said, Wait here a moment. Opening the door he glided inside, leaving the door ajar. Bouldwood waited. In two minutes a light appeared in the passage. Bouldwood then saw that a chain had been fastened across the door. Troy appeared inside carrying a bedroom candlestick. What? Did you think I should break in? said Bouldwood contemptuously. Oh, no, it is merely my humour to secure things. We read this a moment. I'll hold the light. Troy handed a folded newspaper through the slit between door and doorpost, and put the candle close. That's the paragraph. He said, placing his finger on a line, Bouldwood looked and read. Marriages, on the seventeenth instant at St Ambrose's Church Bath by the Reverend G. Mincing B.A., Francis Troy, only son of the late Edward Troy, S. Squire M.D. of Weatherbury, and sergeant with Dragoon Guards, to Bathsheba, only surviving daughter of the late Mr. John Everdeen, of Casterbridge. This may be called fort meeting feeble. Hey, Bouldwood, said Troy, a low gurgle of derisive laughter followed the words. The paper fell from Bouldwood's hands. Troy continued. Fifty pounds to marry Fanny, good. Twenty-one pounds, not to marry Fanny, but Bathsheba. Good. Finale, already Bathsheba's husband. Now, Bouldwood, yours is the ridiculous fate which always attends interference between a man and his wife. And another word. Bad as I am, I am not such a villain as to make the marriage or misery of any woman a matter of hoax for and sale. Fanny has long ago left me. I don't know where she is. I have searched everywhere. Another word yet. You say you love Bathsheba. Yet, on the merest apparent evidence you instantly believe in her dishonour. I'll fig for such love. Now that I have taught you a lesson, you can take your money back again. I will not. I will not, said Bouldwood in a hiss. Anyhow, I won't have it, said Troy contemptuously. He wrapped the packet of gold in the notes and threw the hole into the road. Bouldwood shook his clenched fist at him. You juggler of Satan! You black hound! I'll punish you yet, mark me. I'll punish you yet. Another peel of laughter. Troy then closed the door and locked himself in. Throughout the whole of that night Bouldwood's dark form might have been seen walking about the hills and downs of Wetherbury, like an unhappy shade in the mournful fields by Acheron. At an upper window. It was very early the next morning, a time of sun and dew. The confused beginnings of many bird songs spread into the healthy air, and the one blue of the heaven was here and there coated with tin webs of incorporeal cloud which would have no effect in obscuring day. All the lights in the scene were yellow as to colour, and all the shadows were attenuated as to form. The creeping plants about the old manor house were bowed with rows of heavy water drops, which had upon objects behind them the effect of minute lenses of high magnifying power. Just before the clock struck five, Gabriel Oak at Coggan passed the village cross, and went on together to the fields. There were yet barely in view of their mistresses' house when Oak fancied he saw the opening of a casement in one of the upper windows. The two men were at this moment partially screened by an elder bush, now beginning to be enriched with black bunches of fruit, and they paused before emerging from its shade. A handsome man leaned idly from the lattice. He looked east and then west, in the manner of one who makes a first morning survey. The man was Sergeant Troy. His red jacket was loosely thrown on, but not buttoned, and he had altogether the relaxed bearing of a soldier taking his ease. Coggan spoke first, looking quietly at the window. As she had married him, he said. Gabriel had previously beheld the sight, and he now stood with his back turned, making no reply. I fancied we should know something today, continued Coggan. I heard wales pass my door just after dark. You were out somewhere. He glanced round upon Gabriel. Good heavens above us, Oak! How white your face is! You look like a corpse. Do I? said Oak with a faint smile. Lean on the gate, I'll wait a bit. All right, all right! They stood by the gate awhile, Gabriel listlessly staring at the ground. His mind sped into the future, and saw there, enacted in years of leisure, the scenes of repentance that would ensue from this work of haste. That they were married, he had instantly decided. Why had it been so mysteriously managed? It had become known that she had had a fearful journey to Bath, owing to her miscalculating the distance, that the horse had broken down, and that she had been more than two days getting there. It was not that she was way to do things furtively. With all her faults she was candor itself. Could she have been entrapped? The Union was not only an unutterable grief to him. It amazed him, notwithstanding that he had passed the preceding week, in a suspicion that such might be the issue of Troy's meeting with her away from home. Her quiet return with Liddy had, to some extent, dispersed the dread. Just as that imperceptible motion which appears like stillness is infinitely divided in its properties from stillness itself, so had his hope, undistinguishable from despair, differed from despair indeed. In a few minutes they moved on again towards the house. The sergeant still looked from the window. Morning, comrades! he shouted in a cheery voice when they came up. Coggan replied to the greeting. Ain't you going to answer the man? he then said to Gabriel. I'd say good-morning, you needn't spend a hapening mean in upon it, and yet keep the man civil. Gabriel soon decided, too, that, since the deed was done, to put the best face upon the matter would be the greatest kindness to her he loved. Good-morning, sergeant Troy! he returned in a ghastly voice. A rambling gloomy house this, said Troy, smiling. Why, they may not be married, suggested Coggan. Perhaps she's not there. Gabriel shook his head. The soldier turned a little towards the east, and the sun kindled his scarlet coat to an orange glow. But is a nice old house, responded Gabriel. Yes, I suppose so, but I feel like a new wine in an old bottle here. My notion is that sash windows should be put throughout, and these old wainscotted walls brightened up a bit, or the oak cleared quite away, and the walls papered. It would be a pity, I think. Well, no. A philosopher once said in my hearing that the old builders, who worked when art was a living thing, had no respect for the work of builders who went before them, but pulled down and altered as they thought fit. And why shouldn't we? Creation and preservation don't go well together, says he, and a million of antiquarians can't invent a style. My mind exactly. I am for making this place more modern, that we may be cheerful whilst we can. The military man turned and surveyed the interior of the room to assist his ideas of improvement in this direction. Gabriel and Coggan began to move on. Oh, Coggan! said Troy, as if inspired by a recollection. Do you know if insanity has ever appeared in Mr. Bouldwood's family? Jan reflected for a moment. I once heard that an uncle of his was queer in the head, but I don't know the right to it. He said. Nits of no importance, said Troy lightly. Well, I shall be down in the fields with you some time this week, but I have a few matters to attend to first. So, good day to you. We shall, of course, keep on just as friendly terms as usual. I am not a proud man. Nobody is ever able to say that of Sergeant Troy. However, what is, must be, and here's half a crown to drink my health, men. Troy threw the coin dexterously across the front plot and over the fence towards Gabriel, who shunned it in its fall, his face turning to an angry red. Coggan twirled his eye, edged forward, and caught the money on its ricochet upon the road. Very well. You keep at Coggan, said Gabriel, with the stain, and almost fiercely. As for me, I'll do without gifts from him. Don't show it too much, said Coggan musingly. For if he's married to her, mark my words, he'll buy us this charge and be our master here. Therefore it is well to say friend outwardly, though you say trouble-house within. Well, perhaps it is best to be silent, but I can't go further than that. I can't flatter, and if my place here is only to be kept by smoothing him down, my place must be lost. A horseman whom they had for some time seen in the distance now appeared close behind them. There's Mr. Bouldwood, said Oak. I wonder what Troy meant by his question. Coggan and Oak nodded respectfully to the farmer, just to check their paces, to discover if they were wanted, and, finding they were not, stood back to let him pass on. The only signs of the terrible sorrow Bouldwood had been combating through the night, and was combating now, were the want of colour in his well-defined face, the enlarged appearance of the veins in his forehead and temples, and the sharper lines about his mouth. The horse bore him away, and the very step of the animal seemed significant of dogged despair. Gabriel for a minute rose above his own grief in noticing Bouldwood's. He saw the square figure sitting erect upon the horse. The head turned to neither side, the elbow steady by the hips, the rim of the hat level and undisturbed in its onward glide, until the keen edges of Bouldwood's shape sank by the grease over the hill. To one who knew the man and his story there was something more striking in his immobility than in a collapse. The clash of discord between mood and matter here was forced painfully home to the heart, and, as in laughter, there were more dreadful phrases than in tears, so was there in the steadiness of this agonized man an expression deeper than a cry. Far from the madding crowd by Thomas Hardy Chapter 36 Wealth in Jeopardy The Revel One night at the end of August, when Bathsheba's experiences as a married woman were still new, and when the weather was yet dry and sultry, a man stood motionless in the stockyard of Wetherbury Upper Farm, looking at the moon and sky. The night had a sinister aspect. A heated breeze from the south slowly fanned the summits of lofty objects, and in the sky dashes of buoyant cloud were sailing in a course at right angles to that of another stratum, neither of them in the direction of the breeze below. The moon, as seen through these films, had a lurid metallic look. The fields were sallow with the impure light, and all were tinged in monochrome, as if beheld through stained glass. The same evening the sheep had trailed homeward head to tail. The behaviour of the rucks had been confused, and the horses had moved with timidity and caution. Thunder was imminent, and taking some secondary appearances into consideration, it was likely to be followed by one of the lengthened rains which marked the clothes of dry weather for the season. Before twelve hours had passed a harvest atmosphere would be a bygone thing. Oak gazed with misgiving at eight naked and unprotected ricks, massive and heavy with the rich produce of one half of the farm for that year. He went on to the barn. This was the night which had been selected by Sergeant Troy, ruling now in the room of his wife, for giving the harvest supper and dance. As Oak approached the building, the sound of violins and a tambourine, and the regular jigging of many feet grew more distinct. He came close to the large doors, one of which stood slightly ajar and looked in. The central space, together with the recess at one end, was emptied of all encumbrances, and this area, covering about two-thirds of the whole, was appropriated for the gathering, the remaining end, which was piled to the ceiling with oats, being screened off with sailcloth. Tufts and garlands of green foliage decorated the walls, beams, and extemporized chandeliers, and immediately opposite to Oak a rostrum had been erected, bearing a table and chairs. Here sat three fiddlers, and beside them stood a frantic man with his hair on end, perspiration streaming down his cheeks, and a tambourine quivering in his hand. The dance ended, and on the black oak floor in the midst, a new row of couples formed for another. Now, ma'am, and no offence, I hope, I ask what dance you would like next, said the first violin. Really, it makes no difference, said the clear voice of Bathsheba, who stood at the inner end of the building, observing the scene from behind the table covered with cups and vians. Troy was lolling beside her. Then, said the fiddler, I'll venture to name that the right and proper thing is the soldier's joy, there being a gallant soldier married into the farm, ate my sonnies and gentlemen all. It shall be the soldier's joy, exclaimed the chorus. Thanks for the compliment, said the sergeant gaily, taking Bathsheba by the hand and leading her to the top of the dance. For, though I have purchased my discharge from her most gracious majesties regiment of cavalry, the Eleventh Dragoon Guards, to attend to the new duties awaiting me here, I shall continue a soldier in spirit and feeling as long as I live. So the dance began. Now as to the merits of the soldier's joy, there cannot be and never wear two opinions. It has been observed in the musical circles of Weatherbury and its vicinity that this melody, at the end of three-quarters of an hour of thunderous footing, still possesses more stimulative properties for the heel and toe than the majority of other dances at their first opening. The soldier's joy has, too, an additional charm, in being so admirably adapted to the tambourine of four said, no mean instrument in the hands of a performer who understands the proper convulsions, spasms, st. Vitus's dances and fearful frenzies necessary when exhibiting its tones in their highest perfection. The immortal tune ended, a fine D.D. rolling forth from the base vial with the sonorousness of a cannon-aid, and Gabriel delayed his entry no longer. He avoided Bathsheba, and got as near as possible to the platform where Sergeant Troy was now seated, drinking brandy and water, though the others drank without exception, cider and ale. Gabriel could not easily thrust himself within speaking distance of the sergeant, and he sent a message, asking him to come down for a moment. The sergeant said he could not attend. Will you tell him, then? said Gabriel, that he only stepped at heart to say that a heavy rain is sure to fall soon, and that something shall be done to protect the ricks. Mr. Troy says it will not rain, returned a messenger, and he cannot stop to talk to you of those such fidgets. In juxtaposition with Troy, Oak had a melancholy tendency to look like a candle beside gas, and, ill at ease, he went out again, thinking he would go home, for under the circumstances he had no heart for the scene in the barn. At the door he paused for a moment. Troy was speaking. Friends, it is not only the harvest home that we are celebrating tonight, but this is also a wedding-feast. A short time ago I had the happiness to lead to the altar this lady, your mistress, and not until now have we been able to give any public flourish to the event in Weatherbury. That it might be thoroughly well done, and that every man may go happy to bed, I have ordered to be brought here some bottles of brandy and kettles of hot water. A treble-strong goblet will be handed round to each guest. Bathsheba put her hand upon his arm, and with upturned pale face said imploringly, No, don't give it to them, pray don't, Frank. It will only do them harm. They have had enough of everything. True, we don't wish for no more, thank ye, said one or two. Poo! said the sergeant contemptuously, and raised his voice as if lighted up by a new idea. Friends, he said, we'll send the women folk home. It is time they were in bed. Then we cockbirds will have a jolly carouse to ourselves. If any of the men show a white feather, let them look elsewhere for a winter's work. Bathsheba indignantly left the barn, followed by all the women and children. The musicians not looking upon themselves as company, slipped quietly away to their spring wagon, and put in the horse. Thus Troy and the men of the farm were left sole occupants of the place. Oak, not to appear unnecessarily disagreeable, stayed a little while. Then he too arose and quietly took his departure, followed by a friendly oath from the sergeant for not staying to a second round of grog. Gabyl proceeded towards his home. In approaching the door his toe kicked something which felt and sounded soft, leathery, and distended, like a boxing-glove. It was a large toad humbly travelling across the path. Oak took it up, thinking it might be better to kill the creature, to save it from pain, but finding it uninjured he placed it again among the grass. He knew what this direct message from the great mother meant, and soon came another. When he struck a light indoors there appeared upon the table a thin, glistening streak, as if a brush of varnish had been lightly dragged across it. Oak's eyes followed the serpentine sheen to the other side, where it led up to a huge brown garden-slug which had come indoors to-night for reasons of its own. It was Nature's second way of hinting to him that he was to prepare for foul weather. Oak sat down meditating for nearly an hour. During this time two black spiders of the kind common and attached houses promenaded the ceiling, ultimately dropping to the floor. This reminded him that if there was one class of manifestation on this matter that he thoroughly understood, it was the instincts of sheep. He left the room, ran across two or three fields towards the flock, got upon a hedge, and looked over among them. They were crowded close together on the other side around some furs bushes, and the first peculiarity observable was that on the sudden appearance of Oak's head over the fence they did not stir or run away. They had now a terror of something greater than their terror of man. But this was not the most noteworthy feature. They were all grouped in such a way that their tails, without a single exception, were towards that half of the horizon from which the storm threatened. There was an inner circle, closely huddled, and outside these they radiated wider apart. The pattern formed by the flock as a whole, not being unlike a van dyke to lace collar to which the clump of furs bushes stood in the position of a wearer's neck. This was enough to re-establish him in his original opinion. He knew now that he was right and that Troy was wrong. Every voice in nature was unanimous in bespeaking change. But two distinct translations attached to these dumb expressions apparently there was to be a thunderstorm, and afterwards a cold continuous rain. The creeping things seemed to know all about the later rain but little of the interpolated thunderstorm, whilst the sheep knew all about the thunderstorm and nothing of the later rain. This complication of weather's being uncommon was all the more to be feared. Oak returned to the stackyard. All was silent there, and the conical tips of the ricks jutted darkly into the sky. There were five wheat ricks in this yard, and three stacks of barley. The wheat, when threshed, would average about thirty-quarters to each stack, the barley at least forty. Their value to Bathsheba, and indeed to anybody, oak mentally estimated by the following simple calculation. Five multiplied by thirty equals one hundred and fifty quarters equals five hundred pounds. Three multiplied by forty equals one hundred and twenty-quarters equals two hundred and fifty pounds. Total seven hundred and fifty pounds. Seven hundred and fifty pounds in the divinest form that money can wear, and that of necessary food for man and beast. Should the risk be run of deteriorating this bulk of corn to less than half its value, because of the instability of a woman? Never, if I can prevent it," said Gabriel. Such was the argument that oak set outwardly before him, but man, even to himself, is a palimpsest, having an ostensible writing and another beneath the lines. It is possible that there was this golden legend under the utilitarian one. I will help, to my last effort, the woman I have loved so dearly. He went back to the barn to endeavour to obtain assistance for covering the ricks that very night. All was silent within, and he would have passed on in the belief that the party had broken up, had not a dim light, yellow as saffron by contrast with the greenish whiteness outside, streamed through a knothole in the folding doors. Gabriel looked in, and a unusual picture met his eye. The candles suspended among the evergreens had burnt down to their sockets, and in some cases the leaves tied about them were scorched. Many of the lights had quite gone out. Others smoked and stank, grease dropping from them upon the floor. Here, under the table, and leaning against forms and chairs in every conceivable attitude, and except the perpendicular, were the wretched persons of all the workfolk, the hair of their heads, at such low levels being suggestive of mops and brooms. In the midst of these, Sean read and distinct the figure of Sergeant Troy, leaning back in a chair. Coggan was on his back, with his mouth open, buzzing forth snores, as were several others. The united breathings of the horizontal assemblage forming a subdued roar, like London, from a distance. Joseph Porgras was curled round in the fashion of a hedgehog, apparently in attempts to present the least possible portion of a surface to the air. And behind him was dimly visible an unimportant remnant of William Smallbury. The glasses and cups still stood upon the table, a water-jug being overturned, from which a small rail, after tracing its course with marvellous precision down the centre of the long table, fell into the neck of the unconscious Mark Clark in a steady monotonous drip, like the dripping of a stalactite in a cave. Gabriel glanced hopelessly at the group, which, with one or two exceptions, composed all the able-bodied men upon the farm. He saw at once that if the ricks were to be saved that night, or even the next morning, he must save them with his own hands. A faint ting-ting resounded from under Coggan's waistcoat. It was Coggan's watch striking the hour of two. Oak went to the recumbent form of Matthew Moon, who usually undertook the rough-tatching of the homestead and shook him. The shaking was without effect. Gabriel shouted in his ear. Where's your touchin' beetle and rick-sticks and spars? Under the staddles, said Moon mechanically, with the unconscious promptness of a medium. Gabriel let go his head. It dropped upon the floor like a bowl, and then he went to Susan Tall's husband. Where's the key of the granary? No answer. The question was repeated with the same result. To be shouted to at night was evidently less of a novelty to Susan Tall's husband than to Matthew Moon. Oak flung down Tall's head to the corner again and turned away. To be just, the men were not greatly to blame for this painful and demoralizing termination to the evening's entertainment. Sergeant Troy had so strenuously insisted, glass in hand, that drinking should be the bond of their union, that those who wish to refuse hardly like to be so unmanly under the circumstances. Having from their youth up, been entirely unaccustomed to any liquor stronger than cider or mild ale, it was no wonder that they had succumbed, one and all, with extraordinary uniformity, after a lapse of about an hour. Gabriel was greatly depressed. This debauch boaded ill for that willful and fascinating mistress, whom the faithful man even now felt within him as the embodiment of all that was sweet and bright and hopeless. He put out the expiring lights that the barn might not be endangered, closed the door upon the men in their deep and oblivious sleep, and went again into the lone night. A hot breeze, as if breathed from the parted lips of some dragon about to swallow the globe, fanned him from the south, while directly opposite in the north, rose a grim, misshapen body of cloud, in the very teeth of the wind. So unnaturally did it rise that one could fancy it to be lifted by machinery from below. Meanwhile the faint cloudlets had flown back into the southeast corner of the sky, as if in terror of the large cloud, like a young brood gazed in upon by some monster. Going on to the village, Oak flung a small stone against the window of Laban Tal's bedroom, expecting Susan to open it, but nobody stirred. He went round to the back door, which had been left unfastened for Laban's entry, and passed in to the foot of the staircase. Mrs. Tal, I've come for the key of the granary to get at the rick-clots, said Oak in a stentorian voice. Is that you? said Mrs. Susan Tal, half awake. Yes, said Gabriel. Come along to bed, do your draw-latchin' rogue, keepin' a body awake like this. It isn't Laban, it is Gabriel Oak. I want the key of the granary. Gabriel, what in the name of fortune did you pretend to be Laban for? I didn't. I thought you meant… Yes, you did. What do you want here? The key of the granary. Take it then, it is on the nail. People come and disturb women at this time, and I ought… Gabriel took the key, without waiting to hear the conclusion of the tirade. Ten minutes later his lonely figure might have been seen dragging four large waterproof coverings across the yard, and soon two of these heaps of treasure-in-grain were covered snug, two clots to each. Two hundred pounds were secured. Three wheat-stacks remained open, and there were no more clots. Oak looked under the saddles and found a fork. He mounted the third pile of wealth, and began operating, adopting the plan of sloping the upper sheaves one over the other, and in addition filling the intercesses with the material of some untied sheaves. So far all was well, by his hurried contrivance, but sheaves' property and wheat was safe for, at any rate, a week or two, provided always that there was not much wind. Next came the barley. This was only possible to protect by systematic tatching. The time went on, and the moon vanished not to reappear. It is the farewell of the ambassador previous to war. The night had a haggard look, like a sick thing, and there came finally an utter expiration of air from the whole heaven in the form of a slow breeze, which might have been likened to a death. And now nothing was heard in the yard, but the dull tuds of the beetle which drove in the spars, and the rustle of tach in the intervals. A light flapped over the scene, as if reflected from phosphorescent wings crossing the sky, and a rumble filled the air. It was the first move of the approaching storm. The second peel was noisy, with comparatively little visible lightning. Gabriel saw a candle shining in Bathsheba's bedroom, and soon a shadow swept to and fro upon the blind. Then there came a third flash. Maneuvers of a most extraordinary kind were going on in the vast firmamental hollows overhead. The lightning now was the colour of silver, and gleamed in the heavens, like a mailed army. Rumbles became rattles. Gabriel, from his elevated position, could see over the landscape at least half a dozen miles in front. Every hedge, bush, and tree was distinct, as in a lion engraving. In a paddock in the same direction was a herd of heifers, and the forms of these were visible at this moment, in the act of galloping about, in the wildest and maddest confusion, flinging their heels and tails high into the air, their heads to the earth. A poplar in the immediate foreground was like an ink-stroke on burnished tin. Then the picture vanished, leaving the darkness so intense that Gabriel worked entirely by feeling with his hands. He had stuck his sticking-rod, or punyard, as it was indifferently called, along iron-lands polished by handling, into the stack, used to support the sheaves instead of the support called a groom used in houses. A blue light appeared in the zenith, and in some indescribable manner flickered down near the top of the rod. It was the fourth of the larger flashes. A moment later there was a smack, smart, clear, and short. Gabriel felt his position to be anything but a safe one, and he resolved to descend. Not a drop of rain had fallen as yet. He wiped his weary brow, and looked again at the black forms of the unprotected stacks. Was his life so valuable to him after all? What were his prospects that he should be so cherry of running risk when important and urgent labour could not be carried on without such risk? He resolved to stick to the stack. However, he took up a caution. Under the saddles was a long tethering chain used to prevent the escape of errant horses. This he carried up the ladder, and sticking his rod through the clog at one end, allowed the other end of the chain to trail upon the ground. The spike attached to it he drove in. Under the shadow of this extemporised lightening conductor he felt himself comparatively safe. Before oak had laid his hands upon his tools again, out leapt the fifth flash, with his spring of a serpent and the shout of a fiend. It was as green as an emerald, and the reverberation was stunning. What was this the light revealed to him? In the open ground before him, as he looked over the ridge of the rick, was a dark and apparently female form. Could it be that of the only venturesome woman in the parish, Bathsheba? The form moved on a step. Then he could see no more. Is that you, ma'am? said Gabriel to the darkness. Who is there? said the voice of Bathsheba. Gabriel, I am on the rick's hatching. Oh, Gabriel, and are you? I have come about them. The weather awoke me, and I thought of the corn. I am so distressed about it. Can we save it anyhow? I cannot find my husband. Is he with you? He is not here. Do you know where he is? The sleep in the barn. He promised that the stack should be seen to, and now they are all neglected. Can I do anything to help? Liddy is afraid to come out. Fancy finding you here at such an hour. Surely I can do something. You can bring up some reed-chiefs to me, one by one, ma'am. If you are not afraid to come up the ladder in the dark, said Gabriel. Every moment is precious now, and that would save a good deal of time. It's not very dark when the lightning has been gone a bit. I'll do anything, she said resolutely. She instantly took a sheath upon her shoulder, clambered up close to his heels, placed it behind the rod, and descended for another. At her third ascent the rick suddenly brightened with the brazen glare of shining majolica. Every knot in every straw was visible. On the slope in front of them appeared two human shapes, black as jet, the rick lost its sheen, the shapes vanished. Gabriel turned his head. It had been the sixth flash which had come from the east behind them, and the two dark forms on the slope had been the shadows of himself and Bathsheba. Then came the peel. It was hardly credible that such a heavenly light could be the parent of such a diabolical sound. How terrible! she exclaimed, and clutched them by the sleeve. Gabriel turned and steadied her on her aerial perch by holding her arm. At the same moment, while he was still reversed in his attitude, there was more light, and he saw as it were a copy of the tall popper tree on the hill drawn in black on the wall of the barn. It was the shadow of that tree, thrown across by its secondary flash in the west. The next flare came. Bathsheba was on the ground now, shouldering another sheaf, and she bore its dazzle without flinching, thunder and all, and again ascended with a load. There was then a silence everywhere for four or five minutes, and the crunch of the spars as Gabriel hastily drove them in could again be distinctly heard. He thought the crisis of the storm had passed, but there came a burst of light. Hold on, said Gabriel, taking the sheaf from her shoulder and grasping her arm again. Heaven opened then, indeed. The flash was almost too novel for its inexpressibly dangerous nature to be at once realized, and they could only comprehend the magnificence of its beauty. It sprang from the east, west, north and south, and was a perfect dance of death. The forms of skeletons appeared in the air, shaped with blue fire for bones, dancing, leaping, striding, racing round, and mingling together in unparalleled confusion. With these were intertwined undulating snakes of green, and behind these was a broad mass of lesser light. Simultaneously came from every part of the tumbling sky what may be called a shout, since though no shout ever came near it, it was more of the nature of a shout than of anything else earthly. In the meantime one of the grisly forms had elighted upon the point of Gabriel's rod to run invisibly down it, down the chain and into the earth. Gabriel was almost blinded, and he could feel Bathsheba's warm arm tremble in his hand, a sensation novel and thrilling enough, but love, life, everything human seemed small and trifling in such close juxtaposition with an infuriated universe. Oak had hardly time to gather up these impressions into a thought, and to see how strangely the red feather of her hat shone in this light, when the tall tree on the hill before mentioned seemed on fire to a white heat, and a new one among these terrible voices mingled with the last crash of those preceding. It was a stupefying blast, harsh and pitiless, and it fell upon their ears in a dead flat blow, without that reverberation which lends the tones of a drum to more distant thunder. By the luster reflected from every part of the earth, and from the wide domical scoop above it, he saw that a tree was sliced down the whole length of its tall straight stem, a huge ribbon of bark being apparently flung off. The other portion remained erect, and revealed the buried surface as a strip of white down the front. The lightning had struck the tree. A sulfurous smell filled the air, then all was silent, and black as a cave in Hinnom. We had a narrow escape, said Gabriel hurriedly. You'd better go down. Bathsheba said nothing, but he could distinctly hear her rhythmical pants, and the recurrent rustle of the sheaf beside her in response to her frightened pulsations. She descended the ladder, and on second thoughts he followed her. The darkness was now impenetrable by the sharpest vision. They both stood at the bottom, side by side. Bathsheba appeared to think only of the weather. Oak thought only of her just then. At last he said, the storm seems to have passed now, at any rate. I think so too, said Bathsheba, though there are multitudes of gleams. Look! The sky was now filled with an incessant light, frequent repetition melting into complete continuity, as an unbroken sound results from the successive strokes of a gong. Nothing serious, said he. I cannot understand no rainfall, and by heaven be praise. It's all a better for us. I'm now going up again. Gabriel, you are kinder than I deserve. I will stay and help you yet. Oh, why are not some of the others here? They would have been here, if they could, said Oak in a hesitating way. Oh, I know it all. All, she said, adding slowly. They are all asleep in the barn, in a drunken sleep, and my husband among them. That's it, is it not? Don't think I'm a timid woman, and can't endure things. I am not certain, said Gabriel. I will go and see. He crossed to the barn, leaving her there alone. He looked through the chinks of the door. All was in total darkness, as he had left it, and there still arose, as at the former time, the steady buzz of many snores. He felt a zepher curling about his cheek, and turned. It was Bathsheba's breath. She had followed him, and was looking into the same chink. He endeavoured to put off the immediate and painful subject of their thoughts, by remarking gently. If you come back again, miss, ma'am, and hand up a few more, it would save much time. Then Oak went back again, ascended to the top, stepped off the ladder for greater expedition, and went on patching. She followed, but without a sheaf. Gabriel, she said, in a strange and impressive voice. Oak looked up at her. She had not spoken since he left the barn. The soft and continual shimmer of the dying lightning showed a marble face high against the black sky of the opposite quarter. Bathsheba was sitting almost on the apex of the stack, her feet gathered up beneath her, and resting on the top round of the ladder. Yes, mistress, he said. I suppose you thought that when I galloped away to Bath that night, it was on purpose to be married. I did at last, not at first. He answered, somewhat surprised at the abruptness with which this new subject was broached. And others thought so, too. Yes. And you blamed me for it? Well, a little. I thought so. Now, I care a little for your good opinion, and I want to explain something. I have longed to do it ever since I returned, and you looked so gravely at me. For if I were to die, and I may die soon, it would be dreadful that you should always think mistakenly of me. Now listen. Gabriel ceased his rustling. I went to Bath that night, in the full intention of breaking off my engagement to Mr. Troy. It was owing to circumstances which occurred after I got there that we were married. Now do you see the matter in a new light? I do, somewhat. I must, I suppose, say more, now that I have begun. And perhaps it's no harm, for you are certainly under no delusion that I ever loved you, nor that I can have any object in speaking, more than that object I have mentioned. Well, I was alone in a strange city, and the horse was lame. And at last I didn't know what to do. I saw, when it was too late, that Scandal might see his whole of me for meeting him alone in that way. But I was coming away, when he suddenly said, he had that day seen a woman more beautiful than I, and that his constancy could not be counted on unless I at once became his. And I was grieved and troubled. She cleared her voice, and waited a moment, as if to gather breath. And then, between jealousy and distraction, I married him. She whispered with desperate and petuosity. Gabriel made no reply. He was not to blame, for it was perfectly true about his seeing somebody else, she quickly added. And now I don't wish for a single remark from you, upon the subject. Indeed, I forbid it. I only wanted you to know that misunderstood bit of my history, before a time comes when you could never know it. You want some more sheaves? She went down the ladder, and the work proceeded. Gabriel soon proceeded a languor in the movements of his mistress, up and down, and he said to her, gently as a mother. I think you had better go indoors now. You are tired. I can finish the rest alone. If the wind does not change, the rain is likely to keep off. If I am useless I will go, said Bathsheba, in a flagging cadence, but oh, if your life should be lost. You are not useless, but I would rather not tarry you any longer. You have done well. And you better, she said gratefully. Thank you for your devotion, a thousand times, Gabriel. Good night. I know you are doing your very best for me. She diminished in the gloom and vanished, and he heard the latch of the gatefall as she passed through. He worked in a reverie now, musing upon her story, and upon the contradictoryness of that feminine heart which had caused her to speak more warmly to him to-night than she had ever done whilst unmarried and free to speak as warmly as she chose. He was disturbed in his meditation by a grating noise from the coach-house. It was the vane on the roof turning round, and this change in the wind was a signal for a disastrous rain. End of CHAPTER XXXVII. It was now five o'clock, and the dawn was promising to break in hues of drab and ash. The air changed its temperature and stirred itself more vigorously. Cool breezes coursed in transparent eddies round oak's face. The wind shifted yet a point or two, and blew stronger. In ten minutes every wind of heaven seemed to be roaming at large. Some of the tatching on the wheat-stacks was now whirled fantastically aloft, and had to be replaced and weighted with some rails that lay near at hand. This done, oak slaved away again at the barley. A huge drop of rain smote its face. The wind snarled round every corner. The trees rocked to the bases of their trunks, and the twigs clashed in strife. Driving in spars at any point and on any system, inch by inch he covered more and more safely from ruin this distracting impersonation of seven hundred pounds. The rain came on in earnest, and oak soon felt the water to be tracking cold and clammy roots down his back. Ultimately he was reduced well-nigh to a homogeneous sop, and the dyes of his clothes trickled down and stood in a pool at the foot of the ladder. The rain stretched obliquely through the dull atmosphere in liquid spines, unbroken in continuity between their beginnings in the clouds and their points in him. Oak suddenly remembered that eight months before this time he had been fighting against fire in the same spot as desperately as he was fighting against water now, and for a futile love of the same woman, as for her. But oak was generous and true, and dismissed his reflections. It was about seven o'clock in the dark leaden morning when Gabriel came down from the last stack and thankfully exclaimed, knit is done. He was drenched weary and sad, and yet not so sad as drenched and weary, for he was cheered by a sense of success in a good cause. Faint sounds came from the barn, and he looked that way. Figures stepped singly and and pairs through the doors, all walking awkwardly and abashed, save the foremost, who wore a red jacket and advanced with his hands in his pockets, whistling. The others shambled after with a conscious stricken air. The whole procession was not unlike Flaxman's group of the suitors tottering on towards the infernal regions under the conduct of Mercury. The nerd's shapes passed into the village, Troy, their leader, entering the farmhouse. Not a single one of them had turned his face to the ricks, or apparently bestowed one thought upon their condition. Soon oak too went homeward, by a different route from theirs. In front of him, against the wet-laced surface of the lane, he saw a person walking yet more slowly than himself under an umbrella. The man turned and plainly started. He was Bouldwood. How are you this morning, sir? said oak. Yes, it is a wet day. Oh, I am well. Very well, thank you. Quite well. I am glad to hear it, sir. Bouldwood seemed to awake to the present by degrees. You look tired and ill oak, he said then, desultorily regarding his companion. I am tired. You look strangely altered, sir. I—not a bit of it. I am well enough. What put that into your head? I thought you didn't look quite so topping as you used to. That was all. Indeed, then you were mistaken, said Bouldwood shortly. Nothing hurts me. My constitution is an iron one. I have been working hard to get our ricks covered, and was barely in time. Never had such a struggle in my life. Yours, of course, are safe, sir. Oh, yes. Bouldwood added, after an interval of silence. What did you ask, oak? Your ricks are all covered before this time. No. That, anyway, the large ones upon the stone staddles. They are not. Them under the hedge. No. I forgot to tell the tatcher to set about it. Nor the little one by the style. Nor the little one by the style. I overlooked the ricks this year. Then, not attend, your car will come to measure, sir. Possibly not. Over-luck them, gave Bould repeated to himself. It is difficult to describe the intensely dramatic effect that announcement had upon oak at such a moment. All the night he had been feeling that the neglect he was laboring to repair was abnormal and isolated—the only instance of the kind within the circuit of the county. Yet, at this very time within the same parish, a greater waste had been going on, uncomplained of and disregarded. A few months earlier, Bouldwood's forgetting his husbandry would have been as preposterous an idea as a sailor forgetting he was on a ship. Oak was just thinking that whatever he himself might have suffered from Bathsheba's marriage, there was a man who had suffered more. When Bouldwood spoke in a changed voice, that of one who yearned to make a confidence and relieve his heart by an outpouring. Oak, you know as well as I that things have gone wrong with me lately, I may as well own it. I was going to get a little settled in life, but in some way my plan has come to nothing. I thought my mistress would have married you, said Gabriel, not knowing enough of the full depths of Bouldwood's love, to keep silence on the farmer's account, and determined not to evade discipline by doing so on his own. However it is so sometimes, and nothing happens that we expect, he added, with the repose of a man whom his fortune had injured rather than subdued. I daresay I am a joke about the parish, said Bouldwood, as if the subject came irresistibly to his tongue, and with a miserable lightness meant to express his indifference. Oh, no, I don't think that. But the real truth of the matter is that there was not, as some fancy, any jilting at her part. No engagement ever existed between me and Miss Everdeen. When people say so, but it is untrue, she never promised me. Bouldwood stood still now, and turned his wild face to Oak. Oh, Gabriel! he continued. I am weak and foolish, and I don't know what, and I can't fend off my miserable grief. I had some faint belief in the mercy of God till I lost that woman. Yes, he prepared a gourd to shade me, and like the prophet I thanked him, and was glad. But the next day he prepared a worm to smite the gourd and wither it, and I feel it is better to die than to live. A silence followed. Bouldwood aroused himself from the momentary mood of confidence into which he had drifted, and walked on again, resuming his usual reserve. No, Gabriel. He resumed with a carelessness which was like the smile on the countenance of a skull. It was made more of by other people than ever it was by us. I do feel a little regret occasionally. But no woman ever had power over me for any length of time. Well, good morning. I can trust you not to mention to others what has passed between us two here. End of Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Of Far From the Madding Crowd This liberal vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tyge Hines Far From the Madding Crowd By Thomas Hardy Chapter 39 Coming Home A Cry On the turnpike road between Cassabridge and Wetherbury, and about three miles from the former place, is Yalbury Hill, one of those steep, long ascents which pervade the highways of this undulating part of South Wessex. In returning from market, it is usual for the farmers and other gig gentry to alight at the bottom and walk up. One Saturday evening, in the month of October, Bathsheba's vehicle was duly creeping up this incline. She was sitting listlessly in the second seat of the gig. Whilst walking beside her in a farmer's marketing suit of unusually fashionable cut, was an erect, well-made young man. Though on foot, he held the reins and whip, and occasionally aimed light cuts at the horse's ear with the end of the lash as a recreation. This man was her husband, formerly Sergeant Troy, who, having bought his discharge with Bathsheba's money, was gradually transforming himself into a farmer of a spirited and very modern school. People of unalterable ideas still insisted upon calling him Sergeant when they met him, which was, in some degree, owing to his having still retained the well-shaped mustache of his military days, and the soldierly bearing inseparable from his form and training. Yes, if it hadn't been for that wretched brain I should have cleared two hundred as easy as looking my love. He was saying, Don't you see, it altered all the chances. To speak like a book I once read, wet weather is the narrative, and fine days are the episodes of our country's history. Now isn't that true? But the time of year has come for changeable weather. Well, yes, the fact is these autumn races are the ruin of everybody. Never did I see such a day as twas. It is a wild open place, just out of Budmouth, and a drab sea rolled in towards us like liquid misery. Wind and rain, good Lord! Dark? Why, too, as dark as my hat before the last race was run? It was five o'clock, and you couldn't see the horses till they were almost in, leave alone colors. The ground was heavy as lead, and all judgment from a fellow's experience went for nothing. Horses, riders, people were all blown about like ships at sea. Three booths were blown over, and the wretched folk inside crawled out upon their hands and knees, and in the next field were as many as a dozen hats at one time. Ah, Pempernel regularly stuck fast, went about sixty yards off, and when I saw policy stepping on it did knock my heart against the lining of my ribs. I assure you my love. And you mean Frank? said Bathsheba, sadly. Her voice was painfully lowered from the fullness and vivacity of the previous summer. That you have lost more than a hundred pounds in a month by this dreadful horse-racing. Oh, Frank, it is cruel. It is foolish of you to take away my money so. We shall have to leave the farm, and that will be the end of it. I'm bug about cruel. Now there it is again. Turn on the waterworks. That's just like you. But you'll promise me not to go to both of the second meeting, won't you? she implored. Bathsheba was at the full depth for tears, but she maintained a dry eye. I don't see why I should. In fact, if it turns out to be a fine day, I was thinking of taking you. Never. Never. I'll go a hundred miles the other way first. I hate the sound of the very word. But the question of going to see the race or staying at home has very little to do with the matter. Bets are all booked safely enough before the race begins, you may depend. Whether it's a bad race for me or a good one will have very little to do with our going there next Monday. But you don't mean to say that you have risked anything on this one, too? she exclaimed with an agonized look. There now. Don't be a little fool. Wait till you are told. Why, Bathsheba, you have lost all the pluck and sauciness you formerly had, and upon my life, if I had known what a chicken-hearted creature you were under all your boldness, I'd never have—I know what. A flash of indignation might have been seen in Bathsheba's dark eyes as she looked resolutely ahead after this reply. They moved on without further speech. Some early withered leaves from the trees which huddled the road at this spot occasionally spinning downward across their path to the earth. A woman appeared on the brow of the hill. The ridge was in a cutting so that she was very near the husband and wife before she became visible. Troy had turned towards the gig to remount, and whilst putting his foot on the step the woman passed behind him. Though the overshadowing trees and the approach of even tide enveloped them in the loom, Bathsheba could see plainly enough to discern the extreme poverty of the woman's garb and the sadness of her face. Please, sir, do you know what time Castle Regioning House closes at night? The woman said these words to Troy over his shoulder. Troy started visibly at the sound of the voice, yet he seemed to recover presence of mind sufficient to prevent himself from giving way to his impulse to suddenly turn and face her. He said slowly, I don't know. The woman, unhearing him speak, quickly looked up, examined the side of his face and recognized the soldier under the young man's garb. Her face was drawn into an expression which had gladness and agony both among its elements. She uttered a hysterical cry and fell down. Oh, poor thing! exclaimed Bathsheba, instantly preparing to alight. Stay where you are and attend to the horse, said Troy, preemptively throwing her the reins and the whip. Walk the horse to the top. I'll see to the woman. But I— Do you hear? Pop it. The horse, gig and Bathsheba, moved on. How inert did you come here! I thought you were miles away or dead. Why didn't you write to me? said Troy to the woman, in a strangely gentle yet hurried voice as he lifted her up. I feared too. Have you any money? None. Good heaven! I wish I had more to give you. Here's, wretched, the nearest trifle. It is every farthing I have. I have none but what my wife gives me, you know, and I can't ask her now. The woman made no answer. I have only another moment, continued Troy. And now, listen. Where are you going to-night, Castor Virginia? Yes, we thought to go there. You shan't go there. Yet, wait. Yes, perhaps for tonight. I can do nothing better worth look. Sleep there to-night, and stay there to-morrow. Monday is the first free day I have, and on Monday morning, at ten exactly, meet me on Grey's Bridge, just out of the town. I'll bring all the money I can muster. You shan't want. I'll see that, Fanny. Then I'll get you a lodging somewhere. Good-bye to then. I am a brute, but good-bye. After advancing the distance which completed the ascent of the hill, Bathsheba turned her head. The woman was upon her feet, and Bathsheba saw her withdrawing from Troy and going feebly down the hill by the third milestone from Castor Bridge. Troy then came on towards his wife, stepped into the gig, took the reins from her hand, and without making any observation whipped the horse into a trot. He was rather agitated. Do you know who that woman was? said Bathsheba, looking searchingly into his face. I do, he said, looking boldly back into hers. I thought you did, she said, with angry haughture, and still regarding him. Who is she? He suddenly seemed to think that frankness would benefit neither of the women. Nothing to either of us, he said. I know her by sight. What's her name? How should I know her name? I think you do. Think, if you will, and be. The sentence was completed by a smart cut of the whip round Poppet's flank, which caused the animal to start forward at a wild pace. No more was said.