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 PR4750.M47 19'i7™''"'"-""^^^ 
 
 ^[je mayor of Casterbridge. 
 
 3 1924 014 157 451 
 
The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014157451 
 
THE MAYOR OF 
 CASTERBRIDGE 
 
The Mayor 
 
 OF 
 
 Casterbridge 
 
 BY 
 THOMAS HARDY 
 
 Introduction by 
 JOYCE KILMER 
 
 New York 
 CARLTON HOUSE 
 
 >^^0( 
 
 V 
 
^/^/^ff- 
 
 1/ U 
 
 MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
INTEODUCTION 
 
 OF Elizabeth- Jane who is the heroine of "The Mayor of 
 Casterbridge," if heroine this tale may be said to 
 have, we learn that "she did not cease to wonder at the 
 persistence of the unforeseen, when the one to whom such 
 unbroken tranquillity had been accorded in the adult stage 
 was she whose youth had seemed to teach that happiness 
 was but the occasional episode in a general drama of pain." 
 This is a rather Jacobean sentence, in form not typical of 
 Hardy, but in thought it is greatly significant. It is likely 
 that Hardy himself wondered at the happiness in which he 
 left Elizabeth- Jane, reassuring himself perhaps by the con- 
 viction that her "unbroken tranquillity" was the exception 
 which proved the rule her youth had taught her. 
 
 For it cannot be denied that according to the Hardy 
 philosophy, implicit in his tales and explicit in his poems, 
 sorrow is the rule and joy the exception. In no other 
 writing is he more clearly a fatalist than in "The Mayor of 
 Casterbridge"; in no other book does he urge more unmis- 
 takably his belief that men and women are but helpless 
 puppets in the hands of mischievous fate, that good-will and 
 courage and honesty are brittle weapons for humanity's 
 defense. 
 
 The evident fact that Thomas Hardy is a fatalist is re- 
 sponsible for the common and absurd idea that he is a pagan. 
 Now, there is no philosophy — with the exception of the 
 robust and joyous philosophy of the Middle Ages — with 
 which Hardy's philosophy contrasts more strongly than it 
 does with paganism, that is, with the pagan philosophy of 
 the spacious classic day. When we sp^k of a pagan of 
 ancient Greece or a pagan of ancient Rome we have in mind 
 
jdi INTRODUCTION 
 
 a brave patriotic man, with a vivid sense of the responsi- 
 biliues and privileges of citizenship, and the habit of mak- 
 ing the most of life, of enjoying to the full the years allowed 
 him on earth. This last characteristic rose from the pagan 
 fatalism, the belief that man should make sure of such visible 
 and tangible delights as were available, because there was 
 no counting on the possibility of happiness or even of 
 existence after death. This was the state of mind which 
 succeeded the earlier romantic polytheism, and was the nat- 
 ural successor of a religious system which attributed to the 
 gods power over mankind but neither love nor justice. So 
 the typical fatalism was materialistic; it was based, of 
 course, upon despair, but its manifestations were not des- 
 perate. Rather there was a general conspiracy of joy, not 
 dissimilar to that of a popular religious cult which arose in 
 the United States during the last half century. Disease and 
 sorrow and death were to be generally ignored; mankind 
 was expected to eat, drink and be merry, and good manners 
 required silence as to the explanatory "for to-morrow we 
 die." 
 
 However hollow may have been the mirth of the pagan 
 fatalists. It was at any rate loud and general. And there 
 can be no doubt that by a kind of self-hypnosis these fatal- 
 ists were able to give their joy a convincingness and a con- 
 tinuity — they "were always drunken," in Baudelaire's sense. 
 Artificial and in essence tragic as was their state of mind, 
 he would be a false historian who pictured these pagan 
 fatalists as people obsessed with the idea of death and the 
 unkindness of the gods; as holding with anything like una- 
 nimity the belief that "happiness was but the occasional 
 •Episode in a general drama of pain." 
 
 But this is Hardy's dominant idea; it is a belief on which 
 he insists with a propagandist enthusiasm which sometimes 
 mars the artistic value of his work. No Scotch or English 
 member of some stricter off-shoot of a strict Calvinistic sect 
 ever was more firmly convinced that this earth is a vale of 
 tears, or more eager to spread this belief. Every writer, I 
 think, deals with the characters who are his creations as he 
 imagines God to deal with mankind. This is why literary 
 criticism is closer to theology than to any other science; 
 
INTRODUCTION W 
 
 this is why we cannot claim to understand any writer un- 
 less we know what he thinks about God. And the God of 
 Hardy's belief, as indicated in his long succession of stories 
 and poems, is no more the remote, indifferent, sensuous, self- 
 sufficient Deity of the pagan fatalist than he is the loving 
 and omnipotent Father of true Christian belief. Instead he 
 is the stern, avenging Deity of the Hebrews, without pity, 
 accessible to no intercessors, the Deity whom we find to- 
 day fearfully worshipped by adherents of the bleakest forms 
 of Puritanism. It would be a misnomer to call Hardy's 
 philosophy a Christian fatalism, but it is a fatalism which 
 is the basis of the religious systems of many who since 1517 
 have professed and called themselves Christians. 
 
 I am frequently impressed, as I read Hardy, with what 1 
 may call the evangelical cast of his mind. He is so intent 
 on announcing his discovery that mankind is fallible, un- 
 happy, helpless, undesirable. The people of Hardy's stories 
 are so virtueless, for the most part, that the reader can read- 
 ily believe that Hardy is determined to show that they de- 
 serve no pity from the extraordinary Deity who is also a 
 creature of Hardy's imagination, and that in his own way 
 the novelist (like his greatest Puritan predecessor in litera- 
 ture) is trying to "justify the ways of God toward man." 
 And "The Mayor of Casterbridge," with its lovely pictures 
 of Wessex hills and valleys and its most imlovely pictures 
 of Wessex men and women, irresistibly recalls lines from a 
 certain popular evangelical h3min — the lines which tell of a 
 place "where every prospect pleases and only man is vile." 
 
 Hardy is a true reahst in that he reports faithfully the 
 habits and manners of people with whom he is familiar, 
 and in that — ^unlike Mr. Dreiser and other claimants to the 
 title realist — ^he has humor and admits it to his chronicles. 
 Also he admits good impulses to the lives he creates, al- 
 though his philosophy seldom lets him cause these impulses 
 to be translated into successful action. He is poet enough 
 to have a sense of the beauty and humor inherent in phrases. 
 "But I know that 'a's a banded teetotaler," says Solomon 
 Longways, "and that if any of his men be ever so little over- 
 took by a drop he's down upon 'em as stern as the Lord upon 
 the jovial Jews." And what living poet could write a simpler 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 and more moving study of the immemorial subject, death, 
 than Mother Cuxsom's brief elegy on Mrs. Henchard? 
 "Well, poor soul, she's helpless to hinder that or anything 
 now. And all her shining keys will be took from her, and 
 her cupboards opened; and little things a' didn't wish seen, 
 anybody will see; and her wishes and ways will all be as 
 nothing." 
 
 A student of literary motives can easily trace the work- 
 ing of Hardy's philosophy in this book — can see it guiding 
 the novelist's pen, changing his purposes, forcing him to 
 deal harshly, sometimes, with characters whom a writer 
 must come to love as a father his children. Was not Mat- 
 thew Henchard's rehabilitation to be complete, and the tale 
 to end with a prosperous reunited family? Probably, but 
 Thomas Hardy (unlike Victor Hugo when he handled a 
 similar plot in "Les Miserables") had his monster theory to 
 reckon with. So Elizabeth-Jane must be Newson's child, 
 t/ucetta must maleficently tangle lives, and Henchard must 
 die in a road-side hut. And even the goldfinch must starve 
 in its paper-covered cage. 
 
 And how Hardy enjoys the moments when he escapes his 
 obsession! He had as much fun when Henchard and Far- 
 frae wrestled on the top floor of the granary as Blackmore 
 did in the Homeric fisticuffs of "Lorna Doone." When 
 Hardy dressed up Lucetta and sent her. out to plead with 
 Henchard he had the same sporting excitement that Thack- 
 eray had when he prepared Becky Sharp for her conquests. 
 At such times Hardy seems momentarily to accept the exist- 
 ence of free will, with its tremendous dramatic possibili- 
 ties. These are his moments of greatest creative power, of 
 highest poetry, of clearest discernment. They occur more 
 frequently and they last longer in his latest writings. The 
 War has seen to that. 
 
 'T'^ct K-ue^woL-x^^ 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
2 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 chat of people full of reciprocity; but on closer view it 
 could be discerned that the man was reading, or pretending 
 to read, a ballad sheet which he kept before his eyes 
 with some difficulty by the hand that was passed through 
 the basket strap. Whether this apparent cause were the 
 real cause, or whether it were an assumed one to escape 
 an intercourse that would have been irksome to him, no- 
 body but himself could have said precisely; but his taci- 
 turnity was unbroken, and the woman enjoyed no society 
 whatever from his presence. Virtually she walked the high- 
 way alone, save for the child she bore. Sometimes the 
 man's bent elbow almost touched her shoulder, for she kept 
 as close to his side as was possible without actual contact; 
 but she seemed to have no idea of taking his arm, nor he 
 of offering it; and far from exhibiting surprise at his ignor- 
 ing silence, she appeared to receive it as a natural thing. If 
 any word at all were uttered by the little group, it was an 
 occasional whisper of the woman to the child — a tiny girl 
 in short clothes and blue boots of knitted yam — and the 
 murmured babble of the child in reply. 
 
 The chief — almost the only — attraction of the young 
 woman's face was its mobility. When she looked down side- 
 ways to the girl she became pretty, and even handsome, par- 
 ticularly that in the action her features caught slantwise 
 the rays of the strongly coloured sun, which made transpar- 
 encies of her eyelids and nostrils, and set fire on her lips. 
 When she plodded on in the shade of the hedge, silently 
 thinking, she had the hard, half-apathetic expression of 
 one who deems anything possible at the hands of Time and 
 Chance, except, perhaps, fair play. The first phase was 
 the work of Nature, the second probably of civilization. 
 
 That the man and woman were husband and wife, and 
 the parents of the girl in arms, there could be little doubt. 
 No other than such relationship would have accounted for 
 the atmosphere of stale familiarity which the trio carried 
 along with them like a nimbus as they moved down the road. 
 
 The wife mostly kept her eyes fixed ahead, though with 
 little interest — the scene for that matter being one that 
 might have been matched at almost any spot in any county 
 in England at this time of the year; a road neither straight 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 3 
 
 nor crooked, neither level nor hilly, bordered by hedges, 
 trees, and other vegetation, which had entered the black- 
 ened-green stage of colour that the doomed leaves pass 
 through on their way to dingy and yellow, and red. The 
 grassy margin of the bank, and the nearest hedgerow 
 boughs, were powdered by the dust that had been stirred 
 over them by hasty vehicles, the same dust as it lay on the 
 road deadening their footfalls like a carpet; and this, with 
 the aforesaid total absence of conversation, allowed every 
 extraneous sound to be heard. 
 
 For a long time there was none, beyond the voice of a 
 weak bird singing a trite old evening song that might doubt- 
 less have been heard on the hill at the same hour, and with 
 the self-same trills, quavers, and breves, at any sunset of 
 that season for centuries untold. But as they approached 
 the village sundry distant shouts and rattles reached their 
 ears from some elevated spot in that direction, as yet 
 screened from view by foliage. When the outlying houses 
 of Weydon-Priors could just be descried, the family group 
 was met by a turnip-hoer with his hoe on his shoulder, and 
 his dinner-bag suspended from it. The reader promptly 
 glanced up. 
 
 "Any trade doing here?" he asked phlegmatically, des- 
 ignating the village in his van by a wave of the broadsheet. 
 And thinking the labourer did not understand him, he add- 
 ed, "Anything in the hay-trussing line?" 
 
 The turnip-hoer had already begun shaking his head. 
 "Why, save the man, what wisdom's in him that 'a should 
 come to Weydon for a job of that sort this time o' year?" 
 
 "Then is there any house to let — a little small new cot- 
 tage just a builded, or such hke?" asked the other. 
 
 The pessimist still maintained a negative. "Pulling down 
 is more the nater of Weydon. There were five houses cleared 
 away last year, and three this; and the volk nowhere to 
 go — ^no, not so much as a thatched hurdle; that's the way 
 0' Weydon-Priors." 
 
 The hay-trusser, which he obviously was, nodded with 
 some superciliousness. Looking towards the village, he con- 
 tinued, "There is something going on here, however, is there 
 not?" 
 
* THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Ay. 'Tis Fair Day. Though what you hear now is 
 little more than the clatter and scurry of getting away the 
 rnoney o' children and fools, for the real business is done 
 earlier than this. I've been working within sound o't all 
 day, but I didn't go up — not I. 'Twas no business of 
 mine." 
 
 The trusser and his family proceeded on their way, and 
 soon entered the Fair-field, which showed standing-places 
 and pens where many hundreds of horses and sheep had 
 been exhibited and sold in the forenoon, but were now in 
 great part taken away. At present, as their informant had 
 observed, but little real business remained on hand, the chief 
 being the sale by auction of a few inferior animals, that 
 could not otherwise be disposed of, and had been absolutely 
 refused by the better class of traders, who came and went 
 early. Yet the crowd was denser now than during the 
 morning hours, the frivolous contingent of visitors, including 
 journeymen out for a holiday, a stray soldier or two home 
 on furlough, village ."hopkeepers, and the like, having lat- 
 terly flocked in; persons whose activities found a con- 
 genial field among the peep-shows, toy-stands, waxworks, 
 inspired monsters, disinterested medical men who travelled 
 for the public good, thimble-riggers, nick-nack vendors, and 
 readers of Fate. 
 
 Neither of our pedestrians had much heart for these 
 things, and they looked around for a refreshment tent 
 among the many which dotted the down. Two, which stood 
 nearest to them in the ochreous haze of expiring sunlight, 
 seemed almost equally inviting. One was formed of new, 
 milk-hued canvas, and bore red flags on its summit; it 
 announced "Good Home-brewed Beer, Ale, and Cyder." 
 The other was less new; a little iron stove-pipe came 
 out of it at the back, and in front appeared tie plac- 
 ard, "Good Furmity Sold Hear." The man mentally 
 weighed the two inscriptions, and inclined to the former 
 tent. 
 
 "No — no — the other one," said the woman. "I always 
 like furmity; and so does Elizabeth- Jane; and so will you. 
 It is nourishing after a long hard day." 
 
 "I've never tasted it," said the man. However, he gave 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE g 
 
 way to her representations, and they entered the furmity 
 booth forthwith. 
 
 A rather numerous company appeared within, seated at 
 the long narrow tables that ran down the tent on each side. 
 At the upper end stood a stove, containing a charcoal fire, 
 over which hung a large three-legged crock, sufficiently pol- 
 ished round the rim to show that it was made of bell-metal. 
 A haggish creature of about fifty presided, in a white apron, 
 which, as it threw an air of respectability over her as far 
 as it extended, was made so wide as to reach nearly round 
 her waist. She slowly stirred the contents of the pot. The 
 dull scrape of her large spoon was audible throughout the 
 tent as she thus kept from burning the mixture of corn in 
 the grain, milk, raisins, currants, and what not, that com- 
 posed the antiquated slop in which she dealt. Vessels hold- 
 ing the separate ingredients stood on a white-clothed table 
 of boards and trestles close by. 
 
 The young man and woman ordered a basin each of 
 the mixture, steaming hot, and sat down to consume it at 
 leisure. This was very well so far, for furmity, as the 
 woman had said, was nourishing, and as proper a food as 
 could be obtained within the four seas; though, to those 
 not accustomed to it, the grains of wheat, swollen as large 
 as lemon-pips, which floated on its surface, might have a 
 deterrent effect at first. 
 
 But there was more in that tent than met the cursory 
 glance; and the man, with the instinct of a perverse char- 
 acter, scented it quickly. After a mincing attack on his 
 bowl, he watched the hag's proceedings from the corner 
 of his eye, and saw the game she played. He winked to 
 her, and passed up his basin in reply to her nod; when 
 she took a bottle from under the table, slily measured out 
 a quantity of its contents, and tipped the same into the 
 man's furmity. The liquor poured in was rum. The man 
 as slily sent back money in payment. 
 
 He found the concoction, thus strongly laced, much more 
 to his satisfaction than it had been in its natural state. 
 His wife had observed the proceeding with much uneasiness; 
 but he persuaded her to have hers laced also, and she agreed 
 to a milder allowance after some misgiving. 
 
6 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 The man finished his basin, and called for another, the 
 rum being signalled for in yet stronger proportion. The ef- 
 fect of it was soon apparent in his manner, and his wife 
 but too sadly perceived that in strenuously steering off the 
 rocks of the licensed liquor-tent she had only got into mael- 
 strom depths here amongst the smugglers. 
 
 The child began to prattle impatiently, and the wife more 
 than once said to her husband, "Michael, how about our 
 lodging? You know we may have trouble in getting it if 
 we don't go soon." 
 
 But he turned a deaf ear to those bird-like chirpings. 
 He talked loud to the company. The child's black eyes, 
 after slow, round, ruminating gazes at the candles when 
 they were lighted, fell together; then they opened, then 
 shut again, and she slept. 
 
 At the end of the first basin the man had risen to se- 
 renity; at the second he was jovial; at the third, argu- 
 mentative; at the fourth, the qualities signified by the 
 shape of his face, the occasional clench of his mouth, and 
 the fiery spark of his dark eye, began to tell in his conduct; 
 he was overbearing — even brilliantly quarrelsome. 
 
 The conversation took a high turn, as it often does on 
 such occasions. The ruin of good men by bad wives, and, 
 more particularly, the frustration of many a promising 
 youth's high aims and hopes, and the extinction of his ener- 
 gies, by an early imprudent marriage, was the theme. 
 
 "I did for myself that way thoroughly," said the trusser, 
 with a contemplative bitterness that was well-nigh re- 
 sentful. "I married at eighteen, like the fool that I was; 
 and this is the consequence o't." He pointed at himself and 
 family with a wave of the hand intended to bring out the 
 penuriousness of the exhibition. 
 
 The young woman his wife, who seemed accustomed to 
 such remarks, acted as if she did not hear them, and con- 
 tinued her intermittent private words on tender trifles to the 
 sleeping and waking child, who was just big enough to be 
 placed for a moment on the bench beside her when she 
 wished to ease her arms. The man continued — 
 
 "I haven't more than fifteen shillings in the world, and 
 yet I am a good experienced hand in my line. I'd challenge 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 7 
 
 England to beat me in the fodder business; and if I were 
 a free man again, I'd be worth a thousand pound before 
 I'd done o't. But a fellow never knows these little things 
 till all chance of acting upon 'em is past." 
 
 The auctioneer selling the old horses in the field out- 
 side could be heard saying, "Now this is the last lot — ^now 
 who'll take the last lot for a song? Shall I say forty shill- 
 ings? 'Tis a very promising brood-mare, a trifle over five 
 years old, and nothing the matter with the boss at all, ex- 
 cept that she's a little holler in the back and had her left 
 eye knocked out by the kick of another, her own sister, 
 coming along the road." 
 
 "For my part I don't see why men who have got wives, 
 and don't want 'em, shouldn't get rid of 'em as these 
 gipsy fellows do their old horses," said the man in the 
 tent. "Why shouldn't they put 'em up and sell 'em by 
 auction to men who are in want of such articles? Hey? 
 Why, begad, I'd sell mine this minute if anybody would 
 buy her!" 
 
 "There's them that would do that," some of the guests 
 replied, looking at the woman, who was by no means ill- 
 favoured. 
 
 "True," said a smoking gentleman, whose coat had the 
 fine polish about the collar, elbows, seams, and shoulder- 
 blades that long-continued friction with grimy surfaces will 
 produce, and which is usually more desired on furniture 
 than on clothes. From his appearance he had possibly been 
 in former time groom or coachman to some neighbouring 
 county family. "I've had my breedings in as good circles, 
 I may say, as any man," he added, "and I know true cul' 
 tivation, or nobody do; and I can declare she's got it — in 
 the bone, mind ye, I say — as much as any female in the 
 fair — though it may want a little bringing out." Then, 
 crossing his legs, he resumed his pipe with a nicely-adjusted 
 gaze at a point in the air. 
 
 The fuddled young husband stared for a few seconds at 
 this unexpected praise of his wife, half in doubt of the 
 wisdom of his own attitude towards the possessor of such 
 qualities. But he speedily lapsed into his former conviction, 
 and said harshly — 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Well, then, now is your chance; I am open to an offer 
 for this gem o' creation." 
 
 She turned to her husband and murmured, "Michael, you 
 have talked this nonsense in public places before. A joke 
 is a joke, but you may make it once too often, mind!" 
 
 "I know I've said it before; I meant it. All I want is 
 a buyer." 
 
 At the moment a swallow, one among the last of the sea- 
 son, which had by chance found its way through an opening 
 into the upper part of the tent, flew to and fro in quick 
 curves above their heads, causing all eyes to follow it ab- 
 sently. In watching the bird till it made its escape the as- 
 sembled company neglected to respond to the workman's 
 offer, and the subject dropped. 
 
 But a quarter of an hour later the man, who had gone 
 on lacing his furmity more and more heavily, thou^ he was 
 either so strong-minded or such an intrepid toper that he 
 still appeared fairly sober, recurred to the old strain, as in 
 a musical fantasy the instrument fetches up the original 
 theme. "Here — I am waiting to know about this offer of 
 mine. The woman is no good to me. Who'll have her?" 
 
 The company had by this time decidedly degenerated, 
 and the renewed inquiry was received with a laugh of ap- 
 preciation. The woman whispered; she was imploring and 
 anxious: "Come, come, it is getting dark, and this non- 
 sense won't do. If you don't come along, I shall go without 
 you. Come!" 
 
 She waited and waited; yet he did not move. In ten 
 minutes the man broke in upon the desultory conversation 
 of the furmity drinkers with, "I asked this question, and 
 nobody answered to't. Will any Jack Rag or Tom Straw 
 among ye buy my goods?" 
 
 The woman's manner changed, and her face assumed the 
 grim shape and colour of which mention has been made. 
 
 "Mike, Mike," said she; "this is getting serious. Oh! 
 — too serious!" 
 
 "Will anybody buy her?" said the man. 
 
 "I wish somebody would," said she firmly. "Her pres- 
 ent owner is not at all to her liking!" 
 
 "Nor you to mine," said he. "So we are agreed about 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 9 
 
 that. Gentlemen, you hear? It's an agreement to part. 
 She shall take the girl if she wants to, and go her ways. 
 I'll take my tools, and go my ways. 'Tis simple as Scripture 
 history. Now then, stand up, Susan, and show yourself." 
 
 "Don't, my'chiel," whispered a buxom staylace dealer 
 in voluminous petticoats, who sat near the woman; "yer 
 good man don't know what he's saying." 
 
 The woman, however, did stand up. "Now, who's auc- 
 tioneer?" cried the hay-trusser. 
 
 "I be,'' promptly answered a short man, with a nose re- 
 sembling a copper knob, a damp voice, and eyes Hke but- 
 ton-holes. "Who'll make an offer for this lady?" 
 
 The woman looked on the ground, as if she maintained 
 her position by a supreme effort of will. 
 
 "Five shillings," said some one, at which there was a 
 laugh. 
 
 "No insults," said the husband. "Who'll say a guinea?" 
 
 Nobody answered; and the female dealer in stay laces in- 
 terposed. 
 
 "Behave yerself moral, good man, for Heaven's love! 
 Ah, what a cruelty is the poor soul married to! Bed and 
 board is dear at some figures, 'pon my 'vation 'tis!" 
 
 "Set it higher, auctioneer," said the trusser. 
 
 "Two guineas!" said the auctioneer; and no one replied. 
 
 "If they don't take her for that, in ten seconds they'll 
 have to give more," said the husband. "Very well. Now, 
 auctioneer, add another." 
 
 "Three guineas — going for three guineas!" said the 
 rheumy man. 
 
 "No bid?" said the husband. "Good Lord, why she's 
 cost me fifty times the money, if a penny. Go on." 
 
 "Four guineas!" cried the auctioneer. 
 
 "I'll tell ye what — I won't sell her for less than five," 
 said the husband, bringing down his fist so that the basins 
 danced. "I'll sell her for five guineas to any man that will 
 pay me the money, and treat her well; and he shall have 
 her for ever, and never hear aught o' me. But she shan't 
 go for less. Now then — five guineas — and she's yours. Su- 
 san, you agree?" 
 
 She bowed her head with absolute indifference. 
 
10 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Five guineas," said the auctioneer, "or she'll be with- 
 drawn. Do anybody give it? The last time. Yes or 
 no?" 
 
 "Yes," said a loud voice from the doorway. 
 
 All eyes were turned. Standing in the triangular opening 
 which formed the door of the tent was a sailor, who, un- 
 observed by the rest, had arrived there within the last two 
 or three minutes. A dead silence followed his affirmation. 
 
 "You say you do?" asked the husband, staring at him. 
 
 "I say so," replied the sailor. 
 
 "Saying is one thing, and paying is another. Where's the 
 money?" 
 
 The sailor hesitated a moment, looked anew at the woman, 
 came in, unfolded five crisp pieces of paper, and threw 
 them down upon the table-cloth. They were Bank-of-Eng- 
 land notes for five pounds. Upon the face of this he chinked 
 down the shillings severally — one, two, three, four, five. 
 
 The sight of real money in full amount, in answer to a 
 challenge for the same till then deemed slightly hypotheti- 
 cal, had a great effect upon the spectators. Their eyes be- 
 came riveted upon the faces of the chief actors, and then 
 upon the notes as they lay, weighted by the shillings, pn the 
 table. 
 
 Up to this moment it could not positively have been as- 
 serted that the man, in spite of his tantalizing declaration, 
 was really in earnest. The spectators had indeed taken the 
 proceedings throughout as a piece of mirthful irony car- 
 ried to extremes; and had assumed that, being out of work, 
 he was, as a consequence, out of temper with the world, 
 and society, and his nearest kin. But with the demand and 
 response of real cash the jovial frivolity of the scene de- 
 parted. A lurid colour seemed to fill the tent, and change 
 the aspect of all therein. The mirth-wrinkles left the listen- 
 ers' faces, and they waited with parting lips. 
 
 "Now," said the woman, breaking the silence, so that her 
 low dry voice sounded quite loud, "before you go further, 
 Michael, listen to me. If you touch that money, I and this 
 girl go with the man. Mind, it is a joke no longer." 
 
 "A joke? Of course it is not a joke!" shouted her hus- 
 band, his resentment rising at her suggestion. "I take the 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE n 
 
 money: the sailor takes you. That's plain enough. It has 
 been done elsewhere — and why not here?" 
 
 " 'Tis quite on the understanding that the young woman 
 is willing," said the sailor blandly. "I wouldn't hurt her 
 feelings for the world." 
 
 "Faith, nor I," said her husband. "But she is willing, 
 provided she can have the child. She said so only the other 
 day when I talked o't!" 
 
 "That you swear?" said the sailor to her. 
 
 "I do," said she, after glancing at her husband's face 
 and seeing no repentance there. 
 
 "Very well, she shall have the child, and the bargain's 
 complete," said the trusser. He took the sailor's notes and 
 deliberately folded them, and put them with the shillings 
 in a high remote pocket, with an air of finality. 
 
 The sailor looked at the woman and smiled. "Come 
 along!" he said kindly. "The little one too — the more the 
 merrier!" She paused for an instant, with a close glance 
 at him. Then dropping her eyes again, and saying nothing, 
 she took up the child and followed him as he made towards 
 the door. On reaching it, she turned, and pulling off her 
 wedding-ring, flung it across the booth in the hay-trusser's 
 face. 
 
 "Mike," she said, "I've lived with thee a couple of years, 
 and had nothing but temper! Now I'm no more to 'ee; 
 I'll try my luck elsewhere. 'Twill be better for me and the 
 child, both. So good-bye!" 
 
 Seizing the sailor's arm with her right hand, and mounting 
 the little girl on her left, she went out of the tent sobbing 
 bitterly. 
 
 A stolid look of concern filled the husband's face, as if, 
 after all, he had not quite anticipated this ending; and some 
 of the guests laughed. 
 
 "Is she gone?" he said. 
 
 "Faith, ay; she gone clane enough," said some rustics 
 near the door. 
 
 He rose and walked to the entrance with the careful tread 
 of one conscious of his alcoholic load. Some others fol- 
 lowed, and they stood looking into the twilight. The differ- 
 oice between the peacefulness of inferior nature and tha 
 
12 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 wilful hostilities of mankind was very apparent at this place. 
 In contrast with the harshness of the act just ended within 
 the tent was the sight of several horses crossing their necks 
 and rubbing each other lovingly as they waited in patience 
 to be harnessed for the homeward journey. Outside the fair, 
 in the valleys and woods, all was quiet. The sun had re- 
 cently set, and the west heaven was hung with rosy cloud, 
 which seemed permanent, yet slowly changed. To watch 
 it was like looking at some grand feat of stagery from a 
 darkened auditorium. In presence of this scene, after the 
 other, there was a natural instinct to abjure man as the 
 blot on an otherwise kindly universe; till it was remembered 
 that all terrestrial conditions were intermittent, and that 
 mankind might some night be innocently sleeping when 
 these quiet objects were raging loud. 
 
 "Where do the sailor live?" asked a spectator, when 
 they had vainly gazed around. 
 
 "God knows that," replied the man who had seen high 
 life. "He's without doubt a stranger here." 
 
 "He came in about five minutes ago," said the furmity 
 woman, joining the rest with her hands on her hips. "And 
 then 'a stepped back, and then 'a looked in again. I'm not 
 a penny the better for him." 
 
 "Serves tie husband well be-right," said the staylace 
 vendor. "A comely respectable body like her — ^what can a 
 man want more? I glory in the woman's sperrit. I'd ha' 
 done it myself — od send if I wouldn't, if a husband had be- 
 haved so to me! I'd go, and 'a might call, and call, till his 
 keacorn was raw; but I'd never come back — no, not till the 
 great trumpet, would I!" 
 
 "Well, the woman will be better off," said another of a 
 more deliberative turn. "For seafaring naters be very good 
 ehelter for shorn lambs, and the man do seem to have plenty 
 of money, which is what she's not been used to lately, by cdi 
 showings." 
 
 "Mark me — I'll not go after her!" said the trusser, re- 
 turning doggedly to his seat. "Let her go! If she's up to 
 such vagaries she must suffer for 'em. She'd no business 
 to take the maid — 'tis my maid; and if it were the doing 
 fegain she shouldn't have her! " 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 13 
 
 Perhaps from some little sense of having countenanced 
 an indefensible proceeding, perhaps because it was late, the 
 customers thinned away from the tent shortly after thia 
 episode. The man stretched his elbows forward on the 
 table, leant his face upon his arms, and soon began to snore. 
 The furmity seller decided to close for the night, and after 
 seeing the rum-bottles, milk, corn, raisins, &c., that remained 
 on hand, loaded into the cart, came to where the man re- 
 clined. She shook him, but could not wake him. As the 
 tent was not to be struck that night, the fair continuing 
 for two or three days, she decided to let the sleeper, who 
 was obviously no tramp, stay where he was, and his basket 
 with him. Extinguishing the last candle, and lowering the 
 flap of the tent, she left it, and drove away. 
 
 II 
 
 The morning sun was streaming through the crevices of 
 the canvas when the man awoke. A warm glow pervaded 
 the whole atmosphere of the marquee, and a single big blue 
 fly buzzed musically round and round it. ■ Besides the buzz 
 of the fly there was not a sound. He looked about — at the 
 benches — at the table supported by trestles — at his basket 
 of tools — at the stove where the furmity had been boiled — ■ 
 at the empty basins — at some shed grains of wheat— at the 
 corks which dotted the grassy floor. Among the odds and 
 ends he discerned a little shining object, and picked it up. 
 It was his wife's ring. 
 
 A confused picture of the events of the previous evening 
 seemed to come back to him, and he thrust his hand into his 
 breast-pocket. A rustling revealed the sailor's bank-notes 
 thrust carelessly in. 
 
 This second verification of his dim memories was enough; 
 he knew now they were not dreams. He remained seated, 
 looking on the ground for some time. "I must get out of 
 this cis soon as I can," he said deliberately at last, with 
 the air of one who could not catch his thoughts without pro- 
 nouncing them. "She's gone — to be sure she is — gone with 
 that sailor who bought her, and little Elizabeth- Jane. We 
 walked here, and I had the furmity, and rum in it — and 
 
14 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 sold her. Yes, that's what happened, and here am I. Now, 
 what am I to do — am I sober enough to walk, I wonder?" 
 He stood up, found that he was in fairly good condition 
 for progress, unencumbered. Next he shouldered his tool 
 basket, and found he could carry it. Then lifting the tent 
 door he emerged into the open air. 
 
 Here the man looked around with gloomy curiosity. The 
 freshness of the September morning inspired and braced 
 him as he stood. He and his family had been weary when 
 they arrived the night before, and they had observed but 
 little of the place ; so that he now beheld it as a new thing. 
 It exhibited itself as the top of an open down, bounded on 
 one extreme by a plantation, and approached by a winding 
 road. At the bottom stood the village which lent its name 
 to the upland, and the annual fair that was held thereon. 
 The spot stretched downward into valleys, and onward to 
 other uplands, dotted with barrows, and trenched with the 
 remains of prehistoric forts. The whole scene lay under the 
 rays of a newly risen sun, which had not as yet dried a sin- 
 gle blade of the heavily dewed grass, whereon the shadows of 
 the yellow and red vans were projected far away, those 
 thrown by the felloe of each wheel being elongated in shape 
 to the orbit of a comet. All the gipsies and showmen who 
 had remained on the ground lay snug within their carts and 
 tents, or wrapped in horse-clotiis under them, and were si- 
 lent and still as death, with the exception of an occasional 
 snore that revealed their presence. But the Seven Sleepers 
 had a dog; and dogs of the mysterious breeds that vagrants 
 own, that are as much like cats as dogs, and as much Uke 
 foxes as cats, also lay about here. A little one started up 
 under one of the carts, barked as a matter of principle, and 
 quickly lay down again. He was the only positive spectator 
 of the hay-trusser's exit from the Weydon Fair-field. 
 
 This seemed to accord with his desire. He went on in 
 silent thought, unheeding the yellowhammers which flitted 
 about the hedges with straws in their bills, the crowns of 
 the mushrooms, and the tinkling of local sheep-bells, whose 
 wearers had had the good fortune not to be included in the 
 fair. When he reached a lane, a good mile from the scene 
 of the previous evening, the man pitched his basket, and 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 15 
 
 leant upon a gate. A difficult problem or two occupied his 
 mind. 
 
 "Did I tell my name to anybody last night, or didn't 
 I tell my name?" he said to himself; and at last concluded 
 that he did not. His general demeanour was enough to show 
 how he was surprised and nettled that his wife had taken 
 him so literally-^as much could be seen in his face, and in 
 the way he nibbled a straw which he pulled from the hedge. 
 He knew that she must have been somewhat excited to do 
 this; moreover, she must have believed that there was some 
 sort of binding force in the transaction. On this latter point 
 he felt almost certain, knowing her freedom from levity 
 of character, and the extreme simplicity of her intellect. 
 There may, too, have been enough recklessness and resent- 
 ment beneath her ordinary placidity to make her stifle any 
 momentary doubts. On a previous occasion when he had 
 declared, during a fuddle, that he would dispose of her as he 
 had done, she had replied that she would not hear him say 
 that many times more before it happened, in the resigned 
 tones of a fatalist. . . . "Yet she knows I am not in my 
 senses when I do that?" he exclaimed. "Well, I must walk 
 about till I find her. , . . Seize her, why didn't she know 
 better than bring me into this disgrace?" he roared out. 
 "She wasn't queer if I was. 'Tis like Susan to show such 
 idiotic simplicity. Meek — that meekness has done me 
 more harm than the bitterest temper ! " 
 
 When he was calmer, he turned to his original conviction 
 that he must somehow find her and his little Elizabeth- 
 Jane, and put up with the shame as best he could. It was 
 of his own making, and he ought to bear it. But first he 
 resolved to register an oath, a greater oath than he had 
 ever sworn before: and to do it properly he required a fit 
 place and imagery; for there was something fetichistic in 
 this man's beliefs. 
 
 He shouldered his basket and moved on, casting his 
 eyes inquisitively round upon the landscape as he walked, 
 and at the distance of three or four miles perceived the 
 roofs of a village and the tower of a church. He instantly 
 made towards the latter object. The village was quite still, 
 it being that motionless hour of rustic daily life which fills 
 
i6 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the interval between the departure of the field-labourers to 
 their work, and the rising of their wives and daughters 
 to prepare the breakfast for their return. Hence he reached 
 the church without observation, and the door being only 
 latched, he entered. The hay-trusser deposited his basket 
 by the font, went up the nave till he reached the altar-rails, 
 and opening the gate, entered the sacrarium, where he 
 seemed to feel a sense of the strangeness for a moment; 
 then he knelt upon the foot-pace. Dropping his head upon 
 the clamped book which lay on the Communion-table, he 
 said aloud — 
 
 "I, Michael Henchard, on this morning of the sixteenth 
 of September, do take an oath here in this solemn place 
 that I will avoid all strong liquors for the space of twenty 
 years to come, being a year for every year that I have lived. 
 And this I swear upon the book before me; and may I 
 be struck dumb, blind, and helpless, if I break this my 
 oath!" 
 
 When he had said it and kissed the big book, the hay- 
 trusser arose, and seemed relieved at having made a start 
 in a new direction. While standing in the porch a moment, 
 he saw a thick jet of wood smoke suddenly start up from 
 the red chimney -of a cottage near, and knew that the occu- 
 pant had just lit her fire. He went round to the door, and 
 the housewife agreed to prepare him some breakfast for a 
 trifling payment, which was done. Then he started on the 
 search for his wife and child. 
 
 The perplexing nature of the undertaking became appar- 
 ent soon enough. Though he examined and inquired, and 
 walked hither and thither day after day, no such charac- 
 ters as those he described had anywhere been seen since the 
 evening of the fair. To add to lie difficulty, he could gain 
 no sound of the sailor's name. As money was short with 
 him, he decided, after some hesitation, to spend the sailor's 
 money in the prosecution of this"search; but it was equally 
 in vain: The truth was, that a certain shyness of reveal- 
 ing his conduct prevented Michael Henchard from follow- 
 ing up the investigation with the loud hue-and-cry such a 
 pursuit demanded to render it effectual ; and it was probably 
 for this reason that he obtained no clue, though everything 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE ly 
 
 was done by him that did not involve an explanation of 
 the circumstances under which he had lost her. 
 
 Weeks counted up to months, and still he searched on, 
 maintaining himself by small jobs of work in the intervals. 
 By this time he had arrived at a seaport, and there he de- 
 rived intelligence that persons answering somewhat to his 
 description had emigrated a little time before. Then he 
 said he would search no longer, and that he would go and 
 settle in the district which he had had for some time in his 
 mind'. Next day he started, journeying south-westward, and 
 did not pause, except for night's lodgings, till he reached 
 the town of Casterbridge, in a far distant part of Wessex. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The highroad into the village of Weydon Priors was again 
 carpeted with dust. The trees had put on as of yore their 
 aspect of dingy green, and where the Henchard family of 
 three had once walked along, two persons not unconnected 
 with that family walked now. 
 
 The scene in its broad aspect had so much of its pre- 
 vious character, even to the voices and rattle from the neigh- 
 bouring village down, that it might for that matter have 
 been the afternoon following the previously recorded epi- 
 sode. Change was only to be observed in details; but here 
 it was obvious that a long procession of years had passed 
 by. One of the two who walked the road was she who had 
 figured as the young wife of ?^enchard on the previous oc- 
 casion; now her face had lost much of its rotundity; her 
 skin had undergone a textural change; and though her hair 
 had not lost colour, it was considerably thinner than here- 
 tofore. She was dressed in the mourning clothes of a widow. 
 Her companion, also in black, appeared as a well-formed 
 young woman of eighteen, completely possessed of that 
 ephemeral precious essence youth, which is itself beauty, 
 irrespective of complexion or contour. 
 
 A glance was sufficient to inform the eye that this was 
 Susan Henchard's grown-up daughter. While life's middle 
 sammer had set its hardening mark on the mother's face. 
 
i8 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 her former spring-like specialities were transferred so dex- 
 terously by Time to the second figure, her child, that the 
 absence of certain facts within her mother's knowledge from 
 the girl's mind would have seemed for the moment, to one 
 reflecting on those facts, to be a curious imperfection in 
 Nature's powers of continuity. 
 
 They walked with joined hands, and it could be perceived 
 that this was the act of simple affection. The daughter 
 carried in her outer hand a withy basket of old-fashioned 
 make; the mother a blue bundle, which contrasted oddly 
 with her black stuff gown. 
 
 Reaching the outskirts of the village, they pursued the 
 same track as formerly, and ascended to the fair. Here, 
 too, it was evident that the years had told. Certain me- 
 chanical improvements might have been noticed in the 
 roundabouts and highfliers, machines for testing rustic 
 strength and weight, and in the erections devoted to shooting 
 for nuts. But the real business of the fair had considerably 
 dwindled. The new periodical great markets of neighbour- 
 ing towns were beginning to interfere seriously with the 
 trade carried on here for centuries. The pens for sheep, 
 the tie-ropes for horses, were about half as long as they 
 had been. The stalls of tailors, hosiers, coopers, linen- 
 drapers, and other such trades had almost disappeared, and 
 the vehicles were far less numerous. The mother and 
 daughter threaded the crowd for some little distance, and 
 then stood still. 
 
 "Why did we hinder our time by coming in here? I 
 thought you wished to get onward?" said the maiden. 
 
 "Yes, my dear Elizabeth- Jane," explained the other. 
 "But I had a fancy for looking up here." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "It was here I first met with Newson — on such a day 
 as this." 
 
 "First met with father here? Yes, you have told me so 
 before. And now he's drowned and gone from us!" As she 
 spoke the girl drew a card from her pocket and looked at 
 it with a sigh. It was edged with black, and inscribed 
 within a design resembling a mural tablet were the words, 
 "In affectionate memory of Richard Newson, mariner, who 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE ig 
 
 was unfortunately lost at sea, in the month of November 
 184 — , aged forty-one years." 
 
 "And it was here," continued her mother, with more hesi- 
 tation, "that I last saw the relation we are going to look for 
 ■ — Mr. Michael Henchard." 
 
 "What is his exact kin to us, mother? I have never 
 clearly had it told me." 
 
 "He is, or was — for he may be dead — a connection by 
 marriage," said her mother deliberately. 
 
 "That's exactly what you have said a score of times be- 
 fore!" replied the young woman, looking about her inat- 
 tentively. "He's not a near relation, I suppose?" 
 
 "Not by any means." 
 
 "He was a hay-trusser, wasn't he, when you last heard of 
 him?" 
 
 "He was." 
 
 "I suppose he never knew me?" the girl innocently con- 
 tinued. 
 
 Mrs. Henchard paused for a moment, and answered un- 
 easily, "Of course not, Elizabeth- Jane. But come this way." 
 She moved on to another part of the field. 
 
 "It is not much use inquiring here for anybody, I should 
 think," the daughter observed, as she gazed round about. 
 "People at fairs change like the leaves of trees; and I 
 daresay you are the only one here to-day who was here all 
 those years ago." 
 
 "I am not so sure of that," said Mrs. Newson, as she now 
 called herself, keenly eyeing something under a green bank 
 a little way off. "See there." 
 
 The daughter looked in the direction signified. The ob- 
 ject pointed out was a tripod of sticks stuck into the earth, 
 from which hung a three-legged crock, kept hot by a smoul- 
 dering wood iire beneath. Over the pot stooped an old 
 woman, haggard, wrinkled, and almost in rags. She stirred 
 the contents of the pot with a large spoon, and occasionally 
 croaked in a broken voice, "Good furmity sold here!" 
 
 It was indeed the former mistress of the furmity tent — 
 once thriving, cleanly, white-aproned, and chinking with 
 money — now tentless, dirty, owning no tables or benches, 
 and having scarce any customers except two small whitey- 
 
ao THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 brown boys, who came up and asked for "A ha'p'orth, please 
 — good measure," which she served in a couple of chipped 
 yellow basins of commonest clay. 
 
 "She was here at that time," resumed Mrs. Newson, mak- 
 ing a step as if to draw nearer. 
 
 "Don't speak to her — ^it isn't respectablel" urged the 
 >ther. 
 
 "I will just say a word — you, Elizabeth- Jane, can stay 
 here." 
 
 The girl was not loth, and turned to some stalls of col- 
 oured prints while her mother went forward. The old 
 woman begged for the latter's custom as soon as she saw 
 her, and responded to Mrs. Henchard-Newson's request for 
 a pennyworth with more alacrity than she had shown in 
 selling sixpennyworths in her younger days. When the so>- 
 disant widow had taken the basin of thin poor slop that 
 stood for the rich concoction of the former time, the hag 
 opened a little basket behind the fire, and looking up slily, 
 whispered, "Just a thought o' rum in it? — smuggled, you 
 know — say two penn'orth — 'twill make it slip down like cor- 
 dial 1" 
 
 Her customer smiled bitterly at this survival of the old 
 trick, and shook her head with a meaning the old woman 
 was far from translating. She pretended to eat a little of 
 the fiirmity with the leaden spoon offered, and as she did 
 so, said blandly to the hag, "You've seen better days?" 
 
 "Ah, ma'am — well ye may say it!" responded the old 
 woman, opening the sluices of her heart forthwith. "I've 
 stood in this fair-ground, maid, wife, and widow, these nine- 
 and-thirty year, and in that time have known what it was 
 to do business with the richest stomachs in the land! 
 Ma'am, you'd hardly believe that I was once the owner 
 of a great pavilion-tent that was the attraction of the fair. 
 Nobody could come, nobody could go, without having a dish 
 of Mrs. Goodenough's furmity. I knew the clergy's taste, 
 the dandy gent's taste; I knew the town's taste, the coun- 
 try's taste. I even knowed the taste of the coarse shameless 
 females. But seize my life — the world's no memory; 
 Straightforward dealings don't bring profit — 'tis the sly and 
 the underhand that get on in these times!" 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 21 
 
 Mrs. Newson glanced round — her daughter was still bend- 
 ing over the distant stalls. "Can you call to mind," she 
 said cautiously to the old woman, "the sale of a wife by her 
 husband in your tent eighteen years ago to-day?" 
 
 The hag reflected, and half shook her head. "If it had 
 been a big thing I should have minded it in a moment," she 
 said. "I can mind every serious fight o' married parties, 
 every murder, every manslaughter, even every pocket-pick- 
 ing — ^leastwise large ones — that 't has been my lot to wit- 
 ness. But a selling? Was it done quiet-Uke?" 
 
 "Well, yes. I think so." 
 
 The furmity woman half shook her head again. "And 
 yet," she said, "I do. At any rate, I can mind a man do- 
 ing something o' the sort — a man in a cord jacket, with a 
 basket of tools; but. Lord bless ye, we don't gi'e it head- 
 room, we don't, such as that. The only reason why I can 
 mind the man is that he came back here to the next year's 
 fair, and told me quite private-like that if a woman ever 
 asked for him I was to say he had gone to — ^where? — Cas- 
 terbridge — yes — to Casterbridge, said he. But, Lord's my 
 life, I shouldn't ha' thought of it again!" 
 
 Mrs. Newson would have rewarded the old woman as far 
 as her small means afforded, had she not discreetly borne in 
 mind that it was by that unscrupulous person's liquor her 
 husband had been degraded. She briefly thanked her in- 
 formant, and rejoined Elizabeth, who greeted her with, 
 "Mother, do let's go on — it was hardly respectable for you 
 to buy refreshments there. I see none but the lowest do." 
 
 "I have learned what I wanted, however," said her mother 
 quietly. "The last time our relative visited this fair he said 
 he was living at Casterbridge. It is a long, long way from 
 here, and it was many years ago that he said it; but there 
 I think we'll go." 
 
 With this they descended out of the fair, and went on- 
 ward to the village, where they obtained a night's lodging 
 
22 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 IV 
 
 Henchaed's wife acted for the best, but she had involved 
 herself in difficulties. A hundred times she had been upon 
 the point of telling her daughter, Elizabeth- Jane, the true 
 story of her life, the tragical crisis of which had been the 
 transaction at Weydon Fair, when she was not much older 
 than the girl now beside her. But she had refrained. An 
 innocent maiden had thus grown up in the belief that the 
 relations between the genial sailor and her mother were the 
 ordinary ones that they had always appeared to be. The 
 risk of endangering a child's strong affection by disturbing 
 ideas which had grown with her growth was to Mrs. Hen- 
 chard too fearful a thing to contemplate. It had seemed, in- 
 deed, folly to think of making Elizabeth- Jane wise. 
 
 But Susan Henchard's fear of losing her dearly loved 
 daughter's heart by a revelation had little to do with any 
 sense of wrong-doing on her own part. Her simplicity — 
 the original ground of Henchard's contempt for her — ^had 
 allowed her to live on in the conviction that Newson had 
 acquired a morally real and justifiable right to her by his 
 purchase — though the exact bearings and legal limits of that 
 right were vague. It may seem strange to sophisticated 
 minds that a sane young matron could believe in the seri- 
 ousness of such a transfer; and were there not numerous 
 other instances of the same belief the thing might scarcely 
 be credited. But she was by no means the first or last peas- 
 ant woman who had religiously adhered to her purchaser, 
 as too many rural records show. 
 
 The history of Susan Henchard's adventures in the in- 
 terim can be told in two or three sentences. Absolutely 
 helpless, she had been taken off to Canada, where they had 
 lived several years without any great worldly success, though 
 she worked as hard as any woman could to keep their cot- 
 tage cheerful and well-provided. When Elizabeth- Jane was 
 about twelve years old the three returned to England, and 
 settled at Falmouth, where Newson made a living for a few 
 years as boatman and general handy shoreman. 
 
 He then engaged in the Newfoundland trade, and it was 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 2^ 
 
 during this period that Susan had an awakening. A friend 
 to whom she confided her history ridiculed her grave accept- 
 ance of her position; and all was over with her peace of 
 mind. When Newson came home at the end of one winter 
 he saw that the delusion he had so carefully sustained had 
 vanished for ever. 
 
 There was then a time of sadness, in which she told him 
 her doubts if she could live with him longer. Newson left 
 home again on the Newfoundland trade when the season 
 came round. The news of his loss at sea a little later on 
 solved a problem which had become torture to her meek 
 conscience. She saw him no more. 
 
 Of Henchard they heard nothing. To the liege sub- 
 jects of Labour, the England of those days was a continent, 
 and a mile a geographical degree. 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane developed early into womanliness. One 
 day, a month or so after receiving intelligence of Newson's 
 death off the Bank of Newfoundland, when the girl was 
 about eighteen, she was sitting on a willow chair in the 
 cottage they still occupied, working twine nets for the fish- 
 ermen. Her mother was in a back corner of the same 
 room, engaged in the same labour; and dropping the heavy 
 wood needle she was filling, she surveyed her daughter 
 thoughtfully. The sun shone in at the door upon the young 
 woman's head and hair, which was worn loose, so that 
 the rays streamed into its depths as into a hazel copse. Her 
 face, though somewhat wan and incomplete, possessed the 
 raw materials of beauty in a promising degree. There was 
 an under-handsomeness in it, struggling to reveal itself 
 through the provisional curves of immaturity, and the casual 
 disfigurements that resulted from the straitened circum- 
 stances of their lives. She was handsome in the bone, 
 hardly as yet handsome in the flesh. She possibly might 
 never be fully handsome, unless the carking accidents of 
 her daily existence could be evaded before the mobile parts 
 of her countenance had settled to their final mould. 
 
 The sight of the girl made her mother sad — -not vaguely, 
 but by logical inference. They both were still in that strait- 
 waistcoat of poverty from which she had tried so many 
 times to be delivered for the girl's sake. The woman had 
 
24 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 long perceived how zealously and constantly the young mind 
 of her companion was struggling for enlargement; and yet 
 now, in her eighteenth year, it still remained but little un- 
 folded. The desire — sober and repressed — of Elizabeth- 
 Jane's heart was indeed to see, to hear, and to understand. 
 How could she become a woman of wider knowledge, higher 
 repute — "better," as she termed it — this was her constant 
 inquiry of her mother. She sought further into things 
 than other girls in her position ever did, and her mother 
 groaned as she felt she could not aid in the search. 
 
 The sailor was now lost to them; and Susan's staunch, 
 religious adherence to him as her husband in principle, till 
 her views had been disturbed by enlightenment, was de- 
 manded no more. She asked herself whether the present 
 moment, now that she was a free woman again, were not 
 as opportune a one as she would find in a world where 
 everything had been so inopportune, for making a desperate 
 effort to advance Elizabeth. To pocket her pride and 
 search for the first husband seemed, wisely or not, the 
 best initiatory step. * He had possibly drunk himself into 
 his tomb. But he might, on the other hand, have had 
 too much sense to do so; for in her time with him he had 
 been given to bouts only, and was not a habitual drunkard. 
 
 At any rate, the propriety of returning to him, if he 
 lived, was unquestionable. The awkwardness of search- 
 ing for him lay in enlightening Elizabeth, a proceeding 
 which her mother could not endure to contemplate. She 
 finally resolved to undertake the search without confiding 
 to the girl her former relations with Henchard, leaving it 
 to him if they found him to take what steps he might choose 
 to that end. This will account for their conversation at 
 the fair, and the half-informed state in which Elizabeth was 
 led onward. 
 
 In this attitude they proceeded on their journey, trusting 
 solely to the dim light afforded of Henchard's whereabouts 
 by the furmity woman. The strictest economy was indis- 
 pensable. Sometimes they might have been seen on foot, 
 sometimes on farmers' waggons, sometimes in carriers' vans; 
 and thus they drew near to Casterbridge. Elizabeth- Jane 
 discovered to her alarm that her mother's health was not 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 25 
 
 what it once had been, and there was ever and anon in 
 her talk that renunciatory tone which showed that, but for 
 the girl, she would not be very sorry to quit a life she was 
 growing thoroughly weary of. 
 
 It was on a Friday evening, near the middle of Septem- 
 ber, and just before dusk, that they reached the summit 
 of a hill within a mile of the place they sought. There 
 were high-banked hedges to the coach-road here, and they 
 mounted upon the green turf within, and sat down. The 
 spot commanded a full view of the town and its envi- 
 rons. 
 
 "What an old-fashioned place it seems to be! " said Eliza- 
 beth-Jane, while her silent mother mused on other things 
 than topography. "It is huddled all together; and it is shut 
 in by a square wall of trees, like a plot of garden ground 
 by a box-edging." 
 
 Its squareness was, indeed, the characteristic which most 
 struck the eye in this antiquated borough, the borough of 
 Casterbridge — at that time, recent as it was, untouched by 
 the faintest sprinkle of modernism. It was compact as a box 
 of dominoes. It had no suburbs — in the ordinary sense. 
 Country and town met at a mathematical line. 
 
 To birds of the more soaring kind Casterbridge must have 
 appeared on this fine evening as a mosaic-work of subdued 
 reds, browns, greys, and crystals, held together by a rec- 
 tangular frame of deep green. To the level eye of humanity 
 it stood as an indistinct mass behind a dense stockade of 
 limes and chestnuts, set in the midst of miles of rotund down 
 and concave field. The mass became gradually dissected by 
 the vision into towers, gables, chimneys, and casements, the 
 highest glazings shining bleared and bloodshot with the cop- 
 pery "fire they caught from the belt of sunlit cloud in the 
 west. 
 
 From the centre of each side of this tree-bound square ran 
 avenues east, west, and south into the wide expanse of 
 corn-land and combe to the distance of a mile or so. It 
 was by one of these avenues that the pedestrians were about 
 to enter. Before they had risen to proceed, two men passed 
 outside the hedge, engaged in argumentative conversa- 
 tion. 
 
86 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Why, surely," said Elizabeth, as they receded, "those 
 men mentioned the name of Henchard in their talk — the 
 name of our relative?" 
 
 "I thought so too," said Mrs. Newson. 
 
 "That seems a hint to us that he is still here." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Shall I run after them, and ask them about him" 
 
 "No, no, no! Not for the world just yet. He may be 
 in the workhouse, or in the stocks, for all we know." 
 
 "Dear me — why should you think that, mother?" 
 
 " 'Twas just something to say — that's all! But we must 
 make private inquiries." 
 
 Having sufficiently rested, they proceeded on their way at 
 evenfall. The dense trees of the avenue rendered the road 
 dark as a tunnel, though the open land on each side was still 
 under a faint daylight; in other words, they passed down 
 a midnight between two gloamings. The features of the 
 town had a keen interest for Ehzabeth's mother, now that 
 the human side came to the fore. As soon as they had 
 wandered about they could see that the stockade of gnarled 
 trees which framed in Casterbridge was itself an avenue, 
 standing on a low green bank or escarpment, with a ditch 
 yet visible without. Within the avenue and bank was a 
 wall more or less discontinuous, and within the wall were 
 packed the abodes of the burghers. 
 
 Though the two women did not know it, these external 
 features were but the ancient defences of the town, planted 
 as a promenade. 
 
 The lamplights now glimmered through the engirdling 
 trees, conveying a sense of great snugness and comfort in- 
 side, and rendering at the same time the unlighted country 
 without strangely solitary and vacant in aspect, considering 
 its nearness to life. The difference between burgh and cham- 
 paign was increased, too, by sounds which now reached them 
 above others — the notes of a brass band. The travellers re- 
 turned into the High Streel, where there were timber houses 
 with overhanging stories, whose small-paned lattices were 
 screened by dimity curtains on a drawing-string, and under 
 whose barge-boards old cobwebs waved in the breeze. There 
 were houses of brick-nogging, which, derived their chief 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 27 
 
 support from those adjoining. There were slate roofs 
 patched with tiles, and tile roofs patched with slate, with 
 occasionally a roof of thatch. 
 
 The agricultural and pastoral character of the people upon 
 whom the town depended for its existence was shown by 
 the class of objects displayed in the shop windows. Scythes, 
 reap-hooks, sheep-shears, bill-hooks, spades, mattocks, and 
 hoes at the ironmonger's; beehives, butter-firkins, churns, 
 milking stools and pails, hay-rakes, field-flagons, and seed- 
 lips at the cooper's; cart-ropes and plough-harness at the 
 saddler's; carts, wheel-barrows, and mill-gear at the wheel- 
 wright's and machinist's; horse-embrocations at the chem- 
 ist's; at the glover's and leather-cutter's, hedging-gloves, 
 thatcher's knee-caps, ploughman's leggings, villager's pattens 
 and clogs. 
 
 They came to a grizzled church, whose massive square 
 tower rose unbroken into the darkening sky, the lower parts 
 being illuminated by the nearest lamps sufficiently to show 
 how completely the mortar from the joints of the stone- 
 work had been nibbled out by time and weather, which 
 had planted in the crevices thus made little tufts of stone- 
 crop and grass almost as far up as the very battlements. 
 From this tower the clock struck eight, and thereupon a bell 
 began to toll with a peremptory clang. The curfew was 
 still rung in Casterbridge, and it was utilized by the inhabi- 
 tants as a signal for shutting their shops. No sooner did 
 the deep notes of the bell throb between the house-fronts 
 than a clatter of shutters arose through the whole length 
 of the High Street. In a few minutes business at Caster- 
 bridge was ended for the day. 
 
 Other clocks struck eight from time to time — one 
 gloomily from the gaol, another from the gable of an alms- 
 house, with a preparative creak of machinery, more audible 
 than the note of the bell ; a row of tall, varnished case-clocks 
 from the interior of a clockmaker's shop joined in one after 
 another just as the shutters were enclosing them, like a row 
 of actors delivering their final speeches before the fall of 
 the curtain; then chimes were heard stammering out 
 the Sicilian Mariners' Hymn; so that chronologists of the 
 advanced school were appreciably on their way to the next 
 
28 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 hour before the whole business of the old one was satisfac- 
 torily wound up. 
 
 In an open space before the church walked a woman with 
 her gown-sleeves rolled up so high that the edge of her 
 under-linen was visible, and her skirt tucked up through 
 her pocket hole. She carried a loaf under her arm from 
 which she was pulling pieces of bread, and handing them 
 to some other women who walked with her; which pieces 
 they nibbled critically. The sight reminded Mrs. Hen- 
 chard-Newson and her daughter that they had an appetite; 
 and they inquired of the woman for the nearest baker's. 
 
 "Ye may as well look for manna-food as good bread in 
 Casterbridge just now," she said, after directing them. 
 "They can blare their trumpets and thump their drums, and 
 have their roaring dinners" — waving her hand towards a 
 point further along the street, where the brass band could 
 be seen standing in front of an illuminated building — ^"but 
 we must needs be put-to for want of a wholesome crust. 
 There's less good bread than good beer in Casterbridge 
 now." 
 
 "And less good beer than swipes," said a man with his 
 hands in his pockets. 
 
 "How does it happen there's no good bread?" asked Mrs. 
 Henchard. 
 
 "Oh, 'tis the corn-factor — ^he's the man that our millers 
 and bakers all deal wi', and he has sold 'em growed wheat, 
 which they didn't know was growed, so they say, till the 
 dough ran all over the ovens like quicksilver; so that the 
 loaves be as flat as toads, and like suet pudden inside. I've 
 been a wife, and I've been a mother, and I never see such 
 unprinciplc'd bread in Casterbridge as this before — ^but you 
 must be a real stranger here not to know what's made all 
 the poor volks plim like blowed blathers this week?" 
 
 "I ara^" said Elizabeth's mother shyly. 
 
 Not wishing to be observed further till she knew more 
 of her future in this place, she withdrew with her daughter 
 from the speaker's side. Getting a couple of biscuits at the 
 gJiop indicated as a temporary substitute for a meal, they 
 next bent their steps instinctively to where the music was 
 playing. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 29 
 
 A FEW score yards brought them to the spot where the 
 town band was now shaking the window-panes with the 
 strains of "The Roast Beef of Old England." 
 
 The building before whose doors they had pitched their 
 music-stands was the chief hotel in Casterbridge — namely, 
 the King's Arms. A spacious bow-window projected into 
 the street over the main portico, and from the open sashes 
 came the babble of voices, the jingle of glasses, and the 
 drawing of corks. The blinds, moreover, being left un- 
 closed, the whole interior of this room could be surveyed 
 from the top of some steps opposite, for which reason a knot 
 of idlers had gathered tiiere. 
 
 "We might, perhaps, after all, make a few inquiries about 
 — our relation, Mr. Henchard," whispered Mrs. Newson, 
 who, since her entry into Casterbridge, had seemed strange- 
 ly weak and agitated. "And this, I think, would be a good 
 place for trying it — ^just to ask, you know, how he stands 
 in the town — if he is here, as I think he must be. 
 You, Elizabeth-Jane, had better be the one to do it. 
 I'm too worn out to do anything — pull down your fall 
 first." 
 
 She sat down upon the lowest step, and Elizabeth- Jane 
 obeyed her directions and stood among the idlers. 
 
 "What's going on to-night?" asked the girl, after singling 
 out an old man, and standing by him long enough to ac- ' 
 quire a neighbourly right of converse. 
 
 "Well, ye must be a stranger sure," said the old man, with- 
 out taking his eyes from the window. "Why, 'tis a great 
 public dinner of the gentle-people and such like leading 
 volk — wi' the Mayor in the chair. As we plainer fellows 
 baint invited, they leave the winder-shutters open that we 
 may get jist a sense o't out here. If you mount the steps 
 you can see 'em. That's Mr. Henchard, the Mayor, at the 
 end of the table, facing ye; and that's the Council men right 
 ::nd left. . . . Ah, lots of them when they begun life were 
 no more than I be now!" 
 
 "Henchard!" said Elizabeth- Jane, surprised, but by no 
 
'30 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 means suspecting the whole force of the revelation. She 
 ascended to the top of the door-steps. 
 
 Her mother, though her head was bowed, had already 
 caught from the inn-window tones that strangely rivet«l 
 her attention, before the old man's words: "Mr. Henchard, 
 the Mayor," reached her ears. She arose, and stepped up to 
 her daughter's side as soon as she could do so without show- 
 ing exceptional eagerness. 
 
 The interior of the hotel dining-room was spread out be- 
 fore her, with its tables, and glass, and plate, and inmates. 
 Facing the window, in the chair of dignity, sat a man about 
 forty years of age; of heavy frame, large features, and com- 
 manding voice; his general build being rather coarse than 
 compact. He had a rich complexion, which verged on 
 swarthiness, a flashing black eye, and dark, bushy brows 
 and hair. When he indulged in an occasional loud laugh 
 at some remark among the guests, his large mouth parted so 
 far back as to show to the rays of the chandelier a full 
 score or more of the two-and-thirty sound white teeth that 
 he obviously still could boast of. 
 
 That laugh was not encouraging to strangers; and hence 
 it may have been well that it was rarely heard. Many 
 theories might have been built upon it. It fell in well with 
 conjectures of a temperament which would have no pity 
 for weakness, but would be ready to yield ungrudging 
 admiration to greatness and strength. Its producer's per- 
 sonal goodness, if he had any, would be of a very fitful 
 cast — an occasional almost oppressive generosity rather than 
 a mild and constant kindness. 
 
 Susan Henchard 's husband — in law, at least — sat before 
 them, matured in shape, stiffened in line, exaggerated in 
 traits; disciplined, thought-marked — in a word, older. 
 Elizabeth, encumbered with no recollections as her mother 
 was, regarded him with nothing more than the keen curiosity 
 and interest which the discovery of such unexpected social 
 standing in the long-sought relative naturally begot. He 
 was dressed in an old-fashioned evening suit, an expanse 
 of frilled shirt showing on his broad breast; jewelled studs, 
 and a ieavy gold chain. Three glasses stood at his right 
 hand; but, to his wife's surprise, the two for wine were 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 31 
 
 empty, while the third, a tumbler, was half full of wa- 
 ter. 
 
 When last she had seen him he was sitting in a corduroy 
 jacket, fustian waistcoat and breeches, and tanned leather 
 leggings, with a basin of hot furmity before him. Time, 
 the magician, had wrought much here. Watching him, and 
 thus thinking of past days, she became so moved that 
 she shrank back against the jamb of the deep doorway 
 to which the steps gave access, the shadow from it con- 
 veniently hiding her features. She forgot her daughter, 
 till a touch from Elizabeth-Jane aroused her. "Have you 
 seen him, mother?" whispered the girl. 
 
 "Yes, yes," answered her companion hastily. "I have seen 
 him, and it is enough for me! Now I only want to go — 
 pass away — die." 
 
 "Why — oh why?" She drew closer, and whispered in her 
 mother's ear, "Does he seem to you not likely to befriend us? 
 I thought he looked a generous man. What a gentleman he 
 is, isn't he? and how his diamond studs shine! How strange 
 that you should have said he might be in the stocks, or 
 in the workhouse, or dead! Did ever anything go more 
 by contraries! Why do you feel so afraid of him? I am 
 not at all; I'll call upon him — ^he can but say he don't 
 own such remote kin." 
 
 "I don't know at all — I can't tell what to set about. I 
 feel so down." 
 
 "Don't be that, mother, now we have got here and alll 
 Rest there where you be a little while — I will look on and 
 find out more about him." 
 
 "I don't think I can ever meet Mr. Henchard. He is not 
 how I thought he would be — ^he overpowers me! I don't 
 wish to see him any more." 
 
 "But wait a little time and consider.'' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane had never been so much interested in 
 anything in her life as in their present position, partly 
 from the natural elation she felt at discovering herself 
 akin to a coach; and she gazed again at the scene. The 
 younger guests were talking and eating with animation; 
 their elders were searching for tit-bits, and sniffing and 
 grunting over their plates like sows nuzzling for acorns. 
 
32 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Three drinks seemed to be sacred to the company — ^port, 
 sherry, and rum; outside which old-established trinity few 
 or no palates ranged. 
 
 A row of ancient rummers with ground figures on their 
 ^ides, and each primed with a spoon, was now placed down 
 the table, and these were promptly filled with grog at such 
 high temperatures as to raise serious considerations for the 
 articles exposed to its vapours. But Elizabeth-Jane no- 
 ticed that, though this filling went on with great prompt- 
 ness up and down the table, nobody filled the Mayor's 
 glass, who still drank large quantities of water from the 
 tumbler behind the clump of crystal vessels intended for 
 wine and spirits. 
 
 "They don't fill Mr. Henchard's wine-glasses," she ven- 
 tured to say to her elbow acquaintance, the old man. 
 
 "Oh no; don't ye know him to be the celebrated ab- 
 staining worthy of that name? He scorns all tempt- 
 ing liquors; never touches nothing. Oh yes, he've strong 
 qualities that way. -I have heard tell that he sware a gospel 
 oath in by-gone times, and has bode by it evei* since. So 
 they don't press him, knowing it would be unbecoming in 
 the face of that; for yer gospel oath is a serious thing." 
 
 Another elderly man, hearing this discourse, now joined 
 in by inquiring, "How much longer have he got to suffer 
 from it, Solomon Longways?" 
 
 "Another two year, they say. I don't know the why and 
 the wherefore of his fixing such a time, for 'a never has told 
 anybody. But 'tis exactly two calendar years longer, they 
 say. A powerful mind to hold out so long!" 
 
 "True. . . . But there's great strength in hope. Know- 
 ing that in four-and-twenty months' time ye'U be out of 
 your bondage, and able to make up for all you've suffered, 
 by partaking without stint — ^why, it keeps a man up, no 
 doubt." 
 
 "No doubt, Christopher Coney, no doubt. And 'a must 
 need such reflections — a lonely widow man," said Longways. 
 
 "When did he lose his wife?" asked Elizabeth. 
 
 "I never knowed her. 'Twas afore he came to Caster- 
 bridge," Solomon Longways replied, with terminative em- 
 phasis, as if the fact of his ignorance of Mrs. Henchard 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 33 
 
 were sufficient to deprive her history of all interest. "But 
 I know that 'a's a banded teetotaller, and that if any of his 
 men be ever so little overtook by a drop, he's down upon 'em 
 as stern as the Lord upon the jovial Jews." 
 
 "Has he many men, then?" said Elizabeth-Jane. 
 
 "Many! Why, my good maid, he's the powerfullest mem- 
 ber of the Town Council, and quite a principal man in the 
 country round besides. Never a big dealing in wheat, bar- 
 ley, oats, hay, roots, and such-like but Henchard's got a 
 hand in it. Ay, and he'll go into" other things too; and 
 that's where he makes his mistake. He worked his way 
 up from nothing when 'a came here; and now he's a pillar 
 of the town. Not but what he's been shaken a little to-year 
 about this bad corn he has supplied in his contracts. I've 
 seen the sun rise over Dumover Moor these nine-and-sixty 
 year, and though Mr. Henchard has never cussed me un- 
 fairly ever since I've worked for'n, seeing I be but a little 
 small man, I must say that I have never before tasted such 
 rough bread as has been made from Henchard's wheat 
 lately. 'Tis that growed out that ye could a'most call it 
 malt, and there's a list at bottom o' the loaf as thick as the 
 sole of one's shoe." 
 
 The band now struck up another melody, and by the time 
 it was ended the dinner was over, and speeches began to 
 be made. The evening being calm, and the windows still 
 open, these orations could be distinctly heard. Henchard's 
 voice arose above the rest; he was telling a story of his 
 hay-dealing experiences, in which he had outwitted a sharper 
 who had been bent upon outwitting him. 
 
 "Ha-ha-ha!" responded his audience at the upshot of the 
 story; and hilarity was general till a new voice arose with, 
 "This is all very well; but how about the bad bread?" 
 
 It came from the lower end of the table, where there sat 
 a group of minor tradesmen who, although part of the com- 
 pany, appeared to be a little below the social level of the 
 others; and who seemed to nourish a certain independence 
 of opinion, and carry on discussions not quite in harmony 
 with those at the head; just as the west end of a church 
 is sometimes persistently found to sing out of time and tune 
 with the leading spirits in the chancel. 
 
34 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 This interruption about the bad bread afforded infinite 
 satisfaction to the loungers outside, several of whom were 
 in the mood which finds its pleasure in others' discomfiture; 
 and hence they echoed pretty freely, "Hey! How about the 
 bad bread, Mr. Mayor?" Moreover, feehng none of the re- 
 straints of those who shared the feast, they could afford 
 to add, "You rather ought to tell the story o' that, sir." 
 
 The interruption was sufficient to compel the Mayor to 
 notice it. 
 
 "Well, I admit that the wheat turned out badly," he said. 
 "But I was taken in in buying it as much as the bakers who 
 bought it o' me." 
 
 "And the poor folk who had to eat it whether or no," said 
 the inharmonious man outside the window. 
 
 Henchard's face darkened. There was temper under the 
 thin bland surface — the temper which, artificially intensified, 
 had banished a wife nearly a score of years before. 
 
 "You must make allowances for the accidents of a large 
 business," he said. "You must bear in mind that the weather 
 just at the harvest of that corn was worse than we have 
 known it for years. However, I have mended my arrange- 
 ments on account o't. Since I have found my business too 
 large to be well looked after by myself alone, I have ad- 
 vertised for a thorough good man as manager of the corn 
 department. When I've got him you will find these mis- 
 takes will no longer occur — matters will be better looked 
 into." 
 
 "But what are you going to do to repay us for the past?" 
 inquired the man who had before spoken, and who seemed 
 to be a baker or miller. "Will you replace the grown flour 
 we've still got by sound grain?" 
 
 Henchard's face had become still more stern at these in- 
 terruptions, and he drank from his tumbler of water as if 
 to calm himself or gain time. Instead of vouchsafing a 
 direct reply, he stiffly observed — 
 
 "If anybody will tell me how to turn grown wheat into 
 wholesome wheat, I'll take it back with pleasure. But it 
 can't be done." 
 
 Henchard was not to be drawn again. Having said this, 
 he sat down. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 3S 
 
 VI 
 
 Now the group outside the window had within the last few 
 minutes been reinforced by new arrivals, some of them re- 
 spectable shopkeepers and their eissistants, who had come 
 out for a whiff of air after putting up the shutters for the 
 night; some of them of a lower class. Distinct from either 
 there appeared a stranger — a young man of remarkably 
 pleasant aspect — ^who carried in his hand a carpet-bag of 
 the smart floral pattern prevalent in such articles at that 
 time. 
 
 He was fair and ruddy, bright-eyed, and slight in build. 
 He might possibly have passed by witiiout stopping at all, 
 or at most for half a minute to glance in at the scene, had 
 not his advent coincided with the discussion on corn and 
 bread; in which event this history had never been enacted. 
 But the subject seemed to arrest him, and he whispered 
 some inquiries of the other bystanders, and remained lis- 
 tening. 
 
 When he heard Henchard's closing words, "It can't be 
 done," he smiled impulsively, drew out his pocketbook, and 
 wrote down a few words by the aid of the light in the win- 
 dow. He tore out the leaf, folded and directed it, and 
 seemed about to throw it in through the open sash upon the 
 dining-table; but, on second thoughts, edged himself through 
 the loiterers, till he reached the door of the hotel, where one 
 of the waiters who had been serving inside was now idly 
 leaning against the door-post. 
 
 "Give this to the Mayor at once," he said, handing in his 
 hasty note. 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane had seen his movements and heard the 
 words, which attracted her both by their subject and by 
 their accent — a strange one for those parts. It was quaint 
 and northerly. 
 
 The waiter took the note, while the young stranger con- 
 tinued — 
 
 "And can ye tell me of a respectable hotel that's a little 
 more moderate than this?" 
 
 The waiter glanced indifferently up and down the street. 
 
3* THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "They say the Three Mariners, just below here, is a very 
 good place," he languidly answered; "but I have never 
 stayed there myself." 
 
 The Scotchman, as he seemed to be, thanked him, and 
 strolled on in the direction of the Three Mariners afore- 
 said, apparently more concerned about the question of an 
 inn than about the fate of his note, now that the momen- 
 tary impulse of writing it was over. While he was dis- 
 appearing slowly down the street the waiter left the door, 
 and Elizabeth- Jane saw with some interest the note brought 
 into the dining-room and handed to the Mayor. 
 
 Henchard looked at it carelessly, unfolded it with one 
 hand, and glanced it through. Thereupon it was curious to 
 note an unexpected effect. The nettled, clouded aspect 
 which had held possession of his face since the subject of 
 his corn-dealings had been broached, changed itself into one 
 of arrested attention. He read the note slowly, and fell into 
 thought, not moody, but fitfully intense, as that of a man 
 who has been captured by an idea. 
 
 By this time toasts and speeches had given place to songs, 
 the wheat subject being quite forgotten. Men were putting 
 their heads together in twos and threes, telling good stories, 
 with pantomimic laughter which reached convulsive grimace. 
 Some were beginning to look as if they did not know how 
 they had come there, what they had come for, or how they 
 were going to get home again; and provisionally sat on with 
 a dazed smile. Square-built men showed a tendency to be- 
 come hunchbacks ; men with a dignified presence lost it in a 
 curious obliquity of figure, in which their features grew dis- 
 arranged and one-sided; whilst the heads of a few who had 
 dined with extreme thoroughness were somehow sinking into 
 their shoulders, the corners of their mouth and eyes being 
 bent upwards by the subsidence. Only Henchard did not 
 conform to these flexuous changes; he remained stately and 
 vertical, silently thinking. 
 
 The clock struck nine. Elizabeth- Jane turned to her com- 
 panion. "The evening is drawing on, mother," she said. 
 "What do you propose to do?" 
 
 She was surprised to find how irresolute her mother had 
 become. "We must get a place to lie down in," she mur- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 37 
 
 mured. "I have seen — Mr. Henchard; and that's all I 
 wanted to do." 
 
 "That's enough for to-night, at any rate," Elizabeth- Jane 
 replied soothingly. "We can think to-morrow what is best 
 to do about him. The question now is — is it not? — how 
 shall we find a lodging?" 
 
 As her mother did not reply, Elizabeth- Jane's mind re- 
 verted to the words of the waiter, that the Three Mariners 
 was an inn of moderate charges. A recommendation good 
 for one person was probably good for another. "Let's go 
 where the young man has gone to," she said. "He is re- 
 spectable. What do you say?" 
 
 Her mother assented, and down the street they went. 
 
 In the meantime the Mayor's thoughtfulness, engendered 
 by the note as stated, continued to hold him in abstraction; 
 till, whispering to his neighbour to take his place, he found 
 opportunity to leave the chair. This was just after the 
 departure of his wife and Elizabeth. 
 
 Outside the door of the assembly-room he saw the waiter, 
 and beckoning to him, asked who brought the note which 
 had been handed in a quarter of an hour before. 
 
 "A young man, sir — a sort of traveller. He was a Scotch- 
 man seemingly." 
 
 "Did he say how he had got it?" 
 
 "He wrote it himself, sir, as he stood outside the window.'' 
 
 "Oh — wrote it himself. ... Is the young man in the 
 hotel?" 
 
 "No, sir. He went to the Three Mariners, I believe." 
 
 The Mayor walked up and down the vestibule of the hotel 
 with his hands under his coat tails, as if he were merely 
 seeking a cooler atmosphere than that of the room he had 
 quitted. But there could be no doubt that he was in reality 
 still possessed to the full by the new idea, whatever that 
 might be. At length he went back to the door of the dining- 
 room, paused, and found that the songs, toasts, and con- 
 versation were proceeding quite satisfactorily without his 
 presence. The Corporation, private residents, and major 
 and minor tradesmen had, in fact, gone in for comforting 
 beverages to such an extent, that they had quite forgotten, 
 not only the Mayor, but all those vast political, religious, 
 
38 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and social differences which they felt necessary to maintain 
 {n the daytime, and which separated them like iron grills. 
 Seeing this, the Mayor took his hat, and when the waiter 
 had helped him on with a thin holland overcoat, went out 
 and stood under the portico. 
 
 Very few persons were now in the street; and his eyes, by 
 a sort of attraction, turned and dwelt upon a spot about 
 a hundred yards further down. It was the house to which 
 the writer of the note had gone — the Three Mariners — 
 whose two prominent gables, bow-window, and pas- 
 sage-light could be seen from where he stood. Having 
 kept his eyes on it for a while, he strolled in that direc- 
 tion. 
 
 This ancient house of accommodation for man and beast, 
 now, unfortunately, pulled down, was built of mellow sand- 
 stone, with mullioned windows of the same material, mark- 
 edly out of perpendicular from the settlement of founda- 
 tions. The bay window projecting into the street, whose 
 interior was so popular among the frequenters of the inn, 
 was closed with shutters, in each of which appeared a heart- 
 shaped aperture, somewhat more attenuated in the right and 
 left ventricles than is seen in Nature. Inside these illumi- 
 nated holes, at a distance of about three inches, were ranged 
 at this hour, as every passer knew, the ruddy polls of Billy 
 Wills the glazier, Smart the shoemaker, Buzzford the gen- 
 eral dealer, and others of a secondary set of worthies, of 
 a grade somewhat below that of the diners at the King's 
 Arms, each with his yard of clay. 
 
 A four-centred Tudor arch was over the entrance, and 
 over the arch the signboard, now visible in the rays of an 
 opposite lamp. Hereon the Mariners, who had been rep- 
 resented by the artist as persons of two dimensions only — 
 in other words, flat as a shadow — were standing in a row 
 in paralyzed attitudes. Being on the sunny side of the 
 street, the three comrades had suffered largely from warp- 
 ing, splitting, fading, and shrinkage, so that they were but 
 a half-invisible film upon the reality of the grain, and knots, 
 and nails, which composed the signboard. As a matter of 
 fact, this state of things was not so much owing to Stan- 
 nidge the landlord's neglect, as from the lack of a painter 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 39 
 
 in Casterbridge who would undertake to reproduce the feat- 
 ures of men so traditional. 
 
 A long, narrow, dimly-lit passage gave access to the inn, 
 within which passage the horses going to their stalls at the 
 back, and the coming and departing human guests, rubbed 
 shoulders indiscriminately, the latter running no slight risk 
 of having their toes trodden upon by the animals. The 
 good stabling and the good ale of the Mariners, though 
 somewhat difficult to reach on account of there being but 
 this narrow way to both, were nevertheless perseveringly 
 sought out by the sagacious old heads who knew what was 
 what in Casterbridge. 
 
 Henchard stood without the inn for a few instants; then 
 lowering the dignity of his presence as much as possible 
 by buttoning the brown-hoUand coat over his shirt-front, 
 and in other ways toning himself down to his ordinary every- 
 day appearance, he entered the inn door. 
 
 VII 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane and her mother had arrived some twenty 
 minutes earlier. Outside the house they had stood and con- 
 sidered whether even this homely place, though recom- 
 mended as moderate, might not be too serious in its prices 
 for their light pockets. Finally, however, they had found 
 courage to enter, and duly met Stannidge, the landlord; a 
 silent man, who drew and carried frothing measures to this 
 room and to that, shoulder to shoulder with his waiting- 
 maids — a stately slowness, however, entering into his min- 
 istrations by contrast with theirs, as became one whose serv- 
 ice was somewhat optional. It would have been altogether 
 optional but for the orders of the landlady, a person who 
 sat in the bar, corporeally motionless, but with a flitting eye 
 and quick ear, with which she observed and heard through 
 the open door and hatchway the pressing needs of customers 
 whom her husband overlooked though close at hand. Eliza- 
 beth and her mother were passively accepted as sojourners, 
 and shown to a small bedroom under one of the gables, 
 where they sat down. 
 
*o THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 The principle of the inn seemed to be to compensate for 
 the antique awkwardness, crookedness, and obscurity of the 
 passages, floors, and windows, by quantities of clean linen 
 spread about everywhere, and this had a dazzling effect upon 
 the travellers. 
 
 " 'Tis too good for us — we can't meet it!" said the elder 
 woman, looking round the apartment with misgiving as soon 
 as they were left alone. 
 
 "I fear it is, too," said Elizabeth. "But we must be re- 
 spectable." 
 
 "We must pay our way even before we must be respecta- 
 ble," replied her mother. "Mr. Henchard is too high for us 
 to make ourselves known to him, I much fear; so we've 
 only our own pockets to depend on." 
 
 "I know what I'll do," said Elizabeth- Jane, after an inter- 
 val of waiting, during which their needs seemed quite for- 
 gotten under the press of business below. And leaving the 
 room, she descended the stairs and penetrated to the bar. 
 
 If there was one good thing more than another which 
 characterized this single-hearted girl, it was a willingness 
 to sacrifice her personal comfort and dignity to the common 
 weal. 
 
 "As you seem busy here to-night, and mother's not well off, 
 might I take out part of our accommodation by helping?" 
 she asked of the landlady. 
 
 The latter, who remained as fixed in the arm-chair as if 
 she had been melted into it when in a liquid state, and could 
 not now be unstuck, looked the girl up and down inquiringly, 
 with her hands on the chair-arms. Such arrangements as 
 the one Elizabeth proposed were not uncommon in country 
 villages; but, though Casterbridge was old-fashioned, the 
 custom was well-nigh obsolete here. The mistress of the 
 house, however, was an easy woman to strangers, and she 
 made no objection. Thereupon Elizabeth, being instructed 
 by nods and motions from the taciturn landlord as to where 
 she could find the different things, trotted up and down stairs 
 with materials for her own and her parent's meal. 
 
 While she was doing this, the wood partition in the centre 
 of the house thrilled to its centre with the tugging of a bell- 
 puU upstairs. A bell below tinkled a note that was feebler 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 41 
 
 fn sound than the twanging of wires and cranks that had 
 produced it. 
 
 " 'Tis the Scotch gentleman," said the landlady omnis- 
 ciently; and turning her eyes to Elizabeth, "Now then, can 
 you go and see if his supper is on the tray? If it is, you 
 can take it up to him. The front room over this." 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane, though hungry, willingly postponed serv- 
 ing herself awhile, and applied to the cook in the kitchen, 
 whence she brought forth the tray of supper viands, and pro- 
 ceeded with it upstairs to the apartment indicated. The 
 accommodation of the Three Mariners was far from spa- 
 cious, despite the fair area of ground it covered. The room 
 demanded by intrusive beams and rafters, partitions, pas- 
 sages, staircases, disused ovens, settles, and four-posters, 
 left comparatively small quarters for human beings. More- 
 over, this being at a time before home-brewing was aban- 
 doned by the smaller victuallers, and a house in which the 
 twelve-bushel strength was still religiously adhered to by 
 the landlord in his ale, the quality of the liquor was the chief 
 attraction of the premises, so that everything had to make 
 way for utensils and operations in connection therewith. 
 Thus Elizabeth found that the Scotchman was located in 
 a room quite close to the small one that had been allotted 
 to herself and her mother. 
 
 When she entered, nobody was present but the young 
 man himself — the same whom she had seen lingering with- 
 out the windows of the King's Arms Hotel. He was now 
 idly reading a copy of the local paper, and was hardly con- 
 scious of her entry, so that she looked at him quite coolly, 
 and saw how his forehead shone where the light caught it, 
 and how nicely his hair was cut, and the sort of velvet- 
 pile or down that was on the skin at the back of his neck, 
 and how his cheek was so truly curved as to be part of 
 a globe, and how clearly drawn were the lids and lashes 
 which hid his bent eyes. 
 
 She set down the tray, spread his supper, and went away 
 without a word. On her arrival below, the landlady, who 
 was as kind as she was fat and lazy, saw that Elizabeth- 
 Jane was rather tired, though in her earnestness to be xise- 
 ful she was waiving her own needs altogether. Mrs. Staa* 
 
42 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 nidge thereupon said, with a considerate peremptoriness, 
 that she and her mother had better take their own supper 
 if they meant to have any. 
 
 Elizabeth fetched their simple provisions, as she had 
 fetched the Scotchman's, and went up to the little chamber 
 where she had left her mother, noiselessly pushing open the 
 door with the edge of the tray. To her surprise her mother, 
 instead of being reclined on the bed where she had left her, 
 was in an erect position, with lips parted. At Elizabeth's 
 entry she lifted her finger. 
 
 The meaning of this was soon apparent. The room allot- 
 ted to the two women had at one time served as a dressing- 
 room to the Scotchman's chamber, as was evidenced by signs 
 of a door of communication between them — now screwed 
 up, and pasted over with the wall paper. But, as is fre- 
 quently the case with hotels of far higher pretensions than 
 the Three Mariners, every word spoken in either of these 
 rooms was distinctly audible in the other. Such sounds 
 came through now. 
 
 Thus silently conjured, Elizabeth deposited the tray, and 
 her mother whispered as she drew near, " 'Tis he." 
 
 "Who?" said the girl. 
 
 "The Mayor." 
 
 The tremors in Susan Henchard's tone might have led 
 any person, but one so perfectly unsuspicious of the truth 
 as the girl was, to surmise some closer connection than the 
 admitted simple kinship, as a means of accounting for them. 
 
 Two men were indeed talking in the adjoining chamber, 
 the young Scotchman and Henchard, who, having entered 
 the inn while Elizabeth- Jane was in the kitchen waiting for 
 the supper, had been deferentially conducted upstairs by 
 host Stannidge himself. The girl noiselessly laid out their 
 little meal, and beckoned to her mother to join her, which 
 Mrs. Henchard mechanically did, her attention being fixed 
 on the conversation through the door. 
 
 "I merely strolled in on my way home to ask you a ques- 
 tion about something that has excited my curiosity," said 
 the Mayor, with careless geniality. "But I see you have not 
 finished supper." 
 
 "Ay, but I will be done in a little! Ye needn't go, sir. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 43 
 
 Take a seat. I've almost done, and it makes no difference 
 at all." 
 
 Henchard seemed to take the seat offered, and in a mo- 
 ment he resumed: "Well, first I should ask, did you write 
 this?" A rustling of paper followed. 
 
 "Yes, I did," said the Scotchman. 
 
 "Then," said Henchard, "I am under the impression that 
 we have met by accident while waiting for the morning to 
 keep an appointment with each other? My name in Hen- 
 chard; ha'n't you replied to an advertisement for a corn- 
 factor's manager that I put into the paper — ^ha'n't you come 
 here to see me about it?" 
 
 "No," said the Scotchman, with some surprise. 
 
 "Surely you are the man," went on Henchard insistingly, 
 "who arranged to come and see me? Joshua, Joshua, Jipp 
 — ^Jopp — what was his name?" 
 
 "You're wrong!" said the young man. "My name is 
 Donald Farfrae. It is true I am in the corren trade — ^but I 
 have replied to no advairrtisment and arranged to see no one. 
 I am on my way to Bristol — from there to the other side 
 of the warrld, to try my fortune in the great wheat-growing 
 districts of the West! I have some inventions useful to 
 the trade, and there is no scope for developing them heere." 
 
 "To America — well, well," said Henchard, in a tone of 
 disappointment, so strong as to make itself felt like a damp 
 atmosphere. "And yet I could have sworn you were the 
 man!" 
 
 The Scotchman murmured another negative, and there 
 was a silence, till Henchard resumed: "Then I am truly 
 and sincerely obliged to you for the few words you wrote 
 on that paper." 
 
 "It was nothing, sir." 
 
 'Well, it has a great importance for me just now. This 
 row about my grown wheat, which I declare to Heaven I 
 didn't know to be bad till the people came complaining, has 
 put me to my wit's end. I've some hundreds of quarters of 
 it on hand; and if your renovating process will make it 
 wholesome, why, you can see what a quag 'twould get me 
 out of. I saw in a moment there might be truth in it. But 
 I should like to have it proved; and of course you don't care 
 
44 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 to tell the steps of the process sufficiently for me to do that, 
 without my paying ye well for't first." 
 
 The young man reflected a moment or two. "I don't 
 know that I have any objection," he said. "I'm going to 
 another country, and curing bad corn is not the line 111 
 take up there. Yes, I'll tell ye the whole of it — you'll make 
 more out of it here than I will in a foreign country. Just 
 look heere a minute, sir. I can show ye by a sample in my 
 carpet-bag." 
 
 The click of a lock followed, and there was a sifting and 
 rustling; then a discussion about so many ounces to the 
 bushel, and drying, and refrigerating, and so on. 
 
 "These few grains will be sufficient to show ye with," 
 came in the young fellow's voice; and after a pause, during 
 which some operations seemed to be intently watched by 
 them both, he exclaimed, "There, now, do you taste that." 
 
 "It's complete! — quite restored, or — ^well — nearly." 
 
 "Quite enough restored to make good seconds out of it," 
 said the Scotchman. "To fetch it back entirely is impossi- 
 ble; Nature won't stand so much as that, but heere you go 
 a great way towards it. Well, sir, that's the process; I don't 
 value it, for it can be but of little use in countries where 
 the weather is more settled than in ours; and I'll be only 
 too glad if it's of service to you." 
 
 "But hearken to me," pleaded Henchard. "My business, 
 you know, is in com and in hay; but I was brought up as 
 a hay-trusser simply, and hay is what I understand best, 
 though I now do more in corn than in the other. If youll 
 accept the place, you shall manage the com branch entirely, 
 and receive a commission in addition to salary." 
 
 "You're liberal — very liberal; but no, no — I cannet!" the 
 young man still replied, with some distress in his accents. 
 
 "So be it!" said Henchard conclusively. "Now — to 
 change the subject — one good turn deserves another; don't 
 stay to finish that miserable supper. Come to my house; 
 I can find something better for ye than cold ham and ale." 
 
 Donald Farfrae was grateful — said he feared he must 
 decline — that he wished to leave early next day. 
 
 "Very well," said Henchard quickly, "please yourself. 
 But I tell you, young man, if this holds good for the bulk, as 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 45 
 
 it has done for the sample, you have saved my credit, stran- 
 ger though you be. What shall I pay you for this knowl- 
 edge?" 
 
 "Nothing at all, nothing at all. It may not prove neces- 
 sary to ye to use it often, and I don't value it at all. I 
 thought I might just as well let ye know, as you were in a 
 difficulty, and they were harrd upon ye." 
 
 Henchard paused. "I shan't soon forget this," he said. 
 "And from a stranger! ... I couldn't believe you were 
 not the man I had engaged! Says I to myself, 'He knows 
 who I am, and recommends himself by this stroke.' And 
 yet it turns out, after all, that you are not the man who 
 answered my advertisement, but a stranger!" 
 
 "Ay, ay; that's so," said the young man. 
 
 Henchard again suspended his words, and then his voice 
 came thoughtfully: "Your forehead, Farfrae, is something 
 like my poor brother's — now dead and gone; and the nose, 
 too, isn't unlike his. You must be, what — five foot nine, I 
 reckon? I am six foot one and a half out of my shoes. But 
 what of that? In my business, 'tis true that strength and 
 bustle build up a firm. But judgment and knowledge are 
 what keep it established. Unluckily, I am bad at science, 
 Farfrae; bad at figures — a rule o' thumb sort of man. You 
 are just the reverse — I can see that. I have been looking for 
 such as you these two year, and yet you are not for me. 
 Well, before I go, let me ask this: Though you are not the 
 young man I thought you were, what's the difference? Can't 
 ye stay just the same? Have you really made up your mind 
 about this American notion? I won't mince matters. I feel 
 you would be invaluable to me — that needn't be said — and 
 if you will bide and be my manager, I will make it worth 
 your while." 
 
 "My plans are fixed," said the young man, in negative 
 tones. "I have formed a scheme, and so we need na say any 
 more about it. But will you not drink with me, sir? I 
 find this Casterbridge ale warreming to the stomach." 
 
 "No, no; I fain would, but I can't," said Henchard 
 gravely, the scraping of his chair informing the listeners that 
 he was rising to leave. "When I was a young man I went in 
 for that sort of thing too strong — far too strong — and vaa 
 
46 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 well-nigh ruined by it! I did a deed on account of it which 
 I shall be ashamed of to my dying day. It made such an 
 impression on me that I swore, there and then, that I'd drink 
 nothing stronger than tea for as many years as I Was old 
 that day. I have kept my oath; and though, Farfrae, I 
 am sometimes that dry in the dog days that I could drink a 
 quarter-barrel to the pitching, I think o' my oath, and touch 
 no strong drink at all." 
 
 "I'll no' press ye, sir — I'll no' press ye. I respect your 
 vow." 
 
 "Well, I shall get a manager somewhere, no doubt," said 
 Henchard, with strong feeling in his tones. "But it will be 
 long before I see one that would suit me so well!" 
 
 The young man appeared much moved by Henchard 's 
 warm convictions of his value. He was silent till they 
 reached the door. "I wish I could stay — sincerely I would 
 like to," he replied. "But no — ^it cannet be! it cannet! I 
 want to see the warrld." 
 
 VIII 
 
 Thus they parted; and Elizabeth- Jane and her mother re- 
 mained each in her thoughts over their meal, the mother's 
 face being strangely bright since Henchard 's avowal of 
 shame for a past action. The quivering of the partition to 
 its core presently denoted that Donald Farfrae had again 
 rung his bell, no doubt to have his supper removed ; for hum- 
 ming a tune, and walking up and down, he seemed to be at- 
 tracted by the lively bursts of conversation and melody from 
 the general company below. He sauntered out upon the 
 landing, and descended the staircase. 
 
 When Elizabeth- Jane had carried down his supper tray, 
 and also that used by her mother and herself, she found 
 the bustle of serving to be at its height below, as it always 
 was at this hour. The young woman shrank from having 
 anything to do with the ground-floor serving, and crept 
 silently about observing the scene — so new to her, fresh 
 from the seclusion of a seaside cottage. In the general 
 sitting-room, which was large, she remarked the two or 
 three dozen strong-backed chairs that stood round against 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 47 
 
 the wall, each fitted with its genial occupant; the sanded 
 floor; the black settle which, projecting endwise from the 
 wall within the door, permitted Elizabeth to be a specta- 
 tor of all that went on, without herself being particularly 
 seen. 
 
 The young Scotchman had just joined the guests. These, 
 in addition to the respectable master-tradesmen occupying 
 the seats of privilege :3 the bow-window and its neighbour^ 
 hood, included an in*ei"ior set at the unlighted end, whose 
 seats were mere bencnes against the wall, and who drank 
 from cups instead of from glasses. Among the latter she 
 noticed some of those personages who had stood outside 
 the windows of the King's Arms. 
 
 Behind their backs was a small window, with a wheel ven- 
 tilator in one of the panes, which would suddenly start off 
 spinning with a jingling sound, as suddenly stop, and as 
 suddenly start again. 
 
 While thus furtively making her survey, the opening 
 words of a song greeted her ears from behind the settle, 
 in a melody and accent of peculiar charm. There had 
 been some singing before she came down; and now the 
 Scotchman had made himself so soon at home that, at the 
 request of some of the master-tradesmen, he, too, was 
 favouring the room with a ditty. 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane was fond of music; she could not help 
 pausing to listen; and the longer she listened the more 
 she was enraptured. She had never heard any singing like 
 this; and it was evident that the majority of the audience 
 had not heard such frequently, for they were attentive 
 to a much greater degree than usual. They neither whis- 
 pered, nor drank, nor dipjjed their pipe-stems in their 
 ale to moisten them, nor pushed the mug to their neigh- 
 bours. The singer himself grew emotional, till she could 
 imagine a tear in his eye as the words went on: — 
 
 "It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain would I be. 
 Oh liame;, hame, hame to my ain countree! 
 There's an eye that ever weeps, and a fair face will be fain. 
 As I pass through Annan Water with my bonnie bands again; 
 When the flower is in the bud, and the leaf upon the tree. 
 The lark shall sing me hame to my ain countree !" 
 
48 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 There was a burst of applause, and a deep silence which 
 was even more eloquent than the applause. It was of such 
 a kind that the snapping of a pipe-stem too long for him 
 by old Solomon Longways, who was one of those gathered 
 at the shady end of the room, seemed a harsh and irrever- 
 ent act. Then the ventilator in the window-pane spasmodi- 
 cally started off for a new spin, and the pathos of Donald's 
 song was temporarily effaced. 
 
 " 'Twas not amiss — not at all amiss!" muttered Christo- 
 pher Coney, who was also present. And removing his pipe 
 a finger's breadth from his lips, he said aloud, "Draw on 
 with the next verse, young gentleman, please." 
 
 "Yes. Let's have it again, stranger," said the glazier, 
 a stout, bucket-headed man, with a white apron rolled 
 up round his waist. "Folks don't lift up their hearts Uke 
 that in this part of the world." And turning aside, he 
 said in undertones, "Who is the young man — Scotch, d'ye 
 say?" 
 
 "Yes, straight from the mountains of Scotland, I believe," 
 replied Coney. 
 
 Young Farfrae repeated the last verse. It was plain 
 that nothing so pathetic had been heard at the Three Mari- 
 ners for a considerable time. The difference of accent, 
 the excitability of the singer, the intense local feeling, and 
 the seriousness with which he worked himself up to a cli- 
 max, surprised this set of worthies, who were only too prone 
 to shut up their emotions with caustic words. 
 
 "Danged if our country down here is worth singing about 
 like that!" continued the glazier, as the Scotchman again 
 melodized with a dying fall, "My ain countree!" "When 
 you take away from among us the fools and the rogues, and 
 the lammigers, and the wanton hussies, and the slatterns, 
 and such like, there's cust few left to ornament a song 
 with in Casterbridge, or the country round." 
 
 "True," said Buzzford, the dealer, looking at the grain 
 of the table. "Casterbridge is a old, hoary place o' wicked- 
 ness, by all account 'Tis recorded in history that we re- 
 belled against the King one or two hundred years ago, in 
 the time of the Romans, and that lots of us was hanged 
 on Gallows Hill, and quartered, and our different jints 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 49 
 
 sent about the country like butcher's meat; and for my 
 j)art I can well believe it." 
 
 "What did ye come away from yer own country for, young 
 maister, if ye be so wownded about it?" inquired Christo- 
 pher Coney, from the background, with the tone of a man 
 who preferred the original subject. "Faith, it wasn't worth 
 your while on our account, for, as Maister Billy Wills says, 
 we be bruckle folk here — the best o' us hardly honest some- 
 times, what with hard winters, and so many mouths to 
 fill, and God a'mighty sending his little taties so terrible 
 small to fill 'em with. We don't think about flowers and 
 fair faces, not we — except in the shape o' cauliflowers and 
 pigs' chaps." 
 
 "But, no!" said Donald Farfrae, gazing round into their 
 faces with earnest concern; "the best of ye hardly honest — 
 not that surely? None of ye has been stealing what didn't 
 belong to him?" 
 
 "Lord! no, no!" said Solomon Longways, smiling grimly. 
 "That's only his random way o' speaking. 'A was always 
 such a man of under-thoughts." (And reprovingly towards 
 Christopher) : "Don't ye be so over-familiar with a gen- 
 tleman that ye know nothing of — and that's travelled a'most 
 from the North Pole." 
 
 Christopher Coney was silenced, and as he could get no 
 public sympathy, he mumbled his feelings to himself: "Be 
 dazed, if I loved my country half as well as the young feller 
 do, I'd live by claning my neighbour's pigsties afore I'd go 
 away! For my part I've no more love for my country than 
 I have for Botany Bay!" 
 
 "Come," said Longways; "let the young man draw on- 
 ward with his ballet, or we shall be here all night.*' 
 
 "That's all of it/' said the singer apologetically. 
 
 "Soul of my body, then we'll have another!" said the gen- 
 eral dealer. 
 
 "Can you turn a strain to the ladies, sir?" inquired a fat 
 woman with a figured purple apron, the waist-string of which 
 was overhung so far by her sides as to be invisible. 
 
 "Let him breathe — ^let him breathe. Mother Cuxsom. He 
 hain't got his second wind yet," said the master glazier. 
 
 "Oh yes, but I have!" exclaimed the young man; and he 
 
yo THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 al once rendered "O Nannie" with faultless modula4ons, 
 and another or two of the like sentiment, winding up at 
 their earnest request with "Auld Lang Syne." 
 
 By this time he had completely taken possession of the 
 kearts of the Three Mariners' inmates, including even old 
 Coney. Notwithstanding an occasional odd gravity which 
 awoke their sense of the ludicrous for the moment, they 
 began to view him through a golden haze which the tone 
 of his mind seemed to raise around him. Casterbridge 
 had sentiment — Casterbridge had romance; but this 
 stranger's sentiment was of differing quality. Or rather, 
 perhaps, the difference was mainly superficial; he was to 
 them like the poet of a new school who takes his contempo- 
 raries by storm; who is not really new, but is the first to 
 articulate what all his listeners have felt, though but dumbly 
 till then. 
 
 The silent landlord came and leant over the settle while 
 the young man sang; and even Mrs. Stannidge managed to 
 unstick herself from the framework of her chair in the bar, 
 and get as far as the door-post, which movement she ac- 
 complished by rolling herself round, as a cask is trundled 
 on the chine by a drayman without losing the perpendicular. 
 
 "And are you going to bide in Casterbridge, sir?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Ah — no!" said the Scotchman, with melancholy fatality 
 in his voice, "I'm only passing thirrough! I am on my way 
 to Bristol, and on frae there to foreign parts." 
 
 "We be truly sorry to hear it," said Solomon Longways. 
 "We can ill afford to lose tuneful wynd-pipes like yours when 
 they fall among us. And verily, to mak' acquaintance with 
 a man a come from so far, from the land o' perpetual snow, 
 as we may say, where wolves and wild boars and other dan- 
 gerous animalcules be as common as blackbirds hereabout — 
 why, 'tis a thing we can't do every day; and there's good 
 sound information for bide-at-homes like we when such a 
 man opens his mouth." 
 
 "Nay, but ye mistake my country," said the young man, 
 looking round upon them with tragic fixity, til] his eye 
 lighted up and his cheek kindled with a sudden enthusiasm 
 to right their errors. "There are not perpetual snow aflrt. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 51 
 
 wolves at all in it! — except snow in winter, and — well — a 
 little in summer just sometimes, and a 'gaberlunzie' or two 
 stalking about here and there, if ye may call them dangerous. 
 Eh, but you should take a summer jarreny to Edinboro', and 
 Arthur's Seat, and all round there, and then go on to the 
 lochs, and all the Highland scenery — in May and June — 
 and you would never say 'tis the land of wolves and per- 
 petual snow?" 
 
 "Of course not — it stands to reason," said Buzzford. 
 '"Tis barren ignorance that leads to such words. He's a 
 simple home-spun man, that never was fit for good company 
 — think nothing of him, sir." 
 
 "And do ye carry your flock bed, and your quilt, and your 
 crock, and your bit of chiney? or do ye go in bare bones, 
 as I may say?" inquired Christopher Coney. 
 
 "I've sent on my luggage — though it isn't much; for the 
 voyage is long." Donald's eyes dropped into a remote gaze 
 as he added: "But I said to myself, 'Never a one of the 
 prizes of life will I come by unless I undertake itl' and 
 I decided to go." 
 
 A general sense of regret, in which Elizabeth- Jane shared 
 not least, made itself apparent in the company. As she 
 looked at Farfrae from the back of the settle, she decided 
 that his statements showed him to be no less thoughtful 
 than his fascinating melodies revealed him to be cordial and 
 impassioned. She admired the serious light in which he 
 looked at serious things. He had seen no jest in ambiguities 
 and roguery, as the Casterbridge toss-pots had done; and 
 rightly not — there was none. She disliked those wretched 
 humours of Christopher Coney and his tribe; and he did 
 not appreciate them. He seemed to feel exactly as she felt 
 about life and its surroundings — that they were a tragical, 
 rather than a comical, thing; that though one could be gay 
 on occasion, moments of gaiety were interludes, and no part 
 of the actual drama. It was extraordinary how similar 
 their views were. 
 
 Though it was still early, the young Scotchman expressed 
 his wish to retire, whereupon the landlady whispered to 
 Elizabeth to run upstairs and turn down his bed. She took 
 a candlestick and proceeded on her mission, which was the 
 
52 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 act of a few moments only. When, candle in hand, she 
 reached the top of the stairs on her way down again, Mr. 
 Farfrae was at the foot coming up. She could not very 
 well retreat; they met and passed in the turn of the stair- 
 case. 
 
 She must have appeared interesting in some way — ^not- 
 withstanding her plain dress — or rather, possibly, in conse- 
 quence of it, for she was a girl characterized by earnestness 
 and soberness of mien, with which simple drapery accorded 
 well. Her face flushed, too, at the slight awkwardness of 
 the meeting, and she passed him with her eyes bent on the 
 candle-fiame that she carried just below her nose. Thus it 
 happened that when confronting her he smiled; and then, 
 with the manner of a temporarily light-hearted man, who 
 has started himself on a flight of song whose momentum he 
 cannot readily check, he softly tuned an old ditty that she 
 seemed to suggest — 
 
 "As I come in by my bower door, 
 
 As day was waxin' wearie. 
 Oh wha came tripping down the stair 
 But bonnie Peg my dearie." 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane, rather disconcerted, hastened on; and the 
 Scotchman's voice died away, humming more of the same 
 within the closed door of his room. 
 
 Here the scene and sentiment ended for the present. 
 When, soon after, the girl rejoined her mother, the latter 
 was still in thought — on quite another matter than a young 
 man's song. 
 
 "We've made a mistake,'' she whispered (that the Scotch- 
 man might not overhear) . "On no account ought ye to have 
 helped serve here to-night. Not because of ourselves, but 
 for the sake of him. If he should befriend us, and take us 
 up, and then find out what you did when staying here, 
 'twould grieve and wound his natural pride as Mayor of the 
 town." 
 
 Elizabeth, who would perhaps have been more alarmed 
 at this than her mother had she known the real relationship, 
 was not much disturbed about it as things stood. Her "he" 
 was another man than her poor mother's. "For myself," she 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 53 
 
 said, "I didn't at all mind waiting a little upon him. He's 
 so respectable, and educated — far above the rest of 'em in 
 the inn. They thought him very simple not to know their 
 2rim broad way of talking about themselves here. But of 
 course he didn't know — ^he was too refined in his mind to 
 know such things!" Thus she earnestly pleaded. 
 
 Meanwhile, the "he" of her mother was not so far away 
 as even they thought. After leaving the Three Mariners he 
 had sauntered up and down the empty High Street, passing 
 and repassing the inn in his promenade. When the Scotch- 
 man sang, his voice had reached Henchard's ears through 
 the heart-shaped holes in the window-shutters, and had led 
 him to pause outside them a long while. 
 
 "To be sure, to be sure, how that fellow does draw mel" 
 ha had said to himself. "I suppose 'tis because I'm so 
 lonely. I'd have given him a third share in the business to 
 have stayed I" 
 
 IX 
 
 When Elizabeth- Jane opened the hinged casement next 
 morning, the mellow air brought in the feel of imminent 
 autumn almost as distinctly as if she had been in the re- 
 motest hamlet. Casterbridge was the complement of the 
 rural life around; not its urban opposite. Bees and butter- 
 flies in the corn-fields at the top of the town, who desired to 
 get to the meads at the bottom, took no circuitous course, 
 but flew straight down High Street without any apparent 
 consciousness that they were traversing strange latitudes. 
 And in autumn airy spheres of thistledown floated into the 
 same street, lodged upon the shop fronts, blew into drains; 
 and innumerable tawny and yellow leaves skimmed along 
 the pavement, and stole through people's doorways into 
 their passages, with a hesitating scratch on the floor, like 
 the skirts of timid visitors. 
 
 Hearing voices, one of which was close at hand, she with- 
 drew her head, and glanced from behind the window- 
 curtains. Mr. Henchard — now habited no longer as a great 
 personage, but as a thriving man of business — was pausing 
 on his way up the middle of the street, and the Scotchman 
 
54 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 was looking from the window adjoining her own. Hen- 
 chard, it appeared, had gone a little way past the inn before 
 he had noticed his acquaintance of the previous evening. 
 He came back a few steps, Donald Farfrae opening the 
 Vvindow further. 
 
 "And you are off soon, I suppose?" said Henchard up- 
 wards. 
 
 "Yes — almost this moment, sir," said the other. "Maybe 
 I'll walk on till the coach makes up on me." 
 
 "Which way?" 
 
 "The way ye are going." 
 
 "Then shall we walk together to the top o' town?" 
 
 "If ye'll wait a minute," said the Scotchman. 
 
 In a few minutes the latter emerged, bag in hand. Hen- 
 chard looked at the bag as at an enemy. It showed there 
 was no mistake about the young man's departure. "Ah, my 
 lad," he said, "you should have been a wise man, and have 
 stayed with me." 
 
 "Yes, yes — it might have been wiser," said Donald, look- 
 ing microscopically at the houses that were furthest off. "It 
 is only telling ye the truth when I say my plans are vague." 
 
 They had by this time passed on from the precincts of the 
 inn, and Elizabeth- Jane heard no more. She saw that they 
 continued in conversation, Henchard turning to the other oc- 
 casionally, and emphasizing some remark with a gesture. 
 Thus they passed the King's Arms Hotel, the Market House, 
 the churchyard wall, ascending to the upper end of the long 
 street till they were small as two grains of corn; when they 
 bent suddenly to the right into the Bristol Road, and were 
 out of view. 
 
 "He was a good man — and he's gone," she said to herself. 
 "I was nothing to him, and there was no reason why he 
 should have wished me good-bye." 
 
 The simple thought, with its latent sense of slight, had 
 moulded itself out of the following little fact: When the 
 Scotchman came out at the door he had by accident glanced 
 up at her; and then he had looked away again without nod- 
 ding, or smiling, or saying a word. 
 
 "You are still thinking, mother," she said, when she 
 turned inwards. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 55 
 
 "Yes; I am thinking of Mr. Henchard's sudden liking for 
 that young man. He was always so. Now, surely, if he 
 takes so warmly to people who are not related to him at 
 all, may he not take as warmly to his own kin?" 
 
 While they debated this question a procession of five 
 large waggons went past, laden with hay up to the bedroom 
 windows. They came in from the country, and the steam- 
 ing horses had probably been travelling a great part of 
 the night. To the shaft of each hung a little board, on 
 which was painted in white letters, "Henchard, corn-factor 
 and hay-merchant." The spectacle renewed his wife's con- 
 viction that, for her daughter's sake, she should strain a 
 point to rejoin him. 
 
 The discussion was continued during breakfast, and the 
 end of it was that Mrs. Henchard decided, for good or ill, to 
 send Elizabeth-Jane with a message to Henchard, to the 
 effect that his relative Susan, a sailor's widow, was in the 
 town; leaving it to him to say whether or not he would 
 recognize her. What had brought her to this determina- 
 tion were chiefly two things. He had been described as a 
 lonely widower; and he had expressed shame for a past 
 transaction of his life. There was promise in both. 
 
 "If he says no," she enjoined, as Elizabeth- Jane stood, 
 bonnet on, ready to depart; "if he thinks it does not be- 
 come the good position he has reached to in the town, to 
 own — to let us call on him as — ^his distant kinsfolk, say, 
 'Then, sir, we would rather not intrude; we will leave 
 Casterbridge as quietly as we have come, and go back to oui 
 own country.' ... I almost feel that I would rather he 
 did say so, as I have not seen him for so many years, and 
 we are so — ^little allied to him!" 
 
 "And if he say yes?" inquired the more sanguine one. 
 
 "In that case," answered Mrs. Henchard cautiously, "ask 
 ■ him to write me a note, saying when and how he will see 
 us — or me." 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane went a few steps towards the landing. 
 "And tell him," continued her mother, "that I fully know 
 I have no claim upon him — that I am glad to find he is 
 thriving; that I hope his life may be long and happy — 
 there, go." Thus with a half-hearted willingness, a smoth- 
 
S6 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ered reluctance, did the poor forgiving woman start her 
 unconscious daughter on this errand. 
 
 It was about ten o'clock, and market-day, when Elizabeth 
 paced up the High Street, in no great hurry; for to herself 
 her position was only that of a poor relation deputed to 
 hunt up a rich one. The front doors of the private houses 
 were mostly left open at this warm autumn time, no thought 
 of umbrella stealers disturbing the minds of the placid 
 burgesses. Hence, through the long, straight, entrance pas- 
 sages thus unclosed could be seen, as through tunnels, the 
 mossy gardens at the back, glowing with nasturtiums, fuch- 
 sias, scarlet geraniums, "bloody warriors," snapdragons, and 
 dahlias, this floral blaze being backed by crusted grey stone- 
 work remaining from a yet remoter Casterbridge lian the 
 venerable one visible in the street. The old-fashioned 
 fronts of these houses, which had older than old-fashioned 
 backs, rose sheer from the pavement, into which the bow- 
 windows protruded like bastions, necessitating a pleasing 
 chassez-dechassez movement to the time-pressed pedestrian 
 at every few yards. He was bound also to evolve other 
 Terpsichorean figures in respect of door-steps, scrapers, 
 cellar-hatches, church buttresses, and the overhanging angles 
 of walls which, originally unobtrusive, had become bow- 
 legged and knock-kneed. 
 
 In addition to these fixed obstacles which spoke so cheer- 
 fully of individual unrestraint as to boundaries, movables 
 occupied the path and roadway to a perplexing extent. First 
 the vans of the carriers in and out of Casterbridge, who 
 hailed from Mellstock, Weatherbury, The Hintocks, Sher- 
 ton-Abbas, Kingsbere, Overcombe, and many other towns 
 and villages round. Their owners were numerous enough to 
 be regarded as a tribe, and had almost distinctiveness 
 enough to be regarded as a race. Their vans had just 
 arrived, and were drawn up on each side of - the street 
 in close file, so as to form at places a wall between the 
 pavement and the roadway. Moreover, every shop pitched 
 out half its contents upon trestles and boxes on the kerb, 
 extending the display each week a little further and further 
 into the roadway, despite the expostulations of the two 
 feeble old constables, until there remained but a tortuous 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 57 
 
 defile for carriages down the centre of the street, which af- 
 forded fine opportunities for skill with the reins. Over 
 the pavement on the sunny side of the way hung shop' 
 blinds so constructed as to give the passenger's hat a smart 
 buffet off his head, as from the unseen hands of Cran- 
 stoun's Goblin Page, celebrated in romantic lore. 
 
 Horses fo.r sale were tied in rows, their forelegs on the 
 pavement, their hind legs in the street, in which position 
 they occasionally nipped little boys by the shoulder who 
 were passing to school. And any inviting recess in front of 
 a house that had been modestly kept back from the general 
 line was utilized by pig-dealers as a pen for their stock. 
 
 The yeomen, farmers, dairymen, and townsfolk, who came 
 to transact business in these ancient streets, spoke in other 
 ways than by articulation. Not to hear the words of your 
 interlocutor in metropolitan centres is to know nothing of 
 his meaning. Here the face, the arms, the hat, the stick, the 
 body throughout spoke equally with the tongue. To ex- 
 press satisfaction the Casterbridge market-man added to 
 his utterance a broadening of the cheeks, a crevicing of the 
 eyes, a throwing back of the shoulders, which was intelligible 
 from the other end of the street. If he wondered, though 
 all Henchard's carts and waggons were rattling past him, 
 you knew it from perceiving the inside of his crimson mouth, 
 and a target-like circling of his eyes. Deliberation caused 
 sundry attacks on the moss of adjoining walls with the end 
 of his stick, a change of his hat from the horizontal to the 
 less so; a sense of tediousness announced itself in a lowering 
 of the person by spreading the knees to a lozenge-shaped 
 aperture and contorting the arms. Chicanery, subterfuge, 
 had hardly a place in the streets of this honest borough to 
 all appearance; and it was said that the lawyers in the Court 
 House hard by occasionally threw in strong arguments for 
 the other side out of pure generosity (though apparently 
 by mischance) when advancing their own. 
 
 Thus Casterbridge was in most respects but- the pole, 
 focus, or nerve-knot of the surrounding country life; differ- 
 ing from the many manufacturing towns which are as foreign 
 bodies set down, like boulders on a plain, in a green world 
 with which they have nothing in common. Casterbridge 
 
58 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 lived by agriculture at one remove further from the fountain- 
 head than the adjoining villages — no more. The townsfolk 
 understood every fluctuation in the rustic's condition, for it 
 affected their receipts as much as the labourer's; they en- 
 tered into the troubles and joys which moved the aristocratic 
 families ten miles round — for the same reason. And even 
 at the dinner parties of the professional families the sub- 
 jects of discussion were com, cattle-disease, sowing and reap- 
 ing, fencing and planting; while politics were viewed by 
 them less from their own standpoint of burgesses with 
 rights and privileges than from the standpoint of their 
 county neighbours. 
 
 All the venerable contrivances and confusions which de- 
 lighted the eye by their quaintness, and in a measure rea- 
 sonableness, in this rare old market-town, were metropoli- 
 tan novelties to the unpractised eyes of Elizabeth- Jane, fresh 
 from netting fish-seines in a sea-side cottage. Very little 
 inquiry was necessary to guide her footsteps. Henchard's 
 house was one of the best, faced with dull red-and-grey old 
 brick. The front door was open, and, as in other houses, 
 she could see through the passage to the end of the garden 
 — nearly a quarter of a mile off, 
 
 Mr. Henchard was not in the house, but in the store- 
 yard. She was conducted into the mossy garden, and 
 through a door in the wall, which was studded with rusty 
 nails speaking of generations of fruit-trees that had been 
 trained there. The door opened upon the yard, and here 
 she was left to find him as she could. It was a place 
 flanked by hay-bams, into which tons of fodder, all in 
 trusses, were being packed from the waggons she had seen 
 pass the inn that morning. On other sides of the yard 
 were wooden granaries on stone staddles, to which access 
 was given by Flemish ladders, and a store-house several 
 floors high. Wherever the doors of these places were open, 
 a closely packed throng of bursting wheat-sacks could be 
 seen standing inside, with the air of awaiting a famine that 
 Would not come. 
 
 She wandered about this place, uncomfortably conscious 
 of the impending interview, till she was quite weary of 
 searching; she ventured to inquire of a boy in what quar- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 59 
 
 ter Mr. Henchard could be found. He directed her to an 
 office which she had not seen before, and knocking at the 
 door she was answered by a cry of "Come in." 
 
 Elizabeth turned the handle; and there stood before her, 
 bending over some sample-bags on a table, not the corn- 
 merchant, but the young Scotchman Mr. Farfrae — in the 
 act of pouring some grains of wheat from one hand to 
 the other. His hat hung on a peg behind him, and the 
 roses of his carpet-bag glowed from the corner of the room. 
 
 Having toned her feelings and arranged words on her 
 lips for Mr. Henchard, and for him alone, she was for the 
 moment confounded. 
 
 "Yes, what is it?" said the Scotchman, like a man who 
 permanently ruled there. 
 
 She said she wanted to see Mr. Henchard. 
 
 "Ah, yes; will you wait a minute? He's engaged just 
 now," said the young man, apparently not recognizing her 
 as the girl at the inn. He handed her a chair, bade her sit 
 down, and turned to his sample-bags again. While Eliza- 
 beth-Jane sits waiting in great amaze at the young man's 
 presence we may briefly explain how he came there. 
 
 When the two new acquaintances had passed out of sight 
 that morning towards the Bath and Bristol road they went 
 on silently, except for a few commonplaces, till they had 
 gone down an avenue on the town walls called the Chalk 
 Walk, leading to an angle where the North and West es- 
 carpments met. From this high corner of the square earth- 
 works a vast extent of country could be seen. A footpath 
 ran steeply down the green slope, conducting from the shady 
 promenade on the walls to a road at the bottom of thfc 
 scarp. It was by this path the Scotchman had to descend. 
 
 "Well, here's success to ye," said Henchard, holding out 
 his right hand and leaning with his left upon the wicket 
 which protected the descent. In the act there was the in- 
 elegance of one whose feelings are nipped and wishes de- 
 feated. "I shall often think of this time, and of how you 
 came at the very moment to throw a light upon my diffi- 
 culty." 
 
 Still holding the young man's hand he paused, and then 
 added deliberately: "Now I am not the man to let a cause 
 
6o THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 be lost for want of a word. And before ye are gone for 
 ever I'll speak. Once more, will ye stay? There it is, flat 
 and plain. You can see that it isn't all selfishness that 
 makes me press 'ee; for my business is not quite so scientific 
 as to require an intellect entirely out of the common. Oth- 
 ers would do for the place without doubt. Some selfishness 
 perhaps there is, but there is more ; it isn't for me to repeat 
 what. Come bide with me — and name your own terms. I'll 
 agree to 'em willingly and 'ithout a word of gainsaying; for, 
 i^iang it, Farfrae, I like thee well!" 
 
 The young man's hand remained steady in Henchard's 
 for a moment or two. He looked over the fertile country 
 that stretched beneath them, then backward along the 
 shaded walk reaching to the top of the town. His face 
 flushed. 
 
 "I never expected this — I did not!" he said. "It's Provi- 
 dence! Should any one go against it? No; I'll not go to 
 America; I'll stay and be your man!" 
 
 His hand, which had lain lifeless in Henchard's, returned 
 the latter's grasp. 
 
 "Done," said Henchard. , 
 
 "Done," said Donald Farfrae. 
 
 The face of Mr. Henchard beamed forth a satisfaction 
 that was almost fierce in its strength. "Now you are my 
 friend!" he exclaimed. "Come back to my house; let's 
 clinch it at once by clear terms, so as to be comfortable in 
 our minds." Farfrae caught up his bag and retraced the 
 North- West Avenue in Henchard's company as he had come. 
 Henchard was all confidence now. 
 
 "I am the most distant fellow in the world when I don't 
 care for a man," he said. "But when a man takes my 
 fancy he takes it strong. Now I am sure you can eat an- 
 other breakfast? You couldn't have eaten much so early, 
 even if they had anything at that place to gi'e thee, which 
 they hadn't; so come to my house and we will have a solid, 
 staunch tuck-in, and settle terms in black-and-white if you 
 like; though my word's my bond. I can always make a 
 good meal in the morning. I've got a splendid cold pigeon- 
 pie going just now. You can have some home-brewed if you 
 want to, you know." 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 6i' 
 
 "It is too airly in the morning for that," said Farfrae with 
 a smile. 
 
 "Well, of course, I didn't know. I don't drink it because 
 of my oath; but I am obliged tc brew for my work-people." 
 
 Thus talking they returned, and entered Henchard's prem- 
 ises by the back way or traffic entrance. Here the matter 
 was settled over the breakfast, at which Henchard heaped 
 the young Scotchman's plate to a prodigal fulness. He 
 would not rest satisfied till Farfrae had written for his lug- 
 gage from Bristol, and despatched the letter to the post- 
 office. When it was done this man of strong impulses de- 
 clared that his new friend should take up his abode in 
 his house— at least till some suitable lodgings could be 
 found. 
 
 He then took Farfrae round and showed him the place, 
 and the stores of grain, and other stock; and finally entered 
 the offices where the younger of them had already been 
 discovered by Elizabeth. 
 
 X 
 
 While she still sat under the Scotchman's eyes a man came 
 up to the door, reaching it as Henchard opened the door 
 of the inner office to admit Elizabeth. The new-comer 
 stepped forward like the quicker cripple at Bethesda, and 
 entered in her stead. She could hear his words to Hen- 
 chard: "Joshua Jopp, sir — by appointment — the new man- 
 ager!" 
 
 "The new manager! — ^he's in his office," said Henchard 
 bluntly. 
 
 "In his office!" said the man, with a stultified air. 
 
 "I mentioned Thursday," said Henchard; "and as you 
 did not keep your appointment, I have engaged another 
 manager. At first I thought he must be you. Do you think 
 I can wait when business is in question?" 
 
 "You said Thursday or Saturday, sir," said the new- 
 comer, pulling out a letter. 
 
 "Well, you are too late," said the corn-factor. "I can 
 say no more." 
 
 "You as good as engaged me," murmured the man. 
 
62 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Subject to an interview," said Henchard. "I am sorry 
 for you — very sorry indeed. But it can't be helped." 
 
 There was no more to be said, and the man came out, 
 encountering Elizabeth- Jane in his passage. She could see 
 that his mouth twitched with anger, and that bitteir dis- 
 appointment was written in his face everywhere. 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane now entered, and stood before the master 
 of the premises. His dark pupils — which always seemed to 
 have a red spark of light in them, though this could hardly 
 be a physical fact — turned indifferently round under his 
 dark brows until they rested on her figure. "Now then, 
 what is it, my young woman?" he said blandly. 
 
 "Can I speak to you — not on business, sir?" said she. 
 
 "Yes — I suppose." He looked at her more thoughtfully. 
 
 "I am sent to tell you, sir," she innocently went on, 
 "that a distant relative of yours by marriage, Susan Newson, 
 a sailor's widow, is in the town; and to ask whether you 
 would wish to see her." 
 
 The rich rouge-et-noir of his countenance underwent a 
 slight change. "Oh — Susan is — still alive?" he asked with 
 difficulty. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Are you her daughter?" 
 
 "Yes, sir — her only daughter." 
 
 "What — do you call yourself — ^your Christian name?" 
 
 "Elizabeth- Jane, sir." 
 
 "Newson?" 
 
 "Elizabeth-Jane Newson." 
 
 This at once suggested to Henchard that the transaction 
 of his early married life at Weydon Fair was unrecorded 
 in the family history. It was more than he could have ex- 
 pected. His wife had behaved kindly to him in return for 
 his unkindness, and had never proclaimed her wrong to her 
 child or to the world. 
 
 "I am — a good deal interested in your news," he said. 
 "And as this is not a matter of business, but pleasure, sup- 
 pose we go indoors." 
 
 It was with a gentle delicacy of manner, surprising to 
 Elizabeth, that he showed her out of the office, and through 
 the outer room, where Donald Farfrae was overhauling bins 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 6$ 
 
 and samples with the inquiring inspection of a beginner in 
 charge. Henchard preceded her through the door in the 
 wall to the suddenly changed scene of the garden and flow- 
 ers, and onward into the house. The dining-room to which 
 he introduced her still exhibited the remnants of the lavish 
 breakfast laid for Farfrae. It was furnished to profusion 
 with heavy mahogany furniture of the deepest red-Spanish 
 hues, Pembroke tables, with leaves hanging so low that they 
 well-nigh touched the floor, stood against the walls on legs 
 and feet shaped like those of an elephant, and on one lay 
 three huge folio volumes — a Family Bible, a "Josephus," 
 and a "Whole Duty of Man." In the chimney corner was 
 a fire-grate with a fluted semi-circular back, having urns 
 and festoons cast in relief thereon; and the chairs were of 
 the kind which, since that day, has cast lustre upon the 
 names of Chippendale and Sheraton, though, in point of fact, 
 their patterns may have been such as those illustrious car- 
 penters never saw or heard of. 
 
 "Sit down — Elizabeth-Jane — sit down," he said, with a 
 shake in his voice as he uttered her name; and sitting down 
 himself he allowed his hands to hang between his knees, 
 while he looked upon the carpet. "Your mother, then, is 
 quite well?" 
 
 "She is rather worn out, sir, with traveUiiig." 
 
 "A sailor's widow — when did he die?" 
 
 "Father was lost last spring." 
 
 Henchard winced at the word "father," thus applied. 
 "Do you and she come from abroad — ^America or Austra- 
 lia?" he asked. 
 
 "No. We have been in England some years. I was 
 twelve when we came here from Canada." 
 _ "Ah; exactly." By such conversation he discovered the 
 circumstances which had enveloped his wife and her child 
 in such total obscurity that he had long ago believed them 
 to be in their graves. These things being clear, he returned 
 to the present. "And where is your mother staying?" 
 
 "At the Three Mariners." 
 
 "And you are her daughter Elizabeth-Jane?" repeated 
 Henchard. He arose, came close to her, and glanced in her 
 face. "I think," he said, suddenly turning away with a wet 
 
64 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 eye, "you shall take a note from me to your mother. I 
 should like to see her. . . . She is not left very well off by 
 her late husband?" His eye fell on Elizabeth's clothes, 
 which, though a respectable suit of black, and her very best, 
 were decidedly old-fashioned, even to Casterbridge eyes. 
 
 "Not very well," she said, glad that he had divined this 
 without her being obliged to express it. 
 
 He sat down at the table and wrote a few lines; next 
 taking from his pocket-book a five-pound note, which he 
 put in the envelope with the letter, adding to it, as by an 
 after-thought, five shillings. Sealing the whole up carefully, 
 he directed it to "Mrs. Newson, Three Mariners Inn," and 
 handed the packet to Elizabeth. 
 
 "Deliver it to her personally, please," said Henchard. 
 "Well, I am glad to see you here, Elizabeth- Jane — ^very glad. 
 We must have a long talk together — ^but not just now." 
 
 He took her hand at parting, and held it so warmly that 
 she, who had known so little friendship, was much affected, 
 and tears rose to her aerial-grey eyes. The instant that she 
 was gone Henchard's state showed itself more distinctly; 
 having shut the door, he sat in his dining-room stiffly erect, 
 gazing at the opposite wall as if he read his history there. 
 
 "Begad I " he suddenly exclaimed, jumping up. "I didn't 
 think of that. Perhaps these are impostors — and Susan and 
 the child dead after all!" 
 
 However, a something in Elizabeth- Jane soon assured him 
 that, as regarded her, at least, there could be little doubt. 
 And a few hours would settle the question of her mother's 
 identity; for he had arranged in his note to see her that 
 evening. 
 
 "It never rains but it pours! " said Henchard. His keenly 
 excited interest in his new friend the Scotchman was now 
 eclipsed by this event; and Donald Farfrae saw so little of 
 him during the rest of the day that he wondered at the sud- 
 denness of his employer's moods. 
 
 In the meantime Elizabeth had reached the inn. Her 
 mother, instead of taking the note with the curiosity of a 
 poor woman expecting assistance, was much moved at sight 
 of it. She did not read it at once, asking Elizabeth to de- 
 scribe her reception, and the very words Mr. Henchard 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 65 
 
 used. Elizabeth's back was turned when her mother opened 
 the letter. It ran thus: — 
 
 "Meet me at eight o'clock this evening, if you can, at the 
 Ring on the Budmouth road. The place is easy to find. I 
 can say no more now. The news upsets me almost. The 
 girl seems to be in ignorance. Keep her so till I have seen 
 you. M. H." 
 
 He said nothing about the enclosure of five guineas. The 
 amount was significant; it may tacitly have said to her that 
 he bought her back again. She waited restlessly for the 
 close of the day, telling Elizabeth- Jane that she was invited 
 to see Mr. Henchard; that she would go alone. But she 
 said nothing to show that the place of meeting was not at his 
 house, nor did she hand the note to Elizabeth. 
 
 XI 
 
 The Ring at Casterbridge was merely the local name of 
 one of the finest Roman Amphitheatres, if not the very fin- 
 est, remaining in Britain. 
 
 Casterbridge announced old Rome in every street, alley, 
 and precinct. It looked Roman, bespoke the art of Rome, 
 concealed dead men of Rome. It was impossible to dig 
 more than a foot or two deep about the town fields and 
 gardens without coming upon some tall soldier or other of 
 the Empire, who had lain there in his silent unobtrusive 
 rest for a space of fifteen hundred years. He was mostly 
 found lying on his side, in an oval scoop in the chalk, like 
 a chicken in its shell; his knees drawn up to his chest; some- 
 times with the remains of his spear against his arm; a 
 fibula or brooch of bronze on his breast or forehead; an 
 urn at his knees, a jar at his throat, a bottle at his mouth; 
 and mystified conjecture pouring down upon him from the 
 eyes of Casterbridge street boys and men, who had turned a 
 moment to gaze at the familiar spectacle as they passed by. 
 
 Imaginative inhabitants, who would have felt an unpleas- 
 antness at the discovery of a comparatively modem skeleton 
 
g6 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 in their gardens, were quite unmoved by these hoary shapes. 
 They had lived so long ago, their time was so unlike the 
 present, their hopes and motives were so widely removed 
 from ours, that between them and the living there seemed 
 to stretch a gulf too wide for even a spirit to pass. 
 
 The Amphitheatre was a huge circular enclosure, with 
 a notch at opposite extremities of its diameter north and 
 south. From its sloping internal form it might have been 
 called the spittoon of the Jotuns. It was to Casterbridge 
 what the ruined Coliseum is to modern Rome, and was 
 nearly of the same magnitude. The dusk of evening was 
 the proper hour at which a true impression of this sugges- 
 tive place could be received. Standing in the middle of the 
 arena at that time there by degrees became apparent its real 
 vastness, which a cursory view from the summit at noon-day 
 was apt to obscure. Melancholy, impressive, lonely, yet ac- 
 cessible from every part of the town, the historic circle 
 was the frequent spot for appointments of a furtive kind. 
 Intrigues were arranged there ; tentative meetings were there 
 experimented after divisions and feuds. But one kind of 
 appointment — in itself the most common of any — seldom 
 had place in the Amphitheatre: that of happy lovers. 
 
 Why, seeing that it was pre-eminently an airy, accessible, 
 and sequestered spot for interviews, the cheerfullest form 
 of those occurrences never took kindly to the soil of the ruin, 
 would be a curious inquiry. Perhaps it was because its as- 
 sociations had about them something sinister. Its history 
 proved that. Apart from the sanguinary nature of the games 
 originally played therein, such incidents attached to its past 
 as these: that for scores of years the town-gallows had stood 
 at one corner; that in 1705 a woman who had murdered 
 her husband was half-strangled and then burnt there in 
 the presence of ten thousand spectators. Tradition reports 
 that at a certain stage of the burning her heart burst and 
 leapt out of her body, to the terror of them all, and that 
 not one of those ten diousand people ever cared particularly 
 for hot roast after that. In addition to these old tragedies, 
 pugilistic encounters almost to the death had come off down 
 to recent dates in that secluded arena, entirely invisible to 
 the outside world, save by climbing to the top of the enclo- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 67 
 
 sure, which few townspeople in the daily round of theit 
 lives ever took the trouble to do. So that, though close to 
 the turnpike-road, crimes might be perpetrated there unseen 
 at mid-day. 
 
 Some boys had latterly tried to impart gaiety to the ruin 
 by using the central arena as a cricket-ground. But the 
 game usually languished, for the aforesaid reason — the dis- 
 mal privacy which the earthen circle enforced, shutting out 
 every appreciative passer's vision, every commendatory re- 
 mark from outsiders — everything, except the sky; and to 
 play at games in such circumstances was like acting to an 
 empty house. Possibly, too, the boys were timid, for some 
 old people said that at certain moments in the summer time^ 
 in broad dayhght, persons sitting with a book,. or dozing in 
 the arena, had, on lifting their eyes, beheld the slopes lined 
 with a gazing legion of Hadrian's soldiery as if watching, 
 the gladiatorial combat; and had heard the roar of their 
 excited voices; that the scene would remain but a moment, 
 like a lightning flash, and then disappear. 
 
 It was related that there still remained under the south 
 entrance arched cells for the reception of the wild animals 
 and athletes who took part in the games. The arena was 
 still smooth and circular, as if used for its original pur- 
 pose not so very long ago. The sloping pathways by which 
 spectators had ascended to their seats were pathways yet^ 
 But the whole was grown over with grass, which now, at the 
 end of summer, was bearded with withered bents that 
 formed waves under the brush of the wind, returning to the 
 attentive ear ^Eohan modulations, and detaining for mo- 
 ments the flying globes of thistledown. 
 
 Henchard had chosen this spot as being the safest from 
 observation which he could think of for meeting his long- 
 lost wife, and at the same time as one easily to be found 
 by a stranger after nightfall. As Mayor of the town, with 
 a reputation to keep up, he could not invite her to come 
 to his house till some definite course had been decided on. 
 
 Just before eight he approached the deserted earthwork, 
 and entered by the south path which descended over the 
 debris of the former dens. In a few moments he could dis- 
 cern a female figure creeping in by the great north gap. 
 
68 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 or public gateway. They met in the middle of the arena. 
 Neither spoke just at first — there was no necessity for 
 speech — and the poor woman leant against Henchard, who 
 supported her in his arms. 
 
 "I don't drink," he said in a low, halting, apologetic voice. 
 "You hear, Susan? — I don't drink now — I haven't since 
 that night." Those were his first words. 
 
 He felt her bow her head in acknowledgment that she un- 
 derstood. After a minute or two he again began: 
 
 "If I had known you were living, Susan! But there was 
 every reason to suppose you and the child were dead and 
 gone. I took every possible step to find you — travelled — ad- 
 vertised. My opinion at last was that you had started for 
 some colony with that man, and had been drowned on your 
 voyage out. Why did you keep silent like this?" 
 
 "O Michael! because of him — ^what other reason could 
 there be? I thought I owed him faithfulness to the end 
 of one of our lives — foolishly I believed there was some- 
 thing solemn and binding in the bargain; I thought that 
 even in honour I dared not desert him when he had paid so 
 much for me in good faith. I meet you now only as his 
 widow — I consider myself that, Emd that I have no claim 
 upon you. Had he not died, I should never have come — 
 never! Of that you. may be sure." 
 
 "Tut-tut! How could you be so simple?" 
 
 "I don't know. Yet it would have been very wicked — 
 if I had not thought like that! " said Susan, almost crying. 
 
 "Yes — yes — so it would. It is only that which makes me 
 feel ye an innocent woman. But — to lead me into this!" 
 
 "What, Michael?" she asked, alarmed. 
 
 "Why, this difficulty about our living together again, and 
 Elizabeth- Jane. She cannot be told all — she would so de- 
 spise us both that — I could not bear it!" 
 
 "That was why she was brought up in ignorance of you, 
 I could not bear it either." 
 
 "Well — we must talk of a plan for keeping her in her 
 present belief, and getting matters straight in spite of it. 
 You have heard I am in a large way of business here — that 
 I am Mayor of the town, and churchwarden, and I don't 
 know what all?" 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 6g 
 
 "Yes," she murmured. 
 
 "These things, as well as the dread of the girl dis- 
 covering our disgrace, makes it necessary to act with ex- 
 treme caution. So that I don't see how you two can re- 
 turn openly to my house as the wife and daughter I once 
 treated badly, and banished from me; and there's the rub 
 o't." 
 
 "We'll go away at once. I only came to see " 
 
 "No, no, Susan; you are not to go — ^you mistake me!" 
 he said, with kindly severity. "I have thought of this plan: 
 that you and Elizabeth take a cottage in the town as the 
 widow Mrs. Newson and her daughter; that I meet you, 
 court you, and marry you, Elizabeth-Jane coming to my 
 house as my step-daughter. The thing is so natural and easy 
 that it is half done in thinking o't. This would leave my 
 shady, headstrong, disgraceful life as a young man abso- 
 lutely unopened; the secret would be yours and mine only; 
 and I should have thCpleasure of seeing my own only child 
 under my roof, as well as my wife." , 
 
 "I am quite in your hands, Michael," she said meekly. 
 "I came here for the sake of Elizabeth; for myself, if you 
 tell me to leave again to-morrow morning, and never come 
 near you more, I am content to go." 
 
 "Now, now; we don't want to hear that," said Henchard 
 gently. "Of course you won't leave again. Think over 
 the plan I have proposed for a few hours; and if you can't 
 hit upon a better one we'll adopt it. I have to be away for 
 a day or two on business, unfortunately; but during that 
 time you can get lodgings — the only ones in the town fit for 
 you are those over the china-shop in High Street — and you 
 can also look for a cottage." 
 
 "If the lodgings are in High Street they are dear, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 "Never mind — you must start genteel if our plan is to be 
 carried out. Look to o. for money. Have you enough till 
 I come back?" 
 
 "Quite," said she. 
 
 "And are you comfortable at the inn?" 
 
 "0 yes." 
 
 "And the girl is quite safe from learning the shame of 
 
JPO THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 her case and ours? — that's what makes me most anxious 
 of all." 
 
 "You would be surprised to find how unlikely she is to 
 dream of the truth. How could she ever suppose such a 
 thing?" 
 
 "True!" 
 
 "I like the idea of repeating our marriage," said Mrs. 
 Henchard, after a pause. "It seems the only right course, 
 after all this. Now I think I must go back to Elizabeth- 
 Jane, and tell her that our kinsman, Mr. Henchard, kindly 
 wishes us to stay in the town." 
 
 "Very well — arrange that yourself. I'll go. some way with 
 you." 
 
 "No, no. Don't run any risk!" said his wife anxiously. 
 "I can find my way back — it is not late. Please let me go 
 alone." 
 
 "Right," said Henchard. "But just one word. Do you 
 forgive me, Susan?" 
 
 She murmured something; but seemed to find it difficult 
 to frame her answer. 
 
 "Never mind — all in good time," said he. "Judge me by 
 my future works— good-bye!" 
 
 He retreated, and stood at the upper side of the Amphi- 
 theatre while his wife passed out through the lower way, 
 and descended under the trees to the town. Then Hen- 
 chard himself went homeward, going so fast, that by the 
 time he reached his door he was almost upon the heels of 
 the unconscious woman from whom he had just parted. He 
 watched her up the street, and turned into his house. 
 
 XII 
 
 On entering his own door, after watching his wife out of 
 sight, the Mayor walked on through the tunnel-shaped pass- 
 age into the garden, and thence by the back door towards 
 the stores and granaries. A light shone from the office- 
 window, and there being no blind to screen the interior, 
 Henchard could see Donald Farfrae still seated where he 
 bad left him, initiating himself into the managerial work 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 7^ 
 
 of the house by overhauling the books. Henchard entered, 
 merely observing, "Don't let me interrupt you, if ye will 
 stay so late." 
 
 He stood behind Farfrae's chair, watching his dexterity 
 in clearing up the numerical fogs which had been allowed 
 to grow so thick in Henchard's books as almost to baffle 
 even the Scotchman's perspicacity. The corn-factor's mien 
 was half admiring, and yet it was not without a dash of pity 
 for the tastes of any one who could care to give his mind 
 to such finnikin details. Henchard himself was mentally 
 and physically unfit for grubbing subtleties from soiled 
 paper; he had in a modern sense received the education of 
 Achilles, and found penmanship a tantalizing art. 
 
 "You shall do no more to-night," he said at length, 
 spreading his great hand over the paper. "There's time 
 enough to-morrow. Come indoors with me and have some 
 supper. Now you shall! I am determined on't." He shut 
 the account-books with friendly force. 
 
 Donald had wished to get to his lodgings; but he already 
 saw that his friend and employer was a man who knew 
 no moderation in his requests and impulses, and he yielded 
 gracefully. He liked Henchard's warmth, even if it incon- 
 venienced him; the great difference in their characters add- 
 ing to the liking. 
 
 They locked up the office, and the young man followed 
 his companion through the private little door which, admit- 
 ting directly into Henchard's garden, permitted a passage 
 from the utilitarian to the beautiful at one step. The gar- 
 den was silent, dewy, and full of perfume. It extended 
 a long way back from the house, first as lawn and flower- 
 beds, then as fruit-garden, where the long-tied espaliers, as 
 old as the old house itself, had grown so stout, and cramped, 
 and gnarled that they had pulled their stakes out of the 
 ground and stood distorted and writhing in vegetable agony, 
 like leafy Laocoons. The flowers whkh smelt so sweetly 
 were not discernible; and they passed through them into the 
 house. 
 
 The hospitalities of the morning were repeated, and when 
 they were over Henchard said, "Pull your chair round to 
 the fireplace, my dear fellow, and let's make a blaze — there's 
 
72 .HE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 nothing I hate like a black grate, even in September." He 
 applied a light to the laid-in fuel, and a cheerful radiance 
 spread around. 
 
 "It is odd," said Henchard, "that two men should meet 
 as we have done on a purely business ground, and that at 
 the end of the first day I should wish to speak to 'ee on a 
 family matter. But, damn it all, I am a lonely man, Far- 
 frae: I have nobody else to speak to; and why shouldn't I 
 tell it to 'ee?" 
 
 "I'll be glad to hear it, if I can be of any service," said 
 Donald, allowing his eyes to travel over the intricate wood- 
 carvings of the chimney-piece, representing garlanded lyres, 
 shields, and quivers, on either side of a draped ox-skull, and 
 flanked by heads of Apollo and Diana in low relief. 
 
 "I've not been always what I am now," continued Hen- 
 chard, his firm deep voice being ever so little shaken. He 
 was plainly under that strange influence which sometimes 
 prompts men to confide to the new-found friend what they 
 will not tell to the old. "I began life as a working hay- 
 trusser, and when I was eighteen I married on the strength 
 o' my calling. Would you think me a married man?" 
 
 "I heard in the town that you were a widower." 
 
 "Ah, yes — you would naturally have heard that. Well, I 
 lost my wife eighteen years ago — ^by my own fault. . . . 
 This is how it came about. .One summer evening I was 
 travelling for employment, and she was walking at my side, 
 carrying the baby, our only child. We came to a booth in 
 a country fair. I was a drinking man at that time." 
 
 Henchard paused a moment, threw himself back so that 
 his elbow rested on the table, his forehead being shaded 
 by his hand, which, however, did not hide the marks of 
 introspective inflexibility on his features as he narrated in 
 fullest detail the incidents of the transaction with the sailor. 
 The tinge of indifference which had at first been visible in 
 the Scotchman now disappeared. 
 
 Henchard went on to describe his attempts to find his 
 wife; the oath he swore; the solitary life he led during the 
 years which followed. "I have kept my oath for eighteen 
 years," he went on; "I have risen to what you see me now." 
 
 "Ay!" 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 73 
 
 "Well — no wife could I hear of in all that time; and be- 
 ing by nature something of a woman-hater, I have found 
 it no hardship to keep at a distance from the sex. No wife 
 could I hear of, I say, till this very day. And now — she has 
 come back." 
 
 "Come back, has she!" 
 
 "This morning — this very mornipg. And what's to be 
 done?" 
 
 "Can ye no' take her and live with her, and make some 
 amends?" 
 
 "That's what I've planned and proposed. But, Farfrae," 
 said Henchard gloomily, "by doing right with Susan I 
 wrong another innocent woman." 
 
 "Ye don't say that?" 
 
 "In the nature of things, Farfrae, it is almost impossible 
 that a man of my sort should have the good fortune to tide 
 through twenty years o' life without making more blun- 
 ders than one. It has been my custom for many years to 
 run across to Jersey in the way of business, particularly in 
 the potato and root season. I do a large trade wi' them 
 in that line. Well, one autumn when stopping there I fell 
 quite ill, and in my illness I sank into one of those gloomy 
 fits I sometimes suffer from, on account o' the loneliness 
 of my domestic life, when the world seems to have the black- 
 ness of hell, and, like Job, I could curse the day that gave 
 me birth." 
 
 "Ah, now, I never feel like it," said Farfrae. 
 
 "Then pray to God that you never may, young man. 
 While in this state I was taken pity on by a woman — a 
 young lady I should call her, for she was of good family, 
 well bred, and well educated — the daughter of some harum- 
 scarum military officer who had got into difficulties, and 
 had his pay sequestrated. He was dead now, and her 
 mother too, and she was as lonely as I. This young crea- 
 ture was staying at the boarding-house where I happened 
 to have my lodging; and when I was pulled down she took 
 upon herself to nurse me. From that she got to have a fool- 
 i^ liking for me. Heaven knows why, for I wasn't worth 
 it. But being together in the same house, and her feel- 
 ings warm, we got naturally intimate. I won't go into par- 
 
74 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ticulars of what our relations were. It is enough to say that 
 we honestly meant to marry. There arose a scandal, which 
 did me no harm, but was of course ruin to her. Though, 
 Farfrae, between you and me, as man and man, I solemnly 
 declare that philandering with womankind has neither beefl 
 my vice nor my virtue. She was terribly careless of ap- 
 pearances, and I was perhaps more, because o' my dreary 
 state; and it was through this that the scandal arose. At 
 last I was well, and came away. When I was gone she suf- 
 fered much on my account, and didn't forget to tell me so 
 in letters one after another; till, latterly, I felt I owed her 
 something, and thought that, as I had not heard of Susan 
 for so long, I would make this other one the only return I 
 could make, and ask her if she would run the risk of Susan 
 being alive (very slight as I believed) and marry me, such 
 as I was. She jumped for joy, and we should no doubt soon 
 have been married — but, behold, Susan appears!" 
 
 Donald showed his deep concern at a complication so far 
 beyond the degree of his simple experiences. 
 
 "Now see what injury a man may cause around him! 
 Even after that wrong-doing at the fair when I was young, 
 if I had never been so selfish as to let this giddy girl de- 
 vote herself to me over at Jersey, to the injury of her name, 
 all might now be well. Yet, as it stands, I must bitterly 
 disappoint one of these women; and it is the second. My 
 first duty is to Susan — there's no doubt about that." 
 
 "They are both in a very melancholy position, and that's 
 true!" murmured Donald. 
 
 "They are! For myself I don't care — 'twill all end one 
 way. But these two." Henchard paused in reverie. "I 
 feel I should like to treat the second, no less than the first, 
 as kindly as a man can in such a case." 
 
 "Ah, well, it cannet be helped! " said the other, with philo- 
 sophic woefulness. "You mun write to the young lady, and 
 in your letter you must put it plain and honest that it turns 
 out she cannet be your wife, the first having come back; 
 that ye cannet see her more; and that — ye wish her weel." 
 
 "That won't do. 'Od seize it, I must do a little more 
 than that! I must — though she did always brag about her 
 rich uncle or rich aunt, and her expectations from 'em— I 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 75 
 
 must send a useful sum of money to her, I suppose — just as 
 
 a little recompense, poor girl. . . . Now, will you help me 
 
 ■ in this, and draw up an explanation to her of all I've told 
 
 ye, breaking it as gently as you can? I'm so bad at letters." 
 
 "And I will." 
 
 "Now, I haven't told you quite all yet. My wife Susan 
 has my daughter with her — the baby that was in her arms 
 at the fair; and this girl knows nothing of me beyond that 
 I am some sort of relation by marriage. She has grown 
 up in the belief that' the sailor to whom I made over her 
 mother, and who is now dead, was her father, and her 
 mother's husband. What her mother has always felt, she 
 and I together feel now — that we can't proclaim our dis- 
 grace to the girl by letting her know the truth. Now what 
 would you do? — I want your advice." 
 
 "I think I'd run the risk, and tell her the truth. She'll 
 forgive ye both." 
 
 "Never!" said Henchard. "I am not going to let her 
 know the truth. Her mother and I be going to marry again; 
 and it will not only help us to keep our child's respect, but 
 it will be more proper. Susan looks upon herself as the 
 sailor's widow, and won't think o' living with me as for- 
 merly without another religious ceremony — and she's right." 
 
 Farfrae thereupon said no more. The letter to the young 
 Jersey woman was carefully framed by him, and the inter- 
 view ended, Henchard saying, as the Scotchman left, "I 
 feel it a great relief, Farfrae, to tell some friend o' this! 
 You see now that the Mayor of Casterbridge is not so 
 thriving in his mind as it seems he might be from the state 
 of his pocket." 
 
 "I do. And I am sorry for ye! " said Farfrae. 
 
 When he was gone, Henchard copied the letter, and, en- 
 closing a cheque, took it to the post-office, from which he 
 walked back thoughtfully. 
 
 "Can it be that it will go off so easily!" he said. "Poor 
 thing — God knows! Now then, to make amends to Susan!" 
 
76 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 XIII 
 
 The cottage which Michael Henchard hired for his wife 
 Susan, under her name of Newson — in pursuance of their 
 plan — was in the upper or westCTn part of the town, near 
 the wall, and the avenue which overshadowed it. The eve- 
 ning sun seemed to shine more yellowly there than anywhere 
 else this autumn — stretching its rays, as the hours grew 
 later, under the lowest sycamore boughs, and steeping the 
 ground-floor of the dwelling, with its green shutters, in a 
 substratum of radiance which the foliage screened from the 
 upper parts. Beneath these sycamores on the town walls 
 could be seen from the sitting-room the tumuli and earth 
 forts of the distant uplands; making it altogether a pleas- 
 ant spot, with the usual touch of melancholy that a past- 
 marked prospect lends. 
 
 As soon as the mother and daughter were comfortably in- 
 stalled, with a white-aproned servant and all complete, Hen- 
 chard paid them a visit, and remained to tea. During the 
 entertainment Elizabeth was carefully hoodwinked by the 
 very general tone of the conversation that prevailed — a pro- 
 ceeding which seemed to afford some humour to Henchard, 
 though his wife was not particularly happy in it. The visit 
 was repeated again and again with business-like determina- 
 tion by the Mayor, who seemed to have schooled himself 
 into a course of strict mechanical rightness towards this 
 woman of prior claim, at any expense to the later one and 
 to his own sentiments. 
 
 One afternoon the daughter was not indoors when Hen- 
 chard came, and he said drily, "This is a very good oppor- 
 tunity for me to ask you to name the happy day, Susan." 
 
 The poor woman smiled faintly; she did not enjoy pleas- 
 antries on a situation into which she had entered solely for 
 the sake of her girl's reputation. She liked them so little, 
 indeed, that there was room for wonder why she had coun- 
 tenanced deception at all, and had not bravely let the girl 
 know her history. But the flesh is weak; and the true ex- 
 planation came in due course. 
 
 "0 Michael!" she said, "I am afraid all this is taking m^ 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 7^ 
 
 your time and giving trouble — when I did not expect any 
 such thing!" And she looked at him and at his dress as a 
 man of affluence, and at the furniture he had provided for 
 the room — ornate and lavish to her eyes. 
 
 "Not at all," said Henchard, in rough benignity. "This 
 is only a cottage — it costs me next to nothing. And as to 
 taking up my time" — ^here his red and black visage kindled 
 with satisfaction — "I've a splendid fellow to superintend my 
 business now — a man whose like I've never been able to lay 
 hands on before. I shall soon be able to leave everything 
 to him, and have more time to call my own than I've had 
 for these last twenty years." 
 
 Henchard's visits here grew so frequent and so regular 
 that it soon became whispered, and then openly discussed, 
 in Casterbridge, that the masterful, coercive Mayor of the 
 town was captured and enervated by the genteel widow, 
 Mrs. Newson. His well-known haughty indifference to the 
 society of womankind, his silent avoidance of converse with 
 the sex, contributed a piquancy to what would otherwise 
 have been an unromantic matter enough. That such a poor 
 fragile woman should be his choice was inexplicable, except 
 on the ground that the engagement was a family affair in 
 which sentimental passion had no place; for it was known 
 that they were related in some way. Mrs. Henchard was 
 so pale that the boys called her "The Ghost." Sometimes 
 Henchard overheard this epithet when they passed together 
 along the Walks — as the avenues on the walls were named — 
 at which his face would darken with an expression of de^ 
 structiveness towards the speakers ominous to see; but he 
 said nothing. 
 
 He pressed on the preparations for his union, or rather 
 reunion, with this pale creature in a dogged, unflinching 
 spirit which did credit to his conscientiousness. Nobody 
 would have conceived from his outward demeanour that 
 there was no amatory fire or pulse of romance acting as 
 stimulant to the bustle going on in his gaunt, great house; 
 nothing but three large resolves — one, to make amends to 
 his neglected Susan; another, to provide a comfortable 
 home for Elizabeth- Jane under his paternal eye; and a third, 
 to castigate himself with the thorns which these restitutory 
 
y8 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 acts brought in their train ; among them the lowering of his 
 dignity in public opinion by marrying so comparatively 
 humble a woman. 
 
 Susan Henchard entered a carriage for the first time in 
 her life when she stepped into the plain brougham which 
 drew up at the door on the wedding-day to take her and 
 Elizabeth-Jane to church. It was a windless morning of 
 warm November rain, which floated down like meal, and 
 lay in a powdery form on the nap of hats and coats. Few 
 people had gathered round the church door, though they 
 were well packed within. The Scotchman, who assisted as 
 groomsman, was of course the only one present, beyond the 
 chief actors, who knew the true situation of the contract- 
 ing parties. He, however, was too inexperienced, too 
 thoughtful, too judicial, too strongly conscious of the 
 serious side of the business, to enter into the scene in its 
 dramatic aspect. That required the special genius of Chris- 
 topher Coney, Solomon Longways, Buzzford, and their fel- 
 lows. But they knew nothing of the secret; though, as 
 the time for coming out of church drew on, they gathered 
 on the pavement adjoining, and expounded the subject ac- 
 cording to their lights. 
 
 " 'Tis five-and-forty years since I had my settlement in 
 this here town," said Coney; "but daze me if ever I see a 
 man wait so long before to take so little! There's a chance 
 even for thee after this, Nance Mockridge." The remark 
 was addressed to a woman who stood behind his shoulder — 
 the same who had exhibited Henchard's bad bread in public 
 when Elizabeth and her mother entered Casterbridge. 
 
 "Be cust if I'd marry any such as he, or thee either," re- 
 plied that lady. "As for thee, Christopher, we know what 
 ye be, and the less said the better. And as for he — well, 
 there — (lowering her voice) 'tis said 'a was a poor parish 
 'prentice — I wouldn't say it for all the world — but 'a was 
 a poor parish 'prentice, that began life wi' no more be- 
 longing to 'en than a carrion crow." 
 
 "And now he's worth ever so much a minute," murmured 
 Longways. "When a man is said to be worth so and so a 
 minute, he's a man to be considered!" 
 
 Turning, he saw a circular disc reticulated with creases, 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 79 
 
 and recognized the smiling countenance of the fat woman 
 who had asked for another song at the Three Mariners. 
 "Well, Mother Cuxsom," he said, "how's this? Here's Mrs. 
 Newson, a mere skellinton, has got another husband to 
 keep her, while a woman of your tonnage have not." 
 
 "I have not. Nor another to beat me. . . . Ah, yes, 
 Cuxsom's gone, and so shall leather breeches!" 
 
 "Yes; with the blessing of God leather breeches shall 
 go." 
 
 " "Tisn't worth my old while to think of another hus- 
 band," continued Mrs. Cuxsom. "And yet I'll lay my life 
 I'm as respectable bom as she." 
 
 "True; your mother was a very good woman — ^I can mind 
 her. She were rewarded by the Agricultural Society for 
 having begot the greatest number of healthy children with- 
 out parish assistance, and other virtuous marvels." 
 
 " 'Twas that that kept us so low upon ground — that great 
 family." 
 
 "Ay. Where the pigs be many the wash runs thin." 
 
 "And dostn't mind how mother would sing, Christopher?" 
 continued Mrs. Cuxsom, kindling at the retrospection; "and 
 how we went with her to the party at Mellstock, do ye 
 mind? — at old Dame Ledlow's, farmer Shinar's sister, do 
 ye mind? — she we used to call Toadskin, because her face 
 were so yaller and freckled, do ye mind?" 
 
 "I do, hee-hee, I do!" said Christopher Coney. 
 
 "And well do I — for I was getting up husband-high at 
 that time — one-half girl, and t'other half woman, as one 
 may say. And canst mind" — she prodded Solomon's shoul- 
 der with her finger-tip, while her eyes twinkled between the 
 crevices of their lids — "canst mind the sherry-wine, and the 
 zilver-snuffers, and how Joan Dummett was took bad when 
 we were coming home, and Jack Griggs was forced to carry 
 her through the mud; and how 'a let her fall in Dairyman 
 Sweetapple's cow-barton, and we had to clane her gown 
 wi' grass — never such a mess as 'a were in?" 
 
 "Ay — that I do — hee-hee, such doggery as there was in 
 them ancient days, to be sure! Ah, the miles I used to 
 walk then! and now I can hardly step over a furrow!" 
 
 Their reminiscences were cut short by the appearance of 
 
8d the mayor of casterbridge 
 
 the reunited pair — Henchard looking round upon the idlers 
 with that ambiguous gaze of his, which at one moment 
 seemed to mean satisfaction, and at another fiery disdain. 
 
 "Well — there's a difference between 'em, though he do 
 call himself a teetotaller," said Nance Mockridge. "She'll 
 wish her cake dough afore she's done of him. There's a 
 bluebeardy look about 'en; and 'twill out in time." 
 
 "Stuff — he's well enough! Some folk want their luck 
 buttered. If I had a choice as wide as the ocean sea I 
 wouldn't wish for a better man. A poor twanking woman 
 like her — 'tis a godsend for her, and hardly a pair o' 
 jumps or night-rail to her name." 
 
 The plain little brougham drove off in the mist, and the 
 idlers dispersed. "Well, we hardly know how to look at 
 things in these times!" said Solomon. "There was a man 
 dropped down dead yesterday, not so very many miles from 
 here; and what wi' that, and this moist weather, 'tis scarce 
 worth one's while to begin any work o' consequence to-day. 
 I'm in such a low key with drinking nothing but small table 
 ninepenny this last week or two that I shall call and warm 
 up at the Mar'ners as I pass along." 
 
 "I don't know but that I may as well go with 'ee, Solo- 
 mon," said Christopher; "I'm as clammy as a cockle-snail." 
 
 XIV 
 
 A MARTINMAS summer of Mrs. Henchard's life set in with 
 her entry into her husband's large house and respectable 
 social orbit; and it was as bright as such summers well can 
 be. Lest she should pine for deeper affection than he could 
 give, he made a point of showing some semblance of it in 
 external action. Among other things he had the iron rail- 
 ings, that had smiled sadly in dull rust for the last eighty 
 years, painted a bright green, and the heavy-barred, small- 
 paned Georgian sash windows enlivened with three coats of 
 white. He was as kind to her as a man, mayor, and church- 
 warden could possibly be. The house was large, the rooms 
 lofty, and the landings wide; and the two unassuming 
 women scarcely made a perceptible addition to its contents. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 8r 
 
 To Elizabeth- Jane the time was a most triumphant one. 
 The freedom she experienced, the indulgence with which she 
 was treated, went beyond her expectations. The reposeful, 
 easy, affluent life to which her mother's marriage had intro- 
 duced her was, in truth, the beginning of a great change in 
 Elizabeth. She found she could have nice personal posses- 
 sions and ornaments for the asking, and, as the mediaeval 
 saying puts it, "Take, have, and keep, are pleasant words." 
 With peace of mind came development, and with develop- 
 ment beauty. Knowledge — the result of great natural in- 
 sight — she did not lack; learning, accomplishments — those, 
 alas, she had not; but as the winter and spring passed by, 
 her thin face and figure filled out in rounder and softer 
 curves; the lines and contractions upon her young brow 
 went away; the muddiness of skin which she had looked 
 upon as her lot by nature departed with a change to abun- 
 dance of good things, and a bloom came upon her cheek. 
 Perhaps, too, her grey, thoughtful eyes revealed an arch 
 gaiety sometimes; but this was infrequent; the sort of wis- 
 dom which looked from their pupils did not readily keep 
 company with these lighter moods. Like all people who have 
 known rough times, light-heartedness seemed to her too 
 irrational and inconsequent to be indulged in except as a 
 reckless dram now and then; for she had been too early 
 habituated to anxious reasoning to drop the habit suddenly. 
 She felt none of those ups and downs of spirit which beset 
 so many people without cause; never — to paraphrase a re- 
 cent poet — never a gloom in Elizabeth- Jane's soul but she 
 'well knew how it came there; and her present cheerfulness 
 was fairly proportionate to her solid guarantees for the 
 same. 
 
 It might have been supposed that, given a girl rapidly 
 becoming good-looking, comfortably circumstanced, and for 
 the first time in her life commanding ready money, she 
 would go and make a fool of herself by dress. But no. 
 The reasonableness of almost everything that Elizabeth did 
 was nowhere more conspicuous than in this question of 
 clothes. To keep in the rear of opportunity in matters of 
 indulgence is as valuable a habit as to keep abreast of op- 
 portunity in matters of enterprise. This unsqphisticated 
 
82 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 girl did it by an innate perceptiveness that was almost 
 genius. Thus she refrained from bursting out like a water- 
 flower that spring, and clothing herself in puffings and 
 knick-knacks, as most of the Casterbridge girls would have 
 done in her circumstances. Her triumph was tempered by 
 circumspection; she had still that field-mouse fear of the 
 coulter of destiny despite fair promise, which is common 
 among the thoughtful who have suffered early from pov- 
 erty and oppression. 
 
 "I won't be too gay on any account," she would say 
 to herself. "It would be tempting Providence to hurl 
 mother and me down, and afflict us again as He used to do." 
 
 We now see her in a black silk bonnet, velvet mantle 
 or silk spencer, dark dress, and carrying a sunshade. In this 
 latter article she drew the line at fringe, and had it plain 
 edged, with a little ivory ring for keeping it closed. It 
 was odd about the necessity for that sunshade. She dis- 
 covered that with the clarification of her complexion and the 
 birth of pink cheeks her skin had grown more sensitive 
 to the sun's rays. She protected those cheeks forthwith, 
 deeming spotlessness part of womanliness. 
 
 Henchard had become very fond of her, and she went out 
 with him more frequently than with her mother how. Her 
 appearance one day was so attractive that he looked at her 
 critically. 
 
 "I happened to have the ribbon by me, so I made it up," 
 she faltered, thinking him perhaps dissatisfied with some 
 rather bright trimming she had donned for the first time. 
 
 "Ay— of course — to be sure," he replied in his leonine 
 way. "Do as you like — or rather as your mother advises 
 ye. 'Od send — I've nothing to say to't!" 
 
 Indoors she appeared with her hair divided by a parting 
 that arched like a white rainbow from ear to ear. All in 
 front of this line was covered with a thick encampment of 
 curls; all behind was dressed smoothly, and drawn to a 
 knob. 
 
 The three members of the family were sitting at break- 
 fast one day, and Henchard was looking silently, as he often 
 did, at this head of hair, which in colour was brown — rath» 
 light than dark. "I thought Elizabeth-Jane's hair — didn't 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 83 
 
 you tell me that Elizabeth- Jane's hair promised to be black 
 when she was a baby?" he said to his wife. 
 
 She looked startled, jerked his foot warningly, and mur- 
 mured, "Did I?" 
 
 As soon as Ehzabeth was gone to her own room Hen- 
 chard resumed. "Begad, I nearly forgot myself just now! 
 What I meant was that the girl's hair certainly looked as 
 if it would be darker, when she was a baby." 
 
 "It did; but they alter so," replied Susan. 
 
 "Their hair gets darker, I know — but I wasn't aware it 
 lightened ever?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." And the same uneasy expression came out 
 on her face, to which the future held the key. It passed 
 as Henchard went on: 
 
 "Well, so much the better. Now, Susan, I want to have 
 her called Miss Henchard — not Miss Newson. Lot's o' peo- 
 ple do it already in carelessness — it is her legal name — so it 
 may as well be made her usual name — I don't like t'other 
 name at all for my own flesh and blood. I'll advertise it in 
 the Casterbridge paper — that's the way they do it. She 
 won't object." 
 
 "No. Oh no. But " 
 
 "Well, then, I shall do it," said he, peremptorily. "Surely, 
 is she's willing, you must wish it as much as I?" 
 
 "Oh, yes — if she agrees let us do it by all means," she 
 replied. 
 
 Then Mrs. Henchard acted somewhat inconsistently; it 
 might have been called falsely, but that her manner was 
 emotional and full of the earnestness of one who wishes to 
 do right at great hazard. She went to Elizabeth- Jane, whom 
 she found sewing in her own sitting-rooru upstairs, and told, 
 her what had been proposed about her surname. "Can you 
 agree — is it not a slight upon Newson — now he's dead and 
 gone?" 
 
 Elizabeth reflected. "I'll think of it, mother," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 When, later in the day, she saw Henchard, she adverted 
 to the matter at once, in a way which showed that the line 
 of feeling started by her mother had been persevered in, 
 "Do you wish this change so very much, sir?" she asked. 
 
84 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Wish it? Why, my blessed fathers, what an ado you 
 women make about a trifle! I proposed it — that's all. 
 Now, 'Lizabeth-Jane, just please yourself. Curse me if I 
 care what you do. Now, you understand, don't 'ee go agree- 
 ing to it to please me." 
 
 Here the subject dropped, and nothing more was said, 
 and nothing was done, and Elizabeth still passed as Miss 
 Newson, and not by her legal name. 
 
 Meanwhile the great corn and hay traffic conducted by 
 Henchard throve under the management of Donald Far- 
 frae as it had never thriven before. It had formerly moved 
 in jolts; now it went on oiled castors. The old crude viva 
 voce system of Henchard, in which everything depended 
 upon his memory, and bargains were made by the tongue 
 alone, was swept away. Letters and ledgers took the place 
 of "I'll do it," and "you shall hae't;" and, as in all such 
 cases of advance, the rugged picturesqueness of the old 
 method disappeared with its inconveniences. 
 
 The position of Elizabeth- Jane's room — rather high in the 
 house, so that it commanded a view of the hay-stores and 
 granaries across the garden — afforded her opportunity for 
 accurate observation of what went on there. She saw that 
 Donald and Mr. Henchard were inseparables. When walk- 
 ing together Henchard would lay his arm familiarly on his 
 manager's shoulder, as if Farfrae were a younger brother, 
 bearing so heavily that his slight figure bent under the 
 weight. Occasionally she would hear a perfect cannonade 
 of laughter from Henchard, arising from something Donald 
 Lad said, the latter looking quite innocent and not laughing 
 at all. In Henchard's somewhat lonely life he evidently 
 found the young man as desirable for comradeship as he was 
 useful for consultations. Donald's brightness of intellect 
 maintained in the corn-factor the admiration it had wMi 
 at the first hour of their meeting. The poor opinion, and 
 but ill-concealed, that he entertained of the slim Farfrae's 
 physical girth, strength, and dash, was more than counter- 
 balanced by the immense respect he had for his brains. 
 
 Her quiet eye discerned that Henchard's tigerish affection 
 for the younger man, his constant liking to have Farfrae 
 near him, now and then resulted in a taidency to domineer, 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 85 
 
 which, however, was checked in a moment when Donald ex- 
 hibited marks of real offence. One day, looking down on 
 their figures from on high, she heard the latter remark, as 
 they stood in the doorway between garden and yard, that 
 their habit of walking and driving about together rather 
 neutralized Farfrae's value as a second pair of eyes, which 
 should be used in places where the principal was not. " 'Od 
 damn it," cried Henchard, "what's all the world 1 I like a 
 fellow to talk to. Now come along and hae some supper, 
 and don't take too much thought about things, or ye'll drive 
 me crazy." 
 
 When she walked with her mother, on the other hand, she 
 often beheld the Scotchman looking at them with a curi- 
 ous interest. The fact that he had met her at the Three 
 Mariners was insufficient to account for it, since on the oc- 
 casions on which she had entered his room he had never 
 raised his eyes. Besides, it was at her mother more par- 
 ticularly than at herself that he looked, to Elizabeth- Jane's 
 half-unconscious, simple-minded, perhaps pardonable, disap- 
 pointment. Thus she could not account for this interest 
 by her own attractiveness, and she decided that it might be 
 apparent only — a way of turning his eyes that Mr. Farfrae 
 had. 
 
 She did not divine the ample explanation of his manner, 
 without personal vanity, that was afforded by the fact of 
 Donald being the depositary of Henchard's confidence in 
 respect of his past treatment of the pale, chastened mother 
 who walked by her side. Her conjectures on that past never 
 went further than faint ones based on things casually heard 
 and seen — mere guesses that Henchard and her mother 
 might have been lovers in their younger days, who had 
 quarrelled and parted. 
 
 Casterbridge, as has been hinted, was a place deposited in 
 the block upon a corn-field. There was no suburb in the 
 modern sense, or transitional intermixture of town and down. 
 It stood, with regard to the wide fertile land adjoining, 
 clean-cut and distinct, like a chess-board on a green table- 
 cloth. The farmer's boy could sit under his barley-mow 
 and pitch a stone into the office- window of the town-clerk; 
 reapers at work among the sheaves nodded to acquaintances 
 
86 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 standing on the pavement-corner; the red-robed judge, when 
 he condemned a sheep-stealer, pronounced sentence to the 
 tune of Baa, that floated in at the window from the re- 
 mainder of the flock browsing hard by; and at executions 
 the waiting crowd stood in a meadow immediately before the 
 drop, out of which the cows had been temporarily driven 
 to give the spectators room. 
 
 The corn grown on the upland side of the borough was 
 garnered by farmers who lived in an eastern purlieu called 
 Durnover. Here wheat-ricks overhung the old Roman 
 street, and thrust their eaves against the church tower; 
 green-thatched bams, with doorways as high as the gates oif 
 Solomon's temple, opened directly upon the main thorough- 
 fare. Barns indeed were so numerous as to alternate with 
 every half-dozen houses along the way. Here lived bur- 
 gesses who daily walked the fallow; shepherds in an intra- 
 mural squeeze. A street of farmers' homesteads— a street 
 ruled by a mayor and corporation, yet echoing with the 
 thump of the flail, the flutter of the winnowing-fan, and the 
 purr of the milk into the pails — a street which had nothing 
 urban in it whatever — this was the Durnover end of Caster- 
 bridge. 
 
 Henchard, as was natural, dealt largely with this nursery 
 or bed of small farmers close at hand — and his waggons were 
 often down that way. One day, when arrangements were 
 in progress for getting home com from one of the aforesaid 
 farms, Elizabeth- Jane received a note by hand, asking her 
 to oblige the writer by coming at once to a granary on Durn- 
 over Hill. As this was the granary whose contents Hen- 
 chard was removing, she thought the request had something 
 to do with his business, and proceeded thither as soon as 
 she had put on her bonnet. The granary was just within 
 the farmyard, and stood on stone staddles, high enough for 
 persons to walk under. The gates were open, but nobody 
 was within. However, she entered and waited. Presently 
 she saw a figure approaching the gate — that of Donald Far- 
 frae. He looked up at the church clock, and came in. By 
 some unaccountable shyness, some wish not to meet him 
 there alone, she quickly ascended the step-ladder leading to 
 the granary door, and entered it before he had seen her. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 87 
 
 Farfrae advanced, imagining himself in solitude; and a few 
 drops of rain beginning to fall, he moved and stood under 
 the shelter where she had just been standing. Here he leant 
 against one of the staddles, and gave himself up to patience. 
 He, too, was plainly expecting some one; could it be herself? 
 if so, why? In a few minutes he looked at his watch, and 
 then pulled out a note, a duplicate of the one she had herself 
 received. 
 
 The situation began to be very awkward, and the longer 
 she waited the more awkward it became. To emerge from 
 a door just above his head and descend the ladder, and 
 show she had been in hiding there, would look so very fool- 
 ish, that she still waited on. A winnowing machine stood 
 close beside her, and to relieve her suspense she gently 
 moved the handle; whereupon a cloud of wheat husks flew 
 out into her face, and covered her clothes and bormet, and 
 stuck into the fur of her victorine. He must have heard 
 the slight movement, for he looked up, and then ascended 
 the steps. 
 
 "Ah — it's Miss Newson," he said as soon as he could see 
 into the granary. "I didn't know you were there. I have 
 kept the appointment, and am at your service." 
 
 "O Mr. Farfrae," she faltered; "so have I. But I didn't 
 know it was you who wished to see me, otherwise I " 
 
 "I wished to see you? Oh no — ^at least, that is, I am 
 afraid there may be a mistake." 
 
 "Didn't you ask me to come here? Didn't you write 
 this?" Elizabeth held out her note. 
 
 "No. Indeed, at no hand would I have thought of it! 
 And for you — didn't you ask me? This is not your writ- 
 ing?" And he held up his. 
 
 "By no means." 
 
 "And is that really so! Then it's somebody wanting to 
 see us both. Perhaps we would do well to wait a little 
 longer." 
 
 Acting on this consideration they lingered, Elizabeth- 
 Jane's face being arranged to an expression of preternatural 
 composure, and the young Scot, at every footstep in the 
 street without, looking from under the granary to see if the 
 passer were about to enter and declare himself their sum- 
 
88 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 moner. They watched individual drops of rain creeping 
 down the thatch of the opposite rick — straw after straw — 
 till they reached the bottom; but nobody came, and the 
 granary roof began to drip. 
 
 "The person is not likely to be coming," said Farfrae. 
 "It's a trick perhaps, and if so, it's a great pity to waste our 
 time like this, and so much to be done." 
 
 " 'Tis a great liberty," said Elizabeth. 
 
 "It's true, Miss Newson. We'll hear news of this some 
 day, depend on't, and who it was that did it. I wouldn't 
 stand for it hindering myself; but you. Miss Newson" 
 
 "I don't mind— much," she replied. 
 
 "Neither do I." 
 
 They lapsed again into silence. "You are anxious to get 
 back to Scotland, I suppose, Mr. Farfrae?" she inquired. 
 
 "Oh no. Miss Newson. Why would I be?" 
 
 "I only supposed you might be from the song you sang 
 at the Three Mariners — about Scotland and home, I mean 
 — which you seemed to feel so deep down in your heart; 
 30 that we all felt for you." 
 
 "Ay — and I did sing there — I did But, Miss New- 
 son" — and Donald's voice miisically undulated between two 
 semitones, as it always did when he became earnest — ^"it's 
 well you feel a song, for a few minutes, and your eyes they 
 get quite tearful; but you finish it, and for all you felt you 
 don't mind it or think of it again for a long while. Oh 
 no, I don't want to go back! Yet I'll sing the song to you 
 wi' pleasure whenever you like. I could sing it now, and not 
 mind at all!" 
 
 "Thank you, indeed. But I fear I must go — rain or no." 
 
 "Ay! Then, Miss Newson, ye had better say nothing 
 about this hoax, and take no heed of it. And if the perstm 
 should say anything to you, be civil to him or her, as if you 
 did not mind it — so you'll take the clever person's laugh 
 away." In speaking his eyes became fixed upon her dress, 
 still sown with wheat husks. "There's husks and dust on 
 you. Perhaps you don't know it?" he said, in tones of ex- 
 treme delicacy. "And it's very bad to let rain come upon 
 clothes when there's chaff on them. It washes in and spoils 
 them. Let me help you — blowing is the best." 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 89 
 
 As Elizabeth neither assented nor dissented, Donald Far- 
 frae began blowing her back hair, and her side hair, and 
 her neck, and the crown of her bonnet, and the fur of her 
 victorine, Elizabeth saying, "Oh, thank you," at every puff. 
 At last she was fairly clean, though Farfrae, having got over 
 his first concern at the situation, seemed in no manner of 
 hurry to be gone. 
 
 "Ah — now I'll go and get ye an umbrella," he said. 
 
 She declined the offer, stepped out and was gone. Far- 
 frae walked slowly after, looking thoughtfully at her di- 
 minishing figure, and whistling in undertones, "As I came 
 down through Cannobie." 
 
 XV 
 
 At first Miss Newson's budding beauty was not regarded 
 with much interest by anybody in Casterbridge. Donald 
 Farfrae's gaze, it is true, was now attracted by the Mayor's 
 so-called step-daughter, but he was only one. The truth is 
 that she was but a poor illustrative instance of the prophet 
 Baruch's sly definition: "The virgin that loveth to go gay." 
 
 When she walked abroad she seemed to be occupied with 
 an inner chamber of ideas, and to have slight need for visi- 
 ble objects. She formed curious resolves on checking gay 
 fancies in the matter of clothes, because it was inconsistent 
 with her past life to blossom gaudily the moment she had 
 become possessed of money. But nothing is more insidious 
 than the evolution of wishes from mere fancies, and of wants 
 from mere wishes. Henchard gave Elizabeth- Jane a box of 
 delicately-tinted gloves one spring day. She wanted to wear 
 them to show her appreciation of his kindness, but she had 
 no bonnet that would harmonize. As an artistic indulgence 
 she thought she would have such a bonnet. When she had 
 a bonnet that would go with the gloves she had no dress 
 that would go with the bonnet. It was now absolutely 
 necessary to finish; she ordered the requisite article, and 
 found that she had no sunshade to go with the dress. In 
 for a penny in for a pound; she bought the sunshade, and 
 the whole structture was at last complete. 
 
 Everybody was attracted, and some said that her bygone 
 
90 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 simplicity was the art that conceals art, the "delicate im- 
 positioc" of Rochefoucauld; she had produced an effect, a 
 contrast, and it had been done on purpose. As a matter 
 of fact this was not true, but it had its result; for as soon 
 as Casterbridge thought her artful it thought her worth 
 notice. "It is the first time in my life that I have been so 
 much admired," she said to herself; "though perhaps it is by 
 those whose admiration is not worth having." 
 
 But Donald Farfrae admired her, too; and altogether 
 the time was an exciting one; sex had never before asserted 
 itself in her so strongly, for in former days she had perhaps 
 been too impersonally human to be distinctly feminine. 
 After an unprecedented success one day she came indoors, 
 went upstairs, and leant upon her bed face downwards, quite 
 forgetting the possible creasing and damage. "Good Heav- 
 en," she whispered, "can it be? Here am I setting up as the 
 town beauty!" 
 
 When she had thought it over, her usual fear of exag- 
 gerating appearances engendered a deep sadness. "There is 
 something wrong in all this," she mused. "If they only 
 knew what an unfinished girl I am — that I can't talk Ital- 
 ian, or use globes, or show any of the accomplishments they 
 learn at boarding-schools, how they would despise me! Bet- 
 ter sell all this finery and buy myself grammar-books and 
 dictionaries and a history of all tie philosophies!" 
 
 She looked from the window, and saw Henchard and Far- 
 frae in the hay-yard talking, with that impetuous cordiality 
 on the Mayor's part, and genial modesty on the younger 
 man's, that was now so generally observable in their inter- 
 course. Friendship between man and man; what a rugged 
 strength there was in it, as evinced by these two. And yet 
 the seed that was to lift the foundation of this friendship 
 was at that moment taking root in a chink of its structure. 
 
 It was about six o'clock; the men were dropping off home- 
 Wcird one by one. The last to leave was a round-shouldered, 
 blinking young man of nineteen or twenty, whose mouth fell 
 ajar on the slightest provocation, seemingly because there 
 was no chin to support it. Henchard called aloud to him as 
 he went out of the gate. "Here— Abel Whittle!" 
 
 Whittle turned, and ran back a few steps. "Yes, sir," he 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE gi 
 
 said, in breathless deprecation, as if he knew what was 'dom- 
 ing next. 
 
 "Once more — be in time to-morrow morning. You see 
 what's to be done, and you hear what I say, and you know 
 I'm not going to be trifled with any longer." 
 
 "Yes, sir." Then Abel Whittle left, and Henchard and 
 Farfrae; and Elizabeth saw no more of them. 
 
 Now there was good reason for this command on Hen^ 
 chard's part. Poor Abel, as he was called, had an inveterate 
 habit of over-sleeping himself and coming late to his work. 
 His anxious will was to be among the earliest; but if his 
 comrades omitted to pull the string that he always tied 
 round his great toe and left hanging out of the window for 
 that purpose, his will was as wind. He did not arrive in 
 time. 
 
 As he was often second hand at the hay-weighing, or at 
 the crane which lifted the sacks, or was one of those who 
 had to accompany the waggons into the country to fetch 
 away stacks that had been purchased, this affliction of 
 Abel's was productive of much inconvenience. For two 
 mornings in the present week he had kept the others waiting 
 nearly an hour; hence Henchard's threat. It now remained 
 to be seen what would happen to-morrow. 
 
 Six o'clock struck, and there was no Whittle. At half- 
 past six Henchard entered the yard ; the waggon was horsed 
 that Abel was to accompany; and the other man had been 
 waiting twenty minutes. Then Henchard swore, and Whit- 
 tle coming up breathless at that instant, the corn-factor 
 turned on him, and declared with an oath that this was the 
 last time; that if he were behind once more, by God, he 
 would come and drag him out o' bed. 
 
 "There is sommit wrong in my make, your worshipftil I " 
 said Abel, "especially in the inside, whereas my poor dumb 
 brain gets as dead as a clot afore I've said my few scrags 
 of prayers. Yes — it came on as a stripling, just afore I'd 
 got man's wages, whereas I never enjoy my bed at all, for no 
 sooner do I lie down than I be asleep, and afore I be awake 
 I be up. I've fretted my gizzard green about it, maister, 
 but what can I do? Now last night, afore I went to bed, I 
 only had a scantling o' cheese and" 
 
92 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "I don't want to hear it! " roared Henchard. "To-morrow 
 the waggons must start at four, and if you're not here, stand 
 dear. I'll mortify thy flesh for thee!" 
 
 "But let me clear up my points, your worshipful" 
 
 Henchard turned away. 
 
 "He asked me and he questioned me, and then a' wouldn't 
 hear my points!" said Abel, to the yard in general. "Now, 
 I shall twitch like a moment-hand all night to-night for fear 
 o' him!" 
 
 The journey to be taken by the waggons next day was a 
 long one, into Blackmoor Vale, and at four o'clock lanterns 
 were moving about the yard. But Abel was missing. Be- 
 fore either of the other men could run to Abel's and warn 
 him, Henchard appeared in the garden doorway. "Where's 
 Abel Whittle? Not come after all I've said? Now I'll carry 
 out my word, by my blessed fathers — nothing else will do 
 him any good! I'm going up that way." 
 
 Henchard went off, entered Abel's house, a little cottage 
 in Back Street, the door of which was never locked, because 
 the inmates had nothing to lose. Reaching Whittle's bed- 
 side, the corn-factor shouted a bass note so vigorously that 
 Abel started up instantly, and beholding Henchard standing 
 over him, was galvanized into spasmodic movements which 
 had not much relation to getting on his clothes. 
 
 "Out of bed, sir, and off to the granary, or you leave 
 my employ to-day! 'Tis to teach ye a lesson. March on; 
 never mind your breeches!" 
 
 The unhappy Whittle threw on his sleeve waistcoat, and 
 managed to get into his boots at the bottom of the stairs, 
 while Henchard thrust his hat over his head. Whittle then 
 trotted on down Back Street, Henchard walking sternly be- 
 hind. 
 
 Just at this time Farfrae, who had been to Henchard's 
 house to look for him, came out of the back gate, and saw 
 something white fluttering in the morning gloom, which he 
 soon perceived to be the part of Abel's shirt that showed 
 below his waistcoat. 
 
 "For maircy's sake, what object's this?" said Farfrae, 
 following Abel into the yard, Henchard being some way in 
 the rear by this time. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 93 
 
 "Ye see, Mr. Farfrae," gibbered Abel with a resigned 
 smile of terror, "he said he'd mortify my flesh if so be I 
 didn't get up sooner, and now he's a doing on't! Ye see 
 it can't be helped, Mr. Farfrae; things do happen queer 
 sometimes! Yes — I'll go to Blackmoor Vale half naked 
 as I be, since he do command; but I shall kill myself after- 
 wards! I can't outlive the disgrace; for the women-folk will 
 be looking out of their winders at my mortification all the 
 way along, and laughing me to scorn as a man 'ithout 
 breeches! You know how I feel such things, Maister Far- 
 frae, and how forlorn thoughts get hold upon me. Yes — I 
 shall do myself harm — I feel it coming on!" 
 
 "Get back home, and slip on your breeches, and come to 
 wark like a man! If ye go not, you'll ha'e your death 
 standing there!" 
 
 "I'm afeard I mustn't! Mr. Henchard said" 
 
 "I don't care what Mr. Henchard said, nor anybody else! 
 Tis simple foolishness to do this. Go and dress yourself 
 instantly. Whittle." 
 
 "Hullo, hullo!" said Henchard, coming up behind. 
 "Who's sending him back?" 
 
 All the men looked towards Farfrae. 
 
 "I am," said Donald. "I say this joke has been carried 
 far enough." 
 
 "And I say it hasn't! Get up in the waggon. Whit- 
 tle." 
 
 "Not if I am manager," sdd Farfrae. "He either goes 
 home, or I march out of this yard for good." 
 
 Henchard looked at him with a face stern and red. But 
 he paused for a moment, and their eyes met. Donald went 
 up to him, for he saw in Henchard's look that he began to 
 regret this. 
 
 "Come," said Donald quietly, "a man o' your position 
 should ken better, sir! It is tyrannical and no worthy of 
 you." 
 
 " 'Tis not tyrannical!" murmured Henchard, like a sullen 
 Doy. "It is to make him remember! " He presently added, 
 in a tone of one bitterly hurt: "Why did you speak to me 
 before them like that, Farfrae? You might have stopped 
 till we were alone. Ah — I know why! I've told ye the 
 
94 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 secret o' my life — fool that I was to do't — and you take ad- 
 vantage of me!" 
 
 "I had forgot it," said Farfrae simply. 
 
 Henchard looked on the ground, said nothing more, and 
 turned away. During the day Farfrae learnt from the men 
 that Henchard had kept Abel's old mother in coals and snuff 
 all the previous winter, which made him less antagonistic 
 to the corn-factor. But Henchard continued moody and 
 silent, and when one of the men inquired of him if some 
 oats should be hoisted to an upper floor or not, he said 
 shortly, "Ask Mr. Farfrae. He's master here!" 
 
 Morally he was; there could be no doubt of it. Hen- 
 chard, who had hitherto been the most admired man in his 
 circle, was the most admired no longer. One day the daugh- 
 ters of a deceased farmer in Durnover wanted an opinion 
 on the value of their haystack, and sent a messenger to 
 ask Mr. Farfrae to oblige them with one. The messenger, 
 who was a child, met in the yard not Farfrae, but Henchard. 
 
 "Very well," he said. "I'll come." 
 
 "But please will Mr. Farfrae come?" said the child. 
 
 "I am going that way. . . Why Mr. Farfrae?" 
 said Henchard, with the fixed look of thought. "Why do 
 people always want Mr. Farfrae?" 
 
 "I suppose because they like him so — that's what they 
 say." 
 
 "Oh — I see — that's what they say — ^hey? They like him 
 because he's cleverer than Mr. Henchard, and because he 
 knows more; and, in short, Mr. Henchard can't hold a can- 
 dle to him — hey?" 
 
 "Yes — that's just it, sir — some of it." 
 
 "Oh, there's more? Of course there's more! What be- 
 sides? Come, here's sixpence for a fairing." 
 
 " 'And he';; better tempered, and Henchard's a fool to 
 him,' they say. And when some'of the women were a walk- 
 ing home they said, 'He's a diment — ^he's a chap o' wax — 
 he's the best — ^he's the horse for my money,' says they. 
 And they said, 'He's the most understanding man o' them 
 two by long chalks. I wish he was the master instead 
 of Henchard,' they said." 
 
 "They'll talk any nonsense," Henchard replied with cov- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 95 
 
 ered gloom. "Well, you can go now. And / am coming to 
 value the hay, d'ye hear? — I." The boy departed, and 
 Henchard murmured, "Wish he were master here, do 
 they?" 
 
 He went towards Durnover. On his way he overtook 
 Farfrae. They walked on together, Henchard looking 
 mostly on the ground. 
 
 "You're no yoursel' the day?" Donald inquired. 
 
 "Yes, I am very well," said Henchard. 
 
 "But ye are a bit down — surely ye are down? Why, 
 there's nothing to be angry about! 'Tis splendid stuff 
 that we've got from Blackmoor Vale. By-the-by, the people 
 in Durnover want their hay valued.'' 
 
 "Yes. I am going there." 
 
 "I'll go with ye." 
 
 As Henchard did not reply, Donald practised a piece of 
 music sotto voce, till, getting near the bereaved people's 
 door, he stopped himself with — 
 
 "Ah, as their father is dead, I won't go on with such as 
 that. How could I forget?" 
 
 "Do you care so very much about hurting folks' feel- 
 ings?" observed Henchard with a half sneer. "You do, I 
 know — especially minej" 
 
 "I am sorry if I have hurt yours, sir," replied Donald,, 
 standing still, with a second expression of the same senti- 
 ment in the regretfulness of his face. "Why should you say 
 it— think it?" 
 
 The cloud lifted from Henchard's brow, and as Donald 
 finished the corn-merchant turned to him, regarding his 
 breast rather than his face. 
 
 "I have been hearing things that vexed me," he said. 
 " 'Twas that made me short in my manner — ^made me over- 
 look what you really are. Now, I don't want to go in here 
 about this hay — Farfrae, you can do it better than I. They 
 sent for ye, too. I have to attend a meeting of the Town 
 Council at eleven, and 'tis drawing on for't." 
 
 They parted thus in renewed friendship, Donald forbear- 
 ing to ask Henchard for meanings that were not very plain 
 to him. On Henchard's part there was now again repose; 
 and yet, whenever he thought of Farfrae, it was with a dim 
 
96 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 dread; and he often regretted that he had told the young 
 man his whole heart, and confided to him the secrets of Ms 
 life. 
 
 XVI 
 
 On this account Henchard's manner towards Farfrae in- 
 sensibly became more reserved. He was courteous — too 
 courteous — and Farfrae was quite surprised at the good 
 breeding which now for the first time showed itself among 
 the qualities of a man he had hitherto thought imdisciplined, 
 if warm and sincere. The corn-factor seldom or never 
 again put his arm upon the young man's shoulder so as to 
 nearly weigh him down with the pressure of mechanized 
 friendship. He left off coming to Donald's lodgings and 
 shouting into the passage. "Hoy, Farfrae, boy, come and 
 have some dinner with us! Don't sit here in solitary con- 
 finement!" But in the daily routine of their business there 
 was little change. 
 
 Thus their lives rolled on till a day of public rejoicing 
 was suggested to the country at large in celebration of a 
 Bational event that had recently taken place. 
 
 For some time Casterbridge, by nature slow, made no 
 response. Then one day Donald Fatfrae broached the sub- 
 ject to Henchard by asking if he would have any objection 
 to lend some rick-doths to himself and a few others, who 
 contemplated getting up an entertainment of some sort on 
 the day named, and required a shelter for the same, to which 
 they might charge admission at the rate of so much a head. 
 
 "Have as many cloths as you like," Henchard replied. 
 
 When his manager had gone about the business Hen- 
 chard was fired with emulation. It certainly had been very 
 remiss of him, as Mayor, he thought, to call no meeting 
 ere this, to discuss what should be done on this holiday. 
 But Farfrae had been so cursed quick in his movements as 
 to give old-fashioned people in authority no chance of the 
 initiative. However, it was not too late; and on second 
 thoughts he determined to take upon his own shoulders 
 the responsibility of organizing some amusements, if the 
 other Councilmen would leave the matter in his hands. To 
 this they quite readily agreed, the majority being fine old 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 97 
 
 crusted characters who had a decided taste for living with- 
 out worry. 
 
 So Henchard set about his preparations for a really bril- 
 liant thing — such as should be worthy of the venerable 
 town. As for Farfrae's little affair, Henchard nearly forgot 
 it; except once now and then when, on it coming into his 
 mind, he said to himself, "Charge admission at so much a 
 head — ^just like a Scotchman! — ^who is going to pay any- 
 thing a head?" The diversions which the Mayor intended 
 to provide were to be entirely free. 
 
 He had grown so dependent upon Donald that he could 
 scarcely resist calling him in to consult. But by sheer 
 self-coercion he refrained. No, he thought, Farfrae would 
 be suggesting such improvements in his damned luminous 
 way, that in spite of himself he, Henchard, would sink to 
 the position of second fiddle, and only scrape harmonie? 
 to his manager's talents. 
 
 Everybody applauded the Mayor's proposed entertain^ 
 ment, especially when it became known that he meant to 
 pay for it all himself. 
 
 Close to the town was an elevated green spot surrounded 
 by an ancient square earthwork — earthworks square, and 
 not square, were as common as blackberries hereabout — a 
 spot whereon the Casterbridge people usually held any kind 
 of merry-making, meeting, or sheep-fair that required more 
 space than the streets would afford. On one side it sloped 
 to the river Froom, and from any point a view was ob- 
 tained of the country round for many miles. This pleasant 
 upland was to be the scene of Henchard's exploit. 
 
 He advertised about the town, in long posters of a pink 
 colour, that games of all sorts would take place here; and 
 set to work a little battalion of men under his own eye. 
 They erected greasy-poles for climbing, with smoked hams 
 and local cheeses at the top. They placed hurdles in rows 
 for jumping over; across the river they laid a slippery pole, 
 with a live pig of the neighbourhood tied at the other end, 
 to become the property of the man who could walk over 
 and get it. There were also provided wheelbarrows for rac- 
 ing, donkeys for the same, a stage for boxing, wrestling, and 
 drawing blood generally; sacks for jumping in. Moreover, 
 
98 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 not forgetting his principles, Henchard provided a mam- 
 moth tea, of which everybody who lived in the borough 
 was invited to partake without payment. The tables were 
 laid parallel with the inner slope of the rampart, and awn- 
 ings were stretched overhead. 
 
 Passing to and fro the Mayor beheld the unattractive ex- 
 terior of Farfrae's erection in the West Walk, rick-cloths 
 of different sizes and colours being hung up to the arching 
 trees without any regard to appearance. He was easy in 
 his mind now, for his own preparations far transcended 
 these. 
 
 The morning came. The sky, which had been remarka- 
 bly clear down to within a day or two, was overcast, and 
 the weather threatening, the wind having an tmmistakable 
 hint of water in it. Henchard wished he had not been quite 
 so sure about the continuance of a fair season. But it was 
 too late to modify or postpone, and the proceedings went on. 
 At twelve o'clock the rain began to fall, small and steady, 
 commencing and increasing so insensibly that it was diffi- 
 cult to state exactly when dry weather ended or wet es- 
 tablished itself. In an hour the slight moisture resolved 
 itself into a monotonous smiting of earth by heaven, in 
 torrents to which no end could be prognosticated. 
 
 A number of people had heroically gathered in the field, 
 but by three o'clock Henchard discerned that his project 
 was doomed to end in failure. The hams at the top of the 
 poles dripped watered smoke in the form of a brown liquor, 
 the pig shivered in the wind, the grain of the deal tables 
 showed through the sticking tablecloths, for the awning al- 
 lowed the rain to drift under at its will, and to enclose the 
 sides at this hour seemed a useless undertaking. The land- 
 scape over the river disappeared; the wind played on the 
 tent-cords in iEolian improvisations; and at length rose to 
 such a pitch that the whole erection slanted to the ground, 
 those who had taken shelter within it having to crawl out 
 on their hands and knees^ 
 
 But towards six the storm abated, and a drier breeze 
 shook the moisture from the grass bents. It seemed possi- 
 ble to carry out the programme after all. The awning 
 was set up again; the band was called out from its shelter, 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 99* 
 
 and ordered to begin, and where the tables had stood a 
 place was cleared for dancing. 
 
 "But where are the folk?" said Henchard, after the 
 lapse of half-an-hour, during which time only two men 
 And a woman had stood up to dance. "The shops are all 
 shut. Why don't they, come?" 
 
 "They are at Farfrae's affair in the West Walk," answered 
 a councilman who stood in the field with the Mayor. 
 
 "A few, I suppose. But where are the body o' 'em?" 
 
 "All out of doors are there." 
 
 "Then the more fools they!" 
 
 Henchard walked away moodily. One or two young 
 fellows gallantly came to climb the poles, to save the hams 
 from being wasted; but as there were no spectators, and 
 the whole scene presented the most melancholy appear- 
 ance, Henchard gave orders that the proceedings were to 
 be suspended, and the entertainment closed, the food to 
 be distributed among the poor people of the town. In a 
 short time nothing was left in the field but a few hurdles, 
 the tents, and the poles. 
 
 Henchard returned to his house, had tea with his wife and 
 daughter, and then walked out. It was now dusk. He 
 soon saw that the tendency of all promenaders was towards 
 a particular spot in the Walks, and eventually proceeded 
 thither himself. The notes of a stringed band came from 
 the enclosure that Farfrae had erected — the pavilion, as he 
 called it — and when he reached it he perceived that a gigan- 
 tic tent had been ingeniously constructed without poles 
 or ropes. The densest point of the avenue of sycamores 
 had been selected, where the boughs made a closely inter- 
 laced vault overhead; to these boughs the canvas had been 
 hung, and a barrel roof was the result. The end towards 
 the wind was enclosed, the other end was open. Henchard 
 went round and saw the interior. 
 
 ~ In form it was like the nave of a cathedral with one gable 
 removed, but the scene within was anything but devotional, 
 A reel or fling of some sort was in progress; and the usually 
 sedate Farfrae was in the midst of the other dancers in the 
 costume of a wild Highlander, flinging himself about and 
 spinning to the tune. For a moment Henchard could not 
 
loo THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 hdp laughing. Then he perceived the immense admiration 
 for the Scotchman that revealed itself in the women's faces; 
 and when this exhibition was over, and a new dance pro- 
 posed, and Donald had disappeared for a time to return 
 in his natural garments, he had an unlimited choice of part- 
 ners, every girl being in a coming-on disposition towards 
 one who so thoroughly understood the poetry of motion as 
 he. 
 
 All the town crowded to the Walk, such a delightful 
 idea of a ball-room never having occurred to the inhabi- 
 tants before. Among the rest of the onlookers were Eliza- 
 beth and her mother — the former thoughtful yet much in- 
 terested, her eyes beaming with a longing lingering light, 
 as if Nature had been advised by Correggio in their crea- 
 tion. The dancing progressed with unabated spirit, and 
 Henchard walked and waited till his wife should be dis- 
 posed to go home. He did not care to keep in the light, 
 and when he went into the dark it was worse, for there 
 he heard remarks of a kind which were becoming too fre- 
 quent: 
 
 "Mr. Henchard's rejoicings couldn't say good morning 
 to this," SEiid one. "A man must be a headstrong stunpoll 
 to think folk would go up to that bleak place to-day." 
 
 The other answer that people said it was not only in 
 such things as those that the Mayor was wanting. "Where 
 would his business be if it were not for this young fellow? 
 'Twas verily Fortune sent him to Henchard. His ac- 
 counts were like a bramblewood when Mr. Farfrae came. 
 He used to reckon his sacks by chalk strokes all in a row 
 like garden-palings, measure his ricks by stretching with his 
 arms, weigh his trusses by a lift, judge his hay by a 
 'chaw,' and settle the price with a curse. But now this 
 accomplished young man does it all by ciphering and men- 
 suration. Then the wheat — that sometimes used to taste 
 so strongly of mice when made into bread that people could 
 fairly tell the breed — Farfrae has a plan for purifying, so 
 that nobody would dream the smallest four-legged beast had 
 walked over it once. Oh, yes, everybody is full of him, 
 and the care Mr. Henchard has to keep him, to be surel" 
 concluded this gentleman. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE loit 
 
 "But he won't do it for long, good-now," said the other, 
 
 "No!" said Henchard to himself behind the tree. "Or 
 if he do, he'll be honeycombed clean out of all the char- 
 acter and standing that he's built up in these eighteen 
 year!" 
 
 He went back to the dancing pavilion. Farf rae was foot- 
 ing a quaint little dance with Elizabeth- Jane — an old coun- 
 try thing, the only one she knew, and though he consider- 
 ately toned down his movements to suit her demurer gait, 
 the pattern of the shining little nails in the soles of his 
 boots became familiar to the eyes of every bystander. The 
 tune had enticed her into it; being a tune of a busy, vault- 
 ing, leaping sort — some low notes on the silver string of 
 each fiddle, then a skipping on the small, like running up 
 and down ladders — "Miss M'Leod of Ayr" was its name, 
 so Mr. Farfrae had said, and that it was very popular in 
 his own country. 
 
 It was soon over, and the girl looked at Henchard for ap- 
 proval; but he did not give it. He seemed not to see her. 
 "Look here, Farfrae," he said, like one whose mind was 
 elsewhere, "I'll go to Port-Bredy Great Market to-morrow 
 myself. You can stay and put things right in your clothes- 
 box, and recover strength to your knees after your vagaries." 
 He planted on Donald an antagonistic glare that had begun 
 as a smile. 
 
 Some other townsmen came up, and Donald drew aside. 
 "What's this, Henchard," said Alderman Tubber, applying 
 his thumb to the corn-factor like a cheese-taster. "An op- 
 position randy to yours, eh? Jack's as good as his master, 
 eh? Cut ye out quite, hasn't he?" 
 
 "You see, Mr. Henchard," said the lawyer, another good- 
 natured friend, "where you made the mistake was in going 
 so far afield. You should have taken a leaf out of his book, 
 and have had your sports in a sheltered place like this. But 
 you didn't think of it, you see; and he did, and that's where 
 he's beat you." 
 
 "He'll be top-sawyer soon of you two, and carry all afors 
 him," added jocular Mr. Tubber. 
 
 "No," said Henchard gloomily. "He won't be that, be- 
 cause he's shortly going to leave me." He looked towards 
 
t02 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Donald, who had again come near. "Mr. Farfrae's time 
 as my manager is drawing to a close — isn't it, Farfrae?" 
 
 The young man, who could now read the lines and folds 
 of Henchard's strongly- traced face as if they were clear ver- 
 bal inscriptions, quietly assented; and when people deplored 
 the fact, and asked why it was, he simply replied that Mr. 
 Henchard no longer required his help. 
 
 Henchard went home, apparently satisfied. But in the 
 morning, when his jealous temper had passed away, his 
 heart sank within him at what he had said and done. He 
 was the more disturbed when he found that this time Far- 
 frae was determined to take him at his word. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane had perceived from Henchard's manner 
 that in assenting to dance she had made a mistake of some 
 kind. In her simplicity she did not know what it was, till 
 a hint from a nodding acquaintance enlightened her. As 
 the Mayor's step-daughter, she learnt, she had not been 
 quite in her place in treading a measure amid such a mixed 
 throng as filled the dancing pavilion. 
 
 Thereupon her ears, cheeks, and chin glowed like live 
 coals at the dawning of the idea that her tastes were not 
 good enough for her position, and would bring her into 
 disgrace. 
 
 This made her very miserable, and she looked about for 
 her mother; but Mrs. Henchard, who had less idea of con- 
 ventionality than Elizabeth herself, had gone away, leaving 
 her daughter to return at her own pleasure. The latter 
 moved on into the dark dense old avenues, or rather vaults 
 of living woodwork, which ran along the town boundary, 
 and stood reflecting. 
 
 A man followed in a few minutes, and her face being 
 towards the shine from the tent, he recognized her. It was 
 Farfrae — ^just come from the dialogue with Henchard which 
 had signified his dismissal. 
 
 "And it's you. Miss Newson? — and I've been looking 
 for ye everywhere!" he said, overcoming a sadness imparted 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE lojj 
 
 by the estrangement with the corn-merchant. "May I walk 
 on with you as far as your street-corner?" 
 
 She thought there might be something wrong in this, but 
 did not utter any objection. So together they went on, 
 first down the West Walk, and then into the BowUng Walk, 
 tOl Farfrae said, "It's like that I'm going to leave you 
 soon." 
 
 She faltered "Why?" 
 
 "Oh — as a mere matter of business — ^nothing more. But 
 we'll not concern ourselves about it — it is for the best. I 
 hoped to have another dance with you." 
 
 She said she could not dance — in any proper way. 
 
 "Oh, but you do! It's the feeling for it rather than the 
 learning of steps that makes pleasant dancers. ... I 
 fear I offended your father by getting up this I And now, 
 perhaps, I'll have to go to another part o' the warrld al- 
 together!" 
 
 This seemed such a melancholy prospect that Elizabeth- 
 Jane breathed a sigh — letting it off in fragments that he 
 might not hear her. But darkness makes people truthful, 
 and the Scotchman went on impulsively — perhaps he had 
 heard her after all: 
 
 "I wish I was richer. Miss Newson ; and your step-father 
 had not been offended ; I would ask you something in a short 
 time — ^yes, I would ask you to-night. But that's not for 
 me!" 
 
 What he would have asked her he did not say; and in- 
 stead of encouraging him she remained incompetently silent. 
 Thus afraid one of another, they continued their promenade 
 along the walls till they got near the bottom of the Bowling! 
 Walk; twenty steps further and the trees would end, and 
 the street-corner and lamps appear. In consciousness of 
 this they stopped. 
 
 "I never found out who it was that sent us to Durnover 
 granary on a fool's errand that day," said Donald, in his 
 undulating tones. "Did ye ever know yourself. Miss New- 
 son?" 
 
 "Never," said she. 
 
 "I wonder why they did it!" 
 
 "For fun, perhaps." 
 
104 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Perhaps it was not for fun. It might have been that 
 they thought they would like us to stay waiting there, talk- 
 ing to one another? Ay, well! I hope you Casterbridge 
 folk will no forget me if I go." 
 
 "That I'm sure we won't!" she said earnestly. "I — ^wish 
 you wouldn't go at all." 
 
 They had got into the lamplight. "Now, I'll think over 
 that," said Donald Farfrae. "And I'll not come up to your 
 door; but part from you here; lest it make your father more 
 angry still." 
 
 They parted, Farfrae returning into the dark Bowling 
 Walk, and Elizabeth- Jane going up the street. Without 
 any consciousness of what she was doing she started running 
 with all her might till she reached her father's door. "Oh 
 dear me — what am I at?" she thought, as she pulled up 
 breathless. 
 
 Indoors she fell to conjecturing the meaning of Farfrae's 
 enigmatic words about not daring to ask her what he fain 
 would. Elizabeth, that silent observing woman, had long 
 noted how he was rising in favour among the townspeople; 
 and knowing Henchard's nature now, she had feared that 
 Farfrae's days as manager were numbered; so that the an- 
 nouncement gave her little surprise. Would Mr. Farfrae 
 stay in Casterbridge despite his words and her father's dis- 
 missal? His occult breathings to her might be solvable by 
 his course in that respect. 
 
 The next day was windy — so windy that walking in the 
 garden she picked up a portion of the draft of a letter on 
 business in Donald Farfrae's writing, which had flown over 
 the wall from the office. The useless scrap she took indoors, 
 and began to copy the caligraphy, which she much admired. 
 The letter began "Dear Sir," and presently writing on a 
 loose slip "Elizabeth- Jane," she laid the latter over "Sir," 
 making the phrase "Dear Elizabeth- Jane." When she saw 
 the effect a quick red ran up her face and warmed her 
 through, though nobody was there to see what she had 
 done. She quickly tore up the slip, and threw it away. 
 After this she grew cool, and laughed at herself, walked 
 about the room, and laughed again; not joyfully, but dis- 
 tressfully rather. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 105 
 
 It was quickly known in Casterbridge that Farfrae and 
 Henchard had decided to dispense with each other. Eliz- 
 abeth-Jane's anxiety to know if Farfrae were going away 
 from the town reached a pitch that disturbed her, for she 
 could no longer conceal from herself the cause. At length 
 the news reached her that he was not going to leave the 
 place. A man following the same trade as Henchard, but 
 on a very small scale, had sold his business to Farfrae, 
 who was forthwith about to start as corn and hay-merchant 
 on his own account. 
 
 Her heart fluttered when she heard of this step of Don- 
 ald's, proving that he meant to remain; and yet, would a 
 man who cared one little bit for her have endangered his 
 suit by setting up a business in opposition to Mr. Hen- 
 chard's? Surely not; and it must have been a passing im- 
 pulse only which had led him to address her so softly. 
 
 To solve the problem whether her appearance on the 
 evening of the dance were such as to inspire a fleeting 
 love at first sight, she dressed herself up exactly as she had 
 dressed then — the muslin, the spencer, the sandals, the para- 
 sol — and looked in the mirror. The picture glassed back 
 was, in her opinion, precisely of such a kind as to inspire 
 that fleeting regard, and no more — "just enough to make 
 him silly, and not enough to keep him so," she said lumi- 
 nously; and Elizabeth thought, in a much lower key, that 
 by this time he had discovered how plain and homely was 
 the informing spirit of that pretty outside. 
 
 Hence, when she felt her heart going out to him, she 
 would say to herself with a mock pleasantry that carried an 
 ache with it, "No, no, Elizabeth-Jane — such dreams are 
 not for you!" She tried to prevent herself from seeing 
 him, and thinking of him; succeeding fairly well in the 
 former attempt, in the latter not so completely. 
 
 Henchard, who had been hurt at finding that Farfrae 
 did not mean to put up with his temper any longer, was 
 incensed beyond measure when he learnt what the yt)uiig 
 man had done as an alternative. It was in the town-hal]^_ 
 after a council meeting, that he first became aware of Far- 
 frae 's coup for establishing himself independently in the 
 town; and his voice might have been heard as far as the 
 
io6 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 town-pump expressing his feelings to his fellow councilmen. 
 Those tones showed that, though under a long reign of self- 
 control he had become Mayor and churchwarden and what 
 not, there was still the same unruly volcanic stuff beneath 
 the rind of Michael Henchard as when he had sold his wife 
 at Weydon Fair. 
 
 "Well, he's a friend of mine, and I'm a friend of his — 
 or if we are not, what are we? 'Od send, if I've not been 
 his friend, who has, I should like to know? Didn't be 
 come here without a sound shoe to his voot? Didn't I keep 
 him here — help him to a living? Didn't I help him to 
 money, or whatever he wanted? I stuck out for no terms — 
 I said, 'Name your own price.' I'd have shared my last 
 crust with that young fellow at one time, I liked him so well. 
 And now he's defied me! But damn him, I'll have a tussle 
 with him now — at fair buying and selling, mind — at fair 
 bu3ang and selling! And if I can't overbid such a stripling 
 as he, then I'm not wo'th a varden! We'll show that we 
 know our business as well as one here and there!" 
 
 His friends of the Corporation did not specially respond. 
 Henchard was less popular now than he had been when, 
 nearly two years before, they had voted hira to the chief 
 magistracy on account of his amazing energy. While they had 
 collectively profited by this quality of the corn-factor's, they 
 had been made to wince individually on more than one oc- 
 casion. So he went out of the hall and down the street alone. 
 
 Reaching home he seemed to recollect something with a 
 sour satisfaction. He called Elizabeth-Jane. Seeing how 
 he looked when she entered she appeared alarmed. 
 
 "Nothing to find fault with," he said, observing her con- 
 cern. "Only I want to caution you, my dear. That man, 
 Farfrae — it is about him. I've seen him talking to you 
 two or three times — he danced with 'ee at the rejoicings, and 
 came home with 'ee. Now, now, no blame to you. But 
 just hearken: Have you made him any foolish promise? 
 Gone the least bit beyond sniff and snaff at all?" 
 
 "No. I have promised him nothing." 
 
 "Good. All's well that ends well. I particularly wish 
 you not to see him again." 
 
 "Very well, sir." 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 107 
 
 "You promise?" 
 
 She hesitated for a moment, and then said: 
 "Yes, if you much wish it." 
 "I do. He's an enemy to our house!" 
 When she had gone he sat down, and wrote in a heavy 
 hand to Farfrae thus: — 
 
 "Sir — I make request that henceforth you and my step- 
 daughter be as strangers to each other. She on her part 
 has promised to welcome no more addresses from you; and 
 I trust, therefore, you will not attempt to force them upon 
 her. M. Henchaed." 
 
 One would almost have supposed Henchard to have had 
 policy to see that no better modus vivendi could be arrived 
 at with Farfrae than by encouraging him to become his 
 son-in-law. But such a scheme for buying over a rival 
 had nothing to recommend it to the Mayor's headstrong 
 faculties. With all domestic finesse of that kind he was 
 hopelessly at variance. Loving a man or hating him, his 
 diplomacy was as wrongheaded as a buffalo's; and his wife 
 had not ventured to suggest the course which she, for many 
 reasons, would have welcomed gladly. 
 
 Meanwhile, Donald Farfrae had opened the gates of 
 commerce on his own account at a spot on Dumover Hill- 
 as far as possible from Henchard's stores, and with every 
 intention of keeping clear of his former friend and em- 
 ployer's customers. There was, it seemed to the younger man, 
 room for both of them and to spare. The town was small, 
 but the corn and hay-trade was proportionately large, and 
 with his native sagacity he saw opportunity for a share of it. 
 
 So determined was he to do nothing which should seem 
 like trade-antagonism to the Mayor that he refused his 
 first customer — a large farmer of good repute — because 
 Henchard and this man had dealt together within the pre- 
 ceding three months. 
 
 "He was once my friend," said Farfrae, "and it's not for 
 me to take business from him. I am sorry to disappoint 
 you, but I cannot hurt the trade of a man who's been so 
 kind to me." 
 
lo8 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 In spite of this praiseworthy course the Scotchman's trade 
 increased. Whether it were that his northern energy was 
 an over-mastering force among the easy-going Wessex 
 worthies, or whether it was sheer luck, the fact remained 
 that whatever he touched he prospered in. Like Jacob 
 in Padan-Aram, he would no sooner humbly limit himself 
 to the ringstraked-and-spotted exceptions of trade, than the 
 ringstraked-and-spotted would multiply and prevail. 
 
 But most probably luck had little to do with it. Char- 
 acter is Fate, said Novalis, and Farfrae's character was just 
 the reverse of Henchard's, who might not inaptly be de- 
 scribed as Faust has been described — as a vehement gloomy 
 being, who had quitted the ways of vulgar men, without 
 light to guide him on a better way. 
 
 Farfrae duly received the request to discontinue atten- 
 tions to Elizabeth-Jane. His acts of that kind had been 
 so slight that the request was almost superfluous. Yet he 
 had felt a considerable interest in her, and after some cogi- 
 tation he decided that it would be as well to enact no Romeo 
 part just then — for the young girl's sake no less than his 
 own. Thus the incipient attachment was stifled down. 
 
 A time came when, avoid collision with his former friend 
 as he might, Farfrae was compelled, in sheer self-defence, 
 to close with Henchard in mortal commercial combat. He 
 could no longer parry the fierce attacks of the latter by sim- 
 ple avoidance. As soon as their war of prices began every- 
 body was interested, and some few guessed the end. It 
 was, in some degree, Northern insight matched against 
 Southron doggedness — the dirk against the cudgel — and 
 Henchard's weapon was one which, if it did not deal ruin 
 at the first or second stroke, left him afterwards well-nigh 
 at his antagonist's mercy. 
 
 Almost every Saturday they encountered each other amid 
 the crowd of farmers which thronged about the market- 
 place in the weekly course of their business. Donald was 
 always ready, and even anxious, to say a few friendly 
 words; but the Mayor invariably gazed stormfuUy past him, 
 like one who had endured and lost on his account, and 
 could in no sense forgive the wrong; nor did Farfrae's 
 snubbed manner of perplexity at all appease him. The 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 105 
 
 large farmers, corn-merchants, millers, auctioneers, an<J 
 others had each an official stall in the corn-market room, 
 with their names painted thereon; and when to the familiar 
 series of "Henchard," "Everdene," "Shinar," "Darton," 
 and so on, was added one inscribed "Farfrae," in staring 
 new letters, Henchard was stung into bitterness; like Bel- 
 lerophon, he wandered away from the crowd, cankered in 
 soul. 
 
 From that day Donald Farfrae's name was seldom men- 
 tioned in Henchard's house. If at breakfast or dinner 
 Elizabeth-Jane's mother inadvertently alluded to her fa- 
 vourite's movements, the girl would implore her by a look 
 to be silent; and her husband would say, "What — are you, 
 too, my enemy?" 
 
 XVIII 
 
 There came a shock which had been foreseen for some time 
 by Elizabeth, as the box passenger foresees the approaching 
 jerk from some channel across the highway. 
 
 Her mother was ill — too unwell to leave her room. 
 Henchard, who treated her kindly, except in moments of 
 irritation, sent at once for the richest, busiest doctor, whom 
 he supposed to be the best. Bedtime came, and they burnt 
 a light all night. In a day or two she rallied. 
 
 Elizabeth, who had been staying up, did not appear at 
 breakfast on the second morning, and Henchard sat down 
 alone. He was startled to see a letter for him from Jersey 
 in a writing he knew too well, and had expected least to 
 behold again. He took it up in his hands and looked at 
 it as at a picture, a vision, a vista of past enactments; and 
 then he read it as an unimportant finale to conjecture. 
 
 The writer said that she at length perceived how impossi-. 
 ble it would be for any further communications to proceed 
 between them now that his re-marriage had taken place. 
 That such re-union had been the only straightforward 
 course open to him she was bound to admit. "On calm 
 reflection, therefore," she went on, "I quite forgive you for 
 landing me in such a dilemma, remembering that you con- 
 cealed nothing before our ill-advised acquaintance; and that 
 
no THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 you really did set before me in your grim way the fact of 
 there being a certain risk in intimacy with you, slight as it 
 seemed to be after eighteen years of silence on your wife's 
 part. I thus look upon the whole as a misfortune of mine, 
 and not a fault of yours. 
 
 "So that, Michael, I must ask you to overlook those 
 letters with which I pestered you day after day in the 
 heat of my feelings. They were written whilst I thought 
 your conduct to me cruel; but now I know more particulars 
 of the position you were in I see how inconsiderate my re- 
 proaches were. 
 
 "Now you will, I am sure, perceive that the one condi- 
 tion which will make any future happiness possible for me, 
 is that the past connection between our lives be kept secret 
 outside this isle. Speak of it I know you will not; and I 
 can trust you not to write of it. One safeguard more re- 
 mains to be mentioned — that no writings of mine, or tri- 
 fling articles belonging to me, should be left in your posses- 
 sion through neglect or forgetfulness. To this end may I 
 request you to return to me any such you may have, 
 particularly the letters written in the first abandonment of 
 feeling. 
 
 "For the handsome sum you forwarded to me as a plaster 
 to the wound, I heartily thank you. 
 
 "I am now on my way to Bristol, to see my only relative. 
 She is rich, and I hope will do something for me. I shall 
 return through Casterbridge and Budmouth, where I shall 
 take the packet-boat. Can you meet me with the letters 
 and other trifles? I shall be in the coach which changes 
 horses at the Antelope Hotel at half-past five Wednesday 
 evening; I shall be wearing a Paisley shawl with a red 
 centre, and thus may easily be found. I should prefer this 
 plan of receiving them to having them sent. — I remain still, 
 yours ever, "Lucetta." 
 
 Henchard breathed heavily. "Poor thing — ^better you 
 had not known me! Upon my heart and soul, if ever I 
 should be left in a position to carry out that marriage with 
 thee, I ought to do it — I ought to do it, indeed!" 
 
 The contingency that he had in his mind was, of course, 
 the death of Mrs. Henchard. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE in 
 
 As requested, he sealed up Lucetta's letters, and put 
 the parcel aside till the day she had appointed; this plan of 
 returning them by hand being apparently a little ruse of 
 the young lady for exchanging a word or two with him on 
 past times. He would have preferred not to see her; but 
 deeming that there could be no great harm in acquiescing 
 thus far, he went at dusk and stood opposite the coach- 
 office. 
 
 The evening was chilly, and the coach was late. Hen- 
 chard crossed over to it while the horses were being changed ; 
 but there was no Lucetta inside or out. Concluding that 
 something had happened to modify her arrangements he 
 gave the matter up and went home, not without a sense of 
 relief. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Henchard was weakening visibly. She 
 could not go out of doors any more. One day, after much 
 thinking which seemed to distress her, she said she wanted 
 to write something. A desk was put upon her bed with 
 pen and paper, and at her request she was left alone. She 
 remained writing for a short time, folded her paper care- 
 fully, called Elizabeth- Jane to bring a taper and wax, and 
 then, still refusing assistance, sealed up the sheet, directed 
 it, and locked it in her desk. She had directed it in these 
 words: 
 
 "Mr. Michael Henchard. Not to be opened till Eliza- 
 beth-Jane's wedding-day." 
 
 The latter sat up with her mother to the utmost of her 
 strength night after night. To learn to take the universe 
 seriously there is no quicker way than to watch — to be a 
 "waker," as the country-people call it. Between the hours 
 at which the last toss-pot went by and the first sparrow 
 shook himself, the silence in Casterbridge — barring the rare 
 sound of the watchman — was broken in Elizabeth's ear 
 only by the time-piece in the bedroom ticking frantically 
 against the clock on the stairs; ticking harder and harder 
 till it seemed to clang like a gong; and all this while the 
 subtle-souled girl asking herself why she was born, why sit- 
 ting in a room, and blinking at the candle; why things 
 around her had taken the shape they wore in preference 
 to every other possible shape. Why they stared at her so 
 
112 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 helplessly, as if waiting for the iouch of some wand that 
 should release them from terrestrial constraint; what that 
 chaos called consciousness, which spun in her at this mo- 
 ment like a top, tended to, and began in. Her eyes fell to- 
 gether; she was awake, yet she was asleep. 
 
 A word from her mother roused her. Without preface, 
 and as the continuation of a scene already progressing in 
 her mind, Mrs. Henchard said: "You remember the note 
 gent to you and Mr. Farfrae — asking you to meet some one 
 in Dumover Barton — and that you thought it was a trick 
 to make fools of you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It was not to make fools of you — it was done to bring 
 you together. 'Twas I did it." 
 
 "Why?" said Elizabeth, with a start. 
 
 "I — wanted you to marry Mr. Farfrae." 
 
 "O mother!" Elizabeth- Jane bent down her head so 
 much that she looked quite into her own lap. But as her 
 mother did not go on, she said, "What reason?" 
 
 "Well, I had a reason. 'Twill out one day. I wish it 
 could have been in my time! But there — nothing is as 
 you wish it! Henchard hates him." 
 
 "Perhaps they'll be friends again," murmured the girl. 
 
 "I don't know — ^I don't know." After this her mother 
 was silent, and dozed; and she spoke on the subject no 
 more. 
 
 Some little time later on, Farfrae was passing Hen- 
 chard's house on a Sunday morning, when he observed that 
 the blinds were all down. He rang the bell so softly that 
 it only sounded a single full note and a small one; and 
 then he was informed that Mrs. Henchard was dead — ^just 
 dead — that very hour. 
 
 At the town-pump there were gathered when he passed 
 a few old inhabitants, who came there for water when- 
 ever they had, as at present, spare time to fetch it, because 
 it was purer from that original fount than from their own 
 wells. Mrs. Cuxsom, who had been standing there for an 
 indefinite time with her pitcher, was describing the inci- 
 dents of Mrs. Henchard's death, as she had learnt them 
 from the nurse. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 113 
 
 "And she was as white as marble-stone," said Mrs. Cux- 
 s«om. "And likewise such a thoughtful woman, too — ah, 
 poor soul — that a' minded every little thing that wanted 
 tending. 'Yes,' says she, 'when I'm gone, and my last 
 breath's blowed, look in the top drawer o' the chest in the 
 back room by the window, and you'll find all my coffin 
 clothes; a piece of flannel — that's to put under me, and 
 the little piece is to put under my head ; and my new stock- 
 ings for my feet — they are folded alongside, and all my 
 other things. And there's four ounce pennies, the heaviest 
 I could find, a-tied up in bits of linen, for weights — two 
 for my right eye and two for my left,' she said. 'And 
 when you've used 'em, and my eyes don't open no more, 
 bury the pennies, good souls, and don't ye go spending 'em, 
 for I shouldn't like it. And open the windows as soon as I 
 am carried out, and make it as cheerful as you can for 
 Elizabeth- Jane.' " 
 
 "Ah, poor heart!" 
 
 "Well, and Martha did it, and buried the ounce pennies 
 in the garden. But if ye'll believe words, that man, Chris- 
 topher Coney, went and dug 'em up, and spent 'em at the 
 Three Mariners. 'Faith,' he said, 'why should death rob 
 life o' fourpence? Death's not of such good report that 
 we should respect 'en to that extent,' says he." 
 
 " 'Twas a cannibal deed!" deprecated her listeners. 
 
 "Gad, then, I won't quite ha'e it," said Solomon Long- 
 ways. "I say it to-day, and 'tis a Sunday morning, and 
 I wouldn't speak wrongfully for a zilver zixpence at such 
 a time. I don't see noo harm in it. To respect the dead 
 is sound doxology; and I wouldn't sell skellintons — least- 
 wise respectable skellintons — to be varnished for 'natomies, 
 except I were out o' work. But money is scarce, and 
 throats get dry. Why should death rob life o' fourpence? 
 I say there was no treason in it." 
 
 "Well, poor soul; she's helpless to hinder that or any- 
 thing now," answered Mother Cuxsom. "And all her shin- 
 ing keys will be took from her, and her cupboards opened; 
 and little things a' didn't wish seen, anybody will see; and 
 her wishes and ways will all be as nothing! " 
 
114 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 XIX 
 
 Henchard and Elizabeth sat conversing by the fire. It 
 was three weeks after Mrs. Henchard 's funeral; the candlra 
 were not lighted, and a restless, acrobatic flame, poised on 
 a coal, called from the shady walls the smiles of all shapes 
 that could respond — the old pier-glass, with gilt columns 
 and huge entablatiire, the picture-frames, sundry knobs 
 and handles, and the brass rosette at the bottom of each 
 riband bell-pull on either side of the chimney-piece. 
 
 "Elizabeth, do you think much of old times?" said Hen- 
 chard. 
 
 "Yes, sir; often," said she. 
 
 "Who do you put in your pictures of 'em?" 
 
 "Mother and father — nobody else hardly." 
 
 Henchard always looked like one bent on resisting pain 
 when Elizabeth- Jane spoke of Richard Newson as "father." 
 "Ah! I am out of all that, am I not?" he said. . . . 
 "Was Newson a kind father?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; very." 
 
 Henchard's face settled into an expression of stolid lone- 
 liness which gradually modulated into something softer. 
 "Suppose I had been your real father?" he said. "Would 
 you have cared for me as much as you cared for Richard 
 Newson?" 
 
 "I can't think it," she said quickly. "I can think of 
 no other as my father, except my father." 
 
 Henchard's wife was dissevered from him by death; his 
 friend and helper Farfrae by estrangement; Elizabeth- Jane 
 by ignorance. It seemed to him that only one of them 
 could possibly be recalled, and that was the girl. His mind 
 began vibrating between, the wish to reveal himself to her, 
 and the policy of leaving well alone, till he could no longer 
 sit still. He walked up and down, and then he came and 
 stood behind her chair, looking down upon the top of her 
 head. He could no longer restrain . his impulse. "What 
 did your mother tell you about me — my history?" he asked. 
 
 "That you were related by marriage." 
 
 "She should have told more — ^before you knew me! Then 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 115 
 
 my task would not have been such a hard one. . . . 
 Elizabeth, it is I who am your father, and not Richard 
 'Newsou. Shame alone prevented your wretched parents 
 from owning this to you while both of 'em were alive." 
 
 The back of Elizabeth's head remained still, and her 
 shoulders did not denote even the movements of breathing. 
 Henchard went on: "I'd rather have your scorn, your fear, 
 anything than your ignorance; 'tis that I hate! Your 
 mother and I were man and wife when we were young. 
 What you saw was our second marriage. Your mother was 
 too honest. We had thought each other dead — and — New- 
 son became her husband." 
 
 This was the nearest approach Henchard could make to 
 the full truth. As far as he personally was concerned he 
 would have screened nothing; but he showed a respect for 
 the young girl's sex and years worthy of a better man. 
 
 When he had gone on to give details which a whole series 
 of slight and unregarded incidents in her past life strangely 
 corroborated; when, in short, she believed his story to be 
 true, she became greatly agitated, and, turning round to 
 the table, fiung her face upon it weeping. 
 
 "Don't cry— don't cry!" said Henchard, with vehement 
 pathos, "I can't bear it, I won't bear it. I am your father; 
 why should you cry? Am I so dreadful, so hateful to 'ee? 
 Don't take against me, Elizabeth-Jane! " he cried, grasping 
 her wet hand. "Don't take against me — though I was ? 
 drinking man once, and used your mother roughly — I'll 
 be kinder to you than he was! I'll do anything, if you will 
 only look upon me as your father!" 
 
 She tried to stand up and confront him trustfully; but 
 she could not; she was troubled at his presence, like the 
 brethren at the avowal of Joseph. 
 
 "I don't want you to come to me all of a sudden," said 
 Henchard in jerks, and moving like a great tree in a wind. 
 "NOj Hizabeth, I don't. I'll go away and not see you till 
 to-morrow, or when you like; and then I'll show 'ee papers 
 to prove my words. There, I am gone, and won't disturb 
 you any more. . . . 'Twas I that chose your name, my 
 daughter; your mother wanted it Susan. There, don't for- 
 get 'twas I gave you your name!" He went out at the 
 
ii6 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 door and shut her softly in, and she heard him go away into 
 the garden. But he had not done. Before she had moved, 
 or in any way recovered from the effect of his disclosure, 
 he reappeared. 
 
 "One word more, Elizabeth," he said. "You'll take my 
 surname now — ^hey? Your mother was against it; but it 
 will be much more pleasant to me. 'Tis legally yours, you 
 know. But nobody need know that. You shall take it as 
 if by choice. I'll talk to my lawyer — I don't know the law 
 of it exactly; but will you do this — let me put a few lines 
 into the newspaper that such is to be your name?" 
 
 "If it is my name I must have it, mustn't I?" she asked. 
 
 "Well, well; usage is everything in these matters." 
 
 "I wonder why mother didn't wish it?" 
 
 "Oh, some whim of the poor soul's. Now get a bit of 
 paper and draw up a paragraph, as I shall tell you. But 
 let's have a light." 
 
 "I can see by the firelight," she answered. "Yes — ^I'd 
 rather." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 She got a piece of paper, and bending over the fender, 
 wrote at his dictation words which he had evidently got by 
 heart from some advertisement or other — words to the 
 effect that she, the writer, hitherto known as Elizabeth- Jane 
 Newson, was going to call herself Elizabeth-Jane Hen- 
 chard forthwith. It was done, and fastened up, and directed 
 to the office of the Casterbridge Chronicle. 
 
 "Now," said Henchard, with the blaze of satisfaction that 
 he always emitted when he had carried his point — though 
 tenderness softened it this time — "I'll go upstairs and hunt 
 for some documents that will prove it all to you. But I 
 won't trouble you with them till to-morrow. Good night, 
 my Elizabeth-Jane!" 
 
 He was gone before the bewildered girl could realize what 
 it all meant, or adjust her filial sense to the new centre 
 of gravity. She was thankful that he had left her to her- 
 self for the evening, and sat down over the fire. Here 
 she remained in silence, and wept — not for her mother 
 now, but for the genial sailor, Richard Newson, to whom 
 she seemed doing a wrong. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 117 
 
 Henchard, in the meantime, had gone upstairs. Papers 
 of a domestic nature he kept in a drawer in his bedroom, 
 and this he unlocked. Before turning them over he leant 
 back and indulged in reposeful thought. Elizabeth was 
 his at last, and she was a girl of such good sense and kind 
 heart that she would be sure to like him. He was the kind 
 of man to whom some human object for pouring out his 
 heat upon — were it emotive or were it choleric — ^was almost 
 a necessity. The craving of his heart for the re-establish- 
 ment of this tenderest human tie had been great during his 
 wife's lifetime, and now he had submitted to its mastery 
 without reluctance and without fear. He bent over the 
 drawer again, and proceeded in his search. 
 
 Among the other papers had been placed the contents 
 of his wife's little desk, the keys of which had been handed 
 to him at her request. Here was the letter addressed to him 
 with the restriction, "Not to be opened till Elizabeth-Jane's 
 wedding-day." 
 
 Mrs. Henchard, though more patient than her husband, 
 had been no practical hand at anything. In sealing up the 
 sheet, which was folded and tucked in without an envelope, 
 in the old-fashioned way, she had overlaid the junction 
 with a large mass of wax without the requisite under-touch 
 of the same. The seal had cracked, and the letter was open. 
 Henchard had no reason to suppose the restriction one of 
 serious weight, and his feelings for his late wife had not 
 been of the nature of deep respect. "Some trifling fancy 
 or other of poor Susan's, I suppose," he said; and without 
 curiosity he allowed his eyes to scan the letter: — 
 
 "My dear Michael: — For the good of all three of us, I 
 have kept one thing a secret from you till now. I hope you 
 will understand why; I think you will; though perhaps you 
 may not forgive me. But, dear Michael, I have done it for 
 the best. I shall be in my grave when you read this, and 
 Elizabeth- Jane will have a home. Don't curse me, Mike — 
 think of how I was situated. I can hardly write it, but here 
 it is. Elizabeth- Jane is not your Elizabeth- Jane — the child 
 wao was m my arms when you sold me. No; she died three 
 months after that, and this living one is my other husband's. 
 
Ii8 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 I christened her by the same name we had given to the first, 
 and she filled up the ache I felt at the other's loss. 
 Michael, I am dying, and I might have held my tongue; but 
 I could not. Tell her husband of this or not, as you may 
 judge; and forgive, if you can, a woman you once deeply 
 wronged, as she forgives you. Susan Henchaed." 
 
 Her husband regarded the paper ias if it were a window- 
 pane through which he saw for miles. His lip twitched, 
 and he seemed to compress his frame, as if to bear better. 
 His usual habit was not to consider whether destiny were 
 hard upon him or not — the shape of his ideas in cases of 
 affliction being simply a moody "I am to suffer, I perceive." 
 "So much scourging as this, Uien, is it for me?" But now 
 through his passionate head there stormed this thought — 
 that the blasting disclosure was what he had deserved. 
 
 His wife's extreme reluctance to have the girl's name 
 altered from Newson to Henchard was now accounted for 
 fully. It furnished another illustration of that honesty in 
 dishonesty which had characterized her in other things. 
 
 He remained unnerved and purposeless for near a couple 
 of hours; till he suddenly said, "Ah — I wonder if it is true!" 
 
 He jumped up in an impulse, kicked off his slippers, and 
 went with a candle to the door of Elizabeth- Jane's room, 
 where he put his ear to the keyhole and listened. She was 
 breathing profoundly. Henchard softly turned the handle, 
 entered, and shading the light, approached the bedside. 
 Gradually bringing the light from behind a screening cur- 
 tain he held it in such a manner that it fell slantwise on her 
 face without shining on her eyes. He steadfastly regarded 
 her features. 
 
 They were fair; his were dark. But this was an unim- 
 portant preliminary. In sleep there come to the surface 
 buried genealogical facts, ancestral curves, dead men's 
 traits, which the mobility of daytime animation screens and 
 overwhelms. In the present statuesque repose of the young 
 girl's countenance Richard Newson's was unmistakably re- 
 flected. He could not endiu-e the sight of her, and has- 
 tened away. 
 
 Misery taught him nothing more than defiant endurance 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 119 
 
 of it. His wife was dead, and the first impulse for revenge 
 died with the thought that she was beyond him. He looked 
 out at the night as at a fiend. Henchard, like all his kind, 
 was superstitious, and he could not help thinking that the 
 concatenation of events this evening had produced was the 
 scheme of some sinister intelligence bent on punishing him. 
 Yet they had developed naturally. If he had not revealed 
 his past history to Elizabeth he would not have searched 
 the drawer for papers, and so on. The mockery was, that 
 he should have no sooner taught a girl to claim the shelter 
 of his paternity than he discovered her to have no kinship 
 with him. 
 
 This ironical sequence of things angered him like an imp- 
 ish trick from a fellow-creature. Like Prester John's, his 
 table had been spread, and infernal harpies had snatched 
 up the food. He went out of the house, and moved sul- 
 lenly onward down the pavement till he came to the bridge 
 at the bottom of the High Street. Here he turned in upon 
 a bs^path on the river bank, skirting the north-eastern 
 limits of the town. 
 
 These precincts embodied the mournful phases of Cas- 
 terbridge life, as the south avenues embodied its cheerful 
 moods. The whole way along here was sunless, even in 
 summer time; in spring, white frosts lingered here when 
 other places were steaming with warmth; while in winter 
 it was the seed-field of all the aches, rheumatisms, and tor- 
 turing cramps of the year. The Casterbridge doctors must 
 have pined away for want of sufficient nourishment, but for 
 the configuration of the landscape on the north-eastern side. 
 
 The river — slow, noiseless, and dark — the Schwarzwasser 
 of Casterbridge — ran beneath a low cliff, the two together 
 forming a defence which had rendered walls and artificial 
 earthworks on this side unnecessary. Here were ruins of a 
 Franciscan priory, and a mill attached to the same, the 
 water of which roared down a backhatch like the voice of 
 desolation. Above the cliff, and behind the river, rose a 
 pile of buildings, and in the front of the pile a square mass 
 cut into the sky. It was like a pedestal lacking its statue. 
 This missing feature, without which the design remained in- 
 complete, was, in truth, the corpse of a man; for the square 
 
-i2o THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 mass formed the base of the gallows, the extensive 
 buildings at the back being the county gaol. In the 
 meadow where Henchard now walked the mob were wont 
 to gather whenever an execution took place, and there to 
 the tune of the roaring weir they stood and watched the 
 spectacle. 
 
 The exaggeration which darkness imparted to the glooms 
 of this region impressed Henchard more than he had ex- 
 pected. The lugubrious harmony of the spot with his do- 
 mestic situation was too perfect for him, impatient of ef- 
 fects, scenes, and adumbrations. It reduced his heartburn- 
 ing to melancholy, and he exclaimed, "Why the deuce did I 
 com.e here!" He went on past the cottage in which the old 
 local hangman had lived and died, in times before that call- 
 ing was monopolized over all England by a single gentle- 
 man ; and climbed up by a steep back lane into the town. 
 
 For the sufferings of that night, engendered by his bitter 
 disappointment, he might well have been pitied. He was 
 like one who had half fainted, and could neither recover nor 
 complete the swoon. In words he could blame his wife, but 
 not in his heart; and had he obeyed the wise directions out- 
 side her letter this pain would have been spared him for 
 long — ^possibly for ever, Elizabeth- Jane seeming to show 
 no ambition to quit her safe and secluded maiden courses 
 for the speculative path of matrimony. 
 
 The morning came after this night of unrest, and with 
 it the necessity for a plan. He was far too self-willed 
 to recede from a position, especially as it would involve hu- 
 miliation. His daughter he had asserted her to be, and his 
 daughter she should always think herself, no matter what 
 bypocrisy it involved. 
 
 But he was ill-prepared for the first step in this new sit- 
 uation. The moment he came into the breakfast-room 
 Elizabeth advanced with open confidence to him and took 
 him by the arm. 
 
 "I have thought and thought all night of it," she said 
 frankly. "And I see that everything must be as you say. 
 And I am going to look upon you as the father that you 
 are, and not to call you Mr. Henchard any more. It is so 
 plain to me now. Indeed, father, it is. For, of course 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 121 
 
 you would not have done half the things you have done for 
 me, and let me have my own way so entirely, and bought 
 me presents, if I had only been your step-daughter! He — 
 Mr. Newson — whom my poor mother married by such a 
 strange mistake" (Henchard was glad that he had disguised 
 matters here), "was very kind — oh, so kind!" (she spoke 
 with tears in her eyes) ; "but that is not the same thing 
 as being one's real father after all. Now, father, breakfast 
 is ready!" said she cheerfully. 
 
 Henchard bent and kissed her cheek. The moment and 
 the act he had contemplated for weeks with a thrill of pleas- 
 ure; yet it was no less than a miserable insipidity to him 
 now that it had come. His reinstation of her mother had 
 been chiefly for the girl's sake, and the fruition of the whole 
 scheme was such dust and ashes as this. 
 
 XX 
 
 Of all the enigmas which ever confronted a girl there can 
 have been seldom one like that which followed Henchard 's 
 announcement of himself to Elizabeth as her father. He 
 had done it in an ardour and an agitation which had half 
 carried the point of afiection with her; yet, behold, from 
 the next morning onwards his manner was constrained as 
 she had never seen it before. 
 
 The coldness soon broke out into open chiding. One 
 grievous failing of Elizabeth's was her occasional pretty and 
 picturesque use of dialect words — those terrible marks of 
 the beast to the truly genteel. 
 
 It was dinner-time — they never met except at meals — and 
 she happened to say when he was rising from table, wishing 
 to show him something, "If you'll bide where you be a min- 
 ute, father, I'll get it." 
 
 " 'Bide where you be,' " he echoed sharply. "Good 
 God, are you only fit to carry wash to a pig-trough, that 
 ye use such words as those?" 
 
 She reddened with shame and sadness. 
 
 "I meant, 'Stay where you are,' father," she said, in a 
 low, humble voice. "I ought to have been more careful." 
 
 He made no reply, and went out of the room. 
 
122 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 The sharp reprimand was not lost upon her, and in time 
 It came to pass that for "fay" she said "succeed;" that 
 she no longer spoke of "dumbledores" but of "humble 
 bees;" no longer said of young men and women that 
 they "walked together," but that they were "engaged;" 
 that she grew to talk of "greggles" as "wild hyacinths;" 
 that when she Jiad not slept she did not quaintly tell the 
 servants next morning that she had been "hag-rid," but 
 that she had "suffered from indigestion." 
 
 These improvements, however, are somewhat in advance 
 of the story. Henchard, being uncultivated himself, was 
 the bitterest critic the fair girl could possibly have had of 
 her own lapses — really slight now, for she read omnivo- 
 rously. A gratuitous ordeal was in store for her in the mat- 
 ter of her handwriting. She was passing the dining-room 
 door one evening, jand had occasion to go in for something. 
 It was not till she had opened the door that she knew the 
 Mayor was there in the company of a man with whom he 
 transacted business. 
 
 "Here, Elizabeth-Jane," he said, looking round at her, 
 "just write down what I tell you — a few words of an agree- 
 ment for me and this gentleman to sign. I am a poor tool 
 with a pen." 
 
 "Be jowned, and so be I," said the gentleman. 
 
 She brought forward blotting-book, paper, and ink, and 
 sat down. 
 
 "Now then — 'An agreement entered into this sixteenth 
 day of October' — ^write that first." 
 
 She started the pen in an elephantine march across the 
 sheet. It was a splendid round, bold hand of her own con- 
 ception, a style that would have stamped a woman as, Mi- 
 nerva's own in more recent days. But other ideas reigned 
 then; Henchard 's creed was that proper young girls wrote 
 ladies'-hand — nay, he believed that bristling characters 
 were as innate and inseparable a part of refined womanhood 
 as sex itself. Hence when, instead of scribbling, like the 
 Princess Ida, — 
 
 "In such a hand as when a field of corn 
 Bows all its ears before the roaring East," 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 123 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane produced a line of chain-shot and sand-bags, 
 he reddened in angry shame for her, and, peremptorily say- 
 ing, "Never mind — I'll finish it," dismissed her there and 
 then. 
 
 Her considerate disposition became a pitfall to her now. 
 She was, it must be admitted, sometimes provokingly and 
 unnecessarily willing to saddle herself with manual labours. 
 She would go to the kitchen instead of ringing, "Not to 
 make Phoebe come up twice." She went down on her knees, 
 shovel in hand, when the cat overturned the coal-scuttle; 
 moreover, she would persistently thank the parlour-maid for 
 everything, till one day, as soon as the girl was gone from 
 the room, Henchard broke out with, "Good God, why dostn't 
 leave off thanking that girl as if she were a goddess-born I 
 Don't I pay her a dozen pound a year to do things for 
 'ee?" Elizabeth shrank so visibly at the exclamation that 
 he became sorry a few minuies after, and said that he did 
 not mean to be so rough. 
 
 These domestic exhibitions were the small protruding 
 needle-rocks which suggested rather than revealed what 
 was underneath. But his passion had less terror for her 
 than his coldness. The increasing frequency of the latter 
 mood told her the sad news that he disliked her with a grow- 
 ing dislike. The more interesting that her appearance and 
 manners became under the softening influences which she 
 could now command, and in her wisdom did command, the 
 more she seemed to estrange him. Sometimes she caught 
 him looking at her with a louring invidiousness that she 
 could hardly bear. Not knowing his secret, it was a cruel 
 mockery that she should for the first time excite his ani- 
 mosity when she had taken his surname. 
 
 But the most terrible ordeal was to come. Elizabeth had 
 latterly been accustomed of an afternoon to present a cup 
 of cider or ale and bread-and-cheese to Nance Mockridge, 
 who worked in the yard, wimbling hay bonds. Nance ac- 
 cepted this offering thankfully at first; afterwards as a 
 matter of course. On a day when Henchard was on the 
 premises he saw his step-daughter enter the hay-barn on 
 this errand; and, as there was no clear spot on which to 
 deposit the provisions, she at once set to work arranging 
 
124 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 two trusses of hay as a table, Mockridge meanwhile stand- 
 ing with her hands on her hips, easefuUy looking at the 
 preparations on her behalf. 
 
 "Elizabeth, come here!" said Henchard; and she obeyed. 
 
 "Why do you lower yourself so confoundedly?" he said 
 with suppressed passion. "Haven't I told you o't fifty 
 times? Hey? Making yourself a drudge for a common 
 workwoman of such a character as hers! Why, ye'll dis- 
 grace me to the dust!" 
 
 Now these words were uttered loud enough to reach Nance 
 inside the barn door, who fired up immediately at the slur 
 upon her personal character. Coming to the door, she cried, 
 regardless of consequences, "Come to that, Mr. Michael 
 Henchard, I can let 'ee know she've waited on worse!" 
 
 "Then she must have had more charity than sense," said 
 Henchard. 
 
 "Oh no, she hadn't. 'Twere not for charity but for hire; 
 and at a public-house in this town!" 
 
 "It is not true!" cried Henchard indignantly. 
 
 "Just ask her," said Nance, folding her naked arms in 
 such a manner that she could comfortably scratch her el- 
 bows. 
 
 Henchard glanced at Elizabeth- Jane, whose complexion, 
 now pink and white from confinement, lost nearly all of 
 the former colour. "What does this mean?" he said to her. 
 "Anything or nothing?" 
 
 "It is true," said Elizabeth- Jane. "But it was only " 
 
 "Did you do it, or didn't you? Where was it?" 
 
 "At the Three Mariners; one evening for a little while, 
 when we were staying there." 
 
 Nance glanced triumphantly at Henchard, and sailed 
 into the barn; for, assuming that she was to be discharged 
 on the instant, she had resolved to make the most of her 
 victory. Henchard, however, said nothing about discharg- 
 ing her. Unduly sensitive on such points by reason of his 
 own past, he had the look of one completely ground down 
 to the last indignity; Elizabeth followed him to the house 
 like a culprit; but when she got inside she could not see 
 him. Nor did she see him again that day. 
 
 Convinced of the scathing damage to his local repute and 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 125 
 
 position that must have been caused by such a fact, though 
 it had never before reached his own ears, Henchard showed 
 a positive distaste lor the presence of this girl not his own, 
 whenever he encountered her. He mostly dined with the 
 farmers at the market-room of one of the two chief hotels, 
 leaving her in utter solitude. Could he have seen how she 
 made use of those silent hours he might have found rea- 
 son to reverse his judgment on her quality. She read and 
 took notes incessantly, mastering facts with painful labori- 
 ousness, but never flinching from her self-imposed task. She 
 began IJie study of Latin, incited by the Roman character- 
 istics of the town she lived in. "If I am not well-informed 
 it shall be by no fault of my own," she would say to her- 
 self through the tears that would occasionally glide down 
 her peachy cheeks when she was fairly baffled by the por- 
 tentous obscurity of many of these educational works. 
 
 Thus she lived on, a dumb, deep-feeling, great-eyed crea- 
 ture, construed by not a single contiguous being; quenching 
 with patient fortitude her incipient interest in Farfrae, be- 
 cause it seemed to be one-sided, unmaidenly, and unwise. 
 True, that for reasons best known to herself, she had, since 
 Farfrae's dismissal, shifted her quarters from the back room 
 affording a view of the yard (which she had occupied with 
 such zest) to a front chamber overlooking the street; but 
 as for the young man, whenever he passed the house he 
 seldom or never turned his head. 
 
 Winter had almost come, and unsettled weather made her 
 still more dependent upon indoor resources. But there were 
 certain early winter days in Casterbridge — days of firma- 
 mental exhaustion which followed angry south-westerly tem- 
 pests — when, if the sun shone, the air was like velvet. She 
 seized on these days for her periodical visits to the spot 
 where her mother lay buried — the still-used burial-ground 
 of the old Roman-British city, whose curious feature was 
 this, its continuity as a place of sepulture. Mrs. Henchard's 
 dust mingled with the dust of women who lay ornamented 
 with glass hairpins and amber necklaces, and men who held 
 in their mouths coins of Hadrian, Posthumus, and the Con- 
 stan tines. 
 
 Half-past ten in the morning was about her hour for seek- 
 
126 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ing this spot — a time when the town avenues were deserted 
 as the avenues of Karnac. Business had long since passed 
 down them into its daily cells, and Leisure had not arrived 
 there. So Elizabeth- Jane walked and read, or looked over 
 the edge of the book to think, and thus reached the church- 
 yard. 
 
 There, approaching her mother's grave, she saw a solitary 
 dark figure in the middle of the gravel-walk. This figure, 
 too, was reading; but not from a book; the words which 
 engrossed it being the inscription on Mrs. Henchard's tomb- 
 stone. The personage was in mourning like herself, was 
 about her age and size, and might have been her wraith or 
 double, but for the fact that it was a lady much more beau- 
 tifully dressed than she. Indeed, comparatively indifferent 
 as Elizabeth- Jane was to dress, unless for some temporary 
 whim or purpose, her eyes were arrested by the artistic 
 perfection of the lady's appearance. Her gait, too, had a 
 flexuousness about it, which seemed to avoid angularity of 
 movement less from choice than from predisposition. It 
 was a revelation to Elizabeth that human beings could reach 
 this stage of external development — she had never suspected 
 it. She felt all the freshness and grace to be stolen from 
 herself on the instant by the neighbourhood of such a 
 stranger. And this was in face of the fact that Elizabeth 
 could now have been writ handsome, while the young lady 
 was simply pretty. 
 
 Had she been envious she might have hated the woman; 
 but she did not do that — she allowed herself the pleasure of 
 feeling fascinated. She wondered where the lady had come 
 from. The stumpy and practical walk of honest homeli- 
 ness which mostly prevailed there, the two styles of dress 
 thereabout, the simple and the mistaken, equally avouched 
 that this figure was no Casterbridge woman's, even if a book 
 in her hand resembling a guide-book had not also suggested 
 it. 
 
 The stranger presently moved from the tombstone of Mrs. 
 Henchard, and vanished behind the corner of the wall. 
 Elizabeth went to the tomb herself; beside it were two foot- 
 prints distinct in the soil, signifying that the lady had stood 
 there a long time. She returned homeward, musing on what 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 127 
 
 she had seen, as she might have mused on a rainbow or the 
 Northern Lights, a rare butterfly or a cameo. 
 
 Interesting as things had been out of doors, at home ft 
 turned out to be one of her bad days. Henchard, whose two 
 years' mayoralty was ending, had been made aware that 
 he was not to be chosen to fill a vacancy in the list of alder- 
 men; and that Farfrae was likely to become one of the Coun- 
 cil. This caused the unfortunate discovery that she had 
 played the waiting-maid in the town of which he was Mayor 
 to rankle in his mind yet more poisonously. He had learnt 
 by personal inquiry at the time that it was to Donald Far- 
 frae — that treacherous upstart — that she had thus humili- 
 ated herself. And though Mrs. Stannidge seemed to attach 
 no great importance to the incident — the cheerful souls at 
 the Three Mariners having exhausted its aspects long ago — 
 such was Henchard's haughty spirit that the simple thrifty 
 deed was regarded as little less than a social catastrophe 
 by him. 
 
 Ever since the evening of his wife's arrival with her daugh- 
 ter there had been something in the air which had changed 
 his luck. That dinner at the King's Arms with his friends 
 had been Henchard's Austerlitz: he had had his successes 
 since, but his course had not been upward. He was not 
 to be numbered among the aldermen — that Peerage of 
 burghers — as he had expected to be, and the consciousness 
 of this soured him to-day. 
 
 "Well, where have you been?" he said to her, with off- 
 hand laconism. 
 
 "I've been strolling in the Walks and churchyard, father, 
 till I feel quite leery." She clapped her hand to her mouth, 
 but too late. 
 
 This was just enough to incense Henchard after the other 
 crosses of the day. "I won't have you talk like that!" he 
 thundered. " 'Leery,' indeed. One would think you worked 
 upon a farm! One day I learn that you lend a hand in pub- 
 lic-houses. Then I hear you talk like a clodhopper. I'm 
 burned, if it goes on, this house can't hold us two." 
 
 The only way of getting a single pleasant thought to go 
 to sleep upon after this was by recalling the lady she had 
 seen that day, and hoping she might see her again. 
 
128 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Meanwhile Henchard was sitting up, thinking over his 
 jealous folly in forbidding Farfrae to pay his addresses to 
 this girl who did not belong to him, when if he had allowed 
 them to go on he might not have been encumbered with her. 
 At last he said to himself with satisfaction as he jumped up 
 and went to the writing-table: "Ah! he'll think it means 
 peace, and a marriage portion — not that I don't want my 
 house to be troubled with her, and no portion at all!" He 
 wrote as follows: — 
 
 "SiE, — On consideration, I don't wish to interfere with 
 your courtship of Elizabeth- Jane, if you care for her. I 
 therefore withdraw my objection; excepting in this — that the 
 business be not carried on in my house. — ^Yours, 
 
 "M. Henchaed. 
 
 "Mr. Farfrae." 
 
 The morrow, being fairly fine, found Elizabeth- Jane again 
 in the churchyard; but while looking for the lady she 
 was startled by the apparition of Farfrae, who passed out- 
 side the gate. He glanced up for a moment from a pocket- 
 book in which he appeared to be making figures as he went^ 
 whether or not he saw her he took no notice, and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Unduly depressed by a sense of her own superfluity, she 
 thought he probably scorned her; and quite broken in spirit, 
 sat down on a bench. She fell into painful thought on her 
 position, which ended with her saying quite loud, "Oh, I 
 wish I was dead with dear mother!" 
 
 Behind the bench was a little promenade under the wall 
 where people sometimes walked instead of on the gravel. 
 The bench seemed to be touched by something; she looked 
 round, and a face was bending over her, veiled, but still 
 distinct, the face of the young woman she had seen yester- 
 day. 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane looked confounded for a moment, knowing 
 she had been overheard, though there was pleasure in 
 her confusion. "Yes, I heard you," said the lady, in a vi- 
 vacious voice, answering her look. "What can have 
 happened?" 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 129 
 
 "I don't— I can't tell you," said Elizabeth, putting her 
 hand to her face to hide a quick flush that had come. 
 
 There was no movement or word for a few seconds; then 
 the girl felt^that the young lady was sitting down beside 
 her. 
 
 "I guess how it is with you," said the latter. "That was 
 your mother." She waved her hand towards the tombstone- 
 Elizabeth looked up at her as if inquiring of herself whether 
 there should be confidence. The lady's manner was so de- 
 sirous, so anxious, that the girl decided there should be cou' 
 fidence. "It was my mother," she said, "my only friend.'^ 
 
 "But your father, Mr. Henchard. He is living?" 
 
 "Yes, he is living," said Elizabeth-Jane. 
 
 "Is he not kind to you?" 
 
 "I've no wish to complain of him." 
 
 "There has been a disagreement?" 
 
 "A little." 
 
 "Perhaps you were to blame," suggested the stranger. 
 
 "I was — in many ways," sighed the meek Elizabeth. "I 
 swept up the coals when the servant ought to have done it; 
 and I said I was leery; — and he was angry with me." 
 
 The lady seemed to warm towards her for that reply. 
 "Do you know the impression your words give me?" she 
 said ingenuously. "That he is a hot-tempered man — a little 
 proud — ^perhaps ambitious; but not a bad man." Her anx- 
 iety not to condemn Henchard, while siding with Elizabeth, 
 was curious. 
 
 "Oh no ; certainly not bad," agreed the honest girl. "And 
 he has not even been unkind to me till lately — since mothef 
 died. But it has been very much to bear while it has lasted. 
 All is owing to my defects, I daresay; and my defects are 
 owing to my history." 
 
 "What is your history?" 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane looked wistfully at her questioner. She 
 found that her questioner was looking at her; turned her 
 eyes down; and then seemed compelled to look back again, 
 "My history is not gay or attractive," she said. "And yet 
 I can tell it, if you really want to know." 
 
 The lady assured her that she did want to know; where^ 
 upon EUzabeth-Jane told the tale of her life as she under- 
 
130 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ^tood it, which was in general the true one, except that the 
 sale at the fair had no part therein. 
 
 Contrary to the girl's expectation her new friend was not 
 shocked. This cheered her; and it was not till she thought 
 of returning to that home in which she had been treated 
 so roughly of late that her spirits fell. 
 
 "I don't know how to return," she murmured. "I think 
 <A going away. But what can I do? Where can I go?" 
 
 "Perhaps it will be better soon," said her friend gently. 
 "So I would not go far. Now what do you think of this: I 
 shall soon want somebody to live in my house, partly as 
 housekeeper, partly as companion; would you mind coming 
 to me? But perhaps " 
 
 "Oh yes," cried Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes. "I 
 would, indeed — I would do anything to be independent; 
 for then perhaps my father might get to love me. But, ah! " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I am no accomplished person. And a companion to you 
 must be that." 
 
 "Oh, not necessarily." 
 
 "Not? But I can't help using rural words sometimes, 
 when I don't mean to." 
 
 "Never mind, I shall like to know them." 
 
 "And — oh, I know I shan't do!" — she cried with a dis- 
 tressful laugh. "I accidentally learned to write round hand 
 instead of ladies'-hand. And, of course, you want some one 
 who can write that?" 
 
 "Well, no." 
 
 "What, not necessary to write ladies'-hand?" cried the 
 joyous Elizabeth. 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 "But where do you live?" 
 
 "In Casterbridge, or rather I shall be living here aitsc 
 twelve o'clock to-day." 
 
 Elizabeth expressed her astonishment. 
 
 "I have been staying at Budmouth for a few days while 
 my house was getting ready. The house I am going into is 
 that one they call High Place Hall — the old stone one over- 
 looking the Market. Two or three rooms are fit for occu- 
 pation, though not all: I sleep there to-night for the first 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 131 
 
 time. Now will you think over my proposal, and meet me 
 here the first fine day next week, and say if you are still in 
 the same mind?" 
 
 Elizabeth, her eyes shining at this prospect of a change 
 from an unbearable position, joyfully assented; and the two 
 parted at the gate of the churchyard. 
 
 XXI 
 
 As a maxim glibly repeated from childhood remains prac- 
 tically unmarked till some mature experience enforces it, 
 so did this High Place Hall now for the first time really show 
 itself to Elizabeth- Jane, though her ears had heard its name 
 on a hundred occasions. 
 
 Her mind dwelt upon nothing else but the stranger, and 
 the house, and her own chance of living there, all the rest 
 of the day. In the afternoon she had occasion to pay a few 
 bills in the town and do a little shopping, when she learnt 
 that what was a new discovery to herself had become a com- 
 mon topic about the streets. High Place Hall was under- 
 going repair; a lady was coming there to live shortly; all the 
 shop-people knew it, and had already discovmted the chance 
 of her being a customer. 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane could, however, add a capping touch to 
 information so new to her in the bulk. The lady, she said, 
 had arrived that day. 
 
 When the lamps were lighted, and it was yet not so dark 
 as to render chimneys, attics, and roofs invisible, Elizabeth, 
 almost with a lover's feeling, thought she would like to look 
 at the outside of High Place Hall. She went up the street 
 in that direction. 
 
 The Hall, with its grey fagade and parapet, was the only 
 residence of its sort so near the centre of the town. It had, 
 in the first place, the characteristics of a country memsion — 
 birds' nests in its chimneys, damp nooks where fungi grew, 
 and irregularities of surface direct from Nature's trowel. 
 At night the forms of passengers were patterned by the 
 lamps in black shadows upon the pale walls. 
 
 This evening motes of straw lay around, and other signs 
 
132 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 of the premises having been in that lawless condition which 
 accompanies the entry of a new tenant. The house was en- 
 tirely of stone, and formed an example of dignity without 
 great size. It was not altogether aristocratic, still less con- 
 sequential, yet the old-fashioned stranger instinctively said, 
 "Blood built it, and Wealth enjoys it," however vague his 
 opinions of those accessories might be. 
 
 Yet as regards the enjoying it, the stranger would have 
 been wrong, for until this very evening, when the new lady 
 had arrived, the house had been empty for a year or two, 
 while before that interval its occupancy had been irregular. 
 The reason of its unpopularity was soon made manifest. 
 Its rooms overlooked the market-place; and such a prospect 
 from such a house was not considered desirable or seemly 
 by its would-be occupiers. 
 
 Elizabeth's eyes sought the upper rooms, and saw lights 
 there. The lady had obviously arrived. The impression 
 that this woman of comparatively practised manner had 
 made upon the studious girl's mind was so deep that she 
 enjoyed standing under an opposite archway merely to think 
 that the charming lady was inside the confronting walls, and 
 to wonder what she was doing. Her admiration for the ar- 
 chitecture of that front was entirely on account of the in- 
 mate it screened. Though for that matter the architecture 
 deserved admiration, or at least study, on its own account. 
 It was Palladian, and like most architecture erected since 
 the Gothic age, was a compilation rather than a design. But 
 its reasonableness made it impressive. It was not rich, but 
 rich enough. A timely consciousness of the ultimate vanity 
 of human architecture, no less than of other human things, 
 bad prevented artistic superfluity. 
 
 Men had till quite recently been going in and out with 
 parcels and packing-cases, rendering the door and hall within 
 like a public thoroughfare. Elizabeth trotted through the 
 open door in the dusk, but becoming alarmed at her own 
 temerity, she went quicldy out again by another which stood 
 open in the lofty wall of the back court. To her surprise 
 she found herself in one of the little-used blind alleys of 
 the town. Looking round at the door which had given her 
 egress, by the light of the solitary lamp fixed in the alley. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 13? 
 
 she saw that it was arched and old — older even than the 
 house itself. The door was studded, and the keystone of 
 the arch was a mask. Originally the mask had e^diibited a 
 comic leer, as could still be discerned; but generations of 
 Casterbridge boys had thrown stones at the mask, aiming 
 at its open mouth; and the blows thereof had chipped off the 
 lips and jaws as if they had been eaten away by disease. 
 The appearance was so ghastly by the weakly lamp glim- 
 mer that she could not bear to look at it — the first unpleas- 
 ant feature of her visit. 
 
 The position of the queer old door and the odd presence 
 of the leering mask suggested one thing above all others 
 as appertaining to the mansion's past history — intrigue. By 
 the alley it had been possible to come unseen from all sorts 
 of quarters in the town — the old play-house, the old bull- 
 stake, the old cock-pit, the pool wherein nameless infants 
 had been used to disappear. High Place Hall could boast 
 of its conveniences undoubtedly. 
 
 She turned to come away in the nearest direction home- 
 ward, which was up the alley, but hearing footsteps ap- 
 proaching in that quarter, and having no great wish to be 
 found in such a place at such a time, she quickly retreated. 
 There being no other way out, she stood behind a brick pier 
 till the intruder should have gone his ways. 
 
 Had she watched she would have been surprised. She 
 would have seen that the pedestrian on coming up made 
 straight for the arched doorway: that as he paused with 
 his hand upon the latch the lamplight fell upon the face of 
 Henchard. 
 
 But Elizabeth- Jane clung so closely to her nook that she 
 discerned nothing of this. Henchard passed in, as ignorant 
 of her presence as she was ignorant of his identity, and 
 disappeared in the darkness. Elizabeth came out a 
 second time into the alley, and made the best of her way 
 home. 
 
 Henchard's chiding, by begetting in her a nervous fear 
 of doing anything definable as unlady-like, had operated 
 thus curiously in keeping them unknown to each other at a 
 critical moment. Much might have resulted from recogni- 
 tion — at the least a query on either side in one and the self- 
 
134 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 same form: What could he or she possibly be doing there? 
 
 Henchard, whatever his business at the lady's house, 
 reached his own home only a few minutes later tian Eliza- 
 beth-Jane. Her plan was to broach the question of leaving 
 his roof this evening; the events of the day had urged her 
 to the course. But its execution depended upon his mood, 
 and she anxiously awaited his manner towards her. She 
 found that it had changed. He showed no further tendency 
 to be angry; he showed something worse. Absolute indiffer- 
 ence had taken the plaice of irritability; and his coldness was 
 such that it encouraged her to departure, even more than 
 hot temper could have done. 
 
 "Father, have you any objection to my going away?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Going away! No — ^none whatever. Where are you go- 
 ing?" 
 
 She thought it undesirable and unnecessary to say any- 
 thing at present about her destination to one who took so 
 little interest in her. He would know that soon enough. "I 
 have heard of an opportunity of getting more cultivated and 
 finished, and being less idle," she answered, with hesitation. 
 "A chance of a place in a household where I can have ad- 
 vantages of study, and seeing refined life." 
 ! "Then make the best of it, in Heaven's name — if you can't 
 get cultivated where you are." 
 
 "You don't object?" 
 
 "Object— I? Ho— no! Not at all." After a pause 
 he said, "But you won't have enough money for this lively 
 scheme without help, you know? If you like I should be 
 willing to make you an allowance, so that you be not bound 
 to live upon the starvation wages refined folk are likely to 
 pay 'ee." 
 
 She thanked him for this offer. 
 
 "It had better be done properly," he added after a pause. 
 "A small annuity is what I should like you to have — so as 
 to be independent of me — and so that I may be independent 
 of you. Would that please ye?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Then I'll see about it this very day." He seemed re- 
 lieved to get her off his hands by this arrangement, and 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 135 
 
 as far as they were concerned the matter was settled. She 
 now simply waited to see the lady again. 
 
 The day and the hour came; but a drizzling rain fell. 
 Elizabeth- Jane, having now changed her orbit from one 
 of gay independence to laborious self-help, thought the 
 weather good enough for such declined glory as hers, if her 
 friend would only face it — a matter of doubt'. She went to 
 the boot-room where her pattens had hung ever since her 
 apotheosis; took them down, had their mildewed leathers 
 blacked, and put them on as she had done in old times. 
 Thus mounted, and with cloak and umbrella, she went off 
 to the place of appointment — ^intending, if the lady were 
 not there, to call at the house. 
 
 One side of the churchyard — the side towards the weather 
 — was sheltered by an ancient thatched mud wall whose 
 eaves overhung as much as one or two feet. At the back of 
 the wall was a corn-yard with its granary and bams — the 
 place wherein she had met Farfrae many months earlier. 
 Under the projection of the thatch she saw a figure. The 
 young lady had come. 
 
 Her presence so exceptionally substantiated the girl's ut- 
 most hopes that she almost feared her good fortune. Fan- 
 cies find room in the strongest minds. Here, in a church- 
 yard old as civilization, in the worst of weathers, was a 
 strange woman of curious fascinations never seen elsewhere: 
 there might be some devilry about her presence. However, 
 Elizabeth went on to the church tower, on whose summit the 
 rope of a flag-staff rattled in the wind; and thus she came 
 to the wall. 
 
 The lady had such a cheerful aspect in the drizzle that 
 Elizabeth forgot her fancy. "Well," said the lady, a little 
 of the whiteness of her teeth appearing with the word 
 through the black fleece that protected her face, "have yow 
 decided?" 
 
 "Yes, quite," said the other eagerly. 
 
 "Your father is willing?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then come along." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Now — as soon as you like. I had a good mind to send 
 
.C36 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 to you to come to my house, thinking you might not venture 
 up here in the wind. But as I Uke getting out of doors, I 
 thought I would come and see first." 
 
 "It was my own thought." 
 
 "That shows we shall agree. Then can you come to-day? 
 My house is so hollow and dismal that I want some living 
 thing there." 
 
 "I think I might be able to," said the girl, reflecting. 
 
 Voices were borne over to them at that instant on the wind 
 and raindrops from the other side of the wall. There came 
 such words as "sacks," "quarters," "threshing," "tailing," 
 "next Saturday's market," each sentence being disorganized 
 by the gusts like a face in a cracked mirror. Both the 
 women listened. 
 
 "Who are those?" said the lady. 
 
 "One is my father. He rents that yard and barn." 
 
 The lady seemed to forget the immediate business in lis- 
 tening to the technicalities of the corn trade. At last she 
 said suddenly, "Did you tell him where you were going to?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Oh— how was that?" 
 
 "I thought it safer to get away first — as he is so uncer- 
 tain in his temper." 
 
 "Perhaps you are right. . . . Besides, I have never told 
 you my name. It is Miss Templeman. . . . Are they gone 
 — on the other side?" 
 
 "No. They have only gone up into the granary." 
 
 "Well, it is getting damp here. I shall expect you to-day 
 ■' — this evening, say, at six." 
 
 "Which way shall I come, ma'am." 
 
 "The front way — through the door. There is no other." 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane had been thinking of the door in the alley. 
 
 "Perhaps, as you have not mentioned your destination, 
 you may as well keep silent upon it till you are clear off. 
 Who knows but that he may alter his mind?" 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane shook her head. "On consideration I 
 don't fear it," she said sadly. "He has grown quite cold 
 to me." 
 
 "Very well. Six o'clock then." 
 
 When they had emerged upon the open road and parted, 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 137 
 
 they found enough to do in holding their bowed umbrellas 
 to the wind. Nevertheless the lady looked in at the corn- 
 yard gates as she passed them, and paused on one foot for 
 a moment. But nothing was visible there save the ricks, and 
 the humpbacked bam, cushioned with moss, and the gran- 
 ary, rising against the church-tower behind, where the 
 smacking of the rope against the flag-staff still went on. 
 
 Now Henchard had not the slightest suspicion that Eliza- 
 beth-Jane's movement was to be so prompt. Hence when, 
 just before six, he reached home and saw a fly at the door 
 from the King's Arms, and his step-daughter, with all her 
 little bags and boxes, getting into it, he was taken by sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "But you said I might go, father?" she explained through 
 the carriage window. 
 
 "Said! — ^yes. But I thought you meant next month, or 
 next year. 'Od, seize it — ^you take time by the forelock 1 
 This, then, is how you be going to treat me for all my trou- 
 ble about ye?" 
 
 "O father! how can you speak like that? It is unjust 
 of you!" she said with spirit. 
 
 "Well, well, have your own way," he replied. He entered 
 the house, and, seeing that all her things had not yet been 
 brought down, went up to her room to look on. He had 
 never been there since she had occupied it. Evidences of 
 her care, of her endeavours for improvement, were visible 
 all around, in the form of books, sketches, maps, and little 
 arrangements for tasteful effects. Henchard had known 
 nothing of these efforts. He gazed at them, turned suddenly 
 about, and came down to the door. 
 
 "Look here," he said, in an altered voice — ^he never called 
 her by name now — -"don't 'ee go away from me. It may 
 be I've spoke roughly to you — but I've been grieved beyon(? 
 everything by you — there's something that caused it." 
 
 "By me?" she said, with deep concern. "What have 1 
 done?" 
 
 "I can't tell you now. But if you'll stop, and go on living 
 as my daughter, I'll tell you all in time." 
 
 But the proposal had come ten minutes too late. She was 
 in the fly — ^was already, in imagination, at the house of the 
 
138 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 lady whose manner had such charms for her. "Father," she 
 said, as considerately as she could, "I think it best for us 
 that I go on now. I need not stay long; I shall not be far 
 away; and if you want me badly I can soon come back 
 again." 
 
 He nodded ever so slightly, as a receipt of her decision, 
 and no more. "You are not going far, you say. What will 
 be your address, in case I wish to write to you? Or am I 
 not to know?" 
 
 "Oh yes — certainly. It is only in the town — High Place 
 Hall." 
 
 "Where?" said Henchard, his face stilling. 
 
 She repeated the words. He neither moved nor spoke, and 
 waving her hand to him in utmost friendliness, she signi- 
 fied to the flyman to drive up the street. 
 
 XXII 
 
 We go back for a moment to the preceding night, to ac- 
 count for Henchard's attitude. 
 
 At the hour when Elizabeth- Jane was contemplating her 
 stealthy reconnoitring excursion to the abode of the lady 
 of her fancy, he had been not a little amazed at receiving a 
 letter by hand in Lucetta's well-known characters. The self- 
 repression, the resignation of her previous communication 
 had vanished from her mood; she wrote with some of the 
 natural lightness which had marked her in their early ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 "High Place Hali. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Henchakd, — Don't be surprised. It is 
 for your good and mine, as I hope, that I have come to live 
 at Casterbridge — for how long I cannot tell. That depends 
 upon another; and he is a man, and a merchant, and a 
 Mayor, and one who has the first right to my affections. 
 
 "Seriously, mon ami, I am not so light-hearted as I may 
 seem to be from this. I have come here in consequence ai 
 hearing of the death of your wife — whom you used to think 
 of as dead so many years before!. Poor woman, she seems 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 139 
 
 to have been a sufferer, though uncomplaining, and though 
 weak in intellect not an imbecile. I am glad you acted fairly 
 by her. As soon as I knew she was no more, it was brought 
 home to me very forcibly by my conscience that I ought to 
 endeavour to disperse the shade which my etourderie flung 
 over my name, by asking you to carry out your promise to 
 me. I hope you are of the same mind, and that you will 
 take steps to this end. As, however, I did not know how 
 you were situated, or what had happened since our separa- 
 tion, I decided to come and establish myself here before 
 communicating with you. 
 
 "You probably feel as I do about this. I shall be able to 
 see you in a day or two. Till then, farewell. — ^Yours, 
 
 "LUCETTA. 
 
 "P. S. — ^I was unable to keep my appointment to meet you 
 for a moment or two in passing through Casterbridge the 
 other day. My plans were altered by a family event, which 
 it will surprise you to hear of." 
 
 Henchard had already heard that High Place Hall was 
 being prepared for a tenant. He said with a puzzled air to 
 the first person he encountered, "Who is coming to live at 
 the Hall?" 
 
 "A lady of the name of Templeman, I believe, sir," said 
 his informant. 
 
 Henchard thought it over. "Lucetta is related to her, I 
 suppose," he said to himself. "Yes, I must put her in her 
 proper position, imdoubtedly." 
 
 It was by no means with the oppression that would once 
 have accompanied the thought that he regarded the moral 
 necessity now; it was, indeed, with interest, if not warmth. 
 His bitter disappointment at finding Elizabeth- Jane to be 
 none of his, and himself a childless man, had left an emo- 
 tional void in Henchard that he unconsciously craved to fill. 
 In this frame of mind, though without strong feeling, he had 
 strolled up the blind alley and into High Place Hall by the 
 postern at which Elizabeth had so nearly encountered him. 
 He had gone on thence into the court, and inquired of a man 
 whom he saw unpacking china from a crate, if Miss Le 
 Sueur was living there. Miss Le Sueur had been the namO 
 
140 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 under which he had known Lucetta — or "Lucette," as she 
 had called herself at that time. 
 
 The man replied in the negative; that Miss Templeman 
 only had come. Henchard went away, concluding that Lu- 
 cetta had not as yet settled in. 
 
 He was in this interested stage of the inquiry when he wit- 
 nessed Elizabeth- Jane's departure the next day. On hearing 
 her announce the address, there suddenly took possession of 
 him the strange thought that Lucetta and Miss Templeman 
 were one and the same person, for he could recall that in 
 her season of intimacy with him the name of the rich rela- 
 tive whom he had deemed somewhat a mythical personage 
 had been given as Templeman. Though not a fortune- 
 hunter, the possibility that Lucetta had been sublimed into 
 a lady of means by some munificent testament on the part 
 of this relative lent a charm to her image which it might 
 not otherwise have acquired. He was getting on towards the 
 dead level of middle age, when material things increasingly 
 possess the mind. 
 
 But Henchard was not left long in suspense. Lucetta was 
 rather addicted to scribbling, as had been shown by the 
 torrent of letters after the fiasco in their marriage arrange- 
 ments, and hardly had Elizabeth gone away when another 
 note came to the Mayor's house from High Place Hall. 
 
 "I am in residence," she said, "and comfortable, though 
 getting here has been a wearisome undertaking. You prob- 
 ably know what I am going to tell you, or do you not? My 
 good Aunt Templeman, the banker's widow, whose very ex- 
 istence you used to doubt, much more her affluence, has 
 lately died, and bequeathed some of her property to me. 
 I will not enter into details except to say that I have 
 taken her name — as a means of escape from mine, and its 
 wrongs. 
 
 "I am now my own mistress, and have chosen to reside 
 in Casterbridge — to be tenant of High Place Hall, that at 
 least you may be put to no trouble if you wish to see me. 
 My first intention was to keep you in ignorance of the 
 changes in my life till you should meet me in the street; but 
 I have thought better of this. 
 
 "You probably are aware of my arrangement with your 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE ui 
 
 daughter, and have doubtless laughed at the — ^what shall I 
 call it? — practical joke (in all affection) of my getting her 
 to live with me. But my first meeting with her was pureljr 
 an accident. Do you see, Michael, partly why I have done 
 it? — why, to give you an excuse for coming here as if to 
 visit her, and thus to form my acquaintance naturally. She 
 is a dear, good girl, and she thinks you have treated her 
 with undue severity. You may have done so in your haste, 
 but not deliberately, I am sure. As the result has been to 
 bring her to me I am not disposed to upbraid you. — In 
 haste, yours always, Lucetta." 
 
 The excitement which these announcements produced in 
 Henchard's gloomy soul was to him most pleasurable. He 
 sat over his dining-table long and dreamily, and by an al- 
 most mechanical transfer the sentiments which had run to 
 waste since his estrangement from Elizabeth- Jane and Don- 
 ald Farfrae gathered arojind Lucetta before they had grown 
 dry. She was plainly in a very coming-on disposition for 
 marriage. But what else could a poor woman be who had 
 given her time and heart to him so thoughtlessly, at that 
 former time, as to lose her credit by it? Probably con- 
 science no less than affection had brought her here. On the 
 whole he did not blame her. 
 
 "The artful little woman!" he said, smiling (with refer- 
 ence to Lucetta's adroit and pleasant manoeuvre with Eliza- 
 beth-Jane) . 
 
 To feel that he would like to see Lucetta was with Hen- 
 chard to start for her house. He put on his hat and went. 
 It was between eight and nine o'clock when he reached her 
 door. The answer brought him was that Miss Templeman 
 was engaged for that evening; but that she would be happy 
 to see him the next day. 
 
 "That's rather like giving herself airs! " he thought. "And 
 
 considering what we " But after all, she plainly had 
 
 not expected him, and he took the refusal quietly. Never- 
 theless he resolved not to go next day. "These cursed 
 women — there's not an inch of straight grain in 'em!" he 
 said. 
 
 Let us follow the track of Mr. Henchard's thought as if it 
 
142 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 were a due line, and view the interior of High Place Hall 
 on this particular evening. 
 
 On Elizabeth- Jane's arrival she had been phlegmatically 
 asked by an elderly woman to go upstairs and take off her 
 things. She had replied with great earnestness that she 
 would not think of giving that trouble, and on the instant 
 divested herself of her bonnet and cloak in the passage. 
 She was then conducted to the first door on the landing, 
 and left to find her way further alone. 
 
 The room disclosed was prettily furnished as a boudoir 
 or small drawing-room, and on a sofa with two cylindrical 
 pillows reclined a dark-haired, large-eyed, pretty woman, of 
 unmistakably French extraction on one side or the other. 
 She was probably some years older than Elizabeth, and had 
 a sparkling light in her eye. In front of the sofa was a small 
 table, with a pack of cards scattered upon it faces upward. 
 
 The attitude had been so full of abandonment that she 
 bounded up like a spring on hearing the door open. 
 
 Perceiving that it was ElizabeSi she lapsed into ease, 
 and came across to her with a reckless skip that innate grace 
 only prevented from being boisterous. 
 
 "Why, you are late," she said, taking hold of Elizabeth- 
 Jane's hands. 
 
 "There were so many little things to put up." 
 
 "And you seem dead-alive and tired. Let me try to en- 
 liven you by some wonderful tricks I have learnt, to kill 
 time. Sit there and don't move." She gathered up the pack 
 of cards, pulled the table in front of her, and began to deal 
 them rapidly, telling Elizabeth to choose some. 
 
 "Well, have you chosen?" she asked, flinging down the 
 last card. 
 
 "No," stammered Elizabeth, arousing herself from a rev- 
 erie. "I quite forgot, I was thinking of — you, and me — and 
 how strange it is that I am here." 
 
 Miss Templeman looked at Elizabeth- Jane with interest, 
 and laid down the cards. "Ah! never mind," she said. "I'll 
 lie here while you sit by me ; and we'll talk." 
 
 Elizabeth drew up silently to the head of the sofa, but 
 with obvious pleasure. It could be seen that in years she 
 was younger than her entertainer, while in manner and gen- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 143 
 
 eral vision she seemed more of the sage. Miss Templeman 
 deposited herself on the sofa in her former flexuous position, 
 and throwing her arm above her brow — somewhat in the 
 pose of a well-known conception of Titian's— talked up at 
 Elizabeth- Jane invertedly across her forehead and arm. 
 
 "I must tell you something," she said. "I wonder if you 
 have suspected it. I have only been mistress of a large 
 house and fortune a little while." 
 
 "Oh! only a little while?" murmured Elizabeth- Jane, her 
 countenance slightly falling. 
 
 "As a girl I lived about in garrison towns and elsewhere 
 with my father, till I was quite flighty and unsettled. He 
 was an officer in the army. I should not have mentioned this 
 had I not thought it best you should know the truth." 
 
 "Yes, yes." She looked thoughtfully round the room — 
 at the little square piano with brass inlayings, at the win- 
 dow-curtains, at the lamp, at the fair and dark kings and 
 queens on the card-table, and finally at the inverted face of 
 Lucetta Templeman, whose large lustrous eyes had such an 
 odd effect upside down. 
 
 Elizabeth's mind ran on acqxiirements to an almost morbid 
 degree. "You speak French and Italian fluently, no doubt," 
 she said. "I have not been able to get beyond a wretched 
 bit of Latin yet." 
 
 "Well, for that matter, in my native isle speaking French 
 does not go for much. It is rather the other way." 
 
 "Where is your native isle?" 
 
 It was with rather more reluctance that Miss Templeman 
 said, "Jersey. There they speak French on one side of the 
 street and English on the other, and a mixed tongue in the 
 middle of the road. But it is a long time since I was there. 
 Bath is where my people really belong to, though my ances- 
 tors in Jersey were as good as anybody in England. They 
 were the Le Sueurs, an old family who have done great things 
 in their time. I went back and lived there after my father's 
 death. But I don't value such past matters, and am quite 
 an English person in my feelings and tastes." 
 
 Lucetta's tongue had for a moment outrun her discre- 
 tion. She had arrived at Casterbridge as a Bath lady, and 
 there were obvious reasons why Jersey should drop out of 
 
144 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 her life. But Elizabeth had tempted her to make free, and 
 a deliberately formed resolve had been broken. 
 
 It could not, however, have been broken in safer company, 
 Lucetta's words went no further, and after this day she 
 was so much upon her guard that there appeared no chance 
 of her identification with the young Jersey woman who had 
 been Henchard's dear comrade at a critical time. Not the 
 least amusing of her safe guards was her resolute avoidance 
 of a French word, if one by accident came to her tongue 
 more readily than its English equivalent. She shirked it 
 with the suddenness of the weak Apostle at the accusation, 
 "Thy speech bewrayeth thee!" 
 
 Expectancy sat visibly upon Lucetta the next morning. 
 She dressed herself for Mr. Henchard, and restlessly awaited 
 his call before mid-day; as he did not come she waited on 
 through the afternoon. But she did not tell Elizabeth that 
 the person expected was the girl's stepfather. 
 
 They sat in adjoining windows of the same room in Lu- 
 cetta's great stone mansion, netting, and looking out upon 
 the market, which formed an animated scene. Elizabeth 
 could see the crown of her stepfather's hat among the rest 
 beneath, and was not aware that Lucetta watched the same 
 object with yet intenser interest. He moved about amid 
 the throng, at this point lively as an ani-hill ; elsewhere more 
 reposeful, and broken up by stalls of fruit and vegetables. 
 The farmers as a rule preferred the open carrejour for their 
 transactions, despite its inconvenient jostlings and the dan- 
 ger from crossing vehicles, to the gloomy sheltered market- 
 room provided for them. Here they surged on this one day 
 of the week, forming a little world of leggings, switches, and 
 sample-bags; men of extensive stomachs, sloping like moun- 
 tain sides; men whose heads in walking swayed as the trees 
 in November gales ; who in conversing varied their attitudes 
 much, lowering themselves by spreading their knees, and 
 thrusting their hands into the pockets of remote inner 
 jackets. Their faces radiated tropical warmth; for though' 
 when at home their countenances varied with the seasons, 
 their market-faces all the year round were glowing little 
 fires. I 
 
 All over-clothes here were worn as if they were an in- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 145 
 
 convenience, a hampering necessity. Some men were well- 
 dressed'; but the majority were careless in that respect, ap- 
 pearing in suits which were historical records of their wear- 
 er's deeds, sun-scorchings, and daily struggles for many 
 years past. Yet many carried ruffled cheque-books in their 
 pockets which regulated at the bank hard by a balance of 
 never less than four figures. In fact, what these gibbous 
 human shapes specially represented was ready money — 
 money insistently ready — not ready next year like a noble- 
 man's — often not merely ready at the bank like a profes- 
 sional man's, but ready in their large plump hands. 
 
 It happened that to-day there rose in the midst of them 
 all two or three tall apple-trees standing as if they grew on 
 the spot; till it was perceived that they were held by men 
 from the cider-districts who came here to sell them, bringing 
 the clay of their county on their boots. Elizabeth- jane, who 
 had often observed them, said, "I wonder if the same trees 
 come every week?" 
 
 "What trees?" said Lucetta, absorbed in watching for 
 Henchard. 
 
 Elizabeth replied vaguely, for an incident checked her. 
 Behind one of the trees stood Farfrae, briskly discussing a 
 sample-bag with a farmer. Henchard had come up, acci- 
 dentally encountering the young man, whose face seemed to 
 inquire, "Do we speak to each other?" 
 
 She saw her stepfather throw a shine into his eye, which 
 answered "No!" Elizabeth- Jane sighed. 
 
 "Are you particularly interested in anybody out there?" 
 said Lucetta. 
 
 "Oh no," said her companion, a quick red shooting over 
 her face. 
 
 Luckily Farfrae's figure was immediately covered by the 
 apple-tree. 
 
 Lucetta looked hard at her. "Quite sure?" she said. 
 
 "Oh yes," said Elizabeth- Jane. 
 
 Again Lucetta looked out. "They are all farmers, I sup- 
 pose?" she said. 
 
 "No. There's Mr. Bulge — ^he's a wine merchant; there's 
 Benjamin Brownlet — a horse dealer; and Kitson, the pig 
 breeder; and Yopper, the auctioneer; besides maltsters, and 
 
146 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 millers— and so on." Farfrae stood out quite distinctly 
 now; but she did not mention him. 
 
 The Saturday afternoon slipped on thus desultorily. The 
 market changed from the sample-showing hour to the idle 
 hour before starting homewards, when tales were told. Hen- 
 chard had not called on Lucetta, though he had stood so 
 near. He must have been too busy, she thought. He would 
 come on Sunday or Monday. 
 
 The days came, but not the visitor, though Lucetta re- 
 peated her dressing with scrupulous care. She was dis- 
 heartened. It may at once be declared that Lucetta no 
 longer bore towards Henchard all that warm allegiance 
 which had characterized her in their first acquaintance; the 
 then unfortunate issue of things had chilled pure love con- 
 siderably. But there remained a conscientious wish to bring 
 about her union with him, now that there was nothing to 
 hinder it — to right her position — which in itself was a hap- 
 piness to sigh for. With strong social reasons on her side 
 why their marriage should take place, there had ceased to be 
 any worldly reason on his why it should be postponed, since 
 she had succeeded to fortune. 
 
 Tuesday was the great Candlemas fair. At breakfast 
 she said to Elizabeth-Jane quite coolly: "I imagine your 
 father may call to see you to-day. I suppose he stands 
 close by in the market-place, with the rest of the corn- 
 dealers?" 
 
 She shook her head. "He won't come." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "He has taken against me," she said in a husky voice. 
 
 "You have quarrelled more deeply than I know of." 
 
 Elizabeth, wishing to shield the man she believed to be her 
 father from any charge of unnatural dislike, said "Yes." 
 
 "Then where you are is. of all places, the one he will 
 avoid?" 
 
 Elizabeth nodded sadly. 
 
 Lucetta looked blank, twitched up her lovely eyebrows 
 and lip, and burst into hysterical sobs. Here was a disas- 
 ter — her ingenious scheme completely stultified! 
 
 "Oh, my dear Miss Templeman — ^what's the matter?" 
 cried her companion. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 147 
 
 "I like your company much!" said Lucetta, as soon as 
 she could speak. 
 
 "Yes, yes — and so do I yours!" Elizabeth chimed in 
 soothingly. 
 
 "But — but " She could not finish the sentence, which 
 
 was, naturally, that if Henchard had such a rooted dislike 
 for the girl as now seemed to be the case, Elizabeth- Jane 
 would have to be got rid of — a disagreeable necessity. 
 
 A provisional resource suggested itself. "Miss Henchard 
 ■ — will you go on an errand for me as soon as breakfast is 
 over? — Ah, that's very good of you. Will you go and or- 
 der " Here she enumerated several commissions at sun- 
 dry shops, which would occupy Elizabeth's time for the next 
 hour or two, at least. 
 
 "And have you ever seen the Museum?" 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane had not. 
 
 "Then you should do so at once. You can finish the 
 morning by going there. It is an old house in a back street 
 — I forget where — but you'll find out — and there are crowds 
 of interesting things — skeletons, teeth, old pots and pans, 
 ancient boots and shoes, birds' eggs — all charmingly instruc- 
 tive. You'll be sure to stay till you get quite hungry." 
 
 Elizabeth hastily pUt on her things and departed. "I 
 wonder why she wants to get rid of me to-day!" she said 
 sorrowfully, as she went. That her absence, rather than her 
 services or instruction, was in request, had been readily 
 apparent to Elizabeth- Jane, simple as she seemed, and diffi- 
 cult as it was to attribute a motive for the desire. 
 
 She had not been gone ten minutes when one of Lucetta's 
 servants was sent to Henchard's with a note. The contents 
 were briefly: — 
 
 "Deae Michael, — You will be standing close to my 
 house to-day for two or three hours in the course of your 
 business, so do please call and see me. I am sadly disap- 
 pointed that you have not come before, for can I help 
 anxiety about my own equivocal relation to you? — especially 
 now my aunt's fortune has brought me more prominently 
 before society? Your daughter's presence here may be the 
 cause of your neglect; and I have therefore sent her away 
 
148 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 for the morning. Say you come on business — ^I shall be 
 quite alone. Lucetta." 
 
 When the messenger returned her mistress gave direc- 
 tions that if a gentleman called he was to be admitted at 
 once, and sat down to await results. 
 
 Sentimentally she did not much care to see him — ^his 
 delays had wearied her; but it was necessary; and with a 
 sigh she arranged herself picturesquely in the chair; first this 
 way, then that; next so that the light fell over her head. 
 Next she flung herself on the couch in the cyma-recta curve 
 which so became her, and, with her arm over her brow, 
 looked towards the door. This, she decided, was the best 
 position after all; and thus she remained till a man's step 
 was heard on the stairs. Whereupon Lucetta, forgetting her 
 curve (for Nature was too strong for Art as yet), jumped 
 up, and ran and hid herself behind one of the window-cur- 
 tains in a freak of timidity. In spite of the waning of pas- 
 sion the situation was an agitating one — she had not seen 
 Henchard since his (supposed) temporary parting from her 
 in Jersey. 
 
 She could hear the servant showing the visitor into the 
 room, shutting the door upon him, and leaving as if to go 
 and look for her mistress. Lucetta flung back the curtain 
 with a nervous greeting. The man before her was not Hen- 
 chard. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 A CONJECTUEE that her visitor might be some other person 
 had, indeed, flashed through Lucetta's mind when she was 
 on the point of bursting out; but it was just too late to re- 
 cede. 
 
 He was years younger than the Mayor of Casterbridge; 
 fair, fresh, and slenderly handsome. He wore genteel cloth 
 leggings with white buttons, polished boots with infinite lace 
 holes, light cord breeches under a black velveteen coat and 
 waistcoat; and he had a silver- topped switch in his hand. 
 Lucetta blushed, and said with a curious mixture of pout 
 and laugh on her face — "Oh, I've made a mistake!" 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 149 
 
 The visitor, on the contrary, did not laugh half a wrin- 
 kle. 
 
 "But I'm very sorry I" he said, in deprecating tones. "I 
 came and I inquired for Miss Henchard, and they showed 
 me up heere, and in no case would I have caught ye so un- 
 mannerly if I had known! " 
 
 "I was the unmannerly one," said she. 
 
 "But is it that I have come to the wrong house, madam?" 
 said Mr. Farfrae, blinking a little in his bewilderment and 
 nervously tapping his legging with his switch. 
 
 "Oh no, sir, — sit down. You must come and sit down 
 now you are here," replied Lucetta kindly, to relieve his em- 
 barrassment. "Miss Henchard will be here directly." 
 
 Now this was not strictly true; but that something about 
 the young man — that hyperborean crispness, stringency, and 
 charm, as of a well-braced musical instrument, which had 
 awakened the interest of Henchard, and of Elizabeth- Jane, 
 and of the Three Mariners' jovial crew, at sight, made his 
 unexpected presence here attractive to Lucetta. He hesi- 
 tated, looked at the chair, thought there was no danger in it 
 (though there was), and sat down. 
 
 Farfrae's sudden entry was simply the result of Hen- 
 chard's permission to him to see Elizabeth, if he were 
 minded to woo her. At first he had taken no notice of Hen- 
 chard's brusque letter; but an exceptionally fortunate busi- 
 ness transaction put him on good terms with everybody, 
 and revealed to him that he could undeniably marry if he 
 chose. Then who so pleasing, thrifty, and satisfactory in 
 every way as Elizabeth- Jane? Apart from her personal rec- 
 ommendations, a reconciliation with his former friend Hen- 
 chard would, in the natural course of things, flow from such 
 a union. He therefore forgave the Mayor his curtness; and 
 this morning on his way to the fair he had called at her 
 house, where he learnt that she was staying at Miss Tem- 
 pleman's. A little stimulated at not finding her ready and 
 waiting — so fanciful are men! — ^he hastened on to High 
 Place Hall, to encounter no Elizabeth, but its mistress her- 
 self. 
 
 "The fair to-day seems a large one," she said, when, by 
 a natural deviation, their eyes sought the busy scene with- 
 
ISO THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 out. "Your numerous fairs and markets keep me interested 
 How many things I think of while I watch from here!" 
 
 He seemed in doubt how to answer, and the babble with- 
 out reached them as they sat — voices as of wavelets on a 
 lopping sea, one ever and anon rising above the rest. "Do 
 you look out often?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes — ^very often." 
 
 "Do you look for any one you know?" 
 
 Why should she have answered as she did? 
 
 "I look as at a picture merely. But," she went on, turn- 
 ing pleasantly to him, "I may do so now — I may look for 
 you. You are always there, are you not? Ah — I don't 
 mean it seriously! But it is amusing to look for somebody 
 one knows in a crowd, even if one does not want him. It 
 takes off the terrible oppressiveness of being surrounded by 
 a throng, and having no point of junction with it through a 
 single individual." 
 
 "Ay! Maybe you'll be very lonely, ma'am?" 
 
 "Nobody knows how lonely." 
 
 "But you are rich, they say?" 
 
 "If so, I don't know how to enjoy my riches. I came to 
 Casterbridge thinking I should like to live here. But I won- 
 der if I shall." 
 
 "Where did ye come from, ma'am?" 
 
 "The neighbourhood of Bath." 
 
 "And I from near Edinboro'," he murmured. "It's better 
 to stay at home, and that's true; but a man must live where 
 his money is made. It is a great pity, but it's always so! 
 Yet I've done very well this year. Oh yes," he went on 
 with ingenuous enthusiasm. "You see that man with the 
 drab kerseymere coat? I bought largely of him in the au- 
 tumn when wheat was down, and then afterwards when it 
 rose a little I sold off all I had! It brought only a small 
 profit to me; while the farmers kept theirs, expecting higher 
 figures — yes, though the rats were gnawing the ricks hol- 
 low. Just when I sold the markets went lower, and I 
 bought up the com of those who had been holding back at 
 less price than my first purchases. And then," cried Farfrae 
 impetuously, his face alight, "I sold it a few weeks after, 
 when it happened to go up again! And so, by contenting 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 151 
 
 mysel' with small profits frequently repeated, I soon made 
 five hundred pounds — yesl" — (bringing down his hand upon 
 the table, and quite forgetting where he was) — -"while the 
 others by keeping theirs in hand made nothing at all!" 
 
 Lucetta regarded him with a critical interest. He was 
 quite a new type of person to her. At last his eye fell upon 
 the lady's and their glances met. 
 
 "Ay, now, I'm wearying you!" he exclaimed. 
 
 She said, "No, indeed," colouring a shade. 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "Quite otherwise. You are most interesting." 
 
 It was now Farfrae who showed the modest pink. 
 
 "I mean all you Scotchmen," she added in hasty cor- 
 rection. "So free from Southern extremes. We common 
 people are all one way or the other — ^warm or cold, passion- 
 ate or frigid. You have both temperatures going on in you 
 at the same time." 
 
 "But how do you mean that? Ye were best to explain 
 clearly, ma'am." 
 
 "You are animated — then you are thinking of getting on. 
 You are sad the next moment — then you are thinking of 
 Scotland and friends." 
 
 "Yes. I think of home sometimes! " he said simply. 
 
 "So do I — as far as I can. But it was an old house where 
 I was born, and they pulled it down for improvements, so I 
 seem hardly to have any home to think of now." 
 
 Lucetta did not add, as she might have done, that the 
 house was in St. Helier, and not in Bath. 
 
 "But the mountains, and the mists and the rocks, they 
 are there! And don't they seem like home?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "They do to me — they do to me," he murmured. And 
 his mind could be seen flying away northwards. Whether 
 its origin were national or personal, it was quite true what 
 Lucetta had said, that the curious double strands in Far- 
 frae's thread of life — the commercial and the romantic — 
 were very distinct at times. Like the colours in a variegated 
 cord those contrasts could be seen intertwisted, yet not min- 
 gling- 
 
 "You are wishing you were back again," said she. 
 
152 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Ah, no, ma'am," said Farfrae, suddenly recalling him- 
 self. 
 
 The fair without the windows was now raging thick and 
 loud. It was the chief hiring fair of the year, and differed 
 quite from the market of a few days earUer. In substance 
 it was a whitey-brown crowd flecked with white — this being 
 the body of labourers waiting for places. The long bonnets 
 of the women, like waggon-tilts, their cotton gowns and 
 checked shawls, mixed with the carters' smockf rocks; for 
 they, too, entered into the hiring. Among the rest, at the 
 corner of the pavement, stood an old shepherd, who attracted 
 the eyes of Lucetta and Farfrae by his stillness. He was 
 evidently a chasteiied man. The battle of life had been a 
 sharp one with him, for, to begin with, he was a man of 
 small frame. He was now so bowed by hard work and 
 years that, approaching from behind, a person could hardly 
 see his head. He had planted the stem of his crook in the 
 gutter, and was resting upon the bow, which was polished 
 to silver brightness by the long friction of his hands. He 
 had quite forgotten where he was, and what he had come 
 for, his eyes being bent on the ground. A little way off 
 negotiations were proceeding which had reference to him; 
 but he did not hear them, and there seemed to be passing 
 through his mind pleasant visions of the hiring successes of 
 his prime, when his skill laid open to him any farm for the 
 asking. 
 
 The negotiations were between a farmer from a distant 
 county and the old man's son. In these there was a diffi- 
 culty. The farmer would not take the crust without the 
 crumb of the bargain, in other words, the old man without 
 the younger; and the son had a sweetheart on his present 
 farm, who stood by, waiting the issue with pale lips. 
 
 "I'm sorry to leave ye, Nelly," said the young man with 
 emotion. "But, you see, I can't starve father, and he's out 
 o' work at Lady-day. 'Tis only seventy mile." 
 
 The girl's lips quivered. "Seventy mile!" she murmured. 
 "Ah! 'tis enough! I shall never see 'ee again! " It was, in- 
 deed, a hopeless length of traction for Dan Cupid's mag- 
 net ; for young men were young men at Casterbridge as else- 
 where. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 153 
 
 "Ohl no, no — I never shall," she insisted, when he pressed 
 her hand; and she tiu-ned her face to Lucetta's wall to hide 
 her weeping. The farmer said he would give the young man 
 half-an-hour for his answer, and went away, leaving the 
 group sorrowing. 
 
 Lucetta's eyes, full of tears, met Farfrae's. His, too, to 
 her surprise, were moist at the scene. 
 
 "It is very hard," she said with strong feelings. "Lov- 
 ers ought not to be parted like that! Oh, if I had my wish, 
 I'd let people live and love at their pleasure!" 
 
 "Maybe I can manage that they'll not be parted," said 
 Farfrae. "I want a young carter; and perhaps I'll take the 
 old man too — yes; he'll not be very expensive, and doubt- 
 less he will answer ma pairrpose somehow." 
 
 "Oh, you are so good! " she cried, delighted. "Gc- and tell 
 them, and let me know if you have succeeded!" 
 
 Farfrae went out, and she saw him speak to the group. 
 The eyes of all brightened; the bargain was soon struck. 
 Farfrae returned to her immediately it was concluded. 
 
 "It is kind-hearted of you, indeed," said Lucetta. "For 
 my part, I have resolved that all my servants shall have lov- 
 ers if they want them! Do make the same resolve!" 
 
 Farfrae looked more serious, waving his head a half turn. 
 "I must be a little stricter than that," he said. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "You are a — a thriving woman; and I am a struggling 
 hay-and-com merchant." 
 
 "I am a very ambitious woman." 
 
 "Ah, well, I cannet explain. I don't know how to talk 
 to ladies, ambitious or no; and that's true," said Donald 
 with grave regret. "I try to be civil to a' folk — no more!" 
 
 "I see you are as you say," replied she, sensibly getting 
 the upper hand in these exchanges of sentiment. Under this 
 revelation of insight Farfrae again looked out of the window 
 into the thick of the fair. 
 
 Two farmers met and shook hands, and being quite near 
 the window their remarks could be heard as others' had 
 been. 
 
 "Have you seen young Mr. Farfrae this morning?" asked 
 one. "He promised to meet me here at the stroke of twelve; 
 
154 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 but I've gone athwart and about the fair half-a-dozen times, 
 and never a sign of him: though he's mostly a man to his 
 word." 
 
 "I quite forgot the engagement," murmured Farfrae. 
 
 "Now you must go," said she; "must you not?" 
 
 "Yes," he replied. But he still remained. 
 
 "You had better go," she urged. "You will lose a cus- 
 tomer." 
 
 "Now, Miss Templeman, you will make me angry," ex- 
 claimed Farfrae. 
 
 "Then suppose you don't go; but stay a little longer?" 
 
 He looked anxiously at the farmer who was seeking him, 
 and who just then ominously walked across to where Hen- 
 chard was standing, and he looked into the room and at her. 
 "I like staying; but I fear I must go!" he said. "Business 
 ought not to be neglected, ought it?" 
 
 "Not for a single minute." 
 
 "It's true. I'll come another time — if I may, ma'am?" 
 
 "Certainly," she said. "What has happened to us to-day 
 is very curious." 
 
 "Something to think over when we are alone, it's like to 
 be?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know that. It is commonplace after all." 
 
 "No, I'll not say that. Oh no!" 
 
 "Well, whatever it has been, it is now over; and the mar- 
 ket calls you to be gone." 
 
 "Yes, yes. Market — business! I wish there were no busi- 
 ness in the warrld." 
 
 Lucetta almost laughed — she would quite have laughed 
 — but that there was a little emotion going in her at the 
 time. "How you change!" she said. "You should not 
 change like this." 
 
 "I have never wished such things before," said the Scotch- 
 man, with a simple, shamed, apologetic look for his weak- 
 ness. "It is only since coming here, and seeing you!" 
 
 "If that's the case, you had better not look at me any 
 longer. Dear me, I feel I have quite demoralized you!" 
 
 "But look or look not, I will see you in my thoughts. 
 Well, I'll go — thank you for the pleasure of this visit." 
 
 "Thank you for staying." 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 155 
 
 "Maybe I'll get into my market-mind when I've been out 
 a few minutes," he murmured. "But I don't know — I don't 
 know!" 
 
 As he went she said eagerly, "You may hear them speak 
 of me in Casterbridge as time goes on. If they tell you I'm 
 a coquette, which some may, because of the incidents of 
 my life, don't believe it, for I am not." 
 
 "I swear I will notl" he said fervidly. 
 
 Thus the two. She had enkindled the young man's en- 
 thusiasm till he was quite brimming with sentiment; while 
 he, from merely affording her a new form of idleness, had 
 gone on to wake her serious solicitude. Why was this? 
 They could not have told. 
 
 Lucetta as a young girl would hardly have looked at a 
 tradesman. But her ups and downs, capped by her indis- 
 cretions with Henchard, had made her uncritical as to sta- 
 tion. In her poverty she had met with repulse from the 
 society to which she had belonged, and she had no great 
 zest for renewing an attempt upon it now. Her heart 
 longed for some ark into which it could fly and be at 
 rest. Rough or smooth she did not care, so long as it was 
 warm. 
 
 Farfrae was shown out, it having entirely escaped him 
 that he had called to see Elizabeth. Lucetta at the window 
 watched him threading the maze of farmers and farmers' 
 men. She could see by his gait that he was conscious of her 
 eyes, and her heart went out to him for his modesty — plead- 
 ed with her sense of his unfitness that he might be allowed 
 to come again. He entered the market-house, and she 
 could see him no more. 
 
 Three minutes later, when she had left the window, 
 knocks, not of multitude but of strength, sounded through 
 the house, and the waiting-maid tripped up. 
 
 "The Mayor," she said. 
 
 Lucetta had reclined herself, and was looking dreamily 
 through her fingers. She did not answer at once, and the 
 maid repeated the information with the addition, "And he's 
 afraid he hasn't much time to spare, he says." 
 
 "Oh! Then tell him that as I have a headache I won't 
 detain him to-day." 
 
iS6 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 The message was taken down, and she heard the door 
 close. 
 
 Lucetta had come to Casterbridge to quicken Henchard's 
 feehngs with regard to her. She had quickened them, and 
 now she was indifferent to the achievement. 
 
 Her morning view of Elizabeth-Jane as a disturbing ele- 
 ment changed, and she no longer felt strongly the necessity 
 of getting rid of the girl for her stepfather's sake. When 
 the young woman came in, sweetly unconscious of the turn 
 in the tide, Lucetta went up to her, and said quite sin- 
 cerely — 
 
 "I'm so glad you've come. You'll live with me a long 
 time, won't you?" 
 
 Elizabeth as a watch-dog to keep her father off — what a 
 new idea. Yet it was not unpleasing. Henchard had neg- 
 lected her all these days, after compromising her indescrib- 
 ably in the past. The least he could have done when he 
 found himself free, and herself affluent, would have been to 
 respond heartily and promptly to her invitation. 
 
 Her emotions rose, fell, undulated, filled her with wild 
 surmise at their suddenness; and so passed Lucetta's ex- 
 periences of that day. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 Poor Elizabeth-Jane, little thinking what her malignant 
 star had done to blast the budding attentions she had won 
 from Donald Farfrae, was glad to hear Lucetta's words 
 about remaining. 
 
 For in addition to Lucetta's house being a home, that rak- 
 ing view of the market-place which it afforded had as much 
 attraction for her as for Lucetta. The carrefour was like 
 the regulation Open Place in spectacular dramas, where the 
 Incidents that occur always happen to bear on the lives of 
 the adjoining residents. Farmers, merchants, dairymen, 
 quacks, hawkers, appeared there from week to week, and 
 disappeared as the afternoon wasted away. It was the node 
 of all orbits. 
 
 From Saturday to Saturday was as from day to day with 
 the two young women now. In an emotional sense they 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 157 
 
 did not live at all during the intervals. Wherever they might 
 go wandering on other days, on market-day they were 
 sure to be at home. Both stole sly glances out of the 
 window at Farfrae's shoulders and poll. His face they 
 seldom saw, for, either through shyness, or not to disturb 
 his mercantile mood, he avoided looking towards theii 
 quarters. 
 
 Thus things went on, till a certain market-morning 
 brought a new sensation. Elizabeth and Lucetta were sit- 
 ting at breakfast when a parcel containing two dresses ar- 
 rived for the latter from London. She called Elizabeth 
 from her breakfast, and entering her friend's bedroom Eliza- 
 beth saw the gowns spread out on the bed, one of a deep 
 cherry colour, the other lighter — a glove lying at the end 
 of each sleeve, a bonnet at the top of each neck, and para- 
 sols across the gloves, Lucetta standing beside the suggested 
 human figure in an attitude of contemplation. 
 
 "I wouldn't think so hard about it," said Elizabeth, mark- 
 ing the intensity with which Lucetta was alternating the 
 question whether this or that would suit best. 
 
 "But settling upon new clothes is so trying," said Lucetta. 
 "You are that person" (pointing to one of the arrange- 
 ments), "or you are that totally different person" (pointing 
 to the other), "for the whole of the coming spring: and one 
 of the two, you don't know which, may turn out to be very 
 objectionable." 
 
 It was finally decided by Miss Templeman that she would 
 be the cherry-coloured person at all hazards. The dress was 
 pronounced to be a fit, and Lucetta walked with it into the 
 front room, Elizabeth following her. 
 
 The morning was exceptionally bright for the time of 
 year. The sun fell so flat on the houses and pavement oppo- 
 site Lucetta's residence that they poured their brightness 
 into her rooms. Suddenly, after a rumbling of wheels, there 
 were added to this steady light a fantastic series of circling 
 irradiations upon the ceiling, and the companions turned 
 to the window. Immediately opposite a vehicle of strange 
 description had come to a standstill, as if it had been placed 
 there for exhibition. 
 
 It was the new-fashioned agricultural implement called 
 
iS8 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 a horse-drill, till then unknown, in its modern shape, in this 
 part of the country, where the venerable seed-lip was still 
 used for sowing as in the days of the Heptarchy. Its ar- 
 rival created about as much sensation in the corn-market 
 as a flying machine would create at Charing Cross. The 
 farmers crowded round it, women drew near it, children 
 crept under and into it. The machine was painted in bright 
 hues of green, yellow, and red, and it resembled as a whole 
 a compound of hornet, grasshopper, and shrimp, magnified 
 enormously. Or it might have been likened to an upright 
 musical instrument with the front gone. That was how it 
 struck Lucetta. "Why, it is a sort of agricultural piano," 
 she said. 
 
 "It has something to do with corn," said Elizabeth. 
 
 "I wonder who thought of introducing it here?" 
 
 Donald Farfrae was in the minds of both as the innova- 
 tor, for though not a farmer he was closely leagued mth 
 farming operations. And as if in response to their thought 
 he came up at that moment, looked at the machine, walked 
 round it, and handled it as if he knew something about its 
 make. The two watchers had inwardly started at his com- 
 ing, and Elizabeth left the window, went to the back of the 
 room, and stood as if absorbed in the panelling of the wall. 
 She hardly knew that she had done this till Lucetta, ani- 
 mated by the conjunction of her new attire with the sight 
 of Farfrae, spoke out: "Let us go and look at the instru- 
 ment, whatever it is." 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane's bonnet and shawl were pitchforked on in 
 a moment, and they went out. Among all the agricultur- 
 ists gathering round, the only appropriate possessor of the 
 new machine seemed to be Lucetta, because she alone ri- 
 valled it in colour. 
 
 They examined it curiously; observing the rows of trum- 
 pet-shaped tubes one within the other, the little scoops, like 
 revolving salt-spoons, which tossed the seed into the upper 
 ends of the tubes that conducted it to the ground; till some- 
 body said, "Good morning, Elizabeth- Jane." She looked up, 
 and there was her stepfather. 
 
 His greeting had been somewhat dry and thunderous, and 
 Elizabeth- Jane, embarrassed out of her equanimity, stam- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 159 
 
 msred at random, "This is the lady I live with, father — Miss 
 Templeman." 
 
 Henchard put his hand to his hat, which he brought down 
 with a great wave till it met his body at the knee. Miss 
 Templeman bowed. "I am happy to become acquainted 
 with you, Mr. Henchard," she said. "This is a curious ma- 
 chine." 
 
 "Yes," Henchard replied; and he proceeded to explain it, 
 and still more forcibly to ridicule it. 
 
 "Who brought it here?" said Lucetta. 
 
 "Oh, don't ask me, ma'am!" said Henchard. "The thing 
 — why 'tis impossible it should act. 'Twas brought here 
 by one of our machinists on the recommendation of a 
 
 jumped-up jackanapes of a fellow who thinks " His eye 
 
 caught Elizabeth-Jane's imploring face, and he stopped, 
 probably thinking that the suit might be progressing. 
 
 He turned to go away. Then something seemed to oc- 
 cur which his stepdaughter fancied must really be a hal- 
 lucination of hers. A murmur apparently came from Hen- 
 chard's lips in which she detected the words, "You refused 
 to see me!" reproachfully addressed to Lucetta. She could 
 not believe that they had been uttered by her stepfather; 
 unless, indeed, they might have been spoken to one of the 
 yellow-gaitered farmers near them. Yet Lucetta seemed si- 
 lent; and then all thought of the incident was dissipated 
 by the humming of a song, which sounded as though from 
 the interior of the machine. Henchard had by this time 
 vanished into the market-house, and both the women glanced 
 towards the corn-drill. They could see behind it the bent 
 back of a man who was pushing his head into the internal 
 works to master their simple secrets. The hummed song 
 went on — 
 
 " 'Tw — s on a s — tn — r aftern — n, 
 A wee be — re the s — n w — nt d — n, 
 When Kitty wi' a braw n — w g — wn 
 C — me ow're the h — Us to Gowrie." 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane had apprehended the singer in a moment, 
 and looked guilty of she did not know what. Lucetta next 
 recognized him. sud^more mistress of herself said archly, 
 
»6o THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "The 'Lass of Cowrie' from the inside of a seed-drill—" 
 what a phenomenon!" 
 
 Satisfied at last with his investigation, the young 
 man stood upright, and met their eyes across the sum- 
 mit. 
 
 "We are looking at the wonderful new drill," Miss 
 Templeman said. "But practically it is a stupid thing — ^is 
 it not?" she added, on the strength of Henchard's informa- 
 tion. 
 
 "Stupid? Oh no!" said Farfrae gravely. "It will revolu- 
 tionize sowing heerabout! No more sowers flinging their 
 seed about broadcast, so that some falls by the wayside and 
 some among thorns, and all that. Each grain will go straight 
 to its intended place, and nowhere else whatever!" 
 
 "Then the romance of the sower is gone for good," ob- 
 served Elizabeth- Jane, who felt herself at one with Farfrae 
 iin Bible-reading at least. " 'He that observeth the wind 
 .•shall not sow,' so the Preacher said; but his words will not 
 be to the point any more. How things change!" 
 
 "Ay; ay. . . . It must be so!" Donald admitted, 
 his gaze fixing itself on a blank point far away. "But the 
 machines are already very common in the East and North 
 of England," he added apologetically. 
 
 Lucetta seemed to be rather outside this train of senti- 
 ment, her acquaintance with the Scriptures being some- 
 what limited. "Is the machine yours?" she asked of Far- 
 frae. 
 
 "Oh no, madam," said he, becoming embarrassed and def- 
 erential at the sound of her voice, though with Elizabeth- 
 Jane he was quite at his ease. "No, no — I merely recom- 
 mended that it should be got." 
 
 In the silence which followed Farfrae appeared only con- 
 scious of her; to have passed from perception of Elizabeth 
 into a brighter sphere of existence than she appertained to. 
 Lucetta, discerning that he was much mixed that day, partly 
 in his mercantile mood and partly in his romantic one, said 
 gaily to him — 
 
 "Well, don't forsake the machine for us," and went in- 
 doors with her companion. 
 
 The latter felt that she tiad been in the way, though why 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGfi i6i 
 
 was unaccountable to her. Lucetta explained the matter 
 somewhat by saying, when they were again in the sitting- 
 room — 
 
 "I had occasion to speak to Mr. Farfrae the other day, 
 and so I knew him this morning." 
 
 Lucetta was very kind towards Elizabeth that day. To- 
 gether they saw the market thicken, and in course of time 
 thin away with the slow decline of the sun towards the 
 upper end of the town, its rays taking the street endways 
 and enfilading the long thoroughfare from top to bottom. 
 The gigs and vans disappeared one by one till there was not 
 a vehicle in the street. The time of the riding world was 
 over; the pedestrian world held sway. Field labourers and 
 their wives and children trooped in from the villages for 
 their weekly shopping, and instead of a rattle of wheels and 
 a tramp of horses ruling the sound as earlier, there was 
 nothing but the shuffle of many feet. All the implements 
 were gone; all the farmers; all the moneyed class. The 
 character of the town's trading had changed from bulk to 
 multiplicity, and pence were handled now as pounds had 
 been handled earlier in the day. 
 
 Lucetta and Elizabeth looked out upon this, for though it 
 was night, and the street lamps were lighted, they had kept 
 their shutters unclosed. In the faint blink of the fire they 
 spoke more freely. 
 
 "Your father was distant with you," said Lucetta. 
 
 "Yes," and having forgotten the momentary mystery of 
 Henchard's seeming speech to Lucetta, she continued, "It 
 is because he does not think I am respectable. I have 
 tried to be so more than you can imagine, but in vain! My 
 mother's separation from my father was unfortunate for 
 me. You don't know what it is to have shadows like that 
 upon your life." 
 
 Lucetta seemed to wince. "I do not — of that kind pre- 
 cisely," she said, "but you may feel a — sense of disgrace 
 — shame — in other ways." 
 
 "Have you ever had any such feeling?" said the younger 
 innocently. 
 
 "Oh no," said Lucetta quickly. "I was thinking of — ^what 
 happens sometimes when women get themselves in strange 
 
i62 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 positions in the eyes of the world from no fault of th«r 
 own." 
 
 "It must make them very unhappy afterwards." 
 
 "It makes them anxious; for might not other women de- 
 spise them?" 
 
 "Not altogether despise them. Yet not quite like or re- 
 spect them." 
 
 Lucetta winced again. Her past was by no means se- 
 cure from investigation, even in Casterbridge. For one 
 thing, Henchard had never returned to her the cloud of 
 letters she had written and sent him in her first excitement. 
 Possibly they were destroyed; but she could have wished 
 that they had never been written. 
 
 The rencounter with Farfae and his bearing towards Lu- 
 cetta had made the reflective Elizabeth more observant of 
 her brilliant and amiable companion. A few days after- 
 wards, when her eyes met Lucetta's as the latter was going 
 out, she somehow knew that Miss Templeman was nourishing 
 a hope of seeing the attractive Scotchman. The fact was 
 printed large all over Lucetta's cheeks and eyes to any one 
 who read her as Elizabeth- Jane was beginning to do. Lu- 
 cetta passed on and closed the street door. 
 
 A seer's spirit took possession of Elizabeth, impelling her 
 to sit down by the fire, and divine events so surely from 
 data already her own that they could be held as witnessed. 
 She followed Lucetta thus mentally — saw her encounter 
 Donald somewhere as if by chance — saw him wear his spe- 
 cial look when meeting women, with an added intensity be- 
 cause this one was Lucetta. She depicted his impassioned 
 manner; beheld the indecision of both between their lotb- 
 ness to separate and their desire not to be observed; de- 
 picted their shaking of hands; how they probably parted 
 with frigidity in their general contour and movements, only 
 in the smaller features showing the spark of passion, thus 
 ^ invisible to all but themselves. This discerning silent witch 
 had not done thinking of these things when Lucetta came 
 noiselessly behind her, and made her start. 
 
 It was all true as she had pictured— she could have sworn 
 it. Lucetta had a heightened luminousness in her eye over 
 aad above the advanced colour of her cheeks. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 163 
 
 "You've seen Mr. Farfrae," said Elizabeth demurely. 
 
 "Yes," said Lucetta. "How did you know?" 
 
 She knelt down on the hearth and took her friend's hands 
 excitedly in her own. But after all she did not say when or 
 how she had seen him or what he had said. 
 
 That night she became restless; in the morning she wa« 
 feverish; and at breakfast-time she told her companion that 
 she had something on her mind — something which concerned 
 a person in whom she was interested much. Elizabeth was 
 earnest to listen and sympathize. 
 
 "This person — a lady — once admired a man much — ^very 
 much," she said tentatively. 
 
 "Ah," said Elizabeth-Jane. 
 
 "They were intimate — rather. He did not think so deeply 
 of her as she did of him. But in an impulsive moment, pure- 
 ly out of reparation, he proposed to make her his wife. She 
 agreed. But there was an unexpected hitch in the proceed- 
 ings ; though she had been so far compromised with him that 
 she felt she could never belong to another man, as a pure 
 matter of conscience, even if she should wish to. After that 
 they were much apart, heard nothing of each other for a 
 long time, and she felt her life quite closed up for her." 
 
 "Ah— poor girl!" 
 
 "She suffered much on account of him; though I should 
 add that he could not altogether be blamed for what had 
 happened. At last the obstacle which separated them was 
 providentially removed; and he came to marry her." 
 
 "How delightful!" 
 
 "But in the interval she — my poor friend — had seen a 
 man she liked better than him. Now comes the point: 
 Could she in honour dismiss the first?" 
 
 "A new man she liked better — that's bad!" 
 
 "Yes," said Lucetta, looking pained at a boy who was 
 swinging the town pump-handle. "It is bad! Though you 
 must remember that she was forced into an equivocal posi- 
 tion with the first man by an accident — that he was not 
 so well educated or refined as the second, and that she had 
 discovered some qualities in the first that rendered him less 
 desirable as a husband than she had at first thought him to 
 be." 
 
i64 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "I cannot answer," said Elizabeth- Jane thoughtfully. "It 
 is so difficult. It wants a Pope to settle that! " 
 
 "You prefer not to, perhaps?" Lucetta showed in her 
 appealing tone how much she leant on Elizabeth's judgment. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Templeman," admitted Elizabeth. "I would 
 rather not say." 
 
 Nevertheless, Lucetta seemed relieved by the simple fact 
 of having opened out the situation a little, and was slowly 
 convalescent of her headache. "Bring me a looking-glass. 
 How do I appear to people?" she said languidly. 
 
 "Well — a little worn," answered Elizabeth, eyeing her as 
 a critic eyes a doubtful painting; fetching the glass she en- 
 abled Lucetta to survey herself in it, which Lucetta anx- 
 iously did. 
 
 "I wonder if I wear well, as times go! " she observed after 
 a while. 
 
 "Yes— fairly." 
 
 "Where am I worst?" 
 
 "Under your eyes — I noticed a little brownness there." 
 
 "Yes. That is my worst place, I know. How many years 
 more do you think I shall last before I get hopelessly plain?" 
 
 There was something curious in the way in which Eliza- 
 beth, though the younger, had come to play the part of ex- 
 perienced sage in these discussions. "It may be five years," 
 she said judicially. "Or, with a quiet life, as many as ten. 
 With no love you might calculate on ten." 
 
 Lucetta seemed to reflect on this as on an unalterable, im- 
 partial verdict. She told Elizabeth- Jane no more of the past 
 attachment she had roughly adumbrated as the experiences 
 of a third person; and Elizabeth, who in spite of her phi- 
 losophy was very tender-hearted, wept that night in bed at 
 the thought that her pretty, rich Lucetta did not treat her to 
 the full confidence of names and dates in her confessions. 
 For by the "she" of Lucetta's story Elizabeth had not been 
 -beguiled. 
 
 XXV 
 
 The next phase of the supersession of Henchard in Lucet- 
 ta's heart was an experiment in calling on her performed by 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 163 
 
 Farfrae with some apparent trepidation. Conventionally 
 speaking, he conversed with both Miss Templeman and her 
 companion; but in fact it was rather that Elizabeth sat in- 
 visible in the room. Donald appeared not to see her at all, 
 and answered her wise little remarks with curtly indifferent 
 monosyllables, his looks and faculties hanging on the woman 
 who could boast of a more Protean variety in her phases, 
 moods, opinions, and also principles, than could Elizabeth. 
 Lucetta had persisted in dragging her into the circle; but she 
 had remained like an awkward third point which that circle 
 would not touch. 
 
 Susan Henchard's daughter bore up against the frosty 
 ache of the treatment, as she had borne up under worse 
 things, and contrived as soon as possible to get out of the 
 inharmonious room without being missed. The Scotchman 
 seemed hardly the same Farfrae who had danced with her, 
 and walked with her, in a delicate poise between love and 
 friendship — that period in the history of a love when alone 
 it can be said to be unalloyed with pain. 
 
 She stoically looked from her bedroom window, and con- 
 templated her fate as if it were written on the top of the 
 church-tower hard by. "Yes," she said at last, bringing 
 down her palm upon the sill with a pat: "He is the second 
 man of that story she told me!" 
 
 All this time Henchard's smouldering sentiments towards 
 Lucetta had been fanned into higher and higher inflam- 
 mation by the circumstances of the case. He was discover- 
 ing that the young woman, fot whom he once felt a pitying 
 warmth, which had been almost chilled out of him by re- 
 flection, was, when now qualified with a slight inaccessibility 
 and a more matured beauty, the very being to make him 
 satisfied with life. Day after day proved to him, by her 
 silence, that it was no use to think of bringing her round 
 by holding aloof; so he gave in, and called upon her again, 
 Elizabeth- Jane being absent. 
 
 He crossed the room to her with a heavy tread of some 
 awkwardness, his strong, warm gaze upon her — like the sun 
 beside the moon in comparison with Farfrae's modest look 
 — and with something of a hail-fellow bearing, as, indeed, 
 was not unnatural. But she seemed so transubstantiated 
 
i66 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 by her change of position, and held out her hand to him in 
 such cool friendship, that he became deferential, and sat 
 down with a perceptible loss of power. He understood but 
 little of fashion in dress, yet enough to feel himself inade- 
 quate in appearance beside her whom he had hitherto been 
 dreaming of as almost his property. She said something 
 very polite about his being good enough to call. This caused 
 him to recover balance. He looked her oddly in the face, 
 losing his awe. 
 
 "Why, of course I have called, Lucetta," he said. "What 
 does that nonsense mean? You know I couldn't have 
 helped myself if I had wished — that is, if I had any kind- 
 ness at all. I've called to say that I am ready, as soon as 
 custom will permit, to give you my name, in return for your 
 devotion, and what you lost by it, in thinking too little 
 of yourself and too much of me; to say that you can 
 fix the day or month, with my full consent, whenever in 
 your opinion it would be seemly: you know more of these 
 things than I." 
 
 "It is full early yet," she said evasively. 
 
 "Yes, yes; I suppose it is. But you know, Lucetta, I 
 felt directly my poor ill-used Susan died, and when I could 
 not bear the idea of marrying again, that after what had 
 happened between us it was my duty not to let any un- 
 necessary delay occur before putting things to rights. StiU, 
 I wouldn't call in a hurry, because — ^well, you can guess 
 how this inoney you've come into made me feel." His voice 
 slowly fell; he was conscious that in this room his accents 
 and manner wore a roughness not observable in the street. 
 H« looked about the room, at the novel hangings and ingeni- 
 ous furniture with which she had surrounded herself. 
 
 "Upon my life, I didn't know such furniture as this could 
 be bought in Casterbridge," he said. 
 
 "Nor can it be," said she. "Nor will it till fifty years 
 more of civilization have passed over the tovra. It took a 
 waggon and four horses to get it here." 
 
 "H'm. The fact is, your setting up like this makes my 
 bearing towards you rather awkward." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 An answer was not really needed, and he did not furnish 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 167 
 
 one. "Well," he went on, "there's nobody in the world I 
 would have wished to see enter into this wealth before you, 
 Lucetta, and nobody, I am sure, who will become it more." 
 He turned to her with congratulatory admiration so fervid 
 that she shrank somewhat, notwithstanding that she knew 
 him so well. 
 
 "I am greatly obliged to you for all that," said she, 
 rather with an air of speaking ritual. The stint of recipro- 
 cal feeling was perceived, and Henchard showed chagrin 
 at once — nobody was more quick to show that than he. 
 
 "You may be obliged or not for't. Though the things 
 I say may not have the polish of what you've lately learnt 
 to expect for the first time in your life, they are real, my 
 lady Lucetta." 
 
 "That's rather a rude way of speaking to me," pouted 
 Lucetta, with stormy eyes. 
 
 "Not at all!" replied Henchard hotly. "But there, there, 
 I don't want to quarrel with 'ee. I come with an honest 
 proposal for silencing your Jersey enemies, and you ought 
 to be thankful." 
 
 "How can you speak so!" she answered, firing quickly. 
 "Knowing that my only crime was the indulging in a fool- 
 ish girl's passion for you with too little regard for correct- 
 ness, and that I was what / call innocent all the time they 
 called me guilty, you ought not to be so cutting! I suf- 
 fered enough at that worrying time, when you wrote to tell 
 me of your wife's return, and my consequent dismissal, and 
 if I am a little independent now, surely the privilege is 
 due to me!" 
 
 "Yes, it is," he said. "But it is not by what is, in this 
 life, but by what appears, that you are judged; and I there- 
 fore think you ought to accept me — for your own good 
 name's sake. What is known in your native Jersey may get 
 known here." 
 
 "How you keep on about Jersey! I am English!" 
 
 "Yes, yes. Well, what do you say to my proposal?" 
 
 For the first time in their acquaintance Lucetta had the 
 move; and yet she was backward. "For the present let 
 things be," she said with some embarrassment. "Treat me 
 as an acquaintance; and I'll treat you as one. Time will 
 
i68 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 she stopped; and he said nothing to fill the gap for 
 
 awhile, there being no pressure of half acquaintance 
 to drive them into speech if they were not minded for 
 it. 
 
 "That's the way the wind blows, is it?" he said at last 
 grimly, nodding an affirmative to his own thoughts. 
 
 A yellow flood of reflected sunlight filled the room for 
 a few instants. It was produced by the passing of a load 
 of newly trussed hay from the country, in a waggon mairked 
 with Farfrae's name. Beside it rode Farfrae himself on 
 horseback. Lucetta's face became — as a woman's face be- 
 comes when the man she loves rises upon her gaze like an 
 apparition. 
 
 A turn of the eye by Henchard, a glance from the window, 
 and the secret of her inaccessibility would have been re- 
 vealed. But Henchard in estimating her tone was looking 
 down so plumb-straight that he did not note the warm con- 
 sciousness upon Lucetta's face. 
 
 "I shouldn't have thought it— I shouldn't have thought it 
 of women!" he said emphatically by-and-by, rising and 
 shaking himself into activity; while Lucetta was so anxious 
 to divert him from any suspicion of the truth, that she 
 asked him to be in no hurry. Bringing him some apples, 
 she insisted upon paring one for him. 
 
 He would not take it. "No, no; such is not for me," he 
 said drily, and moved to the door. At going out he turned 
 his eye upon her. 
 
 "You came to live in Casterbridge entirely on my ac- 
 count," he said. "Yet now you are here you won't have 
 anything to say to my offer!" 
 
 He had hardly gone down the staircase when she dropped 
 upon the sofa, and jumped up again in a fit of despera- 
 tion. "I will love him!" she cried passionately; "as for him 
 — ^he's hot-tempered and stem, and it would be madness to 
 bind myself to him knowing that. I won't be a slave to 
 the past — I'll love where I choose!" 
 
 Yet having decided to break away from Henchard, one 
 might have supposed her capable of aiming higher than Far- 
 frae. But Lucetta reasoned nothing: she feared hard words 
 from the people with whom she had been earlier associated; 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 169 
 
 she had no relatives left; and with native lightness of heart 
 took kindly to what fate offered. 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane, surveying the position of Lucetta between 
 her two lovers from the crystalline sphere of a straightfor- 
 ward mind, did not fail to perceive that her father, as she 
 called him, and Donald Farfrae became more desperately 
 enamoured of her friend every day. On Farfrae's side it 
 was the unforced passion of youth. On Henchard's the arti- 
 ficially stimulated coveting of maturer age. 
 
 The pain she experienced from the almost absolute oblivi- 
 ousness to her existence that was shown by the pair of them 
 became at times half dissipated by her sense of its humor- 
 ousness. When Lucetta had pricked her finger they were as 
 deeply concerned as if she were dying; when she herself 
 had been seriously sick or in danger they uttered a con- 
 ventional word of sympathy at the news, and forgot all 
 about it immediately. But, as regarded Henchard, this 
 perception of hers also caused her some filial grief; she could 
 not help asking what she had done to be neglected so, 
 after the professions of solicitude he had made. As regarded 
 Farfrae, she thought, after honest reflection, that it was 
 quite natural. What was she beside Lucetta? — as one of 
 the "meaner beauties of the night," when the moon had risen 
 in the skies. 
 
 She had learnt the lesson of renunciation, and was as 
 familiar with the wreck of each day's wishes as with the 
 diurnal setting of the sun. If her earthly career had taught 
 her few book philosophies it had at least well practised her 
 in this. Yet her experience had consisted less in a series of 
 pure disappointments than in a series of substitutions. Con- 
 tinually it had happened that what she had desired had not 
 been granted her, and that what had been granted her she 
 had not desired. So she viewed with an approach to equa- 
 nimity the now cancelled days when Donald had been her 
 undeclared lover, and wondered what unwished-for thing 
 Heaven might send her in place of him. 
 
tyo THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 XXVI 
 
 It chanced that on a fine spring morning Henchard and 
 Farfrae met in the chestnut-walk which ran along the south 
 wall of the town. Each had just come out from his early 
 breakfast, and there was not another soul near. Henchard 
 was reading a letter from Lucetta, sent in answer to a note 
 from him, in which she made some excuse for not immedi- 
 ately granting him a second interview that he had desired. 
 
 Donald had no wish to enter into conversation with his 
 former friend on their present constrained terms; neither 
 would he pass him in scowling silence. He nodded, and 
 Henchard did the same. They had receded from each other 
 several paces when a voice cried "Farfrae!" It was Hen- 
 chard's, who stood regarding him. 
 
 "Do you remember," said Henchard, as if it were the 
 presence of the thought and not of the man which made 
 him speak, "do you remember my story of that second 
 woman — who suffered for her thoughtless intimacy with 
 me?" 
 
 "I do," said Farfrae. 
 
 "Do you remember my telling 'ee how it all began, and 
 how it ended?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I have offered to marry her now that I can; but 
 she won't marry me. Now what would you think of her — 
 I put it to you?" 
 
 "Well, ye owe her nothing more now," said Farfrae heart- 
 ily. 
 
 "It is true," said Henchard, and went on. 
 
 That he had looked up from a letter to ask his questions 
 completely shut out from Farfrae's mind all vision of Lu- 
 cetta as the culprit. Indeed, her present position was so 
 different from that of the young woman of Henchard's story 
 as of itself to be sufficient to blind him absolutely to her 
 identity. As for Henchard, he was reassured by Farfrae's 
 words and manner against a suspicion which had crossed his 
 mind. They were not those of a conscious rival. 
 
 Yet that there was rivalry by some one he was firmly 
 
THE MAtOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 171 
 
 persuaded. He could feel it in the air around Lucetta, see 
 it in the turn of her pen. There was an antagonistic force 
 in exercise, so that when he had tried to hang near her 
 he seemed standing in a refluent current. That it was not 
 innate caprice he was more and more certain. Her windows 
 gleamed as if they did not want him, her curtains seemed 
 to hang slily, as if they screened an ousting presence. 
 To discover whose presence that was — ^whether really Far- 
 frae's after all, or another's — ^he exerted himself to the 
 utmost to see her again; and at length succeeded. 
 
 At the interview, when she offered him tea, he made it a 
 point to launch a cautious inquiry if she knew Mr. Farfrae, 
 
 Oh yes, she knew him, she declared; she could not help 
 knowing almost everybody in Casterbridge, living in such a 
 gazebo over the centre and arena of the town. 
 
 "Pleasant young fellow," said Henchard. 
 
 "Yes," said Lucetta. 
 
 "We both know him," said kind Elizabeth-Jane, to re- 
 lieve her companion's divined embarrassment. 
 
 There was a knock at the door; literally, three fuH knocks 
 and a little one at the end. 
 
 "That kind of knock means half-and-half — ^somebody 
 between gentle and simple," said the corn-merchant to him- 
 self. "I shouldn't wonder therefore if it is he." In a few 
 seconds surely enough Donald walked in. 
 
 Lucetta was full of little fidgets and flutters, which in- 
 creased Henchard's suspicions without affording any special 
 proof of their correctness. He was well-nigh ferocious at 
 the sense of the queer situation in which he stood towards 
 this woman. One who had reproached him for deserting 
 her when calumniated, who had urged claims upon his con- 
 sideration on that account, who had lived waiting for him, 
 who at the first decent moment had come to ask him to 
 rectify, by making her his, the false position into which she 
 had placed herself for his sake; such she had been. And 
 now he sat at her tea-table eager to gain her attention, 
 and, in his amatory rage, feeling the other man present to be 
 a villain, just as any young fool of a lover might feel. 
 
 They sat stiffly side by side at the darkening table, like 
 some Tuscan painting of the two disciples supping at Em- 
 
i;2 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 maus. Lucetta, forming the third and chief figure, was 
 opposite them; Elizabeth- Jane, being out of the game, and 
 out of the group, could observe from afar all things: that 
 there were long spaces of taciturnity, when all exterior cir- 
 cumstance was subdued to the touch of spoons and china, 
 the click of a heel on the pavement under the window, the 
 passing of a wheelbarrow or cart, the whistling of the carter, 
 the gush of water into householders' buckets at the town- 
 pump opposite; the exchange of greetings among their 
 neighbours, and the rattle of the yokes by which they car- 
 ried off their evening supply. 
 
 "More bread-and-butter?" said Lucetta to Henchard and 
 Farfrae equally, holding out between them a plateful of long 
 slices. Henchard took a slice by one end and Donald by 
 the other; each feeling certain he was the man meant; 
 neither let go, and the slice came in two. 
 
 "Oh — I am so sorry! " cried Lucetta, with a nervous titter. 
 Farfrae tried to laugh; but he was too much in love to see 
 the incident in any but a tragic light. 
 
 "How ridiculous of all three of them!" said Elizabeth 
 to herself. 
 
 Henchard left the house with a ton of conjecture, though 
 without a grain of proof, that the counter-attraction was 
 Farfrae; and therefore he would not make up his mind. Yet 
 to Elizabeth- Jane it was plain as the town-pump that Don- 
 ald and Lucetta were incipient lovers. More than once, in 
 spite of her care, Lucetta had been unable to restrain her 
 glance from flitting across into Farfrae's eyes like a bird to 
 its nest. But Henchard was constructed upon too large a 
 scale to discern such minutiae as these by an evening light, 
 which to him were as the notes of an insect that lie above 
 the compass of the human ear. 
 
 But he was disturbed. And the sense of occult rivalry in 
 suitorship was so much superadded to the palpable rivalry 
 of their business lives. To the coarse materiality of that 
 rivalry it added an inflaming soul. 
 
 The thus vitalized antagonism took the form of action by 
 Henchard sending for Jopp, the manager originally dis- 
 placed by Farfrae's arrival. Henchard had frequently met 
 this man about the streets, observed that his clothing spoke 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 173 
 
 of neediness, heard that he lived in Mixen Lane — a back 
 slum of the town, the pis aller of Casterbridge domicilia- 
 tion — itself almost a proof that a man had reached a stage 
 when he would not stick at trifles. 
 
 Jopp came after dark, by the gates of the store-yard, 
 and felt his way through the hay and straw to the office 
 where Henchard sat in solitude awaiting him. 
 
 "I am again out of a foreman," said the corn-factor. "Are 
 you in a place?" 
 
 "Not so much as a beggar's, sir." 
 
 "How much do you ask?" 
 
 Jopp named his price, which was very moderate. 
 
 "When can you come?" 
 
 "At this hour and moment, sir," said Jopp, who, standing 
 hands-pocketed at the street corner till the sun had faded 
 the shoulders of his coat to scarecrow green, had regularly 
 watched Henchard in the market-place, measured him, and 
 learnt him, by virtue of the power which the still man has 
 in his stillness of knowing the busy one better than he 
 knows himself. Jopp, too, had had a convenient experience; 
 he was the only one in Casterbridge besides Henchard and 
 the close-lipped Elizabeth who knew that Lucetta came 
 truly from Jersey, and but proximately from Bath. "I 
 know Jersey, too, sir," he said. "Was living there when you 
 used to do business that way. Oh yes — have often seen 
 ye there." 
 
 "Indeed! Very good. Then the thing is settled. The 
 testimonials you showed me when you first tried for't are 
 sufficient." 
 
 That characters deteriorate in time of need possibly did 
 not occur to Henchard. Jopp said, "Thank you," and stood 
 more firmly, in the consciousness that at last he officially 
 belonged to that spot. 
 
 "Now," said Henchard, digging his strong eyes into Jopp's 
 face, "one thing is necessary to me, as the biggest corn- 
 and-hay-dealer in these parts. The Scotchman, who's tak- 
 ing the town trade so bold into his hands, must be cut out. 
 D'ye hear? We two can't live side by side — that's clear and 
 certain." 
 
 "I've seen it all," said Jopp. 
 
174 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "By fair competition I mean, of course," Henchard ccm- 
 tinued. "But as hard, keen, and unflinching as fair-— 
 rather more so. By such a desperate bid against him for 
 the farmer's custom as will grind him into the ground — 
 ntarve him out. IVe capital, mind ye, and I can do it." 
 
 "I'm all that way of thinking," said the new foreman. 
 Jopp's dislike of Farfrae as the man who had once usurped 
 his place, while it made him a willing tool, made him, at 
 the same time, commercially as unsafe a colleague as Hen- 
 chard could have chosen. 
 
 "I sometimes think," he added, "that he must have some 
 glass that he sees next year in. He has such a knack of 
 making everything bring him fortune." 
 
 "He's deep beyond all honest men's discerning; but we 
 must make him shallower. We'll under-sell him, and over- 
 buy him, and so snuff him out." 
 
 They then entered into specific details of the process 
 by which this would be accomplished, and parted at a late 
 hour. 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane heard by accident that Jopp had been en- 
 gaged by her stepfather. She was so fully convinced that 
 he was not the right man for the place that, at the risk of 
 making Henchard angry, she expressed her apprehension to- 
 him when they met. But it was done to no purpose. Hen- 
 chard shut up her argument with a sharp rebuff. 
 
 The season's weather seemed to favour their scheme. The 
 time was in the years immediately before foreign competition 
 had revolutionized the trade in grain, when still, as from the 
 earliest ages, the wheat quotations from month to month 
 depended entirely upon the home harvest. A bad harvest, 
 or the prospect of one, would double the price of corn in a 
 few weeks; and the promise of a good yield would lower 
 it as rapidly. Prices were like the roads of the period, 
 steep in gradient, reflecting in their phases the local condi- 
 tions, without engineering, levellings, or averages. 
 
 The farmer's income was ruled by the wheat-crop within 
 his own horizon, and the wheat-crop by the weather. Thus, 
 in person, he became a sort of flesh-barometer, with feelers 
 always directed to the sky and wind around him. The 
 local atmosphere was everything to him; the atmospheres 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 175 
 
 of other countries a matter of indifference. The people, too, 
 who were not farmers, the rural multitude, saw in the 
 god of the weather a more important personage than they do 
 now. Indeed, the feeling of the peasantry in this matter 
 was so intense as to be almost unrealizable in these equa- 
 ble days. Their impulse was well-nigh to prostrate them- 
 selves in lamentation before untimely rains and tempests, 
 which came as the Alastor of those households whose crime 
 it was to be poor. 
 
 After midsummer they watched the weather-cocks as men 
 waiting in antechambers watch the lackey. Sun elated 
 them; quiet rain sobered them; weeks of watery tempest 
 stupefied them. That aspect of the sky which they now re- 
 gard as disagreeable they then beheld as furious. 
 
 It was June, and the weather was very unfavourable. 
 Casterbridge, being, as it were, the bell-board on which all 
 the adjacent hamlets and villages sounded their notes, was 
 decidedly dull. Instead of new articles in the shop-windows, 
 those that had been rejected in the foregoing summer were 
 brought out again; superseded reap-hooks, badly-shaped 
 rakes, shop-worn leggings, and time-stiffened water-tights 
 reappeared, furbished up as near to new as possible. 
 
 Henchard, backed by Jopp, read a disastrous garnering, 
 and resolved to base his strategy against Farfrae upon 
 that reading. But before acting he wished — what so many 
 have wished — that he could know for certain what was at 
 present only strong probability. He was superstitious — as 
 such headstrong natures often are — and he nourished in his 
 mind an idea bearing on the matter; an idea he shrank from 
 disclosing even to Jopp. 
 
 In a lonely hamlet a few miles from the town — so lonely, 
 that what are caljed lonely villages were teeming by com- 
 parison — there lived a man of curious repute as a forecaster 
 or weather-prophet. The way to his house was crooked 
 and miry — even difficult in the present xmpropitious season. 
 One evening when it was raining so heavily that ivy and 
 laurel resounded like distant musketry, and an out-door man 
 could be excused for shrouding himself to his eari and eyes, 
 such a shrouded figure on foot might have been perceived 
 travelling in the direction of the hazel-copse which dripped 
 
I7& THE MAYOR OF CASl'EKliKiDLlifi 
 
 over the prophet's cot. The turnpike-road became a lane, 
 the lane a cart-track, the cart-track a bridle-path, the bridle- 
 path a foot-way, the foot-way overgrown. The solitary 
 walker slipped here and there, and stumbled over the natural 
 springes formed by the brambles, till at length he reached the 
 bouse, which, with its garden, was surrounded with a high, 
 dense hedge. The cottage, comparatively a large one, had 
 been built of mud by the occupier's own hands, and thatched 
 ftlso by himself. Here he had always lived, and here it was 
 Assumed he would die. 
 
 He existed on unseen supplies; for it was an anomalous 
 diing that while there was hardly a soul in the neighboiu"- 
 hood but affected to laugh at this man's assertions, uttering 
 the formula, "There's nothing in 'em," with full assurance on 
 the surface of their faces, very few of them were unbe- 
 lievers in their secret hearts. Whenever they consulted 
 him they did it "for a fancy." When they paid him they 
 said, "Just a trifle for Christmas," or "Candlemas," as the 
 case might be. 
 
 He would have preferred more honesty in his clients, and 
 less sham ridicule; but fundamental belief consoled him for 
 superficial irony. As stated, he was enabled to live; people 
 supported him with their backs turned. He was sometimes 
 astonished that men could profess so little and believe so 
 much at his house, when at church they professed so much 
 and believed so little. 
 
 Behind his back he was called "Wide-oh," on account of 
 his reputation; to his face "Mr." Fall. 
 
 The hedge of his garden formed an arch over the en- 
 trance, and a door was inserted as in a wall. Outside the 
 door the tall traveller stopped, bandaged his face with a 
 handkerchief as if he were suffering from toothache, and 
 went up the path. The window shutters were not closed, 
 and he could see the prophet within, preparing his sup- 
 per. 
 
 In answer to the knock Fall came to the door, candle in 
 hand. The visitor stepped back a little from the light, and 
 said, "Can I speak to ye?" in significant tones. The other's 
 invitation to come in was responded to by the country for- 
 mula, "This will do. thank ye," after which the householder 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 17/ 
 
 has no alternative but to come out. He placed the candle 
 on the corner of the dresser, took his hat from a nail, and 
 joined the stranger in the porch, shutting the door behind 
 him. 
 
 "I've long heard that you can — do things of a sort?" be- 
 gan the other, repressing his individuality as much as he 
 could. 
 
 "Maybe so, Mr. Henchard," said the weather-caster. 
 
 "Ah — why do you call me that?" asked the visitor with 
 a start. 
 
 "Because it's your name. Feeling you'd come, I've waited 
 for ye; and thinking you might be leery from your walk, 
 I laid two supper plates — look ye here." He threw open the 
 door and disclosed the supper-table, at which appeared a 
 second chair, knife and fork, plate and mug, as he had de- 
 clared. 
 
 Henchard felt like Saul at his reception by Samuel; he 
 remained in silence for a few moments, then throwing off 
 the disguise of frigidity which he had hitherto preserved, he 
 said, "Then I have not come in vain. . . , Now, for in- 
 stance, can ye charm away warts?" 
 
 "Without trouble." 
 
 "Cure the evil?" 
 
 "That I've done — with consideration — if th^r will weaT 
 the toad-bag by night as well as by day." 
 
 "Forecast the weather?" 
 
 "With labour and time." 
 
 "Then take this," said Henchard. " 'Tis a crown-piece. 
 Now, what is the harvest fortnight to be? When can I 
 know?" 
 
 "I've worked it out already, and you can know at once." 
 (The fact was that five farmers had already been there on 
 the same errand from different parts of the country.) "By 
 the sun, moon, and stars, by the clouds, the winds, the trees, 
 and grass, the candle-flame and swallows, the smell of the 
 herbs; likewise by the cats' eyes, the ravens, the leeches, 
 the spiders, and the dung-mixen, the last fortnight in Au- 
 just will be — rain and tempest." 
 
 "You are not certain, of course?" 
 
 "As one can be in a world where all's unsure. Twill 
 
178 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 be more like living in Revelations this autumn than in Eng- 
 land. Shall I sketch it out for ye in a scheme?" 
 
 "Oh no, no," said Henchard. "I don't altogether be- 
 lieve in forecasts, come to second thoughts on such. But 
 f " 
 
 "You don't — you don't — 'tis quite understood," said 
 Wide-oh, without a sound of scorn. "You have given me a 
 crown because you've one too many. But won't you join 
 me at supper, now 'tis waiting and all?" 
 
 Henchard would gladly have joined ; for the savour of the 
 stew had floated from the cottage into the porch with such 
 appetizing distinctness, that the meat, the onions, the pep- 
 pier, and the herbs could be severally recognized by his nose. 
 But as sitting down to hob-and-nob there would have 
 seemed to mark him too implicitly as the weather-caster's 
 apostle, he declined, and went his way. 
 
 The next Saturday Henchard bought grain to such an 
 enormous extent that there was quite a talk about his pur- 
 chases among his neighbours, the lawyer, the wine merchant, 
 and the doctor; also on the next, and on all available days. 
 When his granaries were full to choking, all the weather- 
 cocks of Casterbridge creaked and set their faces in another 
 direction, as if tired of the south-west. The weather 
 changed; the sunlight, which had been like tin for weeks, 
 assumed the hues of topaz. The temperament of the wel- 
 kin passed from the phlegmatic to the sanguine; an excel- 
 lent harvest was almost a certainty; and as a consequence 
 prices rushed down. 
 
 All these transformations, lovely to the outsider, to the 
 wrong-headed corn-dealer were terrible. He was reminded 
 of what he had well known before, that a man might gamble 
 upon the square green areas of fields as readily as upon 
 those of a card-room. 
 
 Henchard had backed bad weather, and apparently lost. 
 He had mistaken the turn of the flood for the turn of the 
 ebb. His dealings had been so extensive that settlement 
 could not long be postponed, and to settle, he was obliged 
 to sell off corn that he had bought only a few weeks before 
 at figures higher by many shillings a quarter. Much of the 
 corn he had never seen; it had not even been moved from 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 179 
 
 the ricks in which it lay stacked miles away. Thus he lost 
 heavily. 
 
 In the blaze of an early August day he met Farfrae in 
 the market-place. Farfrae knew of his dealings (though 
 he did not guess their intended bearing on himself) and 
 commiserated him; for since their exchange of words in the 
 South Walk they had been on stiffly speaking terms. Hen- 
 chard for the moment, appeared to resent the sympathy; 
 but he suddenly took a careless turn. 
 
 "Ho, no, no! — nothing serious, man!" he cried with fierce 
 gaiety. "These things always happen, don't they? I know 
 it has been said that figures have touched me tight lately; 
 but is that anything rare? The case is not so bad as folk 
 make out perhaps. And dammy, a man must be a fool to 
 mind the common hazards of trade!" 
 
 But he had to enter the Casterbridge Bank that day for 
 reasons which had never before sent him there — and to 
 sit a long time in the partners' room with a constrained 
 bearing. It was rumoured soon after that much real prop- 
 erty, as well as vast stores of produce, in the town and 
 neighbourhood, which had stood in Henchard's name, was 
 actually the property of his bankers. 
 
 Coming down the steps of the bank he encountered Jopp. 
 The gloomy transactions just completed within had added 
 fever to the original sting of Farfrae 's sympathy that morn- 
 ing, which Henchard fancied might be satire disguised, so 
 that Jopp met with anything but a bland reception. The 
 latter was in the act of taking off his hat to wipe his fore- 
 head, and saying, "A fine hot day," to an acquaintance. 
 
 "You can wipe and wipe, and say, 'A fine hot day,' can 
 ye!" cried Henchard in a savage undertone, imprisoning 
 Jopp between himself and the bank wall. "If it hadn't 
 been for your blasted advice it might have been a fine day 
 enough! Why did ye let me go on, hey? — when a word of 
 doubt from you or anybody would have made me think 
 twice! For you can never be sure of weather till 'tis past." 
 
 "My advice, sir, was to do what you thought best." 
 
 "A useful fellow! And the sooner you help somebody 
 else in that way the better!" Henchard continued his ad- 
 dress to Jopp in similar terms till it ended in Jopp's dis- 
 
i8o THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 missal there and then, Henchard turning upon his heel and 
 leaving him. 
 
 "You shall be sorry for this, sir; sorry as a man can be!" 
 said Jopp, standing pale, and looking after the corn-mer- 
 chant as he disappeared in the crowd of market-men hard 
 by. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 It was the eve of harvest. Prices being low Farfrae was 
 buying. As was usual, after reckoning too surely on fam- 
 ine weather, the local farmers had flown to the other ex- 
 treme, and (in Farfrae's opinion) were selling off too reck- 
 lessly — calculating with just a trifle too much certainty up- 
 on an abundant yield. So he went on buying old corn at its 
 comparatively ridiculous price: for the produce of the pre- 
 vious year, though not large, had been of excellent quality. 
 
 When Henchard had squared his affairs in a disastrous 
 way, and got rid of his burdensome purchases at a mon- 
 strous loss, the harvest began. There were three days of 
 excellent weather, and then — "What if that curst conjuror 
 should be right after all!" said Henchard. 
 
 The fact was, that no sooner had the sickles begun to play 
 than the atmosphere suddenly felt as if cress would grow in 
 it without other nourishment. It rubbed people's cheeks 
 like damp flannel when they walked abroad. There was ^ 
 gusty, high, warm wind; isolated raindrops starred the win- 
 dow-panes at remote distances: the sunlight would flap out 
 like a quickly opened fan, throw the pattern of the window 
 upon the floor of the room in a milky, colourless shine, and 
 withdraw as suddenly as it had appeared. 
 
 From that day and hour it was clear that there was not 
 to be so successful an ingathering after all. If Henchard 
 had only waited long enough he might at least have avoided 
 loss, though he had not made a profit. But the momentum 
 of his character knew no patience. At this turn of the scales 
 he remained silent. The movements of his mind seemed to 
 tend to the thought that some power was working against 
 him. 
 
 "I wonder," he asked himself with eerie misgiving; "I 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE i8i 
 
 wonder if it can be that somebody has been roasting a wax^ 
 en image of me, or stirring an unholy brew to confound me! 
 I don't believe in such power; and yet — what if they should 
 ha' been doing it!" Even he could not admit that the per- 
 petrator, if any, might be Farfrae. These isolated hours 
 of superstition came to Henchard in time of moody depres- 
 sion, when all his practical largeness of view had oozed out 
 of him. 
 
 Meanwhile Donald Farfrae prospered. He had purchased 
 in so depressed a market that the present moderate stiffness 
 of prices was sufficient to pile for him a large heap of gold 
 where a little one had been. 
 
 "Why, he'll soon be Mayor!" said Henchard. It was 
 indeed hard that the speaker should, of all others, have to 
 follow the triumphal chariot of this man to the Capitol. 
 
 The rivalry of the masters was taken up by the men. 
 
 September night-shades had fallen upon Casterbridge; 
 the clocks had struck half-past eight, and the moon had 
 risen. The streets of the town were curiously silent for such 
 a comparatively early hour. A sound of jangling horse-bells 
 and heavy wheels passed up the street. These were followed 
 by angry voices outside Lucetta's house, which led her and 
 Elizabeth- Jane to run to the windows, and pull up the 
 blinds. 
 
 The opposite Market House and Town Hall abutted 
 against its next neighbour the Church except in the lower 
 storey, where an ardied thoroughfare gave admittance to a 
 large square called Bull Stake. A stone post rose in the 
 midst, to which the oxen had formerly been tied for baiting 
 with dogs to make them tender before they were killed in 
 the adjoinirig shambles. In a comer stood the stocks. 
 
 The thoroughfare leading to this spot was now blocked 
 by two four-horse waggons and horses, one laden with hay- 
 trusses, the leaders having already passed each other, and 
 become entangled head to tail. The passage of the vehicles 
 might have been practicable if empty; but built up with 
 hay to the bedroom windows as one was, it was impossible. 
 
 "You must have done it a' purpose!" said Farfrae's wag- 
 goners. "You can hear my horses' bells half-a-mile such a 
 night as this!" 
 
r82 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "If ye'd been minding your business instead of zwailing 
 along in such a gawk-hammer way, you would have zeed 
 me!" retorted the wroth representative of Henchard. 
 
 However, according to the strict rule of the road it ap- 
 peared that Henchard 's man was most in the wrong; he 
 therefore attempted to back into the High Street. In 
 doing this the near hind-wheel rose against the churchyard 
 wall, and the whole mountainous load went over, two of the 
 four wheels rising in the air, and the legs of the thill horse. 
 
 Instead of considering how to gather up the load, the 
 two men closed in a fight with their fists. Before the first 
 round was quite over Henchard came upon the spot, some- 
 body having run for him. 
 
 Henchard sent the two men staggering in contrary di- 
 rections by collaring one with each hand, turned to the 
 horse that was down, and extricated him after some trouble. 
 He then inquired into the circumstances; and seeing the 
 state of his waggon and its load, began hotly rating Farfrae's 
 man. 
 
 Lucetta and Elizabeth- Jane had by this time run down 
 to the door and opened it, whence they watched the bright 
 heap of new hay lying in the moon's rays, £md passed and 
 re-passed by the forms of Henchard and the waggoners. 
 The women had witnessed what nobody else had seen— the 
 origin of the mishap; and Lucetta spoke. 
 
 "I saw it all, Mr. Henchard," she cried; "and your man 
 was most in the wrong! " 
 
 Henchard paused in his harangue and turned. "Oh, I 
 [didn't notice you. Miss Templeman," said he. "My man 
 in the wrong? Ah, to be sure; to be sure! But I beg your 
 pardon notwithstanding. The other's is the empty waggon, 
 and he must have been most to blame for coming on." 
 
 "No; I saw it, too," said Elizabeth- Jane. "And I can 
 assure you he couldn't help it." 
 
 "You can't trust their senses!" murmured Henchard's 
 man. 
 
 "Why not?" asked Henchard sharply. 
 
 "Why, you see, sir, all the women side with Farfrae — 
 being a damn young dand — of the sort that he is — one that 
 creeps tato a maid's heart like the giddying worm into 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 183 
 
 a sheep's brain — making crooked seem straight to their 
 eyes I" 
 
 "But do you know what that lady is you talk about in 
 such a fashion? Do you know that I pay my attentions 
 to her, and have for some time? Just be carefull" 
 
 "Not I. I know nothing, sir, outside eight shillings a 
 week." 
 
 "And that Mr. Farfrae is well aware of that? He's 
 sharp in trade, but he wouldn't do anything so under-hand 
 as what you hint at." 
 
 Whether because Lucetta heard this low dialogue, or 
 not, her white figure disappeared from her doorway inward, 
 and the door was shut before Henchard could reach it to 
 converse with her further. This disappointed him, for he 
 had been sufficiently disturbed by what the man had said 
 to wish to speak to her more closely. While pausing the 
 old constable came up. 
 
 "Just see that nobody drives against that hay and waggon 
 to-night, Stubberd," said the corn-merchant. "It must bide 
 till the morning, for all hands are in the fields still. And if 
 any coach or road-waggon wants to come along, tell 'em 
 they must go round by the back street, and be hanged to 
 'em. . . . Any case to-morrow up in Hall?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. One in number, sir." 
 
 "Oh, what's that?" 
 
 "An old flagrant female, sir, swearing and committing a 
 nuisance in a horrible profane manner against the church 
 wall, sir, as if 'twere no more than a pot-house! That's 
 all, sir." 
 
 "Oh. The Mayor's out o' town, isn't he?" 
 
 ' le is, sir." 
 
 "Very well, then I'll be there. Don't forget to keep an 
 eye on that hay. Good night t'ye." 
 
 During those moments Henchard had determined to fol- 
 low up Lucetta, notwithstanding her elusiveness, and he 
 knocked for admission. 
 
 The answer he received was an expression of Miss 
 Templeman's sorrow at being unable to see him again that 
 evening, because she had an engagement to go out. 
 
 Henchard walked away from the door to the opposite side 
 
(84 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 of the street, and stood by his hay in a lonely reverie, 
 the constable having strolled elsewhere, and the horses being 
 removed. Though the moon was not bright as yet there 
 were no lamps lighted, and he entered the shadow of oiie 
 of the projecting jambs which formed the thoroughfare to 
 Bull Stake; here he watched Lucetta's door. 
 
 Candle-lights were flitting in and out of her bedrooaa, and 
 it was obvious that she was dressing for the appointment, 
 whatever the nature of that might be at such an hour. The 
 lights disappeared, the clock struck nine, and almost at the 
 moment Farfrae came round the opposite corner and 
 knocked. That she bad been waiting just inside for him 
 was certain, for she instantly opened the door herself. They 
 went together by the way of a back lane westward, avoiding 
 the front street; guessing at last where they were going, he 
 determined to follow. 
 
 The harvest had been so delayed by the capricious 
 weather, that whenever a fine day occurred all sinews were 
 strained to save what could be saved of the damaged crops. 
 On account of the rapid shortening of the days the har- 
 vesters worked by moonlight. Hence to-night the wheat- 
 fields abutting on the two sides of the square formed by 
 Casterbridge town were animated by the gathering hands. 
 Their shouts and laughter had reached Henchard at the 
 Market House, while he stood there waiting, and he had 
 little doubt from the turn which Farfrae and Lucetta had 
 taken that they were bound for the spot. 
 
 Nearly the whole town had gone into the fields. The 
 Casterbridge populace still retained the primitive habit of 
 helping one another in time of need; and thus, though 
 the corn belonged to the farming section of lie little 
 community — that inhabiting the Durnover quarter — the 
 remainder was no less interested in the labour of getting 
 it home. 
 
 Reaching the end of the lane Henchard crossed the shaded 
 avenue on the walls, slid down the green rampart, and stood 
 amongst the stubble. The "stitches" or shocks rose like 
 tents about the yellow expanse, those in the distance becom- 
 ing lost in the moonlit hazes. 
 
 He had entered at a point removed from the scene of im- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 185 
 
 mediate operations; but two others had entered at that 
 place, and he could see them winding among the shocks. 
 They were paying no regard to the direction of their walk, 
 whose vague serpentining soon began to bear down towards 
 Henchard. A meeting promised to be awkward, and he 
 therefore stepped into the hollow of the nearest shock, and 
 sat down. 
 
 "You have my leave," Lucetta was saying gaily. "Speak 
 what you like." 
 
 "Well, then," replied Farfrae, with the unmistakable in- 
 flection of the lover pure, which Henchard had never heard 
 in full resonance on his lips before, "you are sure to ba 
 much sought after for your position, wealth, talents, and 
 beauty. But will ye resist the temptation to be one of 
 those ladies with lots of admirers — ay — and be content to 
 have only a homely one?" 
 
 "And he the speaker?" said she, laughing. "Very well, 
 sir, what next?" 
 
 "Ah! I'm afraid that what I feel will make me forget 
 my manners 1" 
 
 "Then I hope you'll never have any, if you lack them only 
 for that cause." After some broken words, which Henchard 
 lost, she added, "Are you sure you won't be jealous?" 
 
 Farfrae seemed to assure her that he would not, by tak- 
 ing her hand. 
 
 "You are convinced, Donald, that I love nobody else," 
 she presently said. "But I should wish to have my own 
 way in some things." 
 
 "In everything! What special thing did you mean?" 
 
 "If I wished not to live always in Casterbridge, for in- 
 stance; on finding that I should not be happy here?" 
 
 Henchard did not hear the reply; he might have done 
 so and much more, but he did not care to play the eaves- 
 dropper. They went on towards the scene of activity, where 
 the sheaves were being handed, a dozen a minute, upon the 
 carts and waggons which carried them away. 
 
 Lucetta insisted on parting from Farfrae when they drew 
 near the workpeople. He had some business with them, and, 
 though he entreated her to wait a few minutes, she was in- 
 exorable, and triqped off homeward aloue. 
 
i86 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Henchard thereupon left the field, and followed her. His 
 state of mind was such that on reaching Lucetta's door he 
 did not knock, but opened it, and walked straight up to her 
 sitting-room, expecting to find her there. But the room was 
 empty, and he perceived that in his haste he had somehow 
 passed her on the way hither. He had not to wait many 
 minutes, however, for he soon heard her dress rustling in 
 the hall, followed by a soft closing of the door. In a 
 moment she appeared. 
 
 The light was so low that she did not notice Henchard 
 at first. As soon as she saw him she uttered a little cry, 
 almost of terror. 
 
 "How can you frighten me so?" she exclaimed, with a 
 flushed face. "It is past ten o'clock, and you have no right 
 to surprise me here at such a time." 
 
 "I don't know that I've not the right. At any rate, I 
 have the excuse. Is it so necessary that I should stop to 
 think of manners and customs?" 
 
 "It is too late for propriety, and might injure me." 
 
 "I called an hour ago, and you would not see me, and I 
 thought you were in when I called now. It is you, Lucetta, 
 who are doing wrong. It is not proper in 'ee to throw me 
 over like this. I have a little matter to remind you of, 
 which you seem to forget." 
 
 She sank into a chair, and turned pale. 
 
 "I don't want to hear it — ^I don't want to hear it!" she 
 said through her hands, as he, standing close to the edge 
 of her gown, began to allude to the Jersey days. 
 
 "But you ought to hear it," said he. 
 
 "It came to nothing; and through you. Then why not 
 leave me the freedom that I gained with such sorrow! 
 Had I found that you proposed to marry me for pure 
 love I might have felt bound now. But I soon learnt 
 that you had planned it out of mere charity — almost as 
 an unpleasant duty — because I had nursed you, and 
 compromised myself, and you thought you must repay 
 me. After that I did not care for you so deeply as 
 before." 
 
 "Why did you come here to find me, then?" 
 
 "I thought I ought to marry you for conscience' sake, 
 
THE MAYOK, OF CASTERBKIDGE i»7 
 
 since you were free, even though I — did not like you so 
 well." 
 
 "And why then don't you think so now?" 
 
 She was silent. It was only too obvious that conscience 
 had ruled well enough till new love had intervened, and 
 usurped that rule. In feeling this she herself forgot for the 
 moment her partially justifying argument — that having dis- 
 covered Henchard's infirmities of temper, she had some ex- 
 cuse for not risking her happiness in his hands after once 
 escaping them. The only thing she could say was, "I was 
 a poor girl then; and now my circumstances have altered, 
 so I am hardly the same person." 
 
 "That's true. And it makes the case awkward for me. 
 But I don't want to touch your money. I am quite willing 
 that every penny of your property shall remain to your 
 personal use. Besides, that argument has nothing in it. 
 The man you are thinking of is no better than I." 
 
 "If you were as good as he you would leave me!" she 
 cried passionately. 
 
 This unluckily aroused Henchard. "You cannot in hon- 
 our refuse me," he said. "And unless you give me your 
 promise this very night to be my wife, before a wit- 
 ness, I'll reveal our intimacy — in common fairness to other 
 men!" 
 
 A look of resignation settled upon her. Henchard saw 
 its bitterness; and had Lucetta's heart been given to any 
 other man in the world than Farfrae he would probably have 
 had pity upon her at that moment. But the supplanter 
 was the upstart (as Henchard called him) who had mounted 
 into prominence upon his shoulders, and he could bring 
 himself to show no mercy. 
 
 Without another word she rang the bell, and directed that 
 Elizabeth- Jane should be fetched from her room. The lat- 
 ter appeared, surprised in the midst of her lucubrations. 
 As soon as she saw Henchard she went across to him duti- 
 fully. 
 
 "Elizabeth- Jane," he said, taking he*' hand, "I want you 
 to hear this." And turning to Lucetta; "Will you, or will 
 you not, marry me?" 
 
 "If you — wish it, I must agreel" 
 
i88 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "You say yes?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 No sooner had she given the promise than she fell back 
 in a fainting state. 
 
 "What dreadful thing drives her to say this, father, when 
 it is such a pain to her?" asked Elizabeth, kneeling down 
 by Lucetta. "Don't compel her to do anything against her 
 will ! I have lived with her, and know that she cannot bear 
 much." 
 
 "Don't be a no'them simpleton!" said Henchard drily. 
 "This promise will leave him free for you, if you want him, 
 won't it?" 
 
 At this Lucetta seemed to wake from her swoon with a 
 start. 
 
 "Him? Who are you talking about?" she said wildly. 
 
 "Nobody, as far as I am concerned," said Elizabeth 
 firmly. 
 
 "Oh — well. Then it is my mistake," said Henchard. 
 "But the business is between me and Miss Templeman. She 
 agrees to be my wife." 
 
 "But don't dwell on it just now," entreated Elizabeth, 
 holding Lucetta's hand. 
 
 "I don't wish to, if she promises," said Henchard. 
 
 "I have, I have," groaned Lucetta, her limbs hanging like 
 flails, from very misery and faintness. "Michael, please 
 don't argue it any more!" 
 
 "I will not," he said. And taking up his hat he went 
 away. 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane continued to kneel by Lucetta. "What 
 is this?" she said. "You called my father 'Michael' as if 
 you knew him well? And how is it he has got this power 
 over you, that you promise to marry him against your will? 
 Ah — you have many, many secrets from me!" 
 
 "Perhaps you have some from me," Lucetta murmured, 
 with closed eyes, little thinking, however, so unsuspicious 
 was she, that the secret of Elizabeth's heart concerned the 
 young man who had caused this damage to her own. 
 
 "I would not — do anything against you at all!" stam- 
 mered Elizabeth, keeping in all signs of emotion till she 
 was ready to burst. "I cannot understand how my father 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 189 
 
 can command you so; I don't sympathize with him in il 
 at all. I'll go to him and ask him to release you." 
 "No, no," said Lucetta. "Let it all be." 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 The next morning Henchard went to the Town Hall oppo- 
 site Lucetta's house, to attend Petty Sessions, being still a 
 magistrate for the year by virtue of his late position as 
 Mayor. In passing he looked up at her windows, but noth- 
 ing of her was to be seen. 
 
 Henchard, as a Justice of the Peace, may at first seem 
 to be an even greater incongruity than Shallow and Silence 
 themselves. But his rough and ready perceptions, his sledge- 
 hammer directness, had often served him better than nice 
 legal knowledge in despatching such simple business as fell 
 to his hands in this Court. To-day, Dr. Chalkfield, the 
 Mayor for the year, being absent, the corn-merchant took 
 the big chair, his eyes still abstractedly stretching out of the 
 window to the ashlar front of High Place Hall. 
 
 There was one case only, and the offender stood before 
 him. She was an old woman of mottled countenance, at- 
 tired in a shawl of that nameless tertiary hue which comes, 
 but cannot be made— a hue neither tawny, russet, hazel, nor 
 ash; a sticky black bonnet that seemed to have been worn 
 in the country of the Psalmist where the clouds drop fat- 
 ness; and an apron that had been white in times so com- 
 paratively recent as still to contrast visibly with the rest 
 of her clothes. The steeped aspect of the woman as a whole 
 showed her to be no native of the country-side or even 
 of a country-town^ 
 
 She looked cursorily at Henchard and the second magis- 
 trate, and Henchard looked at her, with a momentary pause, 
 as if she had reminded him indistinctly of somebody or 
 something which passed from his mind as quickly as it had 
 come. "Well, and what has she been doing?" he said, look- 
 ing down at the charge-sheet. 
 
 "She is charged, sir, with the offence of disorderly female 
 and nuisance," whispered Stubberd. 
 
190 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Where did she do that?" said the other magistrate. 
 
 "By the church, sir, of all the horrible places in the 
 world! — I caught her in the act, your worship." 
 
 "Stand back then," said Henchard, "and let's hear what 
 you've got to say." 
 
 Stubberd was sworn, the magistrate's clerk dipped his 
 pen, Henchard being no note-taker himself, and the con- 
 stable began — 
 
 "Hearing a' illegal noise I went down the street at twenty- 
 five minutes past eleven p. m. on the night of the fifth in- 
 stinct, Hannah Dominy. When I had " 
 
 "Don't go on so fast, Stubberd," said the clerk. 
 
 The constable waited, with his eyes on the clerk's pen, 
 till the latter stopped scratching, and said, "yes." Stub- 
 berd continued: "When I had proceeded to the spot, I 
 saw defendant at another spot, namely, the gutter." He 
 paused, watching the point of the clerk's pen again. 
 
 "Gutter, yes, Stubberd." 
 
 "Spot measuring twelve feet nine inches or thereabouts, 
 
 from where I " Still careful not to outrun the clerk's 
 
 penmanship, Stubberd pulled up again; for having got his 
 evidence by Pieart, it was immaterial to him whereabouts he 
 broke off. 
 
 "I object to that," spoke up the old woman, " 'spot meas- 
 uring twelve feet nine or thereabouts from where I,' is not 
 good evidence!" 
 
 The magistrates consulted, and the second one said that 
 the bench was of opinion that twelve feet nine inches from 
 a man on his oath was admissible evidence. 
 
 Stubberd, with a suppressed gaze of victorious rectitude 
 at the old woman, continued: "Was standing myself. She 
 was wambling about quite dangerous to the thoroughfare, 
 and when I approached to draw near, she insulted me." 
 
 " 'Insulted me.' . . . Yes, what did she say?" 
 
 "She said, 'Put away that dee lantern,' she says." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Says she, 'Dost hear, old turmit-head? Put away that 
 dee lantern. I have floored fellows a dee sight finer-looking 
 than a dee fool like thee, you son of a bee, dee me if I 
 haint,' she says." 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 191 
 
 "I object to that conversation!" interposed the old 
 woman. "I was not capable enough to hear what I said, and 
 what is said out of my hearing is not evidence." 
 
 There was another stoppage for consultation, a book was 
 referred to, and finally Stubberd was allowed to go on again. 
 The truth was that the old woman had appeared in court so 
 many more times than the magistrates themselves, that they 
 were obliged to keep a sharp lookout upon their procedure. 
 However, when Stubberd had rambled on a little further, 
 Henchard broke out impatiently, "Come — we don't want to 
 hear any more of them cust D's and B's! Say the words 
 out like a man, and don't be so modest, Stubberd; or else 
 leave it alone!" Turning to the woman, "Now then, have 
 you any questions to ask him, or anything to say?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied with a twinkle in her eye; and the 
 clerk dipped his pen. 
 
 "Twenty years ago I was a selling of furmity in a tent 
 at Weydon Fair " 
 
 " 'Twenty years ago' — ^well, that's beginning at the be- 
 ginning; suppose you go back to the Creation!" said the 
 clerk, not without satire. 
 
 But Henchard stared, and quite forgot what was evidence 
 and what was not. 
 
 "A man and a woman with a little child came into my 
 tent," the woman continued. "They sat down and had a 
 basin apiece. Ah, Lord's my life! — I was of a more re- 
 spectable station in the world then than I am now, being a 
 land smuggler in a large way of business; and I used to 
 season my furmity with rum for them who asked for't. I 
 did it for the man; and then he had more and more; till 
 at last he quarrelled with his wife, and offered to sell her 
 to the highest bidder. A sailor came in and bid five guineas, 
 and paid the money, and led her away. And the man who 
 sold his wife in that fashion is the man sitting there in the 
 great big chair." The speaker concluded by nodding her 
 head at Henchard, and folding her arms. 
 
 Everybody looked at Henchard. His face seemed strange, 
 and in tint as if it had been powdered over with ashes. 
 "We don't want to hear your life and adventures," said the 
 second magistrate sharply, filling the pause which followed. 
 
192 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "You've been asked if you've anything to say bearing on 
 the case." 
 
 "That bears on the case. It proves that he's no better 
 tiian I, and has no right to sit there in judgment upon me." 
 
 " 'Tis a concocted story," said the clerk. "So hold your 
 tongue!" 
 
 "No — 'tis true." The words came from Henchard. " 'Tis 
 as true as the light," he said slowly. "And upon my soul, 
 it does prove that I'm no better than she! And to keep out 
 of any temptation to treat her hard for her revenge, I'll 
 leave her to you." 
 
 The sensation in the court was indescribably great. 
 Henchard left the chair, and came out, passing through a 
 group of people on the steps and outside that was much 
 larger than usual; for it seemed that the old furmity dealer 
 had mysteriously hinted to the denizens of the lane in which 
 she had been lodging since her arrival, that she knew a 
 queer thing or two about their great local man Mr. Hen- 
 chard, if she chose to tell it. This had brought them hither. 
 
 "Why are there so many idlers round the Town Hall 
 to-day?" said Lucetta to her servant when the case was 
 over. She had risen late, and had just looked out of the 
 window. 
 
 "Oh, please, ma'am, 'tis this larry about Mr. Henchard. 
 A woman has proved that before he became a gentleman 
 he sold his wife for five guineas in a booth at a fair." 
 
 In all the accounts which Henchard had given her of the 
 separation from his wife Susan for so many years, of his 
 belief in her death, and so on, he had never clearly explained 
 the actual and immediate cause of that separation. The 
 story she now heard for the first time. 
 
 A gradual misery overspread Lucetta's face as she dwelt 
 upon the promise wrung from her the night before. At 
 bottom, then, Henchard was this. How terrible a contin- 
 gency for a woman who should commit herself to his care. 
 
 During the day she went out to the Ring, and to other 
 places, not coming in till nearly dusk. As soon as she saw 
 Elizabeth- Jane after her return indoors she told her that 
 she had resolved to go away from home to the seaside for a 
 few days — to Port-Bredy; Casterbridge was so gloomy. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 193 
 
 Elizabeth, seeing that she looked wan and disturbed, en- 
 couraged her in the idea, thinking a change would afford 
 her relief. She could not help suspecting that the gloom 
 which seemed to have come over Casterbridge in Lucetta's 
 eyes might be partially owing to the fact that Farfrae was 
 away from home. 
 
 Elizabeth saw her friend depart for Port-Bredy, and took, 
 charge of High Place Hall till her return. After two or 
 three days of solitude and incessant rain Henchard called at 
 the house. He seemed disappointed to hear of Lucetta's 
 absence, and though he nodded with outward indifference, 
 he went awaj' handling his beard with a nettled mien. 
 
 The next day he called again. "Is she come now?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes. She returned this morning," replied his stepdaugh- 
 ter. "But she is not indoors. She has gone for a walk 
 along the turnpike-road to Port-Bredy. She will be home 
 by dusk." 
 
 After a few words, which only served to reveal his restless 
 impatience, he left the house again. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 At this hour Lucetta was bounding along the road to Port- 
 Bredy just as Elizabeth had announced. That she had 
 chosen for her afternoon walk the road along which she had 
 returned to Casterbridge three hours earlier in a carriage was 
 curious — if anything should be called curious in concatena- 
 tions of phenomena wherein each is known to have its ac- 
 counting cause. It was the day of the chief market — Satur- 
 day — and Farfrae for once had been missed from his corn- 
 stand in the dealers' room. Nevertheless, it was known that 
 he would be home that night — "for Sunday," as Caster- 
 bridge expressed it. 
 
 Lucetta, in continuing her walk, had at length reached 
 the end of the ranked trees which bordered the highway in 
 this and other directions out of the town. This end marked 
 a mile; and here she stopped. 
 
 The spot was a vale between two gentle acclivities, and 
 
T94 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the road, still adhering to its Roman foundation, stretched 
 onward straight as a surveyor's line till lost to sight on 
 the most distant ridge. There was neither hedge nor tree 
 in the prospect now, the road clinging to the stubbly ex- 
 panse of corn-land like a stripe to an undulating garment. 
 Near her was a barn — the single building of any kind within 
 her horizon. 
 
 She strained her eyes up the lessening road, but nothing 
 appeared thereon — not so much as a speck. She sighed one 
 word — "Donald!" and turned her face to the town for re- 
 treat. 
 
 Here the case was different. A single figure was ap- 
 proaching her — Elizabeth- Jane's. 
 
 Lucetta, in spite of her loneliness, seemed a little vexed. 
 Elizabeth's face, as soon as she recognized her friend, shaped 
 itself into affectionate lines while yet beyond speaking dis- 
 tance. "I suddenly thought I would come and meet you," 
 she said, smiling. 
 
 Lucetta's reply was taken from her lips by an unexpected 
 diversion. A by-road on her right hand descended from 
 the fields into the highway at the point where she stood, 
 and down the track a bull was rambling uncertainly to- 
 wards her and Elizabeth, who, facing the other way, did not 
 observe him. 
 
 In the latter quarter of each year cattle were at once the 
 mainstay and the terror of families about Casterbridge and 
 its neighbourhood, where breeding was carried on with Abra- 
 hamic success. The head of stock driven into and out of 
 the town at this season to be sold by the local auctioneer 
 was very large; and all these horned beasts, in travelling to 
 and fro, sent women and children to shelter as nothing else 
 could do. In the main the animals would have walked along 
 quietly enough; but the Casterbridge tradition was that to 
 drive stock it was indispensable that hideous cries, coupled 
 with Yahoo antics and gestures, should be used, large sticks 
 flourished, stray dogs called in, and in general everything 
 done that was likely to infuriate the viciously disposed and 
 terrify the mild. Nothing was commoner than for a house- 
 holder, on going out of his parlour, to find his hall or pass- 
 age full of little children, nursemaids, aged women, or a 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 19S 
 
 ladies' school, who apologized for their presence by saying, 
 "A bull passing down street from the sale." 
 
 Lucetta and Elizabeth regarded the animal in doubt, he 
 meanwhile drawing vaguely towards them. It was a large 
 specimen of the breed, in colour rich dun, though disfigured 
 at present by splotches of mud about his seamy sides. His 
 horns were thick and tipped with brass; his two nostrils like 
 the Thames Tunnel as seen in the perspective toys of yore. 
 Between them, through the gristle of his nose, was a stout 
 copper ring, welded on, and irremovable as Gurth's collar 
 of brass. To the ring was attached an ash staff about a 
 yard long, which the bull with the motions of his head flung 
 about like a flail. 
 
 It was not till they observed this dangling stick that the 
 young women were really alarmed; for it revealed to them 
 that the bull was an old one, too savage to be driven, which 
 had in some way escaped, the staff being the means by which 
 the drover controlled him and kept his horns at arms' length. 
 
 They looked round for some shelter or hiding-place, and 
 thought of the barn hard by. As long as they had kept 
 their eyes on the bull he had shown some deference in his 
 manner of approach ; but no sooner did they turn their backs 
 to seek the barn than he tossed his head, and decided to 
 thoroughly terrify them. This caused the two helpless girls 
 to run wildly, whereupon the bull advanced in a deliberate 
 charge. 
 
 The barn stood behind a green slimy pond, and it was 
 closed save as to one of the usual pair of doors facing them, 
 which had been propped open by a hurdle-stake, and for 
 this opening they made. The interior had been cleared by 
 a recent bout of threshing, except at one end, where there 
 was a stack of dry clover. Elizabeth- Jane took in the situa- 
 tion. "We must climb up there," she said. 
 
 But before they had even approached it they heard the 
 bull scampering through the pond without, and in a second 
 he dashed into the barn, knocking dov/n the hurdle-stake in 
 passing; the heavy door slammed behind him; and all three 
 were imprisoned in the barn together. The mistaken crea- 
 ture saw them, and stalked towards the end of the barn 
 into which they had fled. The girls doubled so adroitly that 
 
196 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 their pursuer was against the wall when the fugitives were 
 already half way to the other end. By the time that his 
 length would allow him to turn and follow them thither they 
 had crossed over; thus the pursuit went on, the hot air from 
 his nostrils blowing over them like a sirocco, and not a 
 moment being attainable by Elizabeth or Lucetta in which 
 to open the door. What might have happened had their 
 situation continued cannot be said; but in a few moments a 
 rattling of the door distracted their adversary's attentioE, 
 and a man appeared. He ran forward towards the leading- 
 staff, seized it, and wrenched the animal's head as if he 
 would snap it off. The wrench was in reality so violent that 
 the thick neck seemed to have lost its stiffness and to be- 
 come half paralyzed, whilst the nose dropped blood. The 
 premeditated human contrivance of the nose-ring was too 
 cunning for impulsive brute force, and the creature flinched. 
 
 The man was seen in the partial gloom to be large-framed 
 and unhesitating. He led the bull to the door, and the light 
 revealed Henchard. He made the bull fast without, and 
 re-entered to the succour of Lucetta; for he had not per- 
 ceived Elizabeth, who had climbed on to the clover-heap. 
 Lucetta was hysterical, and Henchard took her in his arms 
 and carried her to the door. 
 
 "You — ^have saved me!" she cried, as soon as she could 
 speak. 
 
 "I have returned your kindness," he responded tenderly. 
 "You once saved me." 
 
 "How — comes it to be you — ^you?" she asked, not heed- 
 ing his reply. 
 
 "I came out here to look for you. I have been wanting to 
 fell you something these two or three days; but you have 
 been away, and I could not. Perhaps you cannot talk 
 now?" 
 
 "Oh— no! Where is Elizabeth?" 
 
 "Here am I!" cried the missing one cheerfully; and with- 
 out waiting for the ladder to be placed she slid down the 
 face of the clover-stack to the floor. 
 
 Henchard supporting Lucetta on one side, and Elizabeth- 
 Jane on the other, they went slowly along the rising road. 
 They had reached the top and were descending again when 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 197 
 
 Lucetta, now much recovered, recollected that she had 
 dropped her muff in the barn. 
 
 "I'll run back," said Elizabeth- Jane. "I don't mind it at 
 all, as I am not tired as you are." tShe thereupon has- 
 tened down again to the barn, the others pursuing their way. 
 
 Elizabeth soon found the muff, such an article being by 
 no means small at that time. Coming out she paused to 
 look for a moment at the bull, now rather to be pitied with 
 his bleeding nose, having perhaps rather intended a practical 
 joke than a murder. Henchard had secured him by jam- 
 ming the staff into the hinge of the barn-door, and wedg- 
 ing it there with a stake. At length she turned to hasten 
 onward, after her contemplation, when she saw a green-and- 
 black gig approaching from the contrary direction, the ve- 
 hicle being driven by Farfrae. 
 
 His presence here seemed to explain Lucetta's walk that 
 way. Donald saw her, drew up, and was hastily made ac- 
 quainted with what had occurred. At Elizabeth- Jane men- 
 tioning how greatly Lucetta had been jeopardized, he ex- 
 hibited an agitation different in kind no less than in inten- 
 sity from any she had seen in him before. He became so 
 absorbed in the circumstances that he scarcely had sufficient 
 knowledge of what he was doing to think of helping her up 
 beside him. 
 
 "She has gone on with Mr. Henchard, you say?" he in- 
 quired at last. 
 
 "Yes. He is taking her home. They are almost there by 
 this time." 
 
 "And you are sure she can get home?" 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane was quite sure. 
 
 "Your stepfather saved her?" 
 
 "Entirely." 
 
 Farfrae checked his horse's pace; she guessed why. He 
 was thinking that it would be best not to intrude on the 
 other two just now. Henchard had saved Lucetta, and to 
 provoke a possible exhibition of her deeper affection for him- 
 self was as ungenerous as it was unwise. 
 
 The immediate subject of their talk being exhausted, die 
 felt more embarrassed at sitting thus beside her past lover; 
 but soon the two figures of the others were visible at the 
 
198 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 entrance to the town. The face of the woman was fre- 
 quently turned back, but Farfrae did not whip on the horse. 
 When these reached the town walls Henchard and his com- 
 panion had disappeared down the street; Farfrae set down 
 Elizabeth- Jane, on her expressing a particular wish to alight 
 there, and drove round to the stables at the back of his 
 lodgings. 
 
 On this account he entered the house through his gar- 
 den, and going up to his apartments found them in a par- 
 ticularly disturbed state, his boxes being hauled out upon 
 the landing, and his bookcase standing in three pieces. 
 These phenomena, however, seemed to cause him not the 
 least surprise. "When will everything be sent up?" he said 
 to the mistress of the house, who was superintending. 
 
 "I am afraid not before eight, sir," said she. "You see we 
 wasn't aware till this morning that you were going to move, 
 or we could have been forwarder." 
 
 "A — well, never mind, never mind!" said Farfrae cheer- 
 ily. "Eight o'clock will do well enough if it be not later. 
 Now, don't ye be standing here talking, or it will be twelve, 
 I doubt." Thus speaking he went out by the front door 
 and up the street. 
 
 During this interval Henchard and Lucetta had had expe- 
 riences of a different kind. After Elizabeth's departure for 
 the muff, the corn-merchant opened himself frankly, hold- 
 ing her hand within his arm, though she would fain have 
 withdrawn it. "Lear Lucetta, I have been very, very arrx- 
 ious to see you these two or three days," he said; "ever since 
 I saw you last! I have thought over the way I got your 
 promise that night. You said to me, 'If I were a man I 
 should not insist.' That cut me deep. I felt that there was 
 some truth in it. I don't want to make you wretched ; and 
 to marry me just now would do that as nothing else could 
 ■ — it is but too plain. Therefore I agree to an indefinite en- 
 gagement — to put off a'! thought of marriage for a year or 
 two." 
 
 "But — but — can I do nothing of a different kind?" said 
 Lucetta. "I am full of gratitude to you — you have saved 
 my hfe. And your care of me is like coals of fire on my 
 head! I am a monied person now. Surely I can do some- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDOE iQc 
 
 thing in return for your goodness — something practical?" 
 
 Henchard remained in thought. He had evidently not 
 expected this. "There is one thing you might do, Lucetta," 
 he said. "But not exactly of that kind." 
 
 "Then of what kind is it?" she asked with renewed mis- 
 giving. 
 
 "I must tell you a secret to ask it. You may have 
 
 heard that I have been unlucky this year? I did what I 
 have never done before — speculated rashly; and I lost. 
 That's just put me in a strait." 
 
 "And you would wish me to advance some money?" 
 
 "No, no!" said Henchard, almost in anger. "I'm not the 
 man to sponge on a woman, even though she may be so 
 nearly my own as you. No, Lucetta; what you can do is 
 this; and it would save me. My great creditor is Grower, 
 and it is at his hands I shall suffer if at anybody's; while a 
 fortnight's forbearance on his part would be enough to 
 allow me to pull through. This may be got out of him in 
 one way — that you would let it be known to him that you 
 are my intended — that we are to be quietly married in the 
 
 next fortnight. Now stop, you haven't heard all! Let 
 
 him have this story, without, of course, any prejudice to the 
 fact that the actual engagement between us is to be a long 
 one. Nobody else need know: you could go with me to 
 Mr. Grower and just let me speak to ye before him as if we 
 were on such terms. We'll ask him to keep it secret. He 
 will willingly wait then. At the fortnight's end I shall be 
 able to face him; and I can coolly tell him all is postponed 
 between us for a year or two. Not a soul in the town need 
 know how you've helped me. Since you wish to be of use, 
 there's your way." 
 
 It being now what the people called the "pinking in" of 
 the day, that is, the quarter-hour just before dusk, he did 
 not at first observe the result of his own words upon her. 
 
 "If it were anything else," she began, and the dryness of 
 her lips was represented in her voice. 
 
 "But it is such a little thing!" he said, with a deep re- 
 proach. "Less than you have offered — ^just the beginning of 
 what you have so lately promised! I could have told hiro 
 as much myself, but he would not have believed me." 
 
300 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "It is not because I won't — it is because I absolutely 
 can't," she said, with rising distress. 
 
 "You are provoking!" he burst out. "It is enough to 
 make me force you to carry out at once what you have prom- 
 ised." 
 
 "I cannot!" she insisted desperately. 
 
 "Why? When I have only within these few minutes re- 
 leased you from your promise to do the thing off-hand." 
 
 "Because he was a witness!" 
 
 "Witness? Of what?" 
 
 "If I must tell you . Don't, don't upbraid mel" 
 
 "Well! Let's hear what you mean?" 
 
 "Witness of my marriage — Mr. Grower was!" 
 
 "Marriage?" 
 
 "Yes. With Mr. Farfrae. O Michael! I am already his 
 wife. We were married this week at Port-Bredy. There 
 were reasons against our doing it here. Mr. Grower was a 
 witness because he happened to be at Port-Bredy at the 
 time." 
 
 Henchard stood as if idiotized. She was so alarmed at his 
 silence that she murmured something about lending him 
 sufficient money to tide over the perilous fortnight. 
 
 "Married him?" said Henchard at length. "My good — 
 what, married him whilst — bound to marry me?" 
 
 "It was like this," she explained, with tears in her eyes 
 and quavers in her voice; "don't — don't be cruel! I loved 
 him so much, and I thought you might tell him of the past 
 — and that grieved mel And then, when I had promised 
 you, I learnt of the rumour that you had — sold your first 
 wife at a fair, like a horse or cow! How could I keep my 
 promise after hearing that? I could not risk myself in your 
 hands ; it would have been letting myself down to take your 
 name after such a scandal. But I knew I should lose Don- 
 ald if I did not secure him at once — for you would carry 
 out your threat of telling him of our former acquaintance, 
 as long as there was a chance of keeping me for yourself 
 by doing so. But you will not do so now, will you, Michael; 
 for it is too late to separate us?" 
 
 The notes of St. Peter's bells in full peal had been wafted 
 to them while he spoke; and now the genial thumping of 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 201 
 
 the town band, renowned for its unstinted use of the drum- 
 ^ck, throbbed down the street. 
 
 "Then this racket they are making is on account of it, I 
 suppose?" said he. 
 
 "Yes — I think he has told them, or else Mr. Grower has. 
 . . . May I leave you now? My — he was detained at Port- 
 Bredy to-day, and sent me on a few hours before him." 
 
 "Then it is his wife's life I have saved this afternoon." 
 
 "Yes — and he will be for ever grateful to you." 
 
 "I am much obliged to him. . . . Oh, you false woman!" 
 burst out Henchard. "You promised me!" 
 
 "Yes, yes! But it T/as under compulsion, and I did not 
 know all your past " 
 
 "And now I've a mind to punish you as you deserve! One 
 word to this bran-new husband of how you courted me, and 
 your precious happiness is blown to atoms!" 
 
 "Michael — ^pity me, and be generous!" 
 
 "You don't deserve pity! You did; but you don't now." 
 
 "I'll help you to pay off your debt." 
 
 "A pensioner of Farfrae's wife — not I! Don't stay with 
 me longer — I shall say something worse. Go home!" 
 
 She disappeared under the trees of the south walk as the 
 band came round the comer, awaking the echoes of every 
 stock and stone in celebration of her happiness. Lucetta 
 took no heed, but ran up the back street and reached her 
 own home unperceived. 
 
 XXX 
 
 Faefkae's words to his landlady had referred to the re- 
 moval of his boxes and other effects from his late lodgings 
 to Lucetta's house. The work was not heavy, but it had 
 been much hindered on account of the frequent pauses ne- 
 CKsitated by exclamations of surprise at the event, of which 
 the good woman had been briefly informed by letter a few 
 hours earlier. 
 
 At the last moment of leaving Port-Bredy, Farfrae, like 
 John Gilpin, had been detained by important customers, 
 whom, even in the exceptional circumstances, he was not 
 tfie man to neglect. Moreover, there was a conveniaice in 
 
202 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Lucetta arriving first at her house. Nobody there as yet 
 knew what had happened; and she was best in a position 
 to break the news to the inmates, and give directions for 
 her husband's accommodation. He had, therefore, sent on 
 his two-days' bride in a hired brougham, whilst he went 
 across the country to a certain group of wheat and barley 
 ricks a few miles off, telling her the hour at which he might 
 be expected the same evening. This accounted for her 
 trotting out to meet him after their separation of four hours. 
 
 By a strenuous effort, after leaving Henchard, she calmed 
 herself in readiness to receive Donald at High Place Hall 
 when he came on from his lodgings. One supreme fact em- 
 powered her to this, the sense that, come what would, she 
 had secured him. Half-an-hour after her arrival he walked 
 in, and she met him with a relieved gladness, which a 
 month's perilous absence could not have intensified. 
 
 "There is one thing I have not done; and yet it is impor- 
 tant," she said earnestly, when she had finished talking 
 about the adventure with the bull. "That is, broken the 
 news of our marriage to my dear Elizabeth- Jane." 
 
 "Ah, and you have not?" he said thoughtfully. "I gave 
 her a lift from the barn homewards; but I did not tell her 
 either; for I thought she might have heard of it in the 
 town, and was keeping back her congratulations from shy- 
 ness, and all that." 
 
 "She can hardly have heard of it. But I'll find out; I'll 
 go to her now. And, Donald, you don't mind her living on 
 with me just the same as before? She is so quiet and un- 
 assuming." 
 
 "Oh, no, indeed I don't," Farfrae answered with, perhaps, 
 a faint awkwardness. "But I wonder if she would care to?" 
 
 "Oh yes!" said Lucetta eagerly. "I am sure she would 
 like to. Besides, poor thing, she has no other home." 
 
 Farfrae looked at her, and saw that she did not suspect 
 the secret of her more reserved friend. He liked her all the 
 better for the blindness. "Arrange as you like with her, 
 by all means," he said. "It is I who have come to your 
 house, not you to mine." 
 
 "I'll run and speak to her," said Lucetta. 
 
 When she got upstairs tci Elizabeth- Jane's room, the lat- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 203 
 
 ter had taken off her out-door things, and was resting over 
 a book. Lucetta found in a moment that she had not yet 
 learnt the news. 
 
 "I did not come down to you, Miss Templeman," she said 
 simply. "I was coming to ask if you had quite recovered 
 from your fright, but I found you had a visitor. What are 
 the bells ringing for, I wonder? And the band, too, is play- 
 ing. Somebody must be married ; or else they are practising 
 for Christmas." 
 
 Lucetta uttered a vague "Yes," and seating herself by the 
 other young woman, looked musingly at her. "What a 
 lonely creature you are," she presently said; "never know- 
 ing what's going on, or what people are talking about every- 
 where with keen interest. You should get out, and gossip 
 about as other women do, and then you wouldn't be obliged 
 to ask me a question of that kind. Well, now, I have some- 
 thing to tell you." 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane said she was so glad, and made herself re- 
 ceptive. 
 
 "I must go rather a long way back," said Lucetta, the dif- 
 ficulty of explaining herself satisfactorily to the pondering 
 one beside her growing more apparent at each syllable. 
 "You remember that trying case of conscience I told you 
 of some time ago — ^about the first lover, and the second 
 lover?" She let out in jerky phrases a leading word or two 
 of the story she had told. 
 
 "Oh yes — I remember; the story of your jriend," said 
 Elizabeth drily, regarding the irises of Lucetta's eyes as 
 though to catch their exact shade. "The two lovers — the 
 old and the new: how she wanted to marry the second, but 
 felt she ought to marry the first; so that the good she 
 would have done she did not, and the evil that she would 
 not, that she did — exactly like the Apostle Paul." 
 
 "Oh no; she didn't do evil exactly!" said Lucetta hastily. 
 
 "But you said that she — or as I may say you" — answered 
 Elizabeth, dropping the mask, "were in honour and con- 
 science bound to marry the first?" 
 
 Lucetta's blush at being seen through came and went 
 again before she replied anxiously, "You will never breathe 
 this, will you, Elizabeth- Jane?" 
 
304 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Certainly not, if you say not." 
 
 "Then I will tell you that the case is more complicated — 
 worse, in fact — than it seemed in my story. I and the first 
 man were thrown together in a strange way, and felt that 
 we ought to be united, as the world had talked of us. He 
 was a widower, as he supposed. He had not heard of his 
 first wife for many years. But the wife returned, and we 
 parted. She is now dead; and the husband comes paying 
 me addresses again, saying, 'Now we'll complete our pur- 
 pose.' But, Elizabeth- Jane, all this amounts to a new court- 
 ship of me by him; I was absolved from all vows by the 
 return of the other woman." 
 
 "Have you not lately renewed your promise?" said the 
 younger with quiet surmise. She had divined Man Number 
 One. 
 
 "That was wrung from me by a threat." 
 
 "Yes, it was. But I think when any one gets coupled up 
 with a man in the past so unfortunately as you have done, 
 she ought to become his wife, if she can, even if she were 
 not the sinning party." 
 
 Lucetta's countenance lost its sparkle. "He turned out 
 to be a man I should be afraid to marry," she pleaded. 
 "Really afraid! And it was not till after my renewed prom- 
 ise that I knew it." 
 
 "Then there is only one course left to honesty. You must 
 remain a single woman." 
 
 "But think again! Do consider " 
 
 "I am certain," interrupted her companion hardily, "I 
 have guessed very well who the man is. My father; and I 
 ■ say it is him or nobody for you." 
 
 Any suspicion of impropriety was to Elizabeth- Jane like 
 a red rag to a bull. Her craving for correctness of procedure 
 was, indeed, almost vicious. Owing to her early troubles 
 with regard to her mother, a semblance of irregularity had 
 terrors for her which those whose names are safeguarded 
 from suspicion know nothing of. "You ought to marry Mr. 
 Henchard or nobody — certainly not another man!" she went 
 on with a quivering lip, in whose movement two passions 
 shared. 
 
 "I don't admit that I" said Lucetta passionately. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 203 
 
 "Admit it or not, it is true!" 
 
 Lucetta covered her eyes with her right hand, as if she 
 could plead no more, holding out her left to Elizabeth- Jane. 
 
 "Why, you have married him!" cried the latter, jumping 
 up with pleasure after a glance at Lucetta's fingers. "When 
 did you do it? Why did you not tell me, instead of teas- 
 ing me like this? How very honourable of youl He did 
 treat my mother badly once, it seems, in a moment of intoxi- 
 cation. And it is true that he is stern sometimes. But you 
 will rule him entirely, I am sure, with your beauty and 
 wealth and accomplishments. You are the woman he will 
 adore, and we shall all three be happy together now!" 
 
 "Oh, my Elizabeth-Jane!" cried Lucetta distressfully. 
 " 'Tis somebody else that I have married! I was so des- 
 perate — so afraid of being forced to anything else — so 
 afraid of revelations that would quench his love for me, that 
 I resolved to do it off-hand, come what might, and purchase 
 a week of happiness at any cost! " 
 
 "You — ^have — ^married Mr. Farfrae!" cried Elizabeth- 
 Jane, in Nathan tones. 
 
 Lucetta bowed. She had recovered herself. 
 
 "The bells are ringing on that account," she said. "My 
 husband is downstairs. He wiU live here till a more suitable 
 house is ready for us; and I have told him that I want 
 you to stay with me just as before." 
 
 "Let me think of it alone," the girl quickly replied, cork- 
 ing up the turmoil of her feeling with grand control. 
 
 "You shall. I am sure we shall be happy together." 
 
 Lucetta departed to join Donald below, a vague uneasi- 
 ness floating over her joy at seeing him quite at home there. 
 Not on account of her friend Elizabeth did she feel it: for 
 of the bearings of Elizabeth- Jane's emotions she had not the 
 least suspicion; but on Henchard's alone. 
 
 Now the instant decision of Susan Henchard's daughter 
 was to dwell in that house no more. Apart from her esti- 
 mate of the propriety of Lucetta's conduct, Farfrae had 
 been so nearly het avowed lover that she felt she could not 
 abide there. 
 
 It was still early in the evening when she hastily put on 
 her things and went out. In a few minutes, knowing the 
 
2o6 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ground, she had found suitable lodging, and arranged to en- 
 ter it that night. Returning and entering noiselessly she 
 took off her pretty dress and arrayed herself in a plain one, 
 packing up the other to keep as her best; for she would have 
 to be very economical now. She wrote a note to leave for 
 Lucetta, who was closely shut up in the drawing-room with 
 Farfrae; and then Elizabeth- Jane called a man with a wheel- 
 barrow; and seeing her boxes put into it she trotted off down 
 the street to her rooms. They were in the street in which 
 Henchard lived, and almost opposite his door. 
 
 Here she sat down and considered the means of subsist- 
 ence. The little annual sum settled on her by her step- 
 father would keep body and soul together. A wonderful 
 skill in netting of all sorts — acquired in childhood by making 
 seines in Newson's home — might serve her in good stead; 
 and her studies, which were pursued unremittingly, might 
 serve her in still better. 
 
 By this time the marriage that had taken place was known 
 throughout Casterbridge; had been discussed noisily on 
 kerbstones, confidentially behind counters, and jovially at 
 the Three Mariners. Whether Farfrae would sell his busi- 
 ness and set up for a gentleman on his wife's money,. or 
 whether he would show independence enough to stick to his 
 trade in spite of his brilliant alliance, was a great point of 
 interest. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 The retort of the furmity- woman before the magistrates had 
 spread ; and in four-and-twenty hours there was not a person 
 in Casterbridge who remained unacquainted with the story 
 of Henchaid's mad freak at Weydon Priors Fair, long years 
 before. The amends he had made in after life were lost 
 sight of in the dramatic glare of the original act. Had the 
 incident been well-known of old and always, it might by 
 this time have grown to be lightly regarded as the rather tall 
 wild oat, but well-nigh the single one, of a young man with 
 whom the steady and mature (if somewhat headstrong) 
 burgher of to-day had scarcely a point in common. But tie 
 act having lain as dead and buried ever since, the interspace 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 207 
 
 of years was unperceived; and the black spot of his youth 
 wore the aspect of a recent crime. 
 
 Small as the court incident had been in itself, it formed 
 the edge or turn in the incline of Henchard's fortunes. On 
 that day — almost at that minute — he passed the ridge of 
 prosperity and honour, and began to descend rapidly on the 
 other side. It was strange how soon he sank in esteem. So- 
 cially he had received a startling fillip downwards; and, hav- 
 ing already lost commercial buoyancy from rash transac- 
 tions, the velocity of his descent in both aspects became ac- 
 celerated every hour. 
 
 He now gazed more at the pavements, and less at the 
 house-fronts, when he walked about; more at the feet and 
 leggings of men, and less into the pupils of their eyes with 
 the blazing regard which formerly had made them blink. 
 
 New events combined to undo him. It had been a bad 
 year for others besides himself, and the heavy failure of a 
 debtor whom he had trusted generously completed the over- 
 throw of his tottering credit. And now, in his desperatioUj 
 he failed to preserve that strict correspondence between bulk 
 and sample, which is the soul of commerce in grain. For 
 this, one of his men was mainly to blame; that worthy, in 
 his great unwisdom, having picked over the sample of an 
 enormous quantity of second-rate corn which Henchard had 
 in hand, and removed the pinched, blasted, and smutted 
 grains in great numbers. The produce, if honestly offered, 
 would have created no scandal; but the blunder of misrep- 
 resentation, coming at such a moment, dragged Henchard's 
 name into the ditch. 
 
 The details of his failure were of the ordinary kind. One 
 day Elizabeth- Jane was passing the King's Arms, when she 
 saw people bustling in and out more than usual when there 
 was no market. A bystander informed her, with some sur- 
 prise at her ignorance, that it was a meeting of the Com- 
 missioners under Mr. Henchard's bankruptcy. She felt 
 quite tearful, and when she heard that he was present in the 
 hotel she wished to go in and see him, but was advised not 
 to intrude that day. 
 
 The room in which debtor and creditors had assembled 
 was a front one, and Henchard, looking out of the window, 
 
3o8 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 had caught sight of Elizabeth- Jane through the wire blind. 
 His examination had closed, and the creditors were leaving. 
 The appearance of Elizabeth threw him into a reverie; till, 
 turning his face from the window, and towering above all 
 the rest, he called their attention for a moment more. His 
 countenance had somewhat changed from its flush of pros- 
 perity; the black hair and whiskers were the same as ever, 
 but a film of ash was over the rest. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "over and above the assets that 
 we've been talking about, and that appear on the balance- 
 sheet, there be these. It all belongs to ye, as much as every- 
 thing else I've got, and I don't wish to keep it from you, 
 not I." Saying this, he took his gold watch from his pocket, 
 and laid it on tlie table; then his purse — the yellow canvas 
 money-bag, such as was carried by all farmers and dealers — 
 untying it, and shaking the money out upon the table be- 
 side the watch. The latter he drew back quickly for an in- 
 stant, to remove the hair-guard made and given him by Lu- 
 cetta. "There, now you have all I've got in the world," he 
 said. "And I wish for your sakes 'twas more." 
 
 The creditors, farmers almost to a man, looked at the 
 watch, and at the money, and into the street; when Farmer 
 James Everdene spoke. 
 
 "No, no, Henchard," he said warmly. "We don't want 
 that. 'Tis honourable in ye; but keep it. What do you 
 say, neighbours — do ye agree?" 
 
 "Ay, sure: we don't wish it at all," said Grower, another 
 creditor. 
 
 "Let him keep it, of course," murmured another in the 
 background — a silent, reserved young man, named Bold- 
 wood; and the rest responded unanimously. 
 
 "Well," said the senior Commissioner, addressing Hen- 
 chard, "though the case is a desperate one, I am bound to 
 admit that I have never met a debtor who behaved more 
 fairly. I've proved the balance-sheet to be as honestly 
 made out as it could possibly be; we have had no trouble; 
 there have been no evasions and no concealments. The 
 rashness of dealing which led to this unhappy situation is 
 obvious enough; but as far as I can see every attempt has 
 been made to avoid wronging anybody." 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 209 
 
 Henchard was more affected by this than he cared to let 
 them perceive, and he turned aside to the window again. 
 A general murmur of agreement followed the Commission- 
 ers' words; and the meeting dispersed. When they were 
 gone Henchard regarded the watch they had returned to 
 him. " 'Tisn't mine by rights," he said to himself. "Why 
 the devil didn't they take it? — I don't want what don^'t be- 
 long to me! " Moved by a recollection he took the watch to 
 the maker's just opposite, sold it there and then for what 
 the tradesman offered, and went with the proceeds to one 
 among the smaller of his creditors, a cottager of Dumover, 
 in straitened circumstances, to whom he handed the money. 
 
 When everything was ticketed that Henchard had owned, 
 and the auctions were in progress, there was quite a sym- 
 pathetic reaction in the town, which till then for some time 
 past had done nothing but condemn him. Now that Hen- 
 chard's whole career was pictured distinctly to his neigh- 
 bours, and they could see how admirably he had used his one 
 talent of energy to create a position of affluence out of ab- 
 solutely nothing — which was really all he could show when 
 he came to the town as a journejmian hay-trusser, with his 
 wimble and knife in his basket — they wondered and regret- 
 ted his fall. 
 
 Try as she might, Elizabeth could never meet with him. 
 She believed in him still, though nobody else did; and she 
 wanted to be allowed to forgive him for his roughness to 
 her, and to help him in his trouble. 
 
 She wrote to him; he did not reply. She then went to 
 his house — the great house she had lived in so happily for 
 a time — with its front of dun brick, vitrified here and diere, 
 and its heavy sash-bars — ^but Henchard was to be found 
 there no more. The ex-Mayor had left the home of his pros- 
 perity, and gone into Jopp's cottage by the Priory Mill — 
 the sad purlieu to which he had wandered on the night of 
 his discovery that she was not his daughter. Thither she 
 went. 
 
 Elizabeth thought it odd that he had fixed on this spot 
 to retire to, but assumed that necessity had no choice. 
 Trees which seemed old enough to have been planted by 
 the friars still stood around, and the back hatch of the 
 
210 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 original mill yet formed a cascade which had raised its ter- 
 rific roar for centuries. The cottage itself was built of old 
 stones from the long dismantled Priory, scraps of tracery, 
 moulded window-jambs, and arch-labels, being mixed in with 
 the rubble of the walls. 
 
 In this cottage he occupied a couple of rooms, Jopp, whom 
 Henchard had employed, abused, cajoled, and dismissed by 
 turns, being the householder. But even here her stepfather 
 could not be seen. 
 
 "Not by his daughter?" pleaded Elizabeth. 
 
 "By nobody — at present: that's his order," she was in- 
 formed. 
 
 Afterwards she was passing by the corn-stores and hay- 
 barns which had been the headquarters of his business. She 
 knew that he ruled there no longer; but it was with amaze- 
 ment that she regarded the familiar gateway. A smear of 
 decisive lead-coloured paint had been laid on to obliterate 
 Henchard's name, though its letters dimly loomed through 
 like ships in a fog. Over these, in fresh white, spread the 
 name of Farfrae. 
 
 Abel Whittle was edging his skeleton in at the wicket, 
 and she said, "Mr. Farfrae is master here?" 
 
 "Yaas, Miss Henchet," he said, "Mr. Farfrae have bought 
 the concern and all of we work-folk with it; and 'tis better 
 for us than 'twas — though I shouldn't say that to you as a 
 daughter-law. We work harder, but we bain't made afeard 
 now. It was fear made my few poor hairs so thin! No 
 busting out, no slamming of doors, no meddling with yer 
 eternal soul and all that; and though 'tis a shilling a week 
 less I'm the richer man ; for what's all the world if yer mind 
 is always in a larry. Miss Henchet?" 
 
 The intelligence was in a general sense true; and Hench- 
 ard's stores, which had remained in a paralyzed condition 
 during the settlement of his bankruptcy, were stirred into 
 activity again when the new tenant had possession. Thence- 
 forward the full sacks, looped with the shining chain, went 
 scurrying up and down under the cat-head, hairy arms were 
 thrust out from the different door-ways, and the grain was 
 hauled in; trusses of hay were tossed anew in and out 
 of the barns, and the wimbles creaked; while the scales and 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 211 
 
 steelyards began to be busy where guess-work had formerly 
 been the rule. 
 
 XXXII 
 
 Two bridges stood near the lower part of Casterbridge town. 
 The first, of weather-stained brick, was immediately at the 
 end of High Street, where a diverging branch from that 
 thoroughfare ran round to the low-lying Dumover lanes; so 
 that the precincts of the bridge formed the merging point 
 of respectability and indigence. The second bridge, of stone, 
 was further out on the highway — in fact, fairly in the mead- 
 ows, though still within the town boundary. 
 
 These bridges had speaking countenances. Every pro- 
 jection in each was worn down to obtuseness, partly by 
 weather, more by friction from generations of loungers, 
 whose toes and heels had from year to year made restless 
 movements against these parapets, as they had stood there 
 meditating on the aspect of affairs. In the case of the more 
 friable bricks and stones even the flat faces were worn into 
 hollows by the same mixed mechanism. The masonry of 
 the top was clamped with iron at each joint; since it had 
 been no uncommon thing for desperate men to wrench the 
 coping off and throw it down the river, in reckless defiance 
 of the magistrates. 
 
 For to this pair of bridges gravitated all the failures of 
 the town; those who had failed in business, in love, in so- 
 briety, in crime. Why the unhappy hereabout usually 
 chose the bridges for their meditations in preference to a 
 railing, a gate, or a stile, was not so clear. 
 
 There was a marked difference of quality between the 
 personages who haunted the near bridge of brick, and the 
 personages who haunted the far one of stone. Those of 
 lowest character preferred the former, adjoining the town; 
 they did not mind the glare of the public eye. They had 
 been of comparatively no account during their successes; 
 and, though they might feel dispirited, they had no par- 
 ticular sense of shame in their ruin. Their hands were 
 mostly kept in their pockets; they wore a leather strap round 
 their waists, and boots that required a great deal of lacing, 
 
212 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 but seemed never to get any. Instead of sighing at their 
 adversities they spat, and instead of saying the iron had 
 entered into their souls, they said they were down on their 
 luck. Jopp in his times of distress had often stood here; so 
 had Mother Cuxsom, Christopher Coney, and poor Abel 
 Whittle. 
 
 The miserables who would pause on the remoter bridge 
 were of a politer stamp. They included bankrupts, hypo- 
 chondriacs, persons who were what is called "out of a sit- 
 uation" from fault or lucklessness, the inefficient of the 
 professional class — shabby-genteel men, who did not know 
 how to get rid of the weary time between breakfast and 
 dinner, and the yet more weary time between dinner and 
 dark. The eyes of this species were mostly directed over the 
 parapet upon the running water below. A man seen there 
 looking thus fixedly into the river was pretty sure to be one 
 whom the world did not treat kindly for some reason or 
 other. While one in straits on the townward bridge did not 
 mind who saw him so, and kept his back to the parapet to 
 survey the passers-by, one in straits on this never faced 
 the road, never turned his head at coming footsteps, but, 
 sensitive to his own condition, watched the current when- 
 ever a stranger approached, as if some strange fish inter- 
 ested him, though every finned thing had been poached out 
 of the river years before. 
 
 There and thus they would muse; if their grief were the 
 grief of oppression they would wish themselves kings; if 
 their grief were poverty, wish themselves millionaires; if 
 sin, they would wish they were saints or angels; if despised 
 love, that they were some much-courted Adonis of county 
 fame. Some had been known to stand and think so long 
 with this fixed gaze downward, that eventually they had 
 allowed their poor carcases to follow that gaze; and they 
 were discovered the next morning in the pool beneath out 
 of reach of their troubles. 
 
 To this bridge came Henchard, as other unfortunates had 
 come before him, his way thither being by the riverside path 
 on the chilly edge of the town. Here he was standing one 
 windy afternoon when Dumover church clock struck five. 
 While the gusts were bringing the notes to his ears across 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 213 
 
 the damp intervening flat a man passed behind him, and 
 greeted Henchard by name. Henchard turned slightly, and 
 saw that the comer was Jopp, his old foremaa, now em- 
 ployed elsewhere, to whom, though he hated him, he had 
 gone for lodgings because Jopp was the one man in Caster- 
 bridge whose observation and opinion the fallen corn-mer- 
 chant despised to the point of indifference. 
 
 Henchard returned him a scarcely perceptible nod, and 
 Jopp stopped. 
 
 "He and she are gone into their new house to-day," said 
 Jopp. 
 
 "Oh," said Henchard absently. "Which house is that?" 
 
 "Your old one." 
 
 "Gone into my house?" And, starting up, Henchard add- 
 ed, "My house of all others in the town!" 
 
 "Well, as somebody was sure to live there, and you 
 couldn't, it can do ye no harm that he's the man." 
 
 It was quite true: he felt that it was doing him no harm. 
 Farfrae, who had already taken the yards and stores, had 
 acquired possession of the house for the obvious convenience 
 of its contiguity. And yet this act of his taking up resi- 
 dence within those roomy chambers while he, their former 
 tenant, lived in a cottage, galled Henchard indescriba- 
 bly. 
 
 Jopp continued: "And you heard of that fellow who 
 bought all the best furniture at your sale? He was bidding 
 for no other than Farfrae all the while! It has never been 
 moved out of the house, as he'd already got the lease." 
 
 "My furniture too! Surely he'll buy my body and soul 
 likewise!" 
 
 "There's no sa3ang he won't, if you be willing to sell." 
 And having planted these wounds in the heart of his once 
 imperious master, Jopp went on his way; while Henchard 
 stared and stared into the racing river till the bridge seemed 
 moving backivard with him. 
 
 The low land grew blacker, and the sky a deeper grey. 
 When the landscape looked like a picture blotted in with 
 ink, another traveller approached the great stone bridge. 
 He was driving a gig, his direction being also townwards. 
 On the round of the middle of the arch the gig stopped. 
 
214 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Mr. Henchard?" came from it in the voice of Farfrae. 
 Henchard turned his face. 
 
 Finding that he had guessed rightly, Farfrae told the man 
 who accompanied him to drive home; while he alighted, and 
 went up to his former friend, 
 
 "I have heard that you think of emigrating, Mr. Hen- 
 chard," he said. "Is it true? I have a real reason for ask- 
 ing." 
 
 Henchard withheld his answer for several instants, and 
 then said, "Yes; it is true. I am going where you were go- 
 ing to a few years ago, when I prevented you and got you 
 to bide here. 'Tis turn and turn about, isn't it! Do ye 
 mind how we stood like this in the Chalk Walk when I per- 
 suaded ye to stay? You then stood without a chattel to 
 your name, and I was the master of the house in Corn 
 Street. But now I stand without a stick or a rag, and the 
 master of that house is you." 
 
 "Yes, yes; that's so! It's the way o' the warrld," said 
 Farfrae. 
 
 "Ha, ha, true!" cried Henchard, throwing himself into a 
 mood of jocularity. "Up and down! I'm used to it. What's 
 the odds after all!" 
 
 "Now listen to me, if it's no taking up your time," said 
 Farfrae, "just as I listened to you. Don't go. Stay at 
 home." 
 
 "But I can do nothing else, man!" said Henchard scorn- 
 fully. "The little money I have will just keep body and 
 soul together for a few weeks, and no more. I have not 
 felt inclined to go back to journey-work yet; but 
 I can't stay doing nothing, and my best chance is else- 
 where." 
 
 "No; but what I propose is this — if ye will listen. Come 
 and live in your old house. We can spare some rooms very 
 well — I am sure my wife would not mind it at all — until 
 there's an opening for ye." 
 
 Henchard started. Probably the picture drawn by the 
 ■unsuspecting Donald of himself under the same roof with 
 Lucetta was too striking to be received with equanimity. 
 "No, no," he said gruffly; "we should quarrel." 
 
 "You should hae a part to yourself," said Farfrae; "and 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 215 
 
 nobody to interfere wi' you. It will be a deal healthier 
 than down there by the river where you live now." 
 
 Still Henchard refused. "You don't know what you ask," 
 he said. "However, I can do no less than thank 'ee." 
 
 They walked into the town together side by side, as they 
 had done when Henchard persuaded the young Scotchman 
 to_ remain. "Will you come in and have some supaer?" 
 said Farfrae, when they reached the middle of the town, 
 where their paths diverged right and left. 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 "By-the-bye, I had nearly forgot. I bought a good deal 
 of your furniture." 
 
 "So I have heard." 
 
 "Well, it was no that I wanted it so very much for my- 
 self; but I wish ye to pick out all that you care to have — 
 such things as may be endeared to ye by associations, or 
 particularly suited to your use. And take them to your 
 own house — it will not be depriving me; we can do with less 
 very well, and I will have plenty of opportunities of getting 
 more." 
 
 "What — give it to me for nothing?" said Henchard. "But 
 you paid the creditors for it!" 
 
 "Ah, yes; but maybe it's worth more to you than it is to 
 me." 
 
 Henchard was a little moved. "I — sometimes think I've 
 wronged ye!" he said, in tones which showed the dis- 
 quietude that the night shades hid in his face. He shook 
 Farfrae abruptly by the hand, and hastened away as if un- 
 willing to betray himself further. Farfrae saw him turn 
 through the thoroughfare into Bull Stake and vanish down 
 towards the Priory Mill. 
 
 Meanwhile Elizabeth- Jane, in an upper room no larger 
 than the Prophet's chamber, and with the silk attire of her 
 palmy days packed away in a box, was netting with great 
 industry between the hours which she devoted to stud5nng 
 such books as she could get hold of. 
 
 Her lodgings being nearly opposite her stepfather's former 
 residence, now Farfrae's, she could see Donald and Lucetta 
 speeding in and out of their door with all the bounding 
 enthusiasm of their situation. She avoided looking that way 
 
ai6 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 as much as possible, but it was hardly in human nature to 
 keep the eyes averted when the door slammed. 
 
 While living on thus quietly she heard the news that 
 Henchard had caught cold and was confined to his room — 
 possibly a result of standing about the meads in damp 
 weather. She went off to his house at once. This time 
 she was determined not to be denied admittance, and made 
 her way upstairs. He was sitting up in the bed with a 
 greatcoat round him, and at first resented her intrusion. 
 "Go away — go away," he said. "I don't like to see ye." 
 
 "But, father » 
 
 "I don't like to see ye," he repeated. 
 
 However, the ice was broken, and she remained. She 
 made the room more comfortable, gave directions to the 
 people below, and by the time she went away had recon- 
 ciled her stepfather to her visiting him. 
 
 The effect, either of her ministrations or of her mere pres- 
 ence, was a rapid recovery. He soon was well enough to 
 go out; and now things seemed to wear a new colour in his 
 eyes. He no longer thought of emigration, and thought more 
 of Elizabeth. The having nothing to do made him more 
 dreary than any other circumstance; and one day, with bet- 
 ter views of Farfrae than he had held for some time, and 
 a sense that honest work was not a thing to be ashamed of, 
 he stoically went down to Farfrae's yard and asked to be 
 taken on as a journeyman hay-trusser. He was engaged at 
 once. This hiring of Henchard was done through a fore- 
 man, Farfrae feeling that it was undesirable to come per- 
 sonally in contact with the ex-cornfactor more than was 
 absolutely necessary. While anxious to help him he was 
 well aware by this time of his uncertain temper, and thought 
 reserved relations best. For the same reason his orders to 
 Henchard to proceed to this and that country farm trussing 
 in the usual way were always given through a third person. 
 
 For a time these arrangements worked well, it being the 
 custom to truss in the respective stack-yards, before bringing 
 it away, the hay bought at the different farms about the 
 neighbourhood; so that Henchard was often absent at such 
 places the whole week long. When this was all done, and 
 Henchard had become in a measure broken in, he came to 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERB RIDGE 217 
 
 work daily on the home premises like the rest. And thus 
 the once flourishing merchant and Mayor and what not stood 
 as a day-labourer in the bams and granaries he formerly 
 had owned. 
 
 "I have worked as a journe3mian before now, ha'n't I?" 
 he would say in his defiant way; "and why shouldn't I do 
 it again?" But he looked a far different journeyman from 
 the one he had been in his earlier days. Then he had worn 
 clean, suitable clothes, light and cheerful in hue; leggings 
 yellow as marigolds, corduroys immaculate as new flax, and 
 a neckerchief like a flower-garden. Now he wore the re- 
 mains of an old blue cloth suit of his gentlemanly times, a 
 rusty silk hat, and a once black satin stock, soiled and 
 shabby. Clad thus, he went to and f ~o, still comparatively 
 an active man — for he was not much over forty — and saw 
 with the other men in the yard Donald Farfrae going in 
 and out the green door that led to the garden, and the big 
 house, and Lucetta. 
 
 At the beginning of the winter it was rumoured about Cas- 
 terbridge that Mr. Farfrae, already in the Town Council, 
 was to be proposed for Mayor in a year or two. 
 
 "Yes; she was wise, she was wise in her generation!" said 
 Henchard to himself when he heard of this one day on his 
 way to Farfrae's hay-bam. He thought it over as he wim- 
 bled his bonds, and the piece of news acted as a reviviscent 
 breath to that old view of his — of Donald Farfrae as his 
 triumphant rival who rode rough-shod over him. 
 
 "A fellow of his age going to be Mayor, indeed!" he mur- 
 mured with a corner-drawn smile on his mouth. "But 'tis 
 her money that floats en upward. Ha-ha — how cust odd it 
 is! Here be I, his former master, working for him as man, 
 and he the man standing as master, with my house and my 
 furniture and my what-you-may-call wife all his own." 
 
 He repeated tiiese things a hundred times a day. During 
 the whole period of his acquaintance with Lucetta he had 
 never wished to claim her as his own so desperately as he 
 now regretted her loss. It was no mercenary hankering after 
 her fortune that moved him; though that fortune had been 
 the means of making her so much the more desired by giv- 
 ing her the air of independence and sauciness which attracts 
 
2i8 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 men of his composition. It had given her servants, house, 
 and fine clothing — a setting that invested Lucetta with a 
 startHng novelty in the eyes of him who had known her 
 in her narrow days. 
 
 He accordingly lapsed into moodiness, and at every allu- 
 sion to the possibility of Farfrae's near election to the mu- 
 nicipal chair his former hatred of the Scotchman returned. 
 Concurrently with this he underwent a moral change. It 
 resulted in his significantly saying every now and then, in 
 tones of recklessness, "Only a fortnight more!" — "Only a 
 dozen days!" and so forth, lessening his figures day by day. 
 
 "Why d'ye say only a dozen days?" asked Solomon Long- 
 ways as he worked beside Henchard in the granary weighing 
 oats. 
 
 "Because in twelve days I shall be released from my 
 oath." 
 
 "What oath?" 
 
 "The oath to drink no spirituous liquid. In twelve days 
 it will be twenty years since I swore it, and then I mean to 
 enjoy myself, please God!" 
 
 Elizabeth- jane sat at her window one Sunday, and while 
 there she heard in the street below a conversation which in- 
 troduced Henchard's name. She was wondering what was 
 the matter, when a third person who was passing by asked 
 the question in her mind. 
 
 "Michael Henchard have busted out drinking after taking 
 •i;othing for twenty years!" 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane jumped up, put on her things, and went 
 out. 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 At this date there prevailed in Casterbridge a convivial cus- 
 tom — scarcely recognized as such, yet none the less estab- 
 lished. On the afternoon of every Sunday a large contingent 
 of the Casterbridge journeymen — steady church-goers and 
 sedate characters — having attended service, filed from the 
 church doors across the way to the Three Mariners Inn. 
 The rear was usually brought up by the choir, with their 
 bass-viols, fiddles, and flutes under their arms. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 219 
 
 The great point, the point of honour, on these sacred oc- 
 casions was for each man to strictly limit himself to half-a- 
 pint of liquor. This scrupulosity was so well understood 
 by the landlord, that the whole company was served in cups 
 of that measure. They were all exactly alike — straight- 
 sided, with leafless lime-trees done in eel-brown on the sides 
 — one towards the drinker's lips, the other confronting his 
 comrade. To wonder how many of these cups the landlord 
 possessed altogether was a favourite exercise of children in 
 the marvellous. Forty at least might have been seen at 
 these times in the large room, forming a ring round the 
 margin of the great sixteen-legged oak table, like the mono- 
 lithic circle at Stonehenge in its pristine days. Outside and 
 above the forty cups came a circle of forty smoke-jets from 
 forty clay pipes; outside the pipes the countenances of the 
 forty church-goers, supported at the back by a circle of 
 forty chairs. 
 
 The conversation was not the conversation of week-days, 
 but a thing altogether finer in point and higher in tone. 
 They invariably discussed the sermon, dissecting it, weigh- 
 ing it, as above or below the average — the general tendency 
 being to regard it as a scientific feat or performance which 
 had no relation to their own lives, except as between critics 
 and the thing criticized. The bass-viol player and the clerk 
 usually spoke with more authority than the rest on account 
 of their official connection with the preacher. 
 
 Now the Three Mariners was the inn chosen by Henchard 
 as the place for closing his long term of dramless years. 
 He had so timed his entry as to be well established in the 
 large room by the time the forty church-goers entered to 
 their customary cups. The flush upon his face proclaimed 
 at once that the vow of twenty years had lapsed, and the 
 era of recklessness begun anew. He was seated on a small 
 table, drawn up to the side of the massive oak board re- 
 served for the churchmen, a few of whom nodded to him as 
 they took their places, and said, "How be ye, Mr. Hen- 
 chard? Quite a stranger here." 
 
 Henchard did not take the trouble to reply for a few 
 moments, and his eyes rested on his stretched-out legs and 
 boots. "Yes," he said at length; "that's true. I've been 
 
220 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 down in spirit for weeks; some of ye know the cause. I am 
 better now; but not quite serene. I want you fellows of the 
 choir to strike up a tune; and what with that and this brew 
 of Stannidge's, I am in hopes of getting altogether out of my 
 minor key." 
 
 "With all my heart," said the first fiddle. "We've 
 let back our strings, that's true; but we can soon pull 
 'em up again. Sound A, neighbours, and give the man a 
 stave." 
 
 "I don't care a curse what the words be," said Henchard. 
 "Hymns, ballets, or rantipole rubbish; the Rogue's March 
 or the cherubim's warble — 'tis all the same to me if 'tis 
 good harmony, and well put out." 
 
 "Well — ^heh, heh — it may be we can do that, and not a 
 man among us that have sat in the gallery less than twenty 
 year," said the leader of the band. "As 'tis Sunday, neigh- 
 bours, suppose we raise the Fourth Psa'am, to Samuel Wake- 
 ly's tune, as improved by me?" 
 
 "Hang Samuel Wakely's tune, as improved by thee!" said 
 Henchard. "Chuck across one of your psalters — old Wilt- 
 shire is the only tune worth singing — the psalm-tune that 
 would make my blood ebb and ilow like the sea when I was 
 a steady chap. I'll find some words to fit 'en." He took 
 one of the psalters, and began turning over the leaves. 
 
 Chancing to look out of the window at that moment he 
 saw a flock of people passing by, and perceived them to be 
 the congregation of the upper church, now just dismissed, 
 their sermon having been a longer one than that the lower 
 parish was favoured with. Among the rest of the leading 
 inhabitants walked Mr. Councillor Farfrae, with Lucetta 
 upon his arm, the observed and imitated of all the smaller 
 tradesmen's womankind. Henchard's mouth changed a lit- 
 tle, and he continued to turn over the leaves. 
 
 "Now then," he said, "Psalm the Hundred-and-Ninth, 
 to the tune of Wiltshire: verses ten to fifteen. I gi'e ye the 
 words: 
 
 " 'His seed shall orphans be, his wife 
 A widow plunged in grief; 
 His vagrant children beg their bread 
 Where none can give relief. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 22* 
 
 '"His ill-got riches shall be made 
 To usurers a prey; 
 The fruit of all his toil shall be 
 By strangers borne away. 
 
 " 'None shall be found that to his wants 
 Their mercy will extend, 
 Or to his helpless orphan seed 
 The least assistance lend. 
 
 'A swift destruction soon shall seize 
 
 On his unhappy race; 
 And the next age his hated name 
 
 Shall utterly deface.'" 
 
 "I know the Psa'am— I know the Psa'am! " said the leader 
 hastily; "but I would as lief not sing it. 'Twasn't made for 
 singing. We chose it once when the gipsy stole the pa'son's 
 mare, thinking to please him, but he were quite upset. 
 Whatever Servant David were thinking about when he made 
 a Psalm that nobody can sing without disgracing himself, I 
 can't fathom! Now then, the Fourth Psalm, to Samuel 
 Wakely's tune, as improved by me." 
 
 " 'Od seize your sauce — I tell ye to sing the Hundred- 
 and-Ninth, to Wiltshire, and sing it you shall!" roared 
 Henchard. "Not a single one of all the droning crew of 
 ye goes out of this room till that Psalm is sung! " He slipped 
 off the table, seized the poker, and going to the door placed 
 his back against it. "Now then, go ahead, if you don't wish 
 to have your cust pates broke!" 
 
 "Don't 'ee, don't 'ee take on so!. — ^As 'tis the Sabbath- 
 day, and 'tis Servant David's words and not ours, perhaps 
 we don't mind for once, hey?" said one of the terrified 
 choir, looking round upon the rest. So the instruments were 
 tuned and the comminatory verses sung. 
 
 "Thank ye, thank ye," said Henchard in a softened voice, 
 his eyes growing downcast, and his manner that of a man 
 much moved by the strains. "Don't you blame David," he 
 went on in low tones, shaking his head without raising his 
 eyes. "He knew what he was about when he wrote that! 
 ... If I could afford it, be hanged if I wouldn't keep a 
 church choir at my own expense to play and sing to me at 
 these low, dark times of my life. But the bitter thing is, 
 
222 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 that when I was rich I didn't need what I could have, and 
 now I be poor I can't have what I need!" 
 
 While they paused, Lucetta and Farfrae passed again, this 
 time homeward, it being their custom to take, like others, a 
 short walk out on the highway and back, between church 
 and tea-time. "There's the man We've been singing about," 
 said Henchard. 
 
 The players and singers turned their heads, and saw his 
 meaning. "Heaven forbid!" said the bass-player. 
 
 " 'Tis the man," repeated Henchard doggedly. 
 
 "Then if I'd known," said the performer on the clarionet 
 solemnly, "that 'twas meant for a living man, nothing should 
 have drawn out of my wynd-pipe the breath for that Psalm, 
 so help me!" 
 
 "Nor from mine," said the first singer. "But, thought I, 
 as it was made so long ago, and so far away, perhaps there 
 isn't much in it, so I'll oblige a neighbour; for there's noth- 
 ing to be said against the tune." 
 
 "Ah, my boys, you've sung it," cried Henchard trium- 
 phantly. "As for him, it was partly by his songs that he got 
 over me, and heaved me out. ... I could double him up 
 like that — and yet I don't." He laid the poker across his 
 knee, bent it as if it were a twig, flung it down, and came 
 away from the door. 
 
 It was at this time that Elizabeth- Jane, having heard 
 where her stepfather was, entered the room with a pale and 
 agonized countenance. The choir and the rest of the com- 
 pany moved off, in accordance with their half-pint regulation. 
 Elizabeth- Jane went up to Henchard, and entreated him to 
 accompany her home. 
 
 By this hour the volcanic fires of his nature had burnt 
 down, and having drunk no great quantity as yet, he was 
 inclined to acquiesce. She took his arm, and together they 
 went on. Henchard walked blankly, like a blind man, re- 
 peating to himself the last words of the singers — 
 
 "And the next age his hated name 
 Shall utterly deface I" 
 
 At length he said to her, "I am a man to my word. I have 
 kept my oath for twenty years; and now I can drink with a 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 223 
 
 good conscience. . . . If I don't do for him — ^well, I am a 
 fearful practical joker when I choose! He has taken away 
 everything from me, and by heavens, if I meet him I won't 
 answer for my deeds I" 
 
 These half -uttered words alarmed Elizabeth — all the more 
 by reason of the still determination of Henchard's mien. 
 
 "What will you do?" she asked cautiously, while trembling 
 with disquietude, and guessing Henchard's allusion only too 
 well. 
 
 Henchard did not answer, and they went on till they had 
 reached his cottage. "May I come in?" she said. 
 
 "No, no; not to-day," said Henchard; and she went away; 
 feeling that to caution Farfrae was almost her duty, as it was 
 certainly her strong desire. 
 
 As on the Sunday, so on the week-days, Farfrae and Lu- 
 cetta might have been seen flitting about the town like two 
 butterflies — or rather like a bee and a butterfly in league 
 for life. She seemed to take no pleasure in going anywhere 
 except in her husband's company; and hence when business 
 would not permit him to waste an afternoon she remained in- 
 doors, waiting for the time to pass till his return, her face 
 being visible to Elizabeth- Jane from her window aloft. The 
 latter, however, did not say to herself that Farfrae should 
 be thankful for such devotion, but, full of her reading, she 
 cited Rosalind's exclamation: "Mistress, know yourself; 
 down on your knees and thank Heaven fasting for a good 
 man's love." 
 
 She kept her eye upon Henchard also. One day he an^ 
 swered her inquiry for his health by saying that he could 
 not endure Abel Whittle's pitying eyes upon him while they 
 worked together in the yard. "He is such a fool," said 
 Henchard, "that he can never get out of his mind the time 
 when I was master there." 
 
 "I'll come and wimble for you instead of him, if you will 
 allow me," said she. Her motive on going to the yard was 
 to get an opportunity of observing the general position of 
 affairs on Farfrae's premises now that her stepfather was a 
 workman there. Henchard's threats had alarmed her so 
 much, that she wished to see his behaviour when the two 
 were face to face. 
 
224 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 For two or three days after her arrival Donald did not 
 make any appearance. Then one afternoon the green door 
 opened, and through came, first Farfrae, and at his heels 
 Lucetta. Donald brought his wife forward without hesita- 
 tion, it being obvious that he had no suspicion whatever of 
 any antecedents in commt)n between her and the now jour- 
 ne}mian hay-trusser. 
 
 Henchard did not turn his eyes toward either of the pair, 
 keeping them fixed on the bond he twisted, as if that alone 
 absorbed him. A feeling of delicacy, which ever prompted 
 Farfrae to avoid anything that might seem like triumphing 
 over a fallen rival, led him to keep away from the hay-bam 
 where Henchard and his daughter were working, and to go 
 on to the com department. Meanwhile Lucetta, never hav- 
 ing been informed that Henchard had entered her husband's 
 service, rambled straight on to the bam, where she came 
 suddenly upon Henchard, and gave vent to a little "Oh!" 
 which the happy and busy Donald was too far off to hear. 
 Henchard, with withering humility of demeanour, touched 
 the brim of his hat to her as Whittle and the rest had done, 
 to which she breathed a dead-alive "Good afternoon." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, ma'am?" said Henchard, as if he had 
 not heard. 
 
 "I said good aftemoon," she faltered. 
 
 "Oh, yes, good aftemoon, ma'am," he replied, touching his 
 hat again. "I am glad to see you, ma'am." Lucetta looked 
 embarrassed, and Henchard continued: "For we humble 
 workmen here feel it a great honour that a lady should look 
 in and take an interest in us." 
 
 She glanced at him entreatingly; the sarcasm was too bit- 
 ter, too unendurable. 
 
 "Can you tell me the time, ma'am?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she said hastily; "half-past four." 
 
 "Thank ye. An hour and a half longer before we are re- 
 leased from work. Ah, ma'am, we of the lower classes know 
 nothing of the gay leisure that such as you enjoy!" 
 
 As soon as she could do so Lucetta left him, nodded and 
 smiled to Elizabeth- Jane, and joined her husband at the 
 other end of the enclosure, where she could be seen leading 
 him away by the outer gates, so as to avoid passing Hen- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 223- 
 
 chard again. That she had been taken by surprise was ob- 
 vious. The result of this casual rencounter was that the 
 next morning a note was put into Henchard's hand by the 
 postman. 
 
 "Will you," said Lucetta, with as much bitterness as she 
 could put into a small communication, "will you kindly 
 undertake not to speak to me in the biting under- 
 tones you used to-day, if I walk through the yard at any 
 time? I bear you no ill-will, and I am only too glad that 
 you should have employment of my dear husband; but in 
 common fairness treat me as his wife, and do not try to makft 
 me wretched by covert sneers. I have committed no crime, 
 and done you no injury." 
 
 "Poor fool!" said Henchard with fond savagery, holding 
 out the note. "To know no better than commit herself in 
 writing like this! Why, if I were to show that to her dear 
 husband — pooh!" He threw the letter into the fire. 
 
 Lucetta took care not to come again among the hay and 
 corn. She would rather have died than run the risk of 
 encountering Henchard at such close quarters a second time. 
 The gulf between them was growing wider every day. Far- 
 frae was always considerate to his fallen acquaintance; but 
 it was impossible that he should not, by degrees, cease to re- 
 gard the ex-corn-merchant as more than one of his other 
 workmen. Henchard saw this, and concealed his feelings 
 under a cover of stolidity, fortifying his heart by drinking 
 more freely at the Three Mariners every evening. 
 
 Often did Elizabeth- Jane, in her endeavours to prevent his 
 taking other liquor, carry tea to him in a little basket at 
 five o'clock. Arriving one day on this errand, she found her 
 stepfather was measuring up clover-seed and rape-seed in the 
 corn-stores on the top floor, and she ascended to him. Each 
 fioor had a door opening into the air under a cat-head, from 
 which a chain dangled for hoisting the sacks. 
 
 When Elizabeth's head rose through the trap she perceived 
 that the upper door was open, and that her stepfather and 
 Farfrae stood just within it in conversation, Farfrae being 
 nearest the dizzy edge, and Henchard a little way behind. 
 Not to interrupt them she remained on the steps without 
 raising her head any higher. While waiting thus she saw — 
 
226 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 or fancied she saw, for she had a terror of feeling certain — 
 her stepfather slowly raise his hand to a level behind Far- 
 frae's shoulders, a curious expression taking possession of his 
 face. The young man was quite unconscious of the action, 
 which was so indirect that, if Farfrae had observed it, he 
 might almost have regarded it as an idle outstretching of the 
 arm. But it would have been possible, by a comparatively 
 light touch, to push Farfrae off his balance, and send him 
 head over heels into the air. 
 
 Elizabeth felt quite sick at heart on thinking of what this 
 might have meant. As soon as they turned she mechanically 
 took the tea to Henchard, left it, and went away. Reflect- 
 ing, she endeavoured to assure herself that the movement 
 was an idle eccentricity, and no more. Yet, on the other 
 hand, his subordinate position in an establishment where he 
 once had been master might be acting on him like an irritant 
 poison; and she finally resolved to caution Donald. 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 Next morning, accordingly, she rose at five o'clock, and 
 went into the street. It was not yet light; a dense fog pre- 
 vailed, and the town was as silent as it was dark, except that 
 from the rectangular avenues which framed in the borough 
 there came a chorus of tiny rappings, caused by the fall of 
 water drops condensed on the boughs; now it was wafted 
 from the West Walk, now from the South Walk; and then 
 from both quarters simultaneously. She moved on to the 
 bottom of Corn Street, and, knowing his time well, waited 
 only a few minutes before she heard the familiar bang of 
 his door, and then his quick walk towards her. She met him 
 at the point where the last tree of the engirding avenue 
 flanked the last house in the street. 
 
 He could hardly discern her till, glancing inquiringly, he 
 said, "What — Miss Henchard — and are ye up so early?" 
 
 She asked him to pardon her for waylaying him at such an 
 unseemly time. "But I am anxious to mention something," 
 she said. "And I wished not to alarm Mrs. Farfrae by call- 
 ing." 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 227 
 
 "Yes?" said he, with the cheeriness of a superior. "And 
 what may it be? It's very liind of ye, I'm sure." 
 
 She now felt the difficulty of conveying to his mind the 
 exact aspect of possibilities in her own. But she somehow 
 began, and introduced Henchard's name. "I sometimes 
 fear," she said with an effort, "that he may be betrayed into 
 some attempt to — insult you, sir." 
 
 "But we are the best of friends?" 
 
 "Or to play some practical joke upon you, sir. Remembei 
 that he has been hardly used." 
 
 "But we are quite friendly?" 
 
 "Or to do something — that would injure you — hurt you— 
 wound you." Every word cost her twice its length of pain. 
 And she could see that Farfrae was still incredulous. Hen- 
 chard, a poor man in his employ, was not, to Farfrae's view, 
 the Henchard who had ruled him. Yet he was not only the 
 same man, but that man, with his sinister qualities, formerly 
 latent, quickened into life by his buffetings. 
 
 Farfrae, happy, and thinking no evil, persisted in making 
 light of her fears. Thus they parted, and she went home- 
 ward, journeymen now being in the street, waggoners going 
 to the harness-makers for articles left to be repaired, farm- 
 horses going to the shoeing-smiths, and the sons of labour be- 
 ing generally on the move. Elizabeth entered her lodging 
 unhappily, thinking she had done no good, and only made 
 herself appear foolish by her weak note of warning. 
 
 But Donald Farfrae was one of those men upon whom an 
 incident is never absolutely lost. He revised impressions 
 from a subsequent point of view, and the impulsive judg- 
 ment of the moment was not always his permanent one. 
 The vision of Elizabeth's earnest face in the rimy dawn came 
 back to him several times during the day. Knowing the 
 solidity of her character, he did not treat her hints alto- 
 gether as idle sounds. 
 
 But he did not desist from a kindly scheme on Henchard's 
 account that engaged him just then; and when he met Law- 
 yer Joyce, the town-clerk, later in the day, he spoke of it as 
 if nothing had occurred to damp it. 
 
 "About that little seedsman's shop," he said; "the shop 
 overlooking the chuchyard, which is to let. It is not for 
 
B28 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 myself I want it, but for our unlucky fellow- townsman, Tiea- 
 chard. It would be a new beginning for him, if a small one; 
 and I have told the Council that I would head a private 
 subscription among them to set him up in it — that I would 
 be fifty pounds, if they would make up the other fifty 
 among them." 
 
 "Yes, yes; so I've heard; and there's nothing to say 
 against it for that matter," the town-clerk replied, in his 
 plain, frank way. "But, Farfrae, others see what you don't. 
 Henchard hates ye — ay, hates ye; and 'tis right that you 
 should know it. To my knowledge he was at the Three 
 Mariners last night, saying in public that about you which a 
 man ought not to say about another." 
 
 "Is that so — and is that so?" said Farfrae, looking down. 
 "Why should he do it?" added the young man bitterly; 
 "what harm have I done him that he should try to wrong 
 me?" 
 
 "God only knows," said Joyce, lifting his eyebrows. "It 
 shows much long-suffering in you to put up with him, and 
 keep fiim in your employ." 
 
 "But I cannet discharge a man who was once a good friend 
 to me? How can I forget that when I came here 'twas he 
 enabled me to make a footing for mysel'? No, no. As long 
 as I've a day's wark to offer he shall do it if he chooses. 
 Tis not I who will deny him such a little as that. But I'll 
 drop the idea of establishing him in a shop till I can think 
 more about it." 
 
 It grieved Farfrae much to give up this scheme. But a 
 damp having been thrown over it by these and other voices 
 in the air, he went and countermanded his orders. The then 
 occupier of the shop was in it when Farfrae spoke to him, 
 and feeling it necessary to give some explanation of his with- 
 drawal from the negotiation, Donald mentioned Henchard's 
 name, and stated that the intentions of the Council had been 
 changed. 
 
 The occupier was much disappointed, and straightway in- 
 formed Henchard, as soon as he saw him, that a scheme of 
 the Council for setting him up in a shop had been knocked 
 on the head by Farfrae. And thus out of error enmity grew. 
 
 When Farfrae got indoors that evening the teakettle was 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 22? 
 
 singing on the high hob of the semi-egg-shaped grate. Lu- 
 cetta, light as a sylph, ran forward and seized his hands, 
 whereupon Farfrae duly kissed her. 
 
 "Oh!" she cried playfully, turning to the window. "See 
 ■ — the blinds are not drawn down, and the people can look 
 in — what a scandal!" 
 
 When the candles were lighted, the curtains drawn, and 
 the twain, sat at tea, she noticed that he looked serious. 
 Without directly inquiring why, she let her eyes linger so- 
 licitously on his face. 
 
 "Who has called?" he absently asked. "Any folk foir 
 me?" 
 
 "No," said Lucetti. "What's the matter, Donald?" 
 
 "Well — nothing worth talking of," he responded sadly. 
 
 "Then, never mind it. You will get through it. Scotch- 
 men are always lucky." 
 
 "No — not always!" he said, shaking his head gloomily as 
 he contemplated a crumb on the table. "I know many who 
 have not been so! There was Sandy Macfarlane, who 
 started to America to try his fortune, and he was drowned ; 
 and Archibald Leith, he was murdered! And poor Willie 
 Dunbleeze and Maitland Macfreeze — they fell into bad 
 courses, and went the way of all such!" 
 
 "Why — you old goosey — I was only speaking in a genera! 
 sense, of course! You are always so literal. Now vAen 
 we have finished tea, sing me that funny song about high~ 
 heeled shoon and siller tags, and the one-and-forty wooers." 
 
 "No, no. I couldna sing to-night! It's Henchard — he 
 hates me; so that I may net be his friend if I would. I 
 would understand why there should be a wee bit envy; but 
 I cannet see a reason for the whole intensity of what he 
 feels. Now, can you, Lucetta? It is more like old-fasb- 
 ioned rivalry in love than just a bit of rivalry in trade." 
 
 Lucetta had grown somewhat wan. "No," she replied. 
 
 "I give him employment — I cannet refuse it. But neither 
 can I blind myself to the fact that with a man of passions 
 such as his, there is no safeguard for conduct! " 
 
 "What have you heard — O Donald, dearest?" said Lu- 
 cetta in alarm. The words on her lips were "anything 
 about me?" — but she did not utter them. She could not, 
 
230 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 however, suppress hei' agitation, and her eyes filled with 
 tears. 
 
 "No, no — it is not so serious as ye fancy," declared Far- 
 frae soothingly; though he did not know its seriousness so 
 well as she. 
 
 "I wish you would do what we have talked of," mourn- 
 fully remarked Lucetta. "Give up business, and go away 
 from here. We have plenty of money, and why should we 
 stay?" 
 
 Farfrae seemed seriously disposed to discuss this move, 
 and they talked thereon till a visitor was announced. Their 
 neighbour Alderman Vatt came in. 
 
 "You've heard, I suppose, of poor Doctor Chalkfield's 
 death? Yes — died this afternoon at five," said Mr. Vatt. 
 Chalkfield was the Councilman who had succeeded to the 
 Mayoralty in the preceding November. 
 
 Farfrae was sorry at the intelligence, and Mr. Vatt con- 
 tinued: "Well, we know he's been going some days, and as 
 his family is well provided for we must take it all as it is. 
 Now I have called to ask ye this — quite privately. If I 
 should nominate 'ee to succeed him, and there should be no 
 particular opposition, will 'ee accept the chair?" 
 
 "But there are folk whose turn is before mine; and I'm 
 over young, and maybe thought pushing!" said Farfrae 
 after a pause. 
 
 "Not at all. I don't speak for myself only, several have 
 named it. You won't refuse?" 
 
 "We thought of going away," interposed Lucetta, looking 
 at Farfrae anxiously. 
 
 "It was only a fancy," Farfrae murmured. "I wouldna 
 refuse if it is the wish of a respectable majority in the Coun- 
 cil." 
 
 "Very well, then, look upon yourself as elected. We have 
 had older men long enough." 
 
 When he was gone Farfrae said musingly, "See now how 
 it's ourselves that are ruled by the powers above us! We 
 plan this, but we do that. If they want to make me Mayor 
 I will stay, and Henchard must rave as he will." 
 
 From this evening onward Lucetta was very uneasy. If 
 die had not been imprudence incarnate, she would not have 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 231 
 
 acted as she did when she met Henchard by accident a day 
 or two later. It was in the bustle of the market, when no 
 one could readily notice their discourse. 
 
 "Michael," said she, "I must again ask you what J asked 
 you months ago — to return me any letters or papers of mine 
 that you may have — ^unless you have destroyed them! You 
 must see how desirable it is that the time at Jersey should 
 be blotted out, for the good of all parties." 
 
 "Why, bless the woman! — I packed up every scrap of 
 your handwriting to give you in the coach — ^but you never 
 appeared." 
 
 She explained how the death of her aunt had prevented 
 her taking the journey on that day. "And what became of 
 the parcel then?" she asked. 
 
 He could not say — he would consider. When she was 
 gone he recollected that he had left a heap of useless papers 
 in his former dining-room safe — ^built up in the wall of his 
 old house— now occupied by Farfrae. The letters might 
 have been amongst them. 
 
 A grotesque grin shaped itself on Henchaxd's face. Had 
 that safe been opened? 
 
 On the very evening which followed this there was a great 
 ringing of bells in Casterbridge, and the combined brass, 
 wood, catgut, and leather bands played round the town with 
 more prodigality of percussion-notes than ever. Farfrae 
 was Mayor — the two-hundredth odd of a series forming an 
 elective djmasty dating back to the days of Charles I. — and 
 the fair Lucetta was the courted of the town. . . . But, 
 ah! that worm i' the bud — Henchard; what he could tell! 
 
 He, in the meantime, festering with indignation at some 
 erroneous intelligence of Farfrae's opposition to the scheme 
 for installing him in the little seed-shop, was greeted with 
 the news of the municipal election (which, by reason of Far- 
 frae's comparative youth and his Scottish nativity — a thing 
 unprecedented in the case — had an interest far beyond the 
 ordinary). The bell-ringing and the band-playing, loud as 
 Tamerlane's trumpet, goaded the downfallen Henchard in- 
 describably; the ousting now seemed to him to be complete. 
 
 The next morning he went to the corn-yard as usual, and 
 about eleven o'clock Donald entered through the green door, 
 
232 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 with no trace of the worshipful about him. The yet more 
 emphatic change of places between him and Henchard which 
 this election had established renewed a slight embarrassment 
 in the manner of the modest younger man; but Henchard 
 showed the front of one who had overlooked all this; and 
 Farfrae met his amenities half-way at once. 
 
 "I was going to ask you," said Henchard, "about a packet 
 that I may possibly have left in my old safe in the dining- 
 room." He added particulars. 
 
 "If so, it is there now," said Farfrae. "I have never 
 opened the safe at all as yet; for I keep ma papers at the 
 bank, to sleep easy o' nights." 
 
 "It was not of much consequence — to me," said Henchard. 
 "But I'll call for it this evening, if you don't mind?" 
 
 It was quite late when he fulfilled his promise. He had 
 primed himself with grog, as he did very frequently now, and 
 a curl of sardonic humour hung on his lip as he approached 
 the house, as though he were contemplating some terrible 
 form of amusement. Whatever it was, the incident of his 
 entry did not diminish its force, this being his first visit to 
 the house since he had lived there as owner. The ring of the 
 bell spoke to him like the voice of a familiar drudge who 
 had been bribed to forsake him; the movements of the doors 
 were revivals of dead days. 
 
 Farfrae invited him into the dining-room, where he at 
 once unlocked the iron safe built into the wall, his. Hen- 
 chard's safe, made by an ingenious locksmith under his direc- 
 tion. Farfrae drew thence the parcel, and other papers, with 
 apologies for not having returned them. 
 
 "Never mind," said Henchard drily. "The fact is they 
 are letters mostly. . . . Yes," he went on, sitting down 
 and unfolding Lucetta's passionate bundle, "here they be. 
 That ever I should see 'em again! I hope Mrs. Farfrae is 
 well after her exertions of yesterday?" 
 
 "She has felt a bit weary; and has gone to bed early on 
 that account." 
 
 Henchard returned to the letters, sorting them over with 
 interest, Farfrae being seated at the other end of the dining- 
 table. "You don't forget, of course," he resumed, "that 
 curious chapter in the history of my past, which I told you 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 233 
 
 of, and that you gave me some assistance in? These letteffl 
 are, in fact, related to that unhappy business. Though, 
 thank God, it is all over now." 
 
 "What became of the poor woman?" asked Farfrae. 
 
 "Luckily she married, and married well," said Henchard. 
 "So that these reproaches she poured out on me do not now 
 cause me any twinges, as they might otherwise have doneo 
 . . . Just listen to what an angry woman will sayl" 
 
 Farfrae, willing to humour Henchard, though quite unin- 
 terested, and bursting with yawns, gave well-mannered at- 
 tention. 
 
 " 'For me,' " Henchard read, " 'there is practically no fu- 
 ture. A creature too unconventionally devoted to you — who 
 feels it impossible that she can be wife of any other man; 
 and who is yet no more to you than the first woman you 
 meet in the street — such am I. I quite acquit you of any 
 intention to wrong me, yet you are the door through which, 
 wrong has come to me. That in the event of your present 
 wife's death you will place me in her position is a consolation^ 
 so far as it goes — but how far does it go? Thus I sit here, 
 forsaken by my few acquaintance, and forsaken by youl' " 
 
 "That's how she went on to me," said Henchard, "acres 
 of words like that, wten what had happened was what I 
 could not cure." 
 
 "Yes," said Farfrae absently, "it is the way wi' women." 
 But the fact was that he knew very little of the sex; yet 
 detecting a sort of resemblance in style between the effusions 
 of the woman he worshipped and those of the supposed 
 stranger, he concluded that Aphrodite ever spoke thus, 
 whosesoever the personality she assumed. 
 
 Henchard unfolded another letter, and read it throu^ 
 likewise, stopping at the subscription as before. "Her name 
 I don't give," he said blandly. "As I didn't marry her, and 
 another man did, I can scarcely do that in fairness to her." 
 
 "Tr-rue, tr-rue," said Farfrae. "But why didn't you 
 marry her when your wife Susan died?" Farfrae asked this, 
 and the other questions, in the comfortably indifferent tons 
 of one whom the matter very remotely concerned. 
 
 "Ah — well you may ask that!" said Henchard, the tiew- 
 moon-shaped grin adumbrating itself again upon his mouth. 
 
234 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "In spite of all her protestations, when I came forward to 
 do so, as in generosity bound, she was not the woman for 
 me." 
 
 "She had already married another — maybe?" 
 
 Henchard seemed to think it would be sailing too near the 
 wind to descend further into particulars, and he answered 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The young lady must have had a heart that bore trans- 
 planting very readily I" 
 
 "She had, she had," said Henchard emphatically. 
 
 He opened a third and fourth letter, and read. This time 
 he approached the conclusion as if the signature were indeed 
 coming with the rest. But again he stopped short. The 
 truth was that, as may be divined, he had quite intended to 
 effect a grand catastrophe at the end of this drama by read- 
 ing out the name; he had come to the house with no other 
 thought. But sitting here in cold blood he could not do it. 
 Such a wrcidng of hearts appalled even him. His quality 
 was such fJxat he could have annihilated them both in the 
 heat of action; but to accomplish the deed by oral poison 
 was beyfjnd the nerve of his enmity. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 As Donald stated, Lucetta had retired early to her room be- 
 cause of fadgiie. She had, however, not gone to rest, but 
 sat in the bedside chair reading, and thinking over the events 
 of the day. At the ringing of the door-bell by Henchard 
 she wondered who it should be that would call at that com- 
 paratively late hour. The dining-room was almost under 
 her bed-room; she could hear that somebody was admitted 
 there, and presently the indistinct murmur of a person read- 
 ing became audible. 
 
 The usual time for Donald's arrival upstairs came and 
 passed, yet still the reading and conversation went on. This 
 was very singular. She could think of nothing but thLt some 
 extraordinary crime had been committed, and that the vis- 
 itor, whoever he might be, was reading an account of it from 
 a special edition of the Casterbridge Chronicle. At last she 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 235 
 
 left the room, and descended the stairs. The dining-room 
 door was ajar, and in the silence of the resting household the 
 voice and the words were recognizable before she reached the 
 lower flight. She stood transfixed. Her own words greeted 
 her, in Henchard's voice, like spirits front the grave. 
 
 Lucetta leant upon the banister with her cheek against the 
 smooth hand-rail, as if she would make a friend of it in her 
 misery. Rigid in this position, more and more words fell 
 successively upon her ear. But what amazed her most was 
 the tone of her husband. He spoke merely in the accents 
 of a man who made a present of his time. 
 
 "One word," he was saying, as the crackling of paper de- 
 noted that Henchard was unfolding yet another sheet. "Is 
 it quite fair to this young woman's memory to read at such 
 length to a stranger what was intended for your eye 
 alone?" 
 
 "Well, yes," said Henchard. "By not giving her name I 
 make it an example of all womankind, and not a scandal to 
 one." 
 
 "If I were you I would destroy them," said Farfrae, giving 
 more thought to the letters than he had hitherto done. "As 
 another man's wife it would injure the woman if it were 
 known." 
 
 "No, I shall not destroy them," murmured Henchard, put- 
 ting the letters away. Then he arose, and Lucetta heard no 
 more. 
 
 She went back to her bedroom in a semi-paralyzed state. 
 For very fear she could not undress, but sat on the edge of 
 the bed, waiting. Would Henchard let out the secret in 
 his parting words? Her suspense was terrible. Had she 
 confessed all to Donald in their early acquaintance he might 
 possibly have got over it, and married her just the same — 
 unlikely as it had once seemed; but for her or any one else 
 to tell him now would be fatal. 
 
 The door slammed; she could hear her husband bolting it. 
 After looking round in his customary way he came leisurely 
 up the stairs. The spark in her eyes well-nigh went out 
 when he appeared round the bed-room door. Her gaze hung 
 doubtful for a moment, then to her joyous amazement she 
 saw that he looked at her with the rallying smile of one who 
 
236 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 had just been relieved of a scene that was irksome. She 
 could hold out no longer, and sobbed hysterically. 
 
 When he had restored her Farfrae naturally enough spdsfi 
 of Henchard. "Of all men he was the least desirable as a 
 visitor," he said; "but it is my belief that he's just a bit 
 crazed. He has been reading to me a long lot of letters re- 
 lating to his past Ufe; and I could do no less than indulge 
 him by listening." 
 
 This was sufficient. Henchard, then, had not told. Hen- 
 chard's last words to Farfrae, in short, as he stood on the 
 door-step, had been these: "Well — I'm much obliged to 'ee 
 for listening. I may tell more about her some day." 
 
 Finding this, she was much perplexed as to Henchard's 
 motives in opening the matter at all; for in such cases we 
 attribute to an enemy a power of consistent action which we 
 never find in ourselves or in our friends; and forget that 
 abortive efforts from want of heart are as possible to revenge 
 as to generosity. 
 
 Next morning Lucetta remained in bed, meditating how 
 to parry this incipient attack. The bold stroke of telling 
 Donald the truth, dimly conceived, was yet too bold; for she 
 dreaded lest, in doing so, he, like the rest of the world, should 
 believe that the episode was rather her fault than her mis- 
 fortune. She decided to employ persuasion — not with 
 Donald, but with the enemy himself. It seemed the only 
 practicable weapon left her as a woman. Having laid her 
 plan she rose, and wrote to him who kept her on these 
 tenterhooks: — 
 
 "I overheard your interview with my husband last night, 
 and saw the drift of your revenge. The very thought of it 
 crushes me! Have pity on a distressed woman! If you 
 could see me you would relent. You do not know how 
 anxiety has told upon me lately. I will be at the Ring at 
 the time you leave work — just before the sun goes down. 
 Please come that way. I cannot rest till I have seen you 
 face to face, and heard from your mouth that you will carry 
 this horse-play no further." 
 
 To herself she said, on closing up this appeal: "If ever 
 tears and pleadings have served the weak to fight the strong, 
 let them do so now!" 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 237 
 
 With this view she made a toilette which differed from 
 all she had ever attempted before. To heighten her natural 
 attractions had hitherto been the unvarying endeavour of 
 her adult life, and one in which she was no novice. But 
 now she neglected this, and even proceeded to impair the 
 natural presentation. She had not slept all the previous 
 night, and this produced upon her naturally pretty though 
 slightly worn features the aspect of a countenance ageing 
 prematurely from extreme sorrow, She selected — as much 
 from want of spirit as design — her poorest, plainest, and 
 longest discarded attire. 
 
 To avoid the contingency of being recognized she veiled 
 herself, and slipped out of the house quickly. The sun was 
 resting on the hill like a drop of blod on an eyeUd by the 
 time she had got up the road opposite the amphitheatre, 
 which she speedily entered. The interior was shadowy, and 
 emphatic of the absence of every living thing. 
 
 She was not disappointed in the fearful hope with which 
 she awaited him. Henchard came over the top, descended, 
 and Lucetta waited breathlessly. But having reached the 
 arena she saw a change in his bearing; he stood still, at a 
 little distance from her; she could not think why. 
 
 Nor could any one else have known. The truth was that 
 in appointing this spot, and this hour, for the rendezvous, 
 Lucetta had unwittingly backed up her entreaty by the 
 strongest argument she could have used outside words, with 
 this man of moods, glooms, and superstitions. Her figure 
 in the midst of the huge enclosure, the unusual plainness of 
 her dress, her attitude of hope and appeal, so strongly re- 
 vived in his soul the memory of another ill-used woman who 
 had stood there and thus in bygone days, and had now 
 passed away into her rest, that he was unmanned, and his 
 heart smote him for having attempted reprisals on one of a 
 sex so weak. When he approached her, and before she had 
 spoken a word, her point was half gained. 
 
 His manner as he had come down had been one of cynical 
 carelessness; but he now put away his grim half -smile, and 
 said, in a kindly subdued tone, "Good-night t'ye. Of course 
 I'm glad to come if you want me." 
 
 "Oh, thank you," she said apprehensively. 
 
238 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "I am sorry to see 'ee looking so ill," he stammered, with 
 unconcealed compunction. 
 
 She shook her head. "How can you be sorry," she asked, 
 "when you deliberately cause it?" 
 
 "What! " said Henchard uneasily. "Is it anything I have 
 done that has pulled you down like that?" 
 
 "It is all your doing," said she. "I have no other grief. 
 My happiness would be secure enough but for your threats. 
 O Michael! don't wreck me like this! You might think 
 that you have done enough! When I came here I was a 
 young woman; now I am rapidly becoming an old one. 
 Neither my husband nor any other man will regard me with 
 interest long." 
 
 Henchard was disarmed. His old feeling of supercilious 
 pity for womankind in general was intensified by this sup- 
 pliant appearing here as the double of the first. Moreover, 
 that thoughtless want of foresight which had led to all her 
 trouble remained with poor Lucetta still; she had come to 
 meet him here in this compromising way without perceiving 
 the risk. Such a woman was very small deer to hunt; he 
 felt ashamed, lost all zest and desire to humiliate Lucetta 
 there and then, and no longer envied Farfrae his bargain. 
 He had married money, but nothing more. Henchard was 
 anxious to wash his hands of the game. 
 
 "Well, what do you want me to do?" he said gently. "I 
 am sure I shall be very willing. My reading of those letters 
 was only a sort of practical joke, and I revealed nothing." 
 
 "To give me back the letters and any papers you may 
 have that breathe of matrimony or worse." 
 
 "So be it. Every scrap shall be yours. . . . But, be- 
 tween you and me, Lucetta, he is sure to find out something 
 of the matter, sooner or later." 
 
 "Ah!" she said with eager tremulousness; "but not till I 
 have proved myself a faithful and deserving wife to him, and 
 then he may forgive me every thingj" 
 
 Henchard silently looked at her: he almost envied Far- 
 frae such love as that, even now. "H'm — I hope so," he 
 said. "But you shall have the letters without fail. And 
 your secret shall be kept. I swear it." 
 
 "How good you are! — how shall I get them?" 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 239' 
 
 He reflected, and said he would send them the next morn- 
 ing. "Now don't doubt me," he added. "I can keep my 
 word." 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 Returning from her appointment Lucetta saw a man wait- 
 ing by the lamp nearest to her own door. When she stopped 
 to go in he came and spoke to her. It was Jopp. 
 
 He begged her pardon for addressing her. But he had 
 heard that Mr. Farfrae had been applied to by a neighbour- 
 ing corn-merchant to recommend a working partner; if so, 
 he wished to offer himself. He could give good security, and 
 had stated as much to Mr. Farfrae in a letter ; but he would 
 feel much obliged if Lucetta would say a word in his favour 
 to her husband. 
 
 "It is a thing I know nothing about," said Lucetta coldly. 
 
 "But you can testify to my trustworthiness better than 
 anybody, ma'am," said Jopp. "I was in Jersey several years, 
 and knew you there by sight." 
 
 "Indeed," she replied. "But I knew nothing of you." 
 
 "I think, ma'am, that a word or two from you would se- 
 cure for me what I covet very much," he persisted. 
 
 She steadily refused to have anything to do with the af- 
 fair, and, cutting him short, because of her anxiety to get 
 indoors before her husband should miss her, left him on the 
 pavement. 
 
 He watched her till she had vanished, and then went home. 
 When he got there he sat down in the fireless chimney cor- 
 ner looking at the iron dogs, and the wood laid across them 
 for heating the morning kettle. A movement upstairs dis- 
 turbed him, and Henchard came down from his bed-room, 
 where he seemed to have been rummaging boxes. 
 
 "I wish," said Henchard, "you would do me a service, 
 Jopp, now — to-night, I mean, if you can. Leave this at 
 Mrs. Farfrae's for her. I should take it myself, of course, 
 but I don't wish to be seen there." 
 
 He handed a package in brown paper, sealed. Henchard 
 had been as good as his word. Immediately on coming m- 
 doors he had searched over his few belongings; and every 
 
Sf40 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 scrap of Lucetta's writing that he possessed was here. Jopp 
 indifferently expressed his willingness. 
 
 "Well, how have ye got on to-day?" his lodger asked. 
 "Any prospect of an opening?" 
 
 "I am afraid not," said Jopp, who had not told the other 
 of his application to Farfrae. 
 
 "There never will be in Casterbridge," declared Henchard 
 decisively. "You must roam further afield." He said good- 
 night to Jopp, and returned to his own part of the house. 
 
 Jopp sat on till his eyes were attracted by the shadow 
 of the candle-snuff on the wall, and looking at the original 
 he found that it had formed itself into a head like a red-hot 
 cauliflower. Henchard's packet next met his gaze. He 
 knew there had been something of the nature of wooing 
 between Henchard and the now Mrs. Farfrae; and his vague 
 ideas on the subject narrowed themselves down to these: 
 Henchard had a parcel belonging to Mrs. Farfrae, and he 
 had reasons for not returning that parcel to her in person. 
 What could be inside it? So he went on and on till, ani- 
 mated by resentment at Lucetta's haughtiness, as he thought 
 it, and curiosity to learn if there were any weak sides to 
 this transaction with Henchard, he examined the package. 
 The pen and all its relations being awkward tools in Hen- 
 chard's hands, he had affixed the seals without an impres- 
 sion, it never occurring to him that the efficacy of such 
 a fastening depended on this. Jopp was far less of a tyro; 
 he lifted one of the seals with his penknife, peeped in at the 
 end thus opened, saw that the bundle consisted of letters; 
 and, having satisfied himself thus far, sealed up the end 
 again by simply softening the wax with the candle, and went 
 off with the parcel as requested. 
 
 His path was by the river-side at the foot of the town. 
 Coming into the light at the bridge which stood at the end of 
 High Street, he beheld lounging thereon Mother Cuxsom and 
 Nance Mockridge. 
 
 "We be just going down Mixen Lane way, to look into 
 Peter's Finger afore creeping to bed," said Mrs. Cuxsom. 
 "There's a fiddle and tambourine going on there. Lord, 
 what's all the world — do ye come along too, Jopp — 'twon't 
 hinder ye five minutes." 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 241 
 
 Jopp had mostly kept himself out of this company, but 
 present circumstances made him somewhat more reckless 
 than usual, and without many words he decided to go to his 
 ■destination that way. 
 
 ; Though the upper part of Durnover was mainly composed 
 of a curious congeries of bams and farmsteads, there was a 
 less picturesque side to the parish. This was Mixen Lane, 
 now in great part pulled down. 
 
 Mixen Lane was the Adullam of all the surrounding vil- 
 lages. It was the hiding-place of those who were in distress, 
 and in debt, and trouble of every kind. Farm-labourers and 
 other peasants, who combined a little poaching with their 
 farming, and a little brawling and bibbing with their poach- 
 ing, found themselves sooner or later in Mixen Lane. Rural 
 mechanics too idle to mechanize, rural servants too rebellious 
 to serve, drifted or were forced into Mixen Lane. / 
 
 The lane and its surrounding thicket of thatched cot-j 
 tages stretched out like a spit into the moist and mistyf 
 lowland. Much that was sad, much that was low, some\ 
 things that were baneful, could be seen in Mixen Lane.' 
 Vice ran freely in and out certain of the doors of the neigh- 
 bourhood; recklessness dwelt under the roof with the crooked 
 chimney; shame in some bow- windows; theft (in times of 
 privation) in the thatched and mud-walled houses by the 
 sallows. Even slaughter had not been altogether unknown 
 here. In a block of cottages up an alley there might have 
 been erected an altar to disease in years gone by. Such was 
 Mixen Lane in the times when Henchard and Farfrae were 
 Mayors. 
 
 Yet this mildewed leaf in the sturdy and flourishing Cas- 
 terbridge plant lay close to the open country; not a hundred 
 yards from a row of noble elms, and commanding a view 
 across the moor of airy uplands and corn-fields, and man- 
 sions of the great. A brook divided the moor from the tene- 
 ments, and to outward view there was no way across it — 
 no way to the houses but round about by the road. But 
 under every householder's stairs there was kept a mysterious 
 plank nine inches wide; which plank was a secret bridge. 
 
 If you, as one of those refugee householders, came in from 
 
242 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 business after dark — and this was the business time here — 
 you stealthily crossed the moor, approached the border of 
 the aforesaid brook, and whistled opposite the house to which 
 you belonged. A shape thereupon made its appearance oa 
 the other side bearing the bridge on end against the sky; 
 it was lowered ; you crossed, and a hand helped you to land 
 yourself, together with the pheasants and hares gathered 
 from neighbouring manors. You sold them slily the next 
 morning, and the day after you stood before the magistrates, 
 with the eyes of all your sympathizing neighbours concen- 
 trated on your back. You disappeared for a time; then you 
 were again found quietly living in Mixen Lane. 
 
 Walking along the lane at dusk the stranger was struck 
 by two or three peculiar features therein. One was an inter- 
 mittent rumbling from the back premises of the inn half-way 
 up; this meant a skittle alley. Another was the extensive 
 prevalence of whistling in the various domiciles — a piped 
 note of some kind coming from nearly every open door. An- 
 other was the frequency of white aprons over dingy gowns 
 aiHong the women around the doorways. A white apron is 
 a suspicious vesture in situations where spotlessness is diffi- 
 cult ; moreover, the industry and cleanliness which the white 
 ipron expressed were belied by the postures and gaits of the 
 women who wore it — their knuckles being mostly on their 
 hips (an attitude which lent them the aspect of two-handled, 
 mugs), and their shoulders against door-posts; while there 
 was a curious alacrity in the turn of each honest wom- 
 an's head upon her neck, and in the twirl of her honest 
 eyes, at any noise resembling a masculine footfall along the 
 lane. 
 
 Yet amid so much that was bad needy respectability also 
 found a home. Under some of the roofs abode pure and 
 virtuous souls whose presence there was due to the iron hand 
 of necessity, and to that alone. Families from decayed vil- 
 lages — families of that once bulky, but now nearly extinct, 
 section of village society called "liviers," or lifeholders — 
 copy-holders and others, whose roof-trees had fallen for some 
 reason of other, compelling them to quit the rural spot that 
 had been their home for generations — came here, unless they 
 chose to lie under a hedge by the wayside. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 243 
 
 The inn called Peter's Finger was the church of Mixen 
 Lane. 
 
 It was centrally situate, as such places should be, and 
 bore about the same social relation to the Three Mariners as 
 the latter bore to the King's Arms. At first sight the inn 
 was so respectable as to be puzzling. The front door was 
 kept shut, and the step was so clean that evidently but few 
 persons entered over its sanded surface. But at the comer 
 of the public-house was an alley, a mere slit, dividing it 
 from the next building. Half-way up the alley was a 
 narrow door, shiny and paintless from the rub of infinite 
 hands and shoulders. This was the actual entrance to the 
 inn. 
 
 A pedestrian would be seen abstractedly passing along 
 Mixen Lane; and then, in a moment, he would vanish, caus- 
 ing the gazer to blink like Ashton at the disappearance of 
 Ravenswood. That abstracted pedestrian had edged into the 
 slit by the adroit fillip of his person sideways; from the sht 
 he edged into the tavern by a similar exercise of skill. 
 
 The company at the Three Mariners were persons of qual- 
 ity in comparison with the company which gathered here; 
 though it must be admitted that the lowest fringt of the 
 Mariner's party touched the crest of Peter's at points. 
 Waifs and strays of all sorts loitered about here. The land- 
 lady was a virtuous woman, who had been unjustly sent to 
 gaol as an accessory to something or other after the fact. 
 She underwent her year, and had worn a martyr's coun- 
 tenance ever since, except at times of meeting the constable 
 who apprehended her, when she winked her eye. 
 
 To this house Jopp and his acquaintances had arrived. 
 The settles on which they sat down were thin and tall, their 
 tops being guyed by pieces of twine to hooks in the ceiling; 
 for when the guests grew boisterous the settles would rock 
 and overturn without some such security. The thunder of 
 bowls echoed from the backyard ; swingels hung behind the 
 blower of the chimney; and ex-poachers and ex-gamekeepers, 
 ^hom squires had persecuted without a cause, sat elbowing 
 each other — men who in past times had met in fights luider 
 the moon, till lapse of sentences on the one part, and loss of 
 favour and expulsion from, service on the other, brought 
 
m THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 them here together to a common level, where they sat calmly 
 discussing old times. 
 
 "Dos't mind how you could jerk a trout ashore with a 
 bramble, and not ruffle the stream, Charl?" a deposed keeper 
 was saying. " 'Twas at that I caught 'ee once, if you can 
 mind?" 
 
 "That can I. But the worst larry for me was that pheas- 
 ant business at Yalbury Wood. Your wife swore false that 
 time, Joe — oh, by Gad, she did — there's no denying it." 
 
 "How was that?" asked Jopp. 
 
 "Why — ^Joe closed wi' me, and we rolled down together, 
 close to his garden hedge. Hearing the noise, out ran his 
 wife with the oven pyle, and it being dark under the trees 
 she couldn't see which was uppermost. 'Where beest thee, 
 Joe, under or top?' she screeched. 'Oh — ^under, by Gad!' 
 (533^8 he. She then began to rap down upon my skull, back, 
 and ribs, with the pyle till we'd roll over again. 'Where 
 beest now, dear Joe, under or top?' she'd scream again. By 
 George, 'twas through her I was took! And then when we 
 got up in hall she sware that the cock pheasant was one of 
 her rearing, when 'twas not your bird at all, Joe; 'twas 
 Squire Brown's bird — that's whose 'twas — one that we'd 
 picked off as we passed his wood, an hour afore. It did hurt 
 my feelings to be so wronged! . . . Ah well — 'tis over 
 now." 
 
 "I might have had ye days afore that," said the keeper. 
 "I was within a few yards of ye dozens of times, with a 
 sight more of birds than that poor one." 
 
 "Yes — 'tis not our greatest doings that the world gets wind 
 of," said the fuimity-woman, who, lately settled in this pur- 
 lieu, sat among the rest. Having travelled a great deal in 
 her time, she spoke with cosmopolitan largeness of idea. It 
 was she who presently asked Jopp what was the parcel he 
 kept so snugly under his arm. 
 
 "Ah, therein lies a grand secret," said Jopp. "It is the 
 passion of love. To think that a woman should love one 
 man so well, and hate another so unmercifully." 
 
 "Who's the object of your meditation, sir?" 
 
 "One that stands high in this town. I'd like to shame 
 her I Upon my life, 't'yould be ^s good as a play to read 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 245 
 
 her love-letters, the proud piece of silk and wax- work! For 
 'tis her love-letters that I've got here." 
 
 "Love-letters? then let's hear 'em, good soul," said Mother 
 Cuxsom. "Lord, do ye mind, Richard, what fools we used 
 (a be when we were yoimger? Getting a schoolboy to write 
 ams for us; and giving him a penny, do ye mind, not to tell 
 other folks what he'd put inside, do ye mind?" 
 
 By this time Jopp had pushed his finger imder the seals, 
 and unfastened the letters, timibling them over and picking 
 up one here and there at random, which he read aloud. These 
 passages soon began to uncover the secret which Lucetta had 
 so earnestly hoped to keep buried, though the epistles, bemg 
 allusive only, <Ud not make it altogether plain. 
 
 "Mrs. Farfrae wrote that!" said Nance Mockridge. " 'Tia 
 a humbling thing for us, as respectable women, that one of 
 the same sex could do it. And now she's vowed herself to 
 another man!" 
 
 "So much the better for her," said the aged furmity- 
 woman. "Ah, I saved her from a real bad marriage, and 
 she's never been the one to thank me." 
 
 "I say, what a good foundation for a skimmity-ride," said 
 Nance. 
 
 "True," said Mrs. Cuxsom, reflecting. " 'Tis as good a 
 ground for a skimmity-ride as ever I knowed; and it ought 
 not to be wasted. The last one seen in Casterbridge must 
 have been ten years ago, if a day." 
 
 At this moment there Wcis a shrill whistle, and the land-" 
 lady said to the man who had been called Charl, " 'Tis Jim 
 coming in. Would ye go and let down the bridge for 
 me?" 
 
 Without repl3nng Charl and his comrade Joe rose, and 
 receiving a lantern from her went out at the back door and 
 down the garden-path, which ended abruptly at the edge of 
 the stream already mentioned. Beyond the stream was the 
 open moor, from which a clammy breeze smote upon their 
 faces as they advanced. Taking up the board that had 
 lain in readiness, one of them lowered it across the water, 
 and the instant its further end touched the ground footsteps 
 entered upon it, and there appeared from the shade a stal- 
 wart man with straps round his knees, a double-barrelled 
 
246 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 gun under his arm and some birds slung up behind him. 
 They asked him if he had had much luck. 
 
 "Not much," he said indifferently. "All safe inside?" 
 
 Receiving a reply in the affirmative, he went on inwards, 
 the others withdrawing the bridge and beginning to retreat 
 in his rear. Before, however, they had entered the house a 
 cry of "Ahoy" from the moor led them to pause. 
 
 The cry was repeated. They pushed the lantern into an 
 out-house, and went back to the brink of the stream. 
 
 "Ahoy — is this the way to Casterbridge?" said some one 
 from the other side. 
 
 "Not in particular," said Chart. "There's a river afore 
 ye." 
 
 "I don't care — ^here's for through it!" said the man in the 
 moor. "I've had travelling enough for to-day." 
 
 "Stop a minute, then," said Charl, finding that the man 
 was no enemy. "Joe, bring the plank and lantern; here's 
 somebody that's lost his way. You should have kept along 
 the turnpike road, friend, and not have strook across here." 
 
 "I should — as I see now. But I saw a light here, and 
 says I to myself, that's a short cut, depend on't." 
 
 The plank was now lowered; and the stranger's form 
 shaped itself from the darkness. He was a middle-aged man, 
 with hair and whiskers prematurely grey, and a broad and 
 genial face. He had crossed on the plank without hesita- 
 tion, and seemed to see nothing odd in the transit. He 
 thanked them, and walked between them up the garden. 
 "What place is this?" he asked, when they reached the door. 
 
 "A public-house." 
 
 "Ah. Perhaps it will suit me to put up at. Now then, 
 come in and wet your whistle at my expense for the lift over 
 you have given me." 
 
 They followed him into the inn, where the increased light 
 exhibited him as one who would stand higher in an esti- 
 mate by the eye than in one by the ear. He was dressed 
 with a certain clumsy richness — his coat being furred, and 
 his head covered by a cap of sealskin, which, though the 
 nights were chilly, must have been warm for the day time, 
 spring being somewhat advanced. In his hand he carried 
 a small mahogany case, strapped, and clamped with brass. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 247 
 
 Apparently surprised at the kind of company which con- 
 fronted him through the kitchen door, he at once abandoned 
 his idea of putting up at the house; but taking the situa- 
 tion lightly, he called for glasses of the best, paid for them 
 as he stood in the passage, and turned to proceed on his 
 way by the front door. This was barred, and while the land- 
 lady was unfastening it the conversation about the skim- 
 mington was continued in the sitting-room, and reached his 
 ears. 
 
 "What do they mean by a 'skimmity-ride'?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, sir!" said the landlady, swinging her long earrings 
 with deprecating modesty; " 'tis a' old foolish thing they do 
 in these parts when a man's wife is — ^well, not too particu- 
 larly his own. But as a respectable householder I don't en- 
 courage it." 
 
 "Still, are they going to do it shortly? It is a good sight 
 to see, I suppose?" 
 
 "Well, sir!" she simpered. And then, bursting into nat- 
 uralness, and glancing from the corner of her eye, " 'Tis 
 the funniest thing under the sun! And it costs money." 
 
 "Ah! I remember hearing of some such thing. Now I 
 shall be in Casterbridge for two or three weeks to come, and 
 should not mind seeing the performance. Wait a moment." 
 He turned back, entered the sitting room, and said, "Here, 
 good folks; I should like to see the old custom you are talk- 
 ing of, and I don't mind being something towards it — take 
 that." He threw a sovereign on the table and returned to 
 the landlady at the door, of whom, having inquired the way 
 into the town, he took his leave 
 
 "There were more where that one came from," said Charl, 
 when the sovereign had been taken up and handed to the 
 landlady for safe keeping. "By George! we ought to have 
 got a few more while we had him here." 
 
 "No, no," answered the landlady. "This is a respecta- 
 ble house, thank God! And I'll have nothing done but 
 what's honourable." 
 
 "Well," said Jopp; "now we'll consider the business be- 
 gun, and will soon get it in train." 
 
 "We will!" said Nance. "A good laugh warms my heart 
 more than a cordial, and that's the tnjth on't." 
 
248 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Jopp gathered up the letters, and it being now somewhat 
 late, he did not attempt to call at Farfrae's with them that 
 night. He reached home, sealed them up as before, and de- 
 livered the parcel at its address next morning. Within an 
 hour its contents were reduced to ashes by Lucetta, who, 
 poor soul ! was inclined to fall down on her knees in thank- 
 fulness that at last no evidence remained of the unlucky- 
 episode with Henchard in her past. For though hers had 
 been rather the laxity of inadvertence than of intention, that 
 episode, if known, was not the less likely to operate fatally 
 between herself and her husband. 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 Such was the state of things when the current affairs of 
 Casterbridge were interrupted by an event of such magnitude 
 that its influence reached to the lowest social stratum there, 
 stirring the depths of its society simultaneously with the 
 preparations for the skimmington. It was one of those ex- 
 citements which, when they move a country town, leave a 
 permanent mark upon its chronicles, as a warm summer 
 permanently marks the ring in the tree-trunk correspondTng 
 to its date. 
 
 A Royal Personage was about to pass through the bor- 
 ough, on his course further west, to inaugurate an immense 
 engineering work out that way. He had consented to halt 
 half-an-hour or so in the town, and to receive an address 
 from the corporation of Casterbridge, which, as a represen- 
 tative centre of husbandry, wished thus to express its sense 
 of the great services he had rendered to agricultural science 
 and economics, by his zealous promotion of designs for plac- 
 ing the art of farming on a more scientific footing. 
 
 Royalty had not been seen in Casterbridge since the 
 days of the third King George, and then only by candlelight 
 for a few minutes, when that monarch, on a night-journey, 
 had stopped to change horses at the King's Arms. The in- 
 habitants therefore decided to make a thorough fete cari- 
 lonnee of the unwonted occasion. Half-an-hour's pause was 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 249 
 
 not long, it is true, but much might be done in it by a judi- 
 cious grouping of incidents, above all, if the weather were 
 fine. 
 
 The address was prepared on parchment, by an artist 
 who was handy at ornamental lettering, and was laid on 
 with the best gold-leaf and colours that the sign-painter had 
 in his shop. The Council met on the Tuesday before the 
 appointed day, to arrange the details of procedure. While 
 they were sitting, the door of the Council Chamber standing 
 open, they heard a heavy footstep coming up the stairs. It 
 advanced along the passage, and Henchard entered the room, 
 in clothes of frayed and threadbare shabbiness, the very 
 clothes which he had used to wear in the primal days when 
 he had sat among them. 
 
 "I have a feeling," he said, advancing to the table and 
 laying his hand upon the green cloth, "that I should like to 
 join ye in this reception of our illustrious visitor. I suppose 
 I could walk with the rest?" 
 
 Embarrassed glances were exchanged by the Council, and 
 Grower nearly ate the end of his quill-pen, so gnawed he it 
 during the silence. Farfrae, the young Mayor, who by vir- 
 tue of his office sat in the large chair, intuitively caught the 
 sense of the meeting, and as spokesman was obliged to utter 
 it, glad as he would have been that the duty should have 
 fallen to another tongue. 
 
 "I hardly see that it would be proper, Mr. Henchard," 
 said he. "The Council are the Council, and as ye are no 
 longer one of the body, there would be an irregularity in the 
 proceeding. If ye were included, why not others?" 
 
 "I have a particular reason for wishing to assist at the 
 ceremony." 
 
 Farfrae looked round. "I think I have expressed the feel- 
 ing of the Council," he said. 
 
 "Yes, yes," from Dr. Bath, Lawyer Long, Alderman Tub- 
 ber, and several more. 
 
 "Then I am not to be allowed to have anything to do with 
 it officially?" 
 
 "I am afraid so; it is out of the question, indeed. But of 
 course you can see the doings full well, such as they are 
 to be, like the rest of the spectators." 
 
250 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Henchard did not reply to that very obvious suggestion, 
 and, turning on his heel, went away. 
 
 It had been only a passing fancy of his, but opposition 
 crystallized it into a determination. "I'll welcome his Royal 
 Highness, or nobody shall!" he went about saying. "I am 
 not going to be sat upon by Farfrae, or any of the rest of 
 the paltry crew! You shall see." 
 
 The eventful morning was bright, a full-faced sun con- 
 fronting early window-gazers eastward, and all perceived 
 (for they were practised in weather-lore) that there was 
 j)ermanence in the glow. Visitors soon began to flock in 
 from county houses, villages, remote copses, and lonely up- 
 lands, the latter in oiled boots and tilt bonnets, to see the 
 reception, or if not to see it, at any rate to be near it. There 
 Vas hardly a workman in the town who did not put a clean 
 shirt on. Solomon Longways, Christopher Coney, Buzzford, 
 and the rest of that fraternity, showed their sense of the 
 occasion by advancing their customary eleven o'clock plot 
 to half-past ten; from which they found a difficulty in get- 
 ting back to the proper hour for several days. 
 
 Henchard had determined to do no work that day. He 
 primed himself in the morning with a glass of rum, and 
 walking down the street met Elizabeth- Jane, whom he had 
 not seen for a week. "It was lucky," he said to her, "my 
 twenty years had expired before this came on, or I should 
 never have had the nerve to carry it out." 
 
 "Carry out what?" said she, alarmed. 
 
 "This welcome I am going to give our Royal visitor." 
 
 She was perplexed. "Shall we go and see it together?" she 
 said. 
 
 "See it! I have other fish to fry. You see it. It will be 
 worth seeing!" 
 
 She could do nothing to elucidate this, and decked herself 
 out with a heavy heart. As the appointed time drew near 
 she got sight again of her stepfather. She thought he was 
 going to the Three Mariners; but no, he elbowed his way 
 through the gay throng to the shop of Woolfrey, the draper. 
 She waited in the crowd without. 
 
 In a few minutes he emerged, wearing, to her surprise, a 
 brilliant rosette, while more surprising still, in his hand he 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 251 
 
 carried a flag, of somewhat homely construction, formed 
 by tacking one of the small Union Jacks, which abounded in 
 the town to-day, to the end of a deal wand — probably the 
 roller from a piece of calico. Henchard rolled up his flag 
 on the doorstep, put it under his arm, and went down the 
 street. 
 
 Suddenly the taller members of the crowd turned their 
 heads, and the shorter stood on tiptoe. It was said that the 
 Royal cortege approached. The railway had stretched out 
 an arm towards Casterbridge at this time, but had not 
 reached it by several miles as yet; so that the intervening 
 distance, as well as the remainder of the journey, was to be 
 traversed by road, in the old fashion. People tjius waited 
 — the county families in their carriages, the masses on foot — ■ 
 and Watched the far-stretching London highway to the ring- 
 ing of bells and chatter of tongues. 
 
 From the background Elizabeth- Jane watched the scene„ 
 Some seats had been arranged from which ladies could wit- 
 ness the spectacle, and the front seat was occupied by Lu- 
 cetta, the Mayor's wife, just at present. In the road under 
 her eyes stood Henchard. She appeared so bright and 
 pretty that, as it seemed, he was experiencing the momen- 
 tary weakness of wishing for her notice. But he was far 
 from attractive to a woman's eye, ruled as that is so largely 
 by the superficies of things. He was not only a journeyman, 
 unable to appear as he formerly had appeared, but he dis- 
 dained to appear as well as he might. Everybody else, from 
 the Mayor to the washerwoman, shone in new vesture ac- 
 cording to means; but Henchard had doggedly retained the 
 fretted and weather-beaten garments of bygone years. 
 
 Hence, alas, this occurred: Lucetta's eyes slid over him 
 to this side and to that without anchoring on a feature — as 
 gaily dressed women's eyes will too often do on such occa- 
 sions. Her manner signified quite plainly that she meant 
 to know him in public no more. 
 
 But she was never tired of watching Donald, as he stood 
 in animated converse with his friends a few yards off, wear- 
 ing round his young neck the ofiicial gold chain with great 
 square links, like that round the Royal unicorn. Every 
 trifling emotion that her husband showed as he talked had 
 
252 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 its reflex on her face and lips, which moved in little dupli- 
 cates to his. She was living his part rather than her own, 
 and cared for no one's situation but Farfrae's that day. 
 
 At length a man stationed at the furthest turn of the high 
 road, namely, on the second bridge of which mention has 
 been made, gave a signal ; and the Corporation in their robes 
 proceeded from the point of the Town Hall to the archway 
 erected at the entrance to the town. The carriages contain- 
 ing the Royal visitor and his suite arrived at the spot in a 
 cloud of dust, a procession was formed, and the whole came 
 on to the Town Hall at a walking pace. 
 
 This spot was the centre of interest. There were a few 
 clear yards in front of the Royal carriage; and into this 
 space a man stepped before any one could prevent him. It 
 was Henchard. He had unrolled his private flag, and re- 
 moving his hat he advanced to the side of the slowing ve- 
 hicle, waving the Union Jack to and fro with his left hand, 
 while he blandly held out his right to the illustrious Per- 
 sonage. 
 
 All the ladies said with bated breath, "Oh, look there!" 
 and Lucetta was ready to faint. Elizabeth- Jane peeped 
 through the shoulders of those in front, saw what it was, and 
 was terrified; and then her interest in the spectacle as a 
 strange phenomenon got the better of her fear. 
 
 Farfrae, with Mayoral authority, immediately rose to the 
 occasion. He seized Henchard by the shoulder, dragged him 
 back, and told him roughly to be off. Henchard's eyes met 
 his, and Farfrae observed the fierce light in them, despite 
 his excitement and irritation. For a moment Henchard 
 stood his ground rigidly; then by an unaccountable impulse 
 gave way and retired. Farfrae glanced to the ladies' gal- 
 lery, and saw. that his Calphurnia's cheek was pale. 
 
 "Why — it is your husband's old patron! " said Mrs. Blow- 
 body, a lady of the neighbourhood who sat beside Lucetta. 
 
 "Patron!" said Donald's wife with quick indignation. 
 
 "Do you say the man is an acquaintance of Mr. Far- 
 frae's?" observed Mrs. Bath, the physician's wife, a new- 
 comer to the town, through her recent marriage with the 
 doctor. 
 
 "He works for my husband." said Lucetta. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 253 
 
 "Oh — is that all? They have been saying to me that it 
 was through him your husband first got a footing in Caster- 
 bridge. What stories people will telU" 
 
 "They will indeed. It was not so at all. Donald's genius 
 would have enabled him to get a footing ans^where, with- 
 out anybody's help! He would have been just the same 
 if there had been no Henchard in the world." 
 
 It was partly Lucetta's ignorance of the circumstances of 
 Donald's arrival which led her to speak thus; partly the sen- 
 sation that everybody seemed bent on snubbing her at this 
 triumphant time. The incident had occupied but a few 
 moments, but it was necessarily witnessed by the Royal 
 personage, who, however, with practised tact, affected not to 
 have noticed anything unusual. He alighted, the Maj^r 
 advanced, the address was read; the visitor replied, then 
 said a few words to Farfrae, and shook hands widi Lu- 
 cetta as the Mayor's wife. The ceremony occupied but a 
 few minutes, and the carriages rattled heavily as Pharaoh's 
 chariots down Corn Street and out upon the Budmoutb 
 Road, in continuation of the journey coastward. 
 
 In the crowd stood Coney, Buzzford, and Longways. 
 "Some difference between him now and when he zung at the 
 Dree Mariners," said the first. " 'Tis wonderful how he 
 could get a lady of her quality to go snacks wi' en in such 
 quick time." 
 
 "True. Yet how folk do worship fine clothes! Now 
 there's a better-looking woman than she that nobody no- 
 tices at all, because she's akin to that hontish fellow Hen- 
 chard." 
 
 "I could worship ye. Buzz, for saying that," remarked 
 Nance Mockridge. "I do like to see the trimming pulled 
 off such Christmas candles. I am quite unequal to the part 
 of villain myself, or I'd gi'e all my small silver to see that 
 lady toppered. . . . And perhaps I shall soon," she added 
 significantly. 
 
 "That's not a noble passiont for a 'oman to keep up," said 
 Longways. 
 
 Nance did not reply, but every one knew what she meant. 
 The ideas diffused by the reading of Lucetta's letters at 
 Peter's Finger had condensed into a scandal, which waa 
 
254 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 spreading like a miasmatic fog through Mixen Lane, and 
 thence up the back streets of Casterbridge. 
 
 This mixed assemblage of idlers known to each other 
 presently fell apart into two bands, by a process of natural 
 selection, the frequenters of Peter's Finger going off Mixen 
 Lane-wards, where most of them lived, while Coney, Buzz- 
 ford, Longways, and that connection remained in the street. 
 
 "You know what's brewing down there, I suppose?" said 
 Buzzford mysteriously to the others. 
 
 Coney looked at him. "Not the skimmity-ride?" 
 
 Buzzford nodded. 
 
 "I have my doubts if it will be carried out," said Long- 
 ways. "If they are getting it up they are keeping it mighty 
 dose." 
 
 "I heard they were thinking of it a fortnight ago, at all 
 events." 
 
 "If I were sure o't I'd lay information," said Longways 
 emphatically. " 'Tis too rough a joke, and apt to wake riots 
 in towns. We know that the Scotchman is a right enough 
 man, and that his lady has been a right enough 'oman since 
 she came here, and if there was anything wrong about her 
 afore, that's their business, not ours." 
 
 Coney reflected. Farfrae was still liked in the commu- 
 nity; but it must be owned that, as the Mayor and man of 
 money, engrossed with affairs and ambitions, he had lost in 
 the eyes of the poorer inhabitants something of that won- 
 drous charm which he had had for them as a light-hearted, 
 penniless young man, who sang ditties as readily as the birds 
 in the trees. Hence the anxiety to keep him from annoyance 
 showed not quite the ardour that would have animated 
 it in former days. 
 
 "Suppose we make inquiration into it, Christopher," con- 
 tinued Longways ; "and if we find there's really anything in 
 it, drop a letter to them most concerned, and advise 'em to 
 keep out of the way?" 
 
 This course was decided on, and the group separated, 
 Buzzford saying to Coney, "Come, my ancient friend; let's 
 move on. There's nothing more to see here." 
 
 These well-intentioned ones would have been surprised 
 had they known how ripe the great jocular plot really was. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 255 
 
 "Yes, to-night," Jopp had said to the Peter's party at the 
 Comer of Mixen Lane. "As a wind-up to the Royal visit 
 the hit will be all the more pat by reason of their great 
 elevation to-day." 
 
 To him, at least, it was not a joke, but a retaliation. 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 The proceedings had been brief — too brief — to Lucetta, 
 whom an intoxicating Weltlust had fairly mastered; but they 
 had brought her a great triumph nevertheless. The shake 
 of the Royal hand still lingered in her fingers; and the chit- 
 chat she had overheard, that her husband might possibly re- 
 ceive the honour of knighthood, though idle to a degree, 
 seemed not the wildest vision; stranger things had occurred 
 to men so good and captivating as her Scotchman was. 
 
 After the collision with the Mayor, Henchard had with- 
 drawn behind the ladies' stand; and there he stood, re- 
 garding with a stare of abstraction the spot on the lappel 
 of his coat where Farfrae's hand had seized it. He put his 
 own hand there, as if he could hardly realize such an outrage 
 from one whom it had once been his wont to treat with ar- 
 dent generosity. While pausing in this half-stupefied state 
 the conversation of Lucetta with the other ladies reached his 
 ears; and he distinctly heard her deny him — deny that he 
 had assisted Donald, that he was anything more than a com- 
 mon journeyman. 
 
 He moved on homeward, and met Jopp in the archway 
 to the Bull Stake. "So you've had a snub," said Jopp. 
 
 "And what if I have?" answered Henchard sternly. 
 
 "Why, I've had one too, so we are both under the same 
 cold shade." He briefly related his attempt to win Lucetta's 
 intercession. 
 
 Henchard merely heard his story, without taking it deeply 
 in. His own relation to Farfrae and Lucetta overshadowed 
 all kindred ones. He went on saying brokenly to himself, 
 "She has supplicated to me in her time; and now her tongue 
 won't own me nor her eyes see me! ... And he — ^how an- 
 gry he looked. He drove me back as if I were a bull break- 
 
»56 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ing fence. ... I took it like a lamb, for I saw it could not 
 be settled there. He can rub brine on a green wound! . . . 
 But he shall pay for it, and she shall be sorry. It must come 
 to a tussle — face to face; and then we'll see how a coxcomb 
 can front a man!" 
 
 Without further reflection the fallen merchant, bent on 
 some wild purpose, ate a hasty dinner, and went forth to 
 find Farfrae. After being injured by him as a rival, and 
 snubbed by him as a journeyman, the crowning degradation 
 had been reserved for this day — that he should be shaken at 
 the collar by him as a vagabond in the face of the whole 
 town. 
 
 The crowds had dispersed. But for the green arches 
 which still stood as they were erected Casterbridge life had 
 resumed its ordinary shape. Henchard went down Corn 
 Street till he came to Farfrae's house, where he knocked, and 
 left a message that he would be glad to see his employer at 
 the granaries as soon as he conveniently could come there. 
 Having done this he proceeded round to the back and en- 
 tered die yard. 
 
 Nobody was present, for, as he had been aware, the la- 
 bourers and carters were enjoying a half-holiday on account 
 of the events of the morning — though the carters would have 
 to return for a short time later on, to feed and litter down 
 the horses. He had reached the granary steps and was 
 about to ascend, when he said to himself aloud, "I'm 
 stronger than he." 
 
 Henchard returned to a shed, where he selected a short 
 piece of rope from several pieces that were lying about; 
 hitching one end of this to a nail, he took the other in his 
 right hand and turned himself bodily round, while keeping 
 his arm against his side; by this contrivance he pinioned 
 the latter effectively. He now went up the ladders to the 
 top floor of the corn-stores. 
 
 It was empty, except of a few sacks, and at the further 
 end was the door often mentioned, opening under the cat- 
 head and chain that hoisted the sacks. He fixed the door 
 open, and looked over the sill. There was a depth of thirty 
 or forty feet to the ground; here was the spot on which he 
 had been standing with Farfrae when Elizabeth- Jane had 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 257 
 
 seen him lift his arm, with many misgivings as to what 
 the movement portended. 
 
 He retired a few steps into the loft and waited. From 
 this elevated perch his eye could sweep the roofs romid 
 about, the upper parts of the luxurious chestnut trees, now 
 delicate in leaves of a week's age, and the drooping boughs 
 of the limes; Farfrae's garden and the green door leadii^ 
 therefrom. In course of time — he could not say how long-— 
 that green door opened and Farfrae came through. He was 
 dressed as if for a journey. The low light of the nearing 
 evening caught his head and face when he emerged from 
 the shadow of the wall, warming them to a complexion of 
 flame-colour. Henchard watched him with his mouth firmly 
 set, the squareness of his jaw and the verticality of his pro- 
 file being unduly marked. 
 
 Farfrae came on with one hand in his pocket, and hum- 
 ming a tune in a way which told that the words were most 
 in his mind. They were those of the song he had sung wh^ 
 he arrived years before at the Three Mariners, a poor young 
 man, adventuring for life and fortune, and scarcely knowii^ 
 whitherward: — 
 
 "'And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, 
 And gie's a hand o' thine.' " 
 
 Nothing moved Henchard like an old melody. He sank 
 back. "No; I can't do it!" he gasped. "Why does the in- 
 fernal fool begin that now!" 
 
 At length Farfrae was silent, and Henchard looked out 
 of the loft door. "Will ye come up here?" he said. 
 
 "Ay, man," said Farfrae. "I couldn't see ye. What's 
 wrang?" 
 
 A minute later Henchard heard his feet on the lowest 
 ladder. He heard him land on the first floor, ascend and 
 land on the second, begin the ascent to the third. And thm 
 his head rose through the trap behind. 
 
 "What are you doing up here at this time?" he asked, 
 coming forward. "Why didn't ye take your holiday like the 
 rest of the men?" He spoke in a tone which had just se~ 
 verity enough in it to show that he remembered the unto- 
 ward event of the forenoon. 
 
258 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Henchard said nothing; but, going back, he closed the 
 stair hatchway, and stamped upon it so that it went tight 
 into its frame; be next turned to the wondering young man, 
 who by this time observed that one of Henchard's arms was 
 bound to his side. 
 
 "Now," said Henchard quietly, "we stand face to face — 
 man and man. Your money and your fine wife no longer 
 lift 'ee above me as they did but now, and my poverty does 
 not press me down." 
 
 "What does it all mean?" asked Farfrae simply. 
 
 "Wait a bit, my lad. You should ha' thought twice be- 
 fore you affronted to extremes a man who had nothing to 
 lose. I've stood your rivalry, which ruined me, and your 
 snubbing, which humbled me; but your hustling, that dis- 
 graced me, I won't stand!" 
 
 Farfrae warmed a little at this. "Ye'd no business there," 
 he said. 
 
 "As much as any one among ye! What, you forward 
 stripling, tell a man of my age he'd no business there! " The 
 anger-vein swelled in his forehead as he spoke. 
 
 "You insulted Royalty, Henchard; and 'twas my duty, as 
 the chief magistrate, to stop you." 
 
 "Royalty be damned," said Henchard. "I am as loyal 
 as you, come to that!" 
 
 "I am not here to argue. Wait till you cool doon, wait 
 till you cool; and you will see things the same way as I 
 do." 
 
 "You may be the one to cool first," said Henchard grimly. 
 "Now this is the case. Here be we, in this four-square 
 loft, to finish out that little wrestle you began this morning. 
 There's the door, forty foot above ground. One of us two 
 puts the other out by that door — the master stays inside. 
 If he likes he may go down afterwards and give the alarm 
 that the other has fallen out by accident — or he may tell the 
 truth — that's his business. As the strongest man I've tied 
 one arm to take no advantage of 'ee. D'ye understand? 
 Then here's at 'ee!" 
 
 There was no time for Farfrae to do aught but one thing, 
 to close with Henchard, for the latter had come on at once. 
 It was a wrestling match, the object of each being to give his 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 259 
 
 antagonist a back fall; and on Henchard's part, unquestion- 
 ably, that it should be through the door. 
 
 At the outset Henchard's hold by his only hand, the right, 
 was on the left side of Farfrae's collar, which he firmly 
 grappled, the latter holding Henchard by his collar with 
 the contrary hand. With his right he endeavoured to get 
 hold of his antagonist's left arm which, however, he could 
 not do, so adroitly did Henchard keep it in the rear as he 
 gazed upon the lowered eyes of his fair and slim antagonist. 
 
 Henchard planted the first toe forward, Farfrae crossing 
 him with his; and thus far the struggle had very much the 
 appearance of the ordinary wrestling of those parts. Several 
 minutes were passed by them in this attitude, the pair rock- 
 ing and writhing like trees in a gale, both preserving an ab- 
 solute silence. By this time their breathing could be heard. 
 Then Farfrae tried to get hold of the other side of Hen- 
 chard's collar, which was resisted by the larger man exerting 
 all his force in a wrenching movement, and this part of the 
 struggle ended by his forcing Farfrae down on his knees by 
 sheer pressure of one of his muscular arms. Hampered as 
 he was, however, he could not keep him there, and Farfrae 
 finding his feet again the struggle proceeded as before. 
 
 By a whirl Henchard brought Donald dangerously near 
 the precipice ; seeing his position the Scotchman for the first 
 time locked himself to his adversary, and all the efforts of 
 that infuriated Prince of Darkness — as he might have been 
 called from his appearance just now — were inadequate to lift 
 or loosen Farfrae for a time. By an extraordinary effort he 
 succeeded at last, though not until they had got far back 
 again from the fatal door. In doing so Henchard contrived 
 to turn Farfrae a complete somersault. Had Henchard's 
 other arm been free it would have been all over with Far- 
 frae then. But again he regained his feet, wrenching 
 Henchard's arm considerably, and causing him sharp pain, 
 as could be seen from the twitching of his face. He instantly 
 delivered the younger man an annihilating turn by the left 
 fore-hip, as it used to be expressed, and following up his ad- 
 vantage thrust him towards the door, never loosening his 
 hold till Farfrae's fair head was hanging over the window- 
 sill, and his arm dangling down outside the wall. 
 
-«6o THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Now," said Henchard between his gasps, "this is the end 
 of what you began this morning. Your life is in my hands.* 
 
 "Then take it, take it!" said Farfrae. "Ye've wished to 
 long enough 1" 
 
 Henchard looked down upon him in silence, and their eyes 
 met. "O Farfrae ! —that's not true ! " he said bitterly. "God 
 is my witness that no man ever loved another as I did thee 
 at one time. . . . And now — though I came here to kill 
 'ee, I cannot hurt thee! Go and give me in charge — do what 
 you will — I care nothing for what comes of me!" 
 
 He withdrew to the back part of the loft, and flimg him- 
 self into a corner upon some sacks, in the abandonment of 
 remorse. Farfrae regarded him in silence; then went to 
 the hatch and descended through it. Henchard would fain 
 have recalled him; but his tongue failed in its task, and the 
 young man's steps died on his ear. 
 
 Henchard took his full measure of shame and self-re- 
 proach. The scenes of his first acquaintance with Farfrae 
 vjushed back upon him — that time when the curious mixture 
 of romance and thrift in the young man's composition so 
 commanded his heart that Farfrae could play upon him as 
 on an instrument. So thoroughly subdued was he that he 
 remained on the sacks in a crouching attitude, unusual for 
 a man, and for such a man. Its womanliness sat tragically 
 on the figure of so stern a piece of virility. He heard a con- 
 versation below, the opening of the coach-house door, and 
 the putting in of a horse, but took no notice. 
 
 Here he stayed till the thin shades thickened to opaque 
 obscurity, and the loft-door became an oblong of gray light 
 — the only visible shape around. At length he arose, shook 
 the dust from his clothes wearily, felt his way to the hatch, 
 and gropingly descended the steps till he stood in the yard. 
 
 "He thought highly of me once," he murmured. "Now 
 \he'll hate me and despise me for ever!" 
 ' He became possessed by an overpowering wish to see Far- 
 frae again that night, and by some desperate pleading to at- 
 tempt the well-nigh impossible task of winning pardon for 
 his late mad attack. But as he walked towards Farfrae's 
 door, he recalled the unheeded doings in the yard while he 
 had lain above in a sort of stupor. Farfrae he remembered 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGfi 261 
 
 had gone to the stable and put the horse into the gig; while 
 doing so, Whittle had brought him a letter; Farfrae had 
 then said that he would not go towards Budmouth as he had 
 intended — that he was unexpectedly summoned to Weather- 
 bury, and meant to call at Mellstock on his way thither, that 
 place lying but one or two miles out of his course. 
 
 He must have come prepared for a journey when he first 
 arrived in the yard, unsuspecting enmity; and he must have 
 driven off (though in a changed direction) without saying a 
 word to any one on what had occurred between themselves. 
 
 It would therefore be useless to call at Farfrae's house 
 till very late. 1 
 
 There was no help for it but to wait till his return, thou^ 
 waiting was almost torture to his restless and self-accusing 
 soul. He walked about the streets and outskirts of the town, 
 lingering here and there till he reached the stone bridge of 
 which mention has been made, an accustomed halting-place 
 with him now. Here he spent a long time, the purl of waters 
 through the weirs meeting his ear, and the Casterbridge 
 lights glimmering at no great distance off. 
 
 While leaning thus upon the parapet, his listless attention 
 was awakened by sounds of an unaccustomed kind from the 
 town quarter. They were a confusion of rhythmical noises, 
 to which the streets added yet more confusion by encum- 
 bering them with echoes. His first incurious thought that 
 the clangour arose from the town band, engaged in an at- 
 tempt to round off a memorable day by a burst of evening 
 harmony, was contradicted by certain peculiarities of rever- 
 beration. But inexplicability did not rouse him to more 
 than a cursory heed ; his sense of degradation was too strong 
 for the admission of foreign ideas; and he leant against the 
 parapet as before. 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 When Farfrae descended out of the loft breathless from 
 his encounter with Henchard, he paused at the bottom to 
 recover himself. He arrived at the yard with the intention 
 of putting the horse into the gig himself (all the men hav. 
 ing a holiday), and driving to a village on the Budmoutlf 
 
262 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Road. Despite the fearful struggle he decided still to per- 
 severe in his journey, so as to recover himself before going 
 indoors and meeting the eyes of Lucetta. He wished to 
 consider his course in a case so serious. 
 
 When he was just on the point of driving off, Whittle ar- 
 rived with a note badly addressed, and bearing the word 
 "immediate" upon the outside. On opening it he was sur- 
 prised to see that it was unsigned. It contained a brief re- 
 quest that he would go to Weatherbury that evening about 
 some business which he was conducting there. Farfrae knew 
 nothing that could make it pressing; but as he was bent upon 
 going out he yielded to the anon3mious request, particularly 
 as he had a call to make at Mellstock which could be in- 
 cluded in the same tour. Thereupon he told Whittle of his 
 change of direction, in words which Henchard had over- 
 heard; and set out on his way. Farfrae had not directed his 
 man to take the message indoors, and Whittle had not been 
 supposed to do so on his own responsibility. 
 
 Now the anonjrmous letter was the well-intentioned but 
 ^umsy contrivance of Longways and other of Farf rae's men, 
 to get him out of the way for the evening, in order that the 
 satirical mummery should fall flat, if it were attempted. 
 By giving open information they would have brought down 
 upon their heads the vengeance of those among their com- 
 rades who enjoyed these boisterous old games; and there- 
 fore the plan of sending a letter recommended itself by its 
 indirectness. 
 
 For poor Lucetta they took no protective measure, 
 believing with the majority there was some truth in 
 the scandal, which she would have to bear as she best 
 might. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock, and Lucetta was sitting in the 
 drawing-room alone. Night had set in for more than half- 
 an-hour, but she had not had the candles lighted, for when 
 Farfrae was away she preferred waiting for him by the fire- 
 light, and, if it were not too cold, keeping one of the window- 
 sashes a little way open that the sound of his wheels might 
 reach her ears early. She was leaning back in her chair, 
 in a more hopeful mood than she had enjoyed since her 
 marriage. The day had been such a success; and the tem- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 263 
 
 porary uneasiness which Henchard's show of effrontery had 
 wrought. in her disappeared with the quiet disappearance of 
 Henchard himself under her husband's reproof. The floating 
 evidences of her absurd passion for him, and its conse- 
 quences, had been destroyed, and she really seemed to have 
 no cause for fear. 
 
 The reverie in which these and other subjects mingled 
 was disturbed by a hubbub in the distance, that increased 
 moment by moment. It did not greatly surprise her, the 
 afternoon having been given up to recreation by a majority 
 of the populace since the passage of the Royal equipages. 
 But her attention was at once riveted to the matter by the 
 voice of a maid-servant next door, who spoke from an upper 
 window across the street to some other maid even more ele- 
 vated than she. 
 
 "Which way be they going now?" inquired the first with 
 interest. 
 
 "I can't be sure for a moment," said the second, "because 
 of the maker's chimbley. Oh yes — I can see 'em. Well, I 
 declare, I declare!" 
 
 "What, what?" from the first, more enthusiastically. 
 
 "They are coming up Corn Street after alll They sit 
 back to back! " 
 
 "What — two of 'em — are there two figures?" 
 
 "Yes. Two images on a donkey, back to back, their el- 
 bows tied to one another's! She's facing the head, and he's 
 facing the tail." 
 
 "Is it meant for anybody particular?" 
 
 "Well — it mid be. The man has got on a blue coat and 
 kerseymere leggings; he has black whiskers, and a reddish 
 face. 'Tis a stuffed figure, with a mask." 
 
 The din was increasing now — then it lessened a little. 
 
 "There— I shan't see, after all!" cried the disappointed 
 
 first maid. 
 
 "They have gone into a back street — that's all," said the 
 one who occupied the enviable position in the attic. "There 
 — ^now I have got 'em all endways nicely!" 
 
 "What's the woman like? Just say, and I can tell in a 
 moment if 'tis meant for one I've in mind." 
 
 "My — why — 'tis dressed just as she was dressed when she 
 
264 THE MAYOR OF CAS TKRii RIDGE 
 
 sat in the front seat at the time the play-actors came to the 
 Town Hall!" 
 
 Lucetta started to her feet; and almost at the instant 
 the door of the room was quickly and softly opened. Eliza- 
 beth-Jane advanced into the firelight. 
 
 "I have come to see you," she said breathlessly. "I did 
 not stop to knock — forgive me! I see you have not shut 
 your shutters, and the window is open." 
 
 Without waiting for Lucetta's reply she crossed quickly 
 to the window, and pulled out one of the shutters. Lucetta 
 glided to her side. "Let it be — ^hush! " she said peremptorily, 
 in a dry voice, while she seized Elizabeth- Jane by the hand, 
 and held up her finger. Their intercourse had been so low 
 and hurried that not a word had been lost of the conversa- 
 tion without; which had thus proceeded: — 
 
 "Her neck is uncovered, and her hair in bands, and her 
 back-comb in place; she's got on a puce silk, and white 
 stockings, and coloured shoes." 
 
 Again Elizabeth- Jane attempted to close the window, but 
 Lucetta held her by main force. 
 
 " 'Tis me," she said, with a face pale as death. "A pro- 
 cession — a scandal — an effigy of me, and him!" 
 
 The look of Elizabeth betrayed that the latter knew it 
 already. 
 
 "Let us shut it out," coaxed Elizabeth- Jane, noting that 
 the rigid wildness of Lucetta's features were growing yet 
 more rigid and wild with the Hearing of the noise and laugh- 
 ter. "Letusshut it out!" 
 
 "It is of no use!" she shrieked out. "He will see it, won't 
 he? Donald will see it! He is just coming home — and it 
 will break his heart — he will never love me any more — and 
 oh, it will kill me — ^kill me!" 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane was frantic now. "Oh, can't something be 
 done to stop it?" she cried. "Is there nobody to do it — not 
 one?" 
 
 She relinquished Lucetta's hands, and ran to the door. 
 Lucetta herself, saying recklessly, "I will see it!" turned 
 to the window, threw up the sash, and went out upon the 
 balcony. Elizabeth immediately followed her, and put her 
 arm round her to pull her in. Lucetta's eyes were straight 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 265 
 
 upon the spectacle of the uncanny revel, now advancing rap- 
 idly. The numerous lights around the two effigies threw 
 them up into iurid distinctness; it was impossible to mistake 
 the pair for other than the intended victims. 
 
 "Come in, come in," implored Elizabeth; "and let me 
 shut the window!" 
 
 "She's me — she's me — even to the parasol — my green par- 
 asol!" cried Lucetta, with a wild laugh as she stepped in. 
 She stood motionless for one second — then fell heavily to 
 the floor. 
 
 Almost at the instant of her fall the rude music of the 
 skimmington ceased. The roars of sarcastic laughter went 
 off in ripples, and the trampling died out like the rustle of a 
 spent wind. Elizabeth was only indirectly conscious of this; 
 she had rung the bell, and was bending over Lucetta, who 
 remained convulsed on the carpet in the paroxysms of an 
 epileptic seizure. She rang again and again, in vain; the 
 probability being that the servants had all run out of the 
 house to see more of the Demoniac Sabbath than they could 
 see within. 
 
 At last Farfrae's man, who had been agape on the door- 
 step, came up; then the cook. The shutters, hastily pushed 
 to by Elizabeth, were quite closed, a light was obtained, Lu- 
 cetta carried to her room, and the man sent off for a doctor. 
 While Elizabeth was undressing her she recovered conscious- 
 ness; but as soon as she remembered what had passed the 
 fit returned. 
 
 The doctor arrived with unhoped-for promptitude; he had 
 been standing at his door, like others, wondering what the 
 uproar meant. As soon as he saw the unhappy sufferer he 
 said, in answer to Elizabeth's mute appeal, "This is 
 serious." 
 
 "It is a fit," Elizabeth said. 
 
 "Yes. But a fit in the present state of her health means 
 mischief. You must send at once for Mr. Farfrae. Where 
 is he?" 
 
 "He has driven into the country, sir," said the parlour- 
 maid; "to some place on the Budmouth Road. He's likely 
 to be back soon." 
 
 "Never mind; he must be sent for, in case he should not 
 
266 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 hurry." The doctor returned to the bedside again. The 
 man was despatched, and they soon heard him clattering 
 out of the yard at the back. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Benjamin Grower, the prominent burgess 
 of whom mention has been already made, hearing the din 
 of cleavers, tongs, tambourines, kits, crouds, humstrums, ser- 
 pents, rams'-horns, and other historical kinds of music as he 
 sat indoors in the High Street, had put on his hat and gone 
 out to learn the cause. He came to the corner above Far- 
 frae's, and soon guessed the nature of the proceedings; for 
 being a native of the town he had witnessed such rough 
 jests before. His first move was to search hither and 
 thither for the constables; there were two in the town, shriv- 
 elled men whom he ultimately found in hiding up an alley, 
 yet more shrivelled than usual, having some not ungroimded 
 fears that they might be roughly handled if seen. 
 
 "What can we two poor lammigers do against such a mul- 
 titude!" expostulated Stubberd, in answer to Mr. Grower's 
 chiding. " 'Tis tempting 'em to commit felo de se upon us, 
 and that would be the death of the perpetrator; and we 
 wouldn't be the cause of a fellow-creature's death on no 
 account, not we!" 
 
 "Get some help, then! Here, I'll come with you. We'll 
 see what a few words of authority can do. Quick now; 
 have you got your staves?" 
 
 "We didn't want the folk to notice us as law officers, be- 
 ing so short-handed, sir; so we pushed our Gover'ment staves 
 up this water-pipe." 
 
 "Out with 'em, and come along, for Heaven's sake! Ah, 
 here's Mr. Blowbody; that's lucky." (Blowbody was the 
 third of the three borough magistrates.) 
 
 "Well, what's the row?" said Blowbody. "Got their 
 names — hey?" 
 
 "No. Now," said Grower to one of the constables, "you 
 go with Mr. Blowbody round by the Old Walk and come up 
 the street; and I'll go with Stubberd straight forward. By 
 this plan we shall have 'em between us. Get their names 
 only: no attack or interruption." 
 
 Thus they started. But as Stubberd with Mr. Grower ad- 
 vanced, into Corn Street, whence the sounds had proceeded, 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 267 
 
 they were surprised that no procession could be seen. They 
 passed Farfrae's, and looked to the end of the street. The 
 lamp flames waved, the Walk trees soughed, a few loungers 
 stood about with their hands in their pockets. Everything 
 was as usual. 
 
 "Have you seen a motley crowd, making a disturbance?'' 
 Grower said magisterially to one of these in a fustian jacket, 
 who smoked a short pipe and wore straps round his 
 knees. 
 
 "Beg yer pardon, sir?" blandly said the person addressed, 
 who was no other than Charl, of Peter's Finger. Mr. 
 Grower repeated the words. 
 
 Charl shook his head to the zero of childlike ignorance. 
 "No; we haven't seen anything; have we, Joe? And you 
 was here afore I." 
 
 Joseph was quite as blank as the other in his reply. 
 
 "H'm — that's odd," said Mr. Grower. "Ah— here's a re- 
 spectable man coming that I know by sight. Have you," 
 he inquired, addressing the nearing shape of Jopp, "have you 
 seen any gang of fellows making a devil of a noise — ^skim- 
 mington riding, or something of the sort?" 
 
 "Oh no — nothing, sir," Jopp replied, as if receiving the 
 most singular news. "But I've not been far to-night, so per- 
 haps " 
 
 "Oh, 'twas here — just here," said the magistrate. 
 
 "Now, I've noticed, come to think o't, that the wind in the 
 Walk trees makes a peculiar poetical-like murmur to-night, 
 sir; more than common; so perhaps 'twas that?" Jopp sug- 
 gested, as he rearranged his hand in his greatcoat pocket 
 (where it ingeniously supported a pair of kitchen tongs and 
 a cow's horn, thrust up under his waistcoat). 
 
 "No, no, no, — d'ye think I'm a fool? Constable, come 
 this way. They must have gone into the back street." 
 
 Neither in back street nor in front street, however, could 
 the disturbers be perceived; and Blowbody and the second 
 constable, who came up at this time, brought similar intelli- 
 gaice. Effigies, donkey, lanterns, band, all had disappeared 
 like the crew of Comus. 
 
 "Now," said Mr. Grower, "there's only one thing more 
 we can do. Get ye half-a-dozen helpers, and go in a body 
 
268 THE MAYOR OF CAS'lEKERIDGE 
 
 to Mixen Lane, and into Peter's Finger. I'm much mistaken 
 if you don't find a clue to the perpetrators there." 
 
 The rusty jointed executors of the law mustered aseist- 
 ance as soon as they could, and the whole party marched off 
 to the lane of notoriety. It was no rapid matter to get there 
 at night, not a lamp or glimmer of any sort offering itself 
 to light the way, except an occasional pale radiance through 
 some window-curtain, or through the chink of some door 
 which could not be closed because of the smoky chimney 
 within. At last they entered the inn boldly, by the till then 
 bolted front-door, after a prolonged knocking, of loudness 
 commensurate with the importance of their standing. 
 
 In the settles of the large room, guyed to the ceiling by 
 cords as usual for stability, an ordinary group sat drinking 
 and smoking with statuesque quiet of demeanour. The land- 
 lady looked mildly at the invaders, saying in honest accents, 
 "Good evening, gentlemen; there's plenty of room. I hope 
 there's nothing amiss?" 
 
 They looked round the room. "Surely," said Stubberd to 
 one of the men, "I saw you by now in Corn Street — Mr. 
 Grower spoke to 'ee?" 
 
 The man, who was Charl, shook his head absently. "I've 
 been here this last hour, hain't I, Nance?" he said to the 
 woman who meditatively sipped her ale near him. 
 
 "Faith, that you have. I came in for my quiet supper- 
 time half-pint, and you was here then, as was all the rest." 
 
 The other constable was facing the clock-case, where he 
 saw reflected in the glass a quick motion by the landlady. 
 Turning sharply, he caught her closing the oven-door. 
 
 "Something curious about that oven, ma'am! " he observed 
 advancing, opening it, and drawing out a tambourine. 
 
 "Oh," she said, apologetically, "that's what we keep 
 here to use when there's a little quiet dancing. You see 
 damp weather spoils it, so I put it there to keep it dry." 
 
 The constable nodded knowingly; but what he knew was 
 nothing. Nohow could anything be elicited from this mute 
 and inoffensive assembly. In a few minutes the investigators 
 went out, and joining those of their auxiliaries who had been 
 left at the door, they pursued their way elsewhither. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 269 
 
 XL 
 
 Long before this time Henchard, weary of his ruminations 
 on the bridge, had repaired toward the town. When he stood 
 at the bottom of the street a procession burst upon his view, 
 in the act of turning out of an alley just above him. The 
 lanterns, horns, and multitude startled him; he saw the 
 mounted images, and knew what it all meant. 
 
 They crossed the way, entered another street, and disap- 
 peared. He turned back a few steps and was lost in grave 
 reflection, finally wending his way homeward by the obscure 
 river-side path. Unable to rest there, he went to his step- 
 daughter's lodging, and was told that Elizabeth-Jane had 
 gone to Mrs. Farfrae's. Like one acting in obedience to a 
 charm, and with a nameless apprehension, he followed in the 
 same direction, in the hope of meeting her, the roysterers 
 having vanished. Disappointed in this, he gave the gentlest 
 of pulls to the door-bell, and then learnt particulars of what 
 had occurred, together with the doctor's imperative orders 
 that Farfrae should be brought home, and how they had set 
 out to meet him on the Budmouth Road. 
 
 "But he has gone to Mellstock and Weatherbury!" ex- 
 claimed Henchard, now unspeakably grieved. "Not Bud* 
 mouth way at all." 
 
 But, alas! for Henchard; he had lost his good name. 
 They would not believe him, taking his words but as the 
 frothy utterances of recklessness. Though Lucetta's life 
 seemed at that moment to depend upon her husband's re- 
 turn (she being in great mental agony lest he should never 
 know the unexaggerated truth of her past relations with 
 Henchard) , no messenger was despatched towards Weather«> 
 bury. Henchard, in a state of bitter anxiety and contrition, 
 determined to seek Farfrae himself. 
 
 To this end he hastened down the town, ran along the 
 eastern road over Dumover moor, up the hill beyond, and 
 thus onward in the moderate darkness of this spring night 
 till he had reached a second and almost a third hill about 
 three miles distant. In Yalbury Bottom, the plain at the 
 foot of the hill, he listened. At first nothing, beycmd his 
 
270 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 own heart-throbs, was to be heard but the slow wind making 
 its moan among the masses of spruce and larch of Yalbury 
 Wood which clothed the heights on either hand; but pres- 
 ently there came the sound of light wheels whetting their 
 felloes against the newly stoned patches of road, accompa- ' 
 nied by the distant glimmer of lights. 
 
 He knew it was Farfrae's gig descending the hill from an 
 indescribable personality in its noise, the vehicle having 
 been his own till bought by the Scotchman at the sale of his 
 effects. Henchard thereupon retraced his steps, the gig com- 
 ing up with him as its driver slackened speed at the foot of 
 the decline. 
 
 It was a point in the highway near which the road to 
 Mellstock branched off from the homeward direction. My 
 diverging to that village, as he had intended to do, Far- 
 frae might probably delay his return by a couple of hours. 
 It soon appeared that his intention was to do so still, the 
 light swerving towards Cuckoo Lane, the by-road aforesaid. 
 Farfrae's off gig-lamp flashed in Henchard 's face. At the 
 same time, Farfrae discerned his late antagonist. 
 
 "Farfrae — Mr. Farfrae 1" cried the breathless Henchard, 
 holding up his hand. 
 
 Farfrae allowed the horse to turn several steps into the 
 branch lane before he pulled up. He then drew rein, and 
 said "Yes?" over his shoulder, as one would towards a pro- 
 nounced enemy. 
 
 "Come back to Casterbridge at once!" Henchard said. 
 "There's something wrong at your house — requiring 
 your return. I've run all the way here on purpose to tell 
 ye." 
 
 Farfrae was silent, and at his silence Henchard's soul 
 sank within him. Why had he not, before this, thought of 
 what was only too obvious? He who, four hours earlier, had 
 enticed Farfrae into a deadly wrestle, stood now in the dark- 
 ness of late night-time on a lonely road, inviting him to come 
 a particular way, where he might have confederates, instead 
 of his purposed way, where there might be a better opportu- 
 nity of guarding himself from attack. Henchard could al- 
 most feel this view of things in course of passage through 
 Farfrae's mind. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 271 
 
 "I have to go to Mellstock," said Farfrae coldly, as he 
 loosened his rein to move on. 
 
 ''But," imp'ored Henchard, "the matter is more 
 serious than your business at Mellstock. It is — your 
 wife! She is ill. I can tell you particulars as we go 
 along." 
 
 The very agitation and abruptness of Henchard increased 
 Farfrae's suspicion that this was a ruse to decoy him on to 
 the next wood, where might be effectually compassed what, 
 from policy or want of nerve, Henchard had failed to do 
 earlier in the day. He started the horse. 
 
 "I know what you think," deprecated Henchard, running 
 after, almost bowed down with despair as he perceived the 
 image of unscrupulous villainy that he assumed in his for- 
 mer friend's eyes. "But I am not what you think! " he cried 
 hoarsely. "Believe me, Farfrae; I have come entirely on 
 your own and your wife's account. She is in danger. I 
 know no more; and they want you to come. Your man has 
 gone the other 'vay in a mistake. O Farfrae! don't mistrust 
 me — I am a wretched man; but my heart is true to you 
 still!" 
 
 Farfrae, however, did distrust him utterly. He knew his 
 wife was with child, but he had left her not long ago in per- 
 fect health; and Henchard 's treachery was more credible 
 than his story. He had in his time heard bitter ironies from 
 Henchard's lips, and there might be ironies now. He quick- 
 ened the horse's pace, and had soon risen into the high coun- 
 try lying between there and Mellstock, Henchard's spas- 
 modic run after him lending yet more substance to his 
 thought of evil purposes. 
 
 The gig and its driver lessened against the sky in Hen- 
 chard's eyes; his exertions for Farfrae's good had been in 
 vain. Over this repentant sinner, at least, there was to be 
 no joy in heaven. He cursed himself like a less scrupulous 
 Job, as a vehement man will do when he loses self-respect, 
 the last mental prop under poverty. To this he had come 
 after a time of emotional darkness of which the adjoining 
 woodland shade afforded inadequate illustration. Presently 
 he began to walk back again along the way by which he had 
 arrived. Farfrae should at all events have no reason for de- 
 
ZJ2 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 lay upon the road by seeing him there when he took his jour- 
 ney homeward later on. 
 
 Arriving at Casterbridge, Henchard went again to Far- 
 frae's house to make inquiries. As soon as the door opened 
 anxious faces confronted his from the staircase, hall, and 
 landing; and they all said in grievous disappointment, "Oh 
 — it is not he!" The man, finding his mistake, had long 
 since returned, and all hopes had been centred upon Hen- 
 chard. 
 
 "But haven't you found him?" said the doctor. 
 
 "Yes. . . . I cannot tell ye!" Henchard replied as he sank 
 down oh a chair within the entrance. "He can't be home for 
 two hours." 
 
 "H'm," said the physician, returning upstairs. 
 
 "How is she?" asked Henchard of Elizabeth, who formed 
 one of the group. 
 
 "In great danger, father. Her anxiety to see her hus- 
 band makes her fearfully restless. Poor woman — I fear they 
 have killed her!" 
 
 Henchard regarded the sympathetic speaker for a few in- 
 stances as if she struck him in a new light; then, without 
 further remark, went out of the door and onward to his 
 lonely cottage. So much for man's rivalry, he thought. 
 Death was to have the oyster, and Farfrae and himself the 
 shells. But about Elizabeth- Jane ; in the midst of his gloom 
 ^e seemed to him as a pin-point of light. He had liked the 
 look of her face as she answered him from the stairs. There 
 had been affection in it, and above all things what he de- 
 sired now was affection from anything that was good and 
 pure. She was not his own; yet, for the first time, he had a 
 faint dream that he might get to like her as his own, — if 
 she would only continue to love him. 
 
 Jopp was just going to bed when Henchard got home. 
 As the latter entered the door Jopp said, "This is rather bad 
 about Mrs. Farfrae's illness." 
 
 "Yes," said Henchard shortly, though little dreaming of 
 Jopp's complicity in the night's harlequinade, and raising his 
 eyes just sufficiently to observe that Jopp's face was lined 
 with anxiety. 
 
 "Somebody has called for you," continued Jopp, when 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 273 
 
 Henchard was shutting himself into his own apartmrait. "A 
 kind of traveller, or sea-captain of some sort." 
 
 "Oh!— who could he be?" 
 
 "He seemed a well-be-doing man — had grey hair and a 
 broadish face; but he gave no name, and no message." 
 
 "Nor do I gi'e him any attention." And, saying this. 
 Henchard closed his door. 
 
 The divergence to Mellstock delayed Farfrae's return very 
 nearly the two hours of Henchard's estimate. Among the 
 other urgent reasons for his presence had been the need of 
 his authority to send to Budmouth for a second physician; 
 and when at length Farfrae did come back he was in a state 
 bordering on distraction at his misconception of Henchard's 
 motives. 
 
 A messenger was despatched to Budmouth, late as it had 
 grown; the night wore on, and the other doctor came in the 
 small hours. Lucetta had been much soothed by Donald's 
 arrival; he seldom or never left her side; and when, immedi- 
 ately after liis entry, she had tried to lisp out to him the 
 secret which so oppressed her, he checked her feeble words, 
 lest talking should be dangerous, assuring her there was 
 plenty of time to tell him everything. 
 
 Up to this time he knew nothing of the skimmington-ride. 
 The dangerous illness and miscarriage of Mrs. Farfrae was 
 soon rumoured through the town, and an apprehensive guess 
 having been given as to its cause by the leaders in the ex- 
 ploit, compunction and fear threw a dead silence over all 
 particulars of their orgie; while those immediately around 
 Lucetta would not venture to add to her husband's distress 
 by alluding to the subject. 
 
 What, and how much, Farfrae's wife ultimately explained 
 to him of her past entanglement with Henchard, when they 
 were alone in the solitude of that sad night, cannot be told. 
 That she informed him of the bare facts of her peculiar in- 
 timacy with the corn-merchant became plain from Farfrae's 
 own statements. But in respect of her subsequent conduct 
 ■ — her motive in coming to Casterbridge to unite herself with 
 Henchard — ^her assumed justification in abandoning him 
 when she discovered reasons for fearing him (though in 
 
274 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 trutlj her inconsequent passion for another man at first sight 
 had most to do with that abandonment) — her method of rec- 
 onciling to her conscience a marriage with the second when 
 she was in a measure committed to the first ; to what extent 
 she spoke of these things remained Farfrae's secret alone. 
 
 Besides the watchman who called the hours and weather 
 in Casterbridge that night there walked a figure up and down 
 Corn Street, hardly less frequently. It was Henchard's, 
 whose retiring to rest had proved itself a futility as soon as 
 attempted; and he gave it up to go hither and thither, and 
 make inquiries about the patient every now and then. He 
 called as much on Farfrae's account as on Lucetta's, and on 
 Elizabeth- Jane's even more than on either's! Shorn one by 
 one of all other interests, his life seemed centering on the 
 personality of the stepdaughter whose presence but recently 
 he could not endure. To see her on each occasion of his in- 
 quiry at Lucetta's was a Comfort to him. 
 
 The last of his calls was made about four o'clock in the 
 morning, in the steely light of dawn. Lucifer was fading 
 into day across Durnover Moor, the sparrows were just 
 alighting into the street, and the hens had begun to cackle 
 from the outhouses. When within a few yards of Farfrae's 
 he saw the door gently opened, and a servant raise her hand 
 to the knocker, to untie the piece of cloth which had muffled 
 it. He went across, the sparrows in his way scarcely flying 
 up from the road-litter, so little did they believe in human 
 aggression at so early a time. 
 
 "Why do you take off that?" said Henchard. 
 
 She turned in some surprise at his presence, and did not 
 answer for an instant or two. Recognizing him, she said, 
 "Because they may knock as loud as they will; she will 
 never hear it any more." 
 
 XLI 
 
 Henchaed went home. The morning having now fully 
 broke he lit his fire, and sat abstractedly beside it. He had 
 not sat there long when a gentle footstep approached the 
 house and entered the passage, a finger tapping lightly at the 
 door. Henchard's face brightened, for he knew the motions 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 275 
 
 to be Elizabeth's. She came into his room, looking wan and 
 sad. 
 
 "Have you heard?" she asked. "Mrs. Farfrae. She is — 
 dead! Yes, indeed — about an hour ago!" 
 
 "I know it," said Henchard. "I have but lately come 
 in from there. It is so very good of 'ee, Elizabeth, to come 
 and tell me. You must be so tired out, too, with sitting up. 
 Now do you bide here with me this morning. You can go 
 and rest in the other room ; and I will call 'ee when breaJk- 
 fast is ready." 
 
 To please him, and herself — for his recent kindliness was 
 winning a surprised gratitude from the lonely girl — she did 
 as he bade her, and lay down on a sort of couch which 
 Henchard had rigged up out of a settle in the adjoining 
 room. She could hear him moving about in his prepara- 
 tions; but her mind ran most strongly on Lucetta, whose 
 death, in such fulness of life, and amid such cheerful hopes 
 of maternity, was appallingly unexpected. Presently she fell 
 asleep. 
 
 Meanwhile her stepfather in the outer room had set the 
 breakfast in readiness; but finding that she dozed he would 
 not call her; he waited on, looking into the fire and keeping 
 the kettle boiling with housewifely care, as if it were an hon- 
 our to have her in his house. In truth, a great change had 
 come over him with regard to her, and he was developing the 
 dream of a future lit by her filial presence, as though that 
 way alone could happiness lie. 
 
 He was disturbed by another knock at the door, and rose 
 to open it, rather deprecating a call from anybody just then. 
 A stoutly built man stood on the doorstep, with an alien, 
 unfamiliar air about his figure and bearing — an air which 
 might have been called colonial by people of cosmopolitan, 
 experience. It was the man who had asked the way at 
 Peter's Finger. Henchard nodded, and looked inquiry. 
 
 "Good morning, good morning," said the stranger with 
 profuse heartiness. "Is it Mr. Henchard I am talking to?" 
 
 "My name is Henchard." 
 
 "Then I caught 'ee at home — that's right. Morning's the 
 time for business, says I. Can I have a few words with 
 you?" 
 
276 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "By all means," Henchard answered, showing the way in. 
 
 "You may remember me?" said his visitor, seating himself/ 
 
 Henchard observed him indifferently, and shook his head 
 
 "Well — perhaps you may not. My name is Newson." 
 
 Henchard's face and eyes seemed to die. The other did 
 not notice it. "I know the name well," Henchard said at 
 last, looking on the floor. 
 
 "I make no doubt of that. Well, the fact is, I've been 
 looking for 'ee this fortnight past. I landed at Havenpool 
 and went through Casterbridge on my way to Falmouth, 
 and when I got there, they told me you had some years be- 
 fore been living at Casterbridge. Back came I again, and 
 by long and by late I got here by coach, ten minutes ago. 
 'He lives down by the mill,' says they. So here I am. 
 Now — that transaction between us some twenty years agone 
 — 'tis that I've called about. 'Twas a curious business. I 
 was younger then than I am now, and perhaps the less said 
 about it, in one sense, the better." 
 
 "Curious business! 'Twas worse than curious. I cannot 
 even allow that I'm the man you met then. I was not in 
 my senses, and a man's senses are himself." 
 
 "We were young and thoughtless," said Newson. "How- 
 ever, I've come to mend matters rather than open arguments. 
 Poor Susan — ^hers was a strange experience." 
 
 "It was." 
 
 "She was a warm-hearted, home-spun woman. She was 
 not what they call shrewd or sharp at all — ^better she had 
 been." 
 
 "She was not." 
 
 "As you in all likelihood know, she was simple-minded 
 ■enough to think that the sale was in a way binding. She 
 was as guiltless o' wrong-doing in that particular as a saint 
 in the clouds." 
 
 "I know it, I know it. I found it out directly," said 
 Henchard, still with averted eyes. "There lay the sting o't 
 to me. If she had seen it as what it was, she would never 
 have left me. Never I But how should she be expected to 
 know? What advantages had she? None. She could write 
 her own name, and no more." 
 
 "Well, it was not in my heart to undeceive her when the 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 277 
 
 deed was done," said the sailor of former days. "I thou^, 
 and there was not much vanity in thinking it, that she would 
 be happier with me. She was fairly happy, and I never 
 would have undeceived her till the day of her death. Your 
 child died; she had another, and all went well. But a time 
 came — mind me, a time always does come. A time came — 
 it was some while after she and I and the child returned 
 from America — when somebody she had confided her history 
 to, told her my claim to her was a mockery, and made a 
 jest of her belief in my right. After that she was never 
 happy with me. She pined and pined, and socked and 
 sighed. She said she must leave me, and then came tht 
 question of our child. Then a man advised me how to act, 
 and I did it, for I thought it was best. 1 left her at Fal- 
 mouth, and went off to sea. When I got to the other side 
 of the Atlantic there was a storm, and it was supposed that 
 a lot of us, including myself, had been washed overboard. 
 I got ashore at Newfoundland, and then I asked myself what 
 I should do. 'Since I'm here, here I'll bide,' I thought 
 to myself; ' 'twill be most kindness to her, now she's taken 
 against me, to let her believe me lost; for,' I thought, 'while 
 she supposes us both alive she'll be miserable; but if she 
 thinks me dead she'll go back to him, and the child will 
 have a home.' I've never returned to this country till a 
 month ago, and I found that, as I had supposed, she went 
 to you, and my daughter with her. They told me in Fal- 
 mouth that Susan was dead. But my Elizabeth-Jane — 
 where is she?" 
 
 "Dead likewise," said Henchard doggedly. "Surely you 
 learnt that too?" 
 
 The sailor started up, and took an enervated pace or two 
 down the room. "Dead ! " he said, in a low voice. "Then 
 what's the use of my money to me?" 
 
 Henchard, without answering, shook his head, as if that 
 were rather a question for Newson himself than for 
 him. 
 
 "Where is she buried?" the traveller inquired. 
 
 "Beside her mother," said Henchard, in the same stolid 
 tones. 
 
 "When did she die?" 
 
zfi> THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "A year ago and more," replied the other without hesita- 
 tion. 
 
 The sailor continued standing. Henchard never looked up 
 from the floor. At last Newson said: "My journey hither 
 has been for nothing! I may as well go as I came! It has 
 served me right. I'll trouble you no longer!" 
 
 Henchard heard the retreating footsteps of Newson upon 
 the sanded floor, the mechanical lifting of the latch, the 
 slow opening and closing of the door that was natural to a 
 baulked or dejected man; but he did not turn his head. 
 Newson's shadow passed the window. He was gone. 
 
 Then Henchard, scarcely believing the evidence of his 
 senses, rose from his seat, amazed at what he had done. It 
 had been the impulse of a moment. The regard he had 
 lately acquired for Elizabeth, the new-sprung hope of his 
 loneliness that she would be to him a daughter of whom he 
 could feel as proud as of the actual daughter she still be- 
 lieved herself to be, had been stimulated by the unexpected 
 coming of Newson to a greedy exclusiveness in relation ta 
 her; so that the sudden prospect of her loss had caused him 
 to speak mad lies like a child, in pure mockery of conse- 
 quences. He had expected questions to close in round him, 
 and unmask his fabrication in five minutes; yet such ques' 
 tioning had not come. But surely they would come; New- 
 son's departure could be but momentary; he would learn 
 all by inquiries in the town; and return to curse him, and 
 carry his last treasure away! 
 
 He hastily put on his hat, and went out in the direction 
 that Newson had taken. Newson's back was soon visible 
 up the road. Henchard followed; and saw his visitor stop 
 at the King's Arms, where the morning coach which had 
 brought him waited half-an-hour for another coach which 
 crossed there. The coach Newson had come by was now 
 about to move again. Newson mounted ; his luggage was put 
 in, and in a few minutes the vehicle disappeared with him. 
 
 He had not so much as turned his head. It was an act 
 of simple faith in Henchard's words — faith so simple as to 
 be almost sublime. The young sailor who had taken Susan 
 Henchard on the spur of the moment, and on the faith of 
 a glance at her face, more than twenty years before, was 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 279 
 
 still living and acting under the form of the grizzled trav- 
 eller who had taken Henchard's words on trust so absolute 
 as to shame him as he stood. 
 
 Was Elizabeth- Jane to remain his by virtue of this hardy 
 invention of a moment? "Perhaps not for long," said he. 
 Newson might converse with his fellow-travellers, some of 
 whom might be Casterbridge people; and the trick would be 
 discovered. 
 
 This probability threw Henchard into a defensive atti- 
 tude, and instead of considering how best to right the wrong, 
 and acquaint Elizabeth's father with the truth at once, he 
 bethought himself of ways to keep the position he had ac- 
 cidentally won. Towards the young woman herself his af- 
 fection grew more jealously strong with each new hazard 
 to which his claim to her was exposed. 
 
 He watched the distant highway, expecting to see Newson 
 return on foot, enlightened and indignant, to claim his child. 
 But no figure appeared. Possibly he had spoken to nobody 
 on the coach, but buried his grief in his own heart. 
 
 His grief! — what was it, after all, to that which he, 
 Henchard, would feel at the loss of her? Newson 's affection, 
 cooled by years, could not equal his who had been 
 constantly in her presence. And thus his jealous soul 
 speciously argued to excuse the separation of father and 
 child. 
 
 He returned to the house half expecting that she would 
 have vanished. No; there she was — ^just coming out from 
 the inner room, the marks of sleep upon her eyelids, and 
 exhibiting a generally refreshed air. 
 
 "O father!" she said, smiling. "I had no sooner lain 
 down than I napped, though I did not mean to? I won- 
 der I did not dream about poor Mrs. Farfrae, after thinking 
 of her so; but I did not. How strange it is that we do 
 not often dream of latest events, absorbing as they may 
 
 be'' 
 
 "I am glad you have been able to sleep," he said, taking 
 her hand with anxious proprietorship — an act which gave 
 her a pleasant surprise. 
 
 They sat down to breakfast, and Elizabeth-Jane's 
 thoughts reverted to Lucetta. Their sadness added charm 
 
28o THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 to a countenance whose beauty had ever lain in its meditao 
 tive soberness. 
 
 "Father," she said, as soon as she recalled herself to the 
 outspread meal, "it is so kind of you to get this nice break- 
 fast with your own hands, and I idly asleep the while." 
 
 "I do it every day," he replied. "You have left me; 
 everybody has left me; how should I live but by my own 
 hands." 
 
 "You are very lonely, are you not?" 
 
 "Ay, child — to a degree that you know nothing of! It 
 is my own fault. You are the only one who has been near 
 me for weeks. And you will come no more." 
 
 "Why do you say that? Indeed I will, if you would like 
 to see me." 
 
 Henchard signified dubiousness. Though he had so lately 
 hoped that Elizabeth- Jane might again live in his house as 
 daughter, he would not ask her to do so now. Newson 
 might return at any moment, and what Elizabeth would 
 think of him for his deception it were best to bear apart 
 from her. 
 
 When they had breakfasted his stepdaughter still lin- 
 gered, till the moment arrived at which Henchard was ac- 
 customed to go to his daily work. Then she arose, and 
 with assurances of coming again, soon went up the hill in 
 the morning sunlight. 
 
 "At this moment her heart is as warm towards me as 
 mine is towards her; she would live with me here in this 
 humble cottage for the asking! Yet before the evening 
 probably he will have come; and then she will scora me!" 
 
 This reflection, constantly repeated by Henchard to him- 
 self, accompanied him everywhere through the day. His 
 mood was no longer that of the rebellious, ironical, reckless 
 misadventurer; but the leaden gloom of one who has lost 
 all that can make life interesting, or even tolerable. There 
 would remain nobody for him to be proud of, nobody to 
 fortify him; for Elizabeth- Jane would soon be but as a 
 stranger, and worse. Susan, Farfrae, Lucetta, Elizabeth — 
 all had gone from him, one after one, either by his fault or 
 by his misfortune. 
 
 In place of them he had no interest, hobby, or desire. If 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 281 
 
 he could have summoned music to his aid, his existence 
 might even now have been borne; for with Henchard music 
 was of regal power. The merest trumpet or organ tone was 
 enough to move him, and high harmonies transubstantiated 
 him. But fate had ordained that he should be unable tc call 
 up this Divine spirit in his need. 
 
 The whole land ahead of him was as darkness itself; 
 there was nothing to come, nothing to wait for. Yet in the 
 natural course of life he might possibly have to linger on 
 earth another thirty or forty years — scoffed at; at best 
 pitied. 
 
 The thought of it was unendurable. 
 
 To the east of Casterbridge lay moors and meadows, 
 through which much water flowed. The wanderer in this 
 direction, who should stand still for a few moments on a 
 quiet night, might hear singular symphonies from these wa- 
 ters, as from a lampless orchestra, all playing in their sun- 
 dry tones, from near and far parts of the moor. At a hole 
 in a rotten weir they executed a recitative; where a tribu- 
 tary brook fell over a stone breastwork they trilled cheer- 
 ily; imder an arch they performed a metallic cymballing; 
 and at Durnover Hole they hissed. The spot at which their 
 instrumentation rose loudest was a place called Ten Hatches, 
 whence during high springs there proceeded a very fugue of 
 sounds. 
 
 The river here was deep and strong at all times, and the 
 hatches on this account were raised and lowered by cogs and 
 a winch. A path led from the second bridge over the high- 
 way (so often mentioned) to these Hatches, crossing the 
 stream at their head by a narrow plank-bridge. But after 
 night-fall human beings were seldom found going that way, 
 the path leading to no place in particular, and the passage 
 being dangerous. 
 
 Henchard, however, leaving the town by the east road, 
 proceeded to the second, or stone bridge, and thence struck 
 into this path of solitude, following its course beside the 
 stream till the dark shapes of the Ten Hatches cut the sheen 
 thrown upon the river by the weak lustre that still lingered 
 in the west. In a second or two he stood beside the weir- 
 hole where the water was at its deqiest. He looked back- 
 
382 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 wards and forwards, and no creature appeared in view. 
 He then took off his coat and hat, and stood on the brink 
 of the stream with his hands claspeid in front of him. 
 
 While his eyes were bent on the water beneath, there 
 slowly became visible a something floating in the circular 
 pool formed by the wash of centuries; the pool he was in- 
 tending to make his death-bed. At first it was indistinct, by 
 reason of the shadow from the bank; but it emerged thence, 
 and took shape, which was that of a human body, lying stiff 
 and stark upon the surface of the stream. 
 
 In the circular current imparted by the central flow the 
 form was brought forward, till it passed under his eyes; 
 and then he perceived with a sense of horror that it was 
 himself. Not a man somewhat resembling him, but one in 
 all respects his counterpart, his actual double, was floating 
 as if dead in Ten Hatches Hole. 
 
 The sense of the supernatural was strong in this un- 
 happy man, and he turned away as one might have done in 
 the actual presence of an appalling miracle. He covered 
 his eyes and bowed his head. Without looking again 
 into tlie stream he took his coat and hat, and went slowly 
 away. 
 
 Presently he found himself by the door of his own dwell- 
 ing. To his surprise Elizabeth- Jane was standing there. 
 She came forward, spoke, called him "father" just as be- 
 fore. Newson, then, had not even yet returned. 
 
 "I thought you seemed very sad this morning," she said, 
 "so I have come again to see you. Not that I am anything 
 but sad myself. But everybody and everything seem against 
 you so; and I know you must be suffering." 
 
 How this woman divined things! Yet she had not divined 
 their whole extremity. 
 
 He said to her, "Are miracles still worked, do ye think, 
 Elizabeth? I am not a read man. I don't know so much 
 as I could wish. I have tried to peruse and learn all my 
 life; but the more I try to know the more ignorant I seem." 
 
 "I don't quite think there are any miracles now-a-days," 
 she said. 
 
 "No interference in the case of desperate intentions, for 
 instance? Well, perhaps not, in a direct way. Perhaps not. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 283 
 
 BiiiL will you come and walk with me, and I will show 'ee 
 what I mean." 
 
 She agreed willingly, and he took her over the highway, 
 and by the lonely path to Ten Hatches. He walked rest- 
 lessly, as if some haunting shade, unseen of her, hovered 
 round him and troubled his glance. She would gladly have 
 talked of Lucetta, but feared to disturb him. When they 
 got near the weir he stood still, and asked her to go forward 
 and look into the pool, and tell him what she saw. 
 
 She went, and soon returned to him. "Nothing," she 
 said. 
 
 "Go again," said Henchard, "and look narrowly." 
 
 She proceeded to the river brink a second time. On h«r 
 return, after some delay, she told him that she saw some- 
 thing floating there; but what it was she could not discern. 
 It seemed to be a bundle of old clothes. 
 
 "Are they like mine?" asked Henchard. 
 
 "Well — they are. Dear me — I wonder if Father, 
 
 let us go away!" 
 
 "Go and look once more; and then we will get home." 
 
 She went back, and he could see her stoop till her head 
 was close to the margin of the pool. She started up, and 
 hastened back to his side. 
 
 "Well," said Henchard; "what do you say now?" 
 
 "Let us go home." 
 
 "But tell me — do — what is it floating there?" 
 
 "The effigy," she answered hastily. "They must have 
 thrown it into the river, higher up amongst the willows, to 
 get rid of it in their alarm at discovery; and it must have 
 floated down here." 
 
 "Ah — to be sure — the image o' me! But where is the 
 other? Why that one only? . . . That performance of 
 theirs killed her, but kept me alive!" 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane thought and thought of these words "kept 
 me alive," as they slowly retraced their way to the town, 
 and at length guessed their meaning. "Father! — I will not 
 leave you alone like this!" she cried. "May I live with 
 you, and tend upon you, as I used to do? I do not mind 
 your being poor. I would have agreed to come this morning, 
 but you did not ask me." 
 
284 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "May you come to me?" he cried bitterly. "Elizabeth, 
 don't mock me! If you only would come!" 
 
 "I will," said she. 
 
 "How will you forgive all my roughness in former days? 
 You cannot!" 
 
 "I have forgotten it. Talk of that no more." 
 
 Thus she assured him, and arranged their plans for re- 
 union; and at length each went home. Then Henchard 
 shaved for the first time during many days, and put on clean 
 linen, and combed his hair: and was as a man resuscitated 
 thenceforward. 
 
 The next morning the fact turned out to be as Elizabeth- 
 Jane had stated; the effigy was discovered by a cowherd, 
 and that of Lucetta a little higher up in the same stream. 
 But as little as possible was said of the matter, and the 
 figures were privately destroyed. 
 
 Despite this natural solution of the mystery, Henchard 
 no less regarded it as an intervention that the figure should 
 have been floating there. Elizabeth- Jane heard him say, 
 "Who is such a reprobate as I! And yet it seems that even 
 I be in Somebody's hand!" 
 
 XLII 
 
 But the emotional conviction that he was in Somebody's 
 hand began to die out of Henchard's breast as time slowly 
 removed into distance the event which had given that feel- 
 ing birth. The apparition of Newson haunted him. He 
 would surely return. 
 
 Yet Newson did not arrive. Lucetta had been borne along 
 the churchyard path; Casterbridge had for the last time 
 turned its regard upon her, before proceeding to its work 
 as if she had never lived. But Elizabeth remained undis- 
 turbed in the belief of her relationship to Henchard, and now 
 shared his home. Perhaps, after all, Newson was gone for 
 ever. 
 
 In due time the bereaved Farfrae had learnt the, at least, 
 proximate cause of Lucetta 's illness and death; and his 
 first impulse was naturally enough to wreak vengeance in 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 285 
 
 the name of the law upon the perpetrators of the mischief. 
 He resolved to wait till the funeral was over ere he moved 
 in the matter. The time having come he reflected. Disas- 
 trous as the result had been, it was obviously in no way 
 foreseen or intended by the thoughtless crew who arranged 
 the motley procession. The tempting prospect of putting 
 to the blush people who stand at the head of affairs — that 
 supreme and piquant enjoyment of those who writhe under 
 the heel of the same— had alone animated them, so far as 
 he could see; for he knew nothing of Jopp's incitements,, 
 Other considerations were also involved. Lucetta had con- 
 fessed everything to him before her death, and it was 
 not altogether desirable to make much ado about hei 
 history, alike for her sake, for Henchard's, and for his 
 own. To regard the event as an untoward accident seemed, 
 to Farfrae, truest consideration for the dead one's memory,, 
 as well as best philosophy. 
 
 Henchard and himself mutually forbore to meet. For 
 Elizabeth's sake the former had fettered his pride suffi- 
 ciently to accept the small seed business which some of the 
 Town Council, headed by Farfrae, had purchased, to afford 
 him a new opening. Had he been only personally con- 
 cerned, Henchard, without doubt, would have declined as- 
 sistance even remotely brought about by the man whom 
 he had so fiercely assailed. But the sympathy of the girl 
 seemed necessary to his very existence; and on her account 
 pride itself wore the garments of humility. 
 
 Here they settled themselves; and on each day of their 
 lives Henchard anticipated her every wish with a watch- 
 fulness in which paternal regard was heightened by a burn- 
 ing jealous dread of rivalry. Yet that Newson would ever 
 now return to Casterbridge to claim her as a daughter there 
 was little reason to suppose. He was a wanderer and a 
 stranger, almost an alien; he had not seen his daughter for 
 several years; his affection for her could not in the nature 
 of things be keen; other interests would probably soon ob- 
 scure his recollections of her, and prevent any such renewal 
 of inquiry into the past as would lead to a discovery that 
 she was still a creature of the present. To satisfy his con- 
 science somewhat, Henchard repeated to himself that the lie 
 
286 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 which had retained for him the coveted treasure had not 
 been deliberately told to that end, but had come from him 
 as the last defiant word of an irony which took no thought 
 of consequences. Furthermore he pleaded within himself 
 that no Newson could love her as he loved her, or would tend 
 her to his life's extremity as he was prepared to do cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 Thus they lived on in the shop overlooking the church- 
 yard, and nothing occurred to mark their days during the 
 remainder of the year. Going out but seldom, and never on 
 a market-day, they saw Donald Farfrae only at rarest in- 
 tervals, and then mostly as a transitory object in the dis- 
 tance of the street. Yet he was pursuing his ordinary avo- 
 cations, smiling mechanically to fellow-tradesmen, and ar- 
 guing with bargainers — as bereaved men do after a while. 
 
 "Time, in his own grey style," taught Farfrae how to esti- 
 mate his experience of Lucetta — all that it was, and all 
 that it was not. There are men whose hearts insist upon a 
 dogged fidelity to some image or cause, thrown by chance 
 into their keeping, long after their judgment has pronounced 
 it no rarity — even the reverse, indeed; and without them 
 the band of the worthy is incomplete. But Farfrae was not 
 of those. It was inevitable that the insight, briskness, and 
 rapidity of his nature should take him out of the dead blank 
 which his loss threw about him. He could not but perceive 
 that by the death of Lucetta he had exchanged a looming 
 misery for a simple sorrow. After that revelation of her 
 history, which must have come sooner or later in any cir- 
 cumstances, it was hard to believe that life with her would 
 have been productive of further happiness. 
 
 But as a memory, notwithstanding such conditions, Lu- 
 cetta's image still lived on with him, her weaknesses provok- 
 ing only the gentlest criticism, and her sufferings attenuating 
 wrath at her concealments to a momentary spark now and 
 then. 
 
 By the end of a year Henchard's little retail seed and 
 grain shop, not much larger than a cupboard, had developed 
 its trade considerably, and the stepfather and daughter en- 
 joyed much serenity in the pleasant, sunny corner in which 
 it stood. The quiet bearing of one who brimmed with aa 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 287 
 
 inner activity characterized Elizabeth-Jane at this period. 
 She took long walks into the country two or three times a 
 week, mostly in the direction of Budmouth. Sometimes it 
 occurred to him that when she sat with him in the evening 
 after these invigorating walks she was civil rather than af- 
 fectionate; and he was troubled; one more bitter regret be- 
 ing added to those he had already experienced at having, 
 by his severe censorship, frozen up her precious affection 
 when originally offered. 
 
 She had her own way in everything now. In going and 
 coming, in buying and selling, her word was law. 
 
 "You have got a new muff, Elizabeth," he said to Let one 
 day quite humbly. 
 
 "Yes; I bought it," she said. 
 
 He looked at it again as it lay on an adjoining table. The 
 fur was of a glossy brown, and, though he was no judge of 
 such articles, he diought it seemed an unusually good one 
 for her to possess. 
 
 "Rather costly, I suppose, my dear, was it not?" he haz- 
 arded. 
 
 "It was rather above my figure," she said quietly. "But 
 it is not showy." 
 
 "Oh no," said the netted lion, anxious not to pique her 
 in the least. 
 
 Some little time after, when the year had advanced into 
 another spring, he paused opposite her empty bedroom in 
 passing it. He thought of the time when she had cleared 
 out of his then large and handsome house in Com Street, 
 in consequence of his dislike and harshness, and he had 
 looked into her chamber in just the same way. The present 
 room was much humbler, but what struck him about it was 
 the abundance of books lying everywhere. Their number 
 and quality made the meagre furniture that supported them 
 seem absurdly disproportionate. Some, indeed many, must 
 have been recently purchased; and though he encouraged 
 her to buy in reason, he had no notion that she indulged 
 her innate passion so extensively in proportion to the nar- 
 rowness of their income. For the first time he felt a little 
 hurt by what he thought her extravagance, and resolved to 
 say a word to her about it. But, before he had found the 
 
a88 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 courage to speak, an event happened which set his thoughts 
 flying in quite another direction. 
 
 The busy time of the seed trade was over; and the quiet 
 weeks that preceded the hay-season had come — setting their 
 special stamp upon Casterbridge by thronging the market 
 with wood rakes, new waggons in yellow, green, and red, 
 formidable scythes, and pitchforks of prong sufficient to 
 skewer up a small family. Henchard, contrary to his wont, 
 went out one Saturday afternoon towards the market-place, 
 from a curious feeling that he would like to pass a few min- 
 utes on the spot of his former triumphs. Farfrae, to whom 
 he was still a comparative stranger, stood a few steps below 
 the Com Exchange door — a usual position with him at this 
 hour — and he appeared lost in thought about something he 
 was looking at a little way off. 
 
 Henchard 's eyes followed Farfrae's, and he saw that the 
 object of his gaze was no sample-showing farmer, but his 
 own stepdaughter, who had just come out of a shop over 
 the way. She, on her part, was quite unconscious of his at- 
 tention, and in this was less fortunate than those young 
 women whose very plumes, like those of Juno's bird, are 
 set with Argus eyes whenever possible admirers are within 
 ken. 
 
 Henchard went away, thinking that perhaps there was 
 nothing significant after all in Farfrae's look at Elizabeth- 
 Jane at that juncture. Yet he could not forget that the 
 Scotchman had once shown a tender interest in her, of a 
 fleeting kind. Thereupon promptly came to the surface that 
 idiosyncrasy of Henchard 's which had ruled his courses from 
 the beginning, and had mainly made him what he was. In- 
 stead of thinking that a union between his cherished stepi- 
 daughter and the energetic thriving Donald was a thing to 
 be desired for her good and his own, he hated the very pos- 
 sibUity. 
 
 Time had been when such instinctive opposition would 
 have taken shape in action. But he was not now the Hen- 
 chard of former days. He schooled himself to accept her will, 
 in this as in other matters, as absolute and unquestionable. 
 He dreaded lest an antagonistic word should lose for him 
 such regard as he had regained from her by his devotion, 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 289 
 
 feeling that to retain this under separation was better than 
 to incur her dislike by keeping her near. 
 
 But the mere thought of such separation fevered his spirit 
 much, and in the evening he said, with the stillness of sus- 
 pense: "Have you seen Mr. Farfrae to-day, Elizabeth?" 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane started at the question; and it was with 
 some confusion that she replied "No." 
 
 "Oh— that's right— that's right. ... It was only that I 
 saw him in the street when we both were there." He was 
 wondering if her embarrassment justified him in a new sus- 
 picion — that the long walks which she had latterly been tak- 
 ing, that the new books which had so surprised him, had 
 anything to do with the young man. She did not enlighten 
 him, and lest silence should allow her to shape thoughts un- 
 favourable to their present friendly relations, he diverted 
 the discourse into another channel. 
 
 Henchard was, by original make, the last man to act 
 stealthily, for good or for evD. But the solidtus timor of 
 his love — the dependence upon Elizabeth's regard into which 
 he had declined (or, in another sense, to which he had 
 advanced) — denaturalized him. He would often weigh and 
 consider for hours together the meaning of such and such a 
 deed or phrase of hers, when a blunt settling question would 
 formerly have been his first instinct. And now, uneasy at 
 the thought of a passion for Farfrae which should entirely 
 displace her mild filial sympathy with himself, he observ^ 
 her going and coming more narrowly. 
 
 There was nothing secret in Elizabeth- Jane's movements 
 beyond what habitual reserve induced; and it may at once 
 be owned on her account that she was guilty of occasional 
 conversations with Donald when they chanced to meet. 
 Whatever the origin of her walks on Uie Budmouth Road, 
 her return from those walks was often coincident with Far- 
 frae's emergence from Corn Street for a twenty minutes' 
 blow on that rather windy highway — ^just to winnow the 
 seeds and chaff out of him before sitting down to tea, as 
 he said. Henchard became aware of this by going to the 
 Ring, and, screened by its enclosure, keeping his eye upon 
 the road till he saw them meet. His face assumed an ex- 
 pression of extreme anguish. 
 
890 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 "Of her, too, he means to rob me!" he whispered. "But 
 he has the right. I do not wish to interfere." 
 
 The meeting, in truth, was of a very innocent kind, and 
 matters were by no means so far advanced between the 
 young people as Henchard's jealous grief inferred. Could 
 he have heard such conversation as passed he would have 
 been enlightened thus much: — 
 
 He. — "You like walking this way. Miss Henchard — and 
 is it not so?" (uttered in his undulatory accents, and with 
 an appraising, pondering gaze at her). 
 
 She. — "Oh yes. I have chosen this road latterly. I have 
 no great reason for it." 
 
 He. — "But that may make a reason for others." 
 
 She (reddening). — "I don't know that. My reason, how- 
 ever, such as it is, is that I wish to get a glimpse of the sea 
 every day." 
 
 He. — "Is it a secret why?" 
 
 She (reluctantly).— "Yes." 
 
 He (with the pathos of one of his native ballads). — "Ah, I 
 doubt there will be any good in secrets! A secret cast a 
 deep shadow over my life. And well you know what it 
 was." 
 
 Elizabeth admitted that she did, but she refrained from 
 confessing why the sea attracted her. She could not her- 
 self account for it fully, not knowing the secret possibly to 
 be that, in addition to early marine associations, her blood 
 was a sailor's. 
 
 "Thank you for those new books, Mr. Farfrae," she added 
 shyly. "I wonder if I ought to accept so many!" 
 
 "Ay! why not? It gives me more pleasure to get them 
 for you, than you to have them!" 
 
 "It cannot!" 
 
 They proceeded along the road together till they reached 
 the town, and their paths diverged. 
 
 Henchard vowed that he would leave them to their own 
 devices, put nothing in the way of their courses, whatever 
 they might mean. If he were doomed to be bereft of her, 
 so it must be. In the situation which their marriage would 
 create he could see no locus standi for himself at all. Far- 
 frae would never recognize him more than superciliouslv: 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 291 
 
 his poverty ensured that, no less than his past conduct. And 
 so Elizabeth would grow to be a stranger to him, and the 
 end of his life would be friendless solitude. 
 
 With such a possibiUty impending he could not help 
 watchfulness. Indeed, within certain lines, he had the right 
 to keep an eye upon her as his charge. The meetings seemed 
 to become matters of course with them on special days of 
 the week. 
 
 At last full proof was given him. He was standing behind 
 a wall close to the place at which Farfrae encountered her. 
 He heard the young man address her as "Dearest Elizabeth- 
 Jane," and then kiss her, the girl looking quicMy round to 
 assure herself that nobody was near. 
 
 When they were gone their way Henchard came out from 
 the wall, and mournfully followed them to Casterbridge. 
 The chief looming trouble in this engagement had not de- 
 creased. Both Faihae and Elizabeth-Jane, unlike the rest 
 of the people, must suppose Elizabeth to be his actual 
 daughter, from his own assertion while he himself had the 
 same belief; and though Farfrae must have so far forgiven 
 him as to have no objection to own him as a father-in-law, 
 intimate they could never be. Thus would the girl, who was 
 his only friend, be withdrawn from him by degrees through 
 her husband's influence, and learn to despise him. 
 
 Had she lost her heart to any other man in the world 
 than the one he had rivalled, cursed, wrestled with for life 
 in days before his spirit was broken, Henchard would have 
 said, "I am content." But content with the prospect as now 
 depicted was hard to acquire. 
 
 There is an outer chamber of the brain in which thoughts 
 unowned, unsolicited, and of noxious kind, are sometimes 
 allowed to wander for a moment prior to being sent off 
 whence they came. One of these thoughts sailed into Hen- 
 chard's ken now. 
 
 Suppose he were to communicate to Farfrae the fact that 
 his betrothed was not the child of Michael Henchard at 
 all — legally, nobody's child; how would that correct and 
 leading townsman receive the information? He might pos- 
 sibly forsake Elizabeth- Jane, and then she would be her 
 stepsire's own again. 
 
292 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Henchard shuddered, and exclaimed, "God forbid such a 
 thing! Why should I still be subject to these visitations of 
 the devil, when I try so hard to keep him away?" 
 
 XLIII 
 
 What Henchard saw thus early was, naturally enough, seen 
 at a little later date by other people. That Mr. Farfrae 
 "walked with that bankrupt Henchard's stepdaughter, of all 
 women," became a common topic in the town, the simple 
 perambulating term being used hereabout to signify a woo- 
 ing; and the nineteen superior young ladies of Casterbridge, 
 who had each looked upon herself as the only woman capa- 
 ble of making the merchant Councilman happy, indignantly 
 left off going to the church Farfrae attended, left off con- 
 scious mannerisms, left off putting him in their prayers at 
 night amongst their blood relations; in short, reverted to 
 their natural courses. 
 
 Perhaps the only inhabitants of the town to whom this 
 looming choice of the Scotchman's gave unmixed satisfac- 
 tion were the members of the philosophic party, which in- 
 cluded Longways, Christopher Coney, Billy Wills, Mr. Buzz- 
 ford, and the like. The Three Mariners having been, years 
 before, the house in which they had witnessed the young 
 man and woman's first and humble appearance on the Cas- 
 terbridge stage, they took a kindly interest in their career, 
 not unconnected, perhaps, with visions of festive treatment 
 at their hands hereafter. Mrs. Stannidge, having rolled 
 into the large parlour one evening, and said that it was 
 fl wonder such a man as Mr. Farfrae, "a pillow of the town," 
 who might have chosen one of the daughters of the profes- 
 sional men, or private residents, should stoop so low, Coney 
 ventured to disagree with her. 
 
 "No, ma'am, no wonder at all. 'Tis she that's a stoop- 
 ing to he — that's my opinion. A widow man — ^whose first 
 (vife was no credit to him — what is it for a young perusing 
 woman, that's her own mistress and well-liked? But as a 
 neat patching up of things I see much good in it. When a 
 taan have put up a tomb of best marble-stone to the other 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 293 
 
 one, as he've done, and weeped his fill, and thought it alJ 
 over, and said to hisself, 'T'other took me in; I knowed thi? 
 one first; she's a sensible piece for a partner, and there's no 
 faithful woman in high life now;' — well, he may do worse 
 than not to take her, if she's tender-inclined." 
 
 Thus they talked at the Mariners. But we must guard 
 against a too liberal use of the conventional declaration that 
 a great sensation was caused by the prospective event, that 
 all the gossips' tongues were set wagging thereby, and so 
 on, even though such a declaration might lend some eclat to 
 the career of our poor only heroine. When all has been 
 said about busy rumourers, a superficial and temporary 
 thing is the interest of anybody in affairs which do not di- 
 rectly touch them. It would be a truer representation to 
 say that Casterbridge (ever excepting the nineteen young 
 ladies) looked up for a moment at the news, and withdraw- 
 ing its attention, went on labouring and victualling, bring- 
 ing up its children, and burying its dead, without caring a 
 tittle for Farfrae's domestic plans. 
 
 Not a hint of the matter was thrown out to her stepfather 
 by Elizabeth herself or by Farfrae either. Reasoning on the 
 cause of their reticence he concluded that, estimating him 
 by his past, the throbbing pair were afraid to broach the 
 subject, and looked upon him as an irksome obstacle whom 
 they would be heartily glad to get out of the way. Embit- 
 tered as he was against society, this moody view of himself 
 took deeper and deeper hold of Henchard, till the daily ne- 
 cessity of facing mankind, and of them particularly Eliza- 
 beth-Jane, became well-nigh more than he could endure. 
 His health declined; he became morbidly sensitive. He 
 wished he could escape those who did not want him, and 
 hide his head for ever. 
 
 But what if he were mistaken in his views, and there 
 were no necessity that his own absolute separation from her 
 should be involved in the incident of her marriage? 
 
 He proceeded to draw a picture of the alternative — 
 himself living like a fangless lion about the back rooms 
 of a house in which his stepdaughter was mistress; an inof- 
 fensive old man, tenderly smiled on by Elizabeth, and good- 
 naturedly tolerated by her husband. It was terrible to his 
 
^94 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 pride to think of descending so low; and yet, for the girl's 
 sake he might put up with anything; even from Farfrae; 
 even snubbings and masterful tongue scourgings. The 
 privilege of being in the house she occupied would almost 
 outweigh the personal humiliation. 
 
 Whether this were a dim possibility or the reverse, the 
 courtship — which it evidently now was — ^had an absorbing 
 interest for him. 
 
 Elizabeth, as has been said, often took her walks on the 
 Budmouth Road, and Farfrae as often made it convenient 
 to create an accidental meeting with her there. A quarter 
 of a mile from the highway was the pre-historic fort called 
 Mai Dun, of huge dimensions and many ramparts, within 
 or upon whose enclosures a human being, as seen from the 
 road, was but an insignificant speck. Hither Henchard 
 often resorted, glass in hand, and scanned the hedgeless Via 
 — for it was the original track laid out by the legions of the 
 Empire — to a distance of two or three miles, his object be- 
 ing to read the progress of affairs between Farfrae and his 
 charmer. 
 
 One day Henchard was at this spot when a masculine 
 figure came along the road from Budmouth, and lingered. 
 Applying his telescope to his eye Henchard expected that 
 Farfrae's features would be disclosed as usual. But the 
 lenses revealed that to-day the man was not Elizabeth- Jane's 
 lover. 
 
 It was one clothed as a merchant captain; and as he 
 turned in his scrutiny of the road he revealed his face. 
 Henchard lived a lifetime the moment he saw it. The face 
 was Newson's. 
 
 Henchard dropped the glass, and for some seconds made 
 no other movement. Newson waited, and Henchard waited 
 — if that could be called a waiting which was a transfixture. 
 But Elizabeth- Jane did not come. Something or other had 
 caused her to neglect her customary walk that day. Per- 
 haps Farfrae and she had chosen another road for variety's 
 sake. But what did that amount to? She might be here to- 
 morrow, and in any case Newson, if bent on a private meet- 
 ing and a revelation of the truth to her, would soon make 
 bis opportunity. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 295 
 
 Then he would tell her not only of his paternity, but 
 of the ruse by which he had been once sent away. Eliza- 
 beth's strict nature would cause her for the first time to 
 despise her stepfather, would root out his image as that of 
 an arch-deceiver, and Newson would reign in her heart in 
 his stead. 
 
 But Newson did not see anything of her that morning. 
 Having stood still awhile he at last retraced his steps, and 
 Henchard felt like a condemned man who has a few hours' 
 respite. When he reached his own house he found her there. 
 
 "O father!" she said innocently, "I have had a letter — 
 a strange one — not signed. Somebody has asked me to 
 meet him, either on the Budmouth Road at noon to-day, or 
 in the evening at Mr. Farfrae's. He says he came to see 
 me some time ago, but a trick was played him, so that he 
 did not. I don't understand it; but between you and me 
 I think Donald is at the bottom of the mystery, and that it 
 is a relation of his who wants to pass an opinion on his 
 choice. But I did not like to go till I had seen you. Shall 
 I go?" 
 
 Henchard replied heavily, "Yes; go." 
 
 The question of his remaining in Casterbridge was for 
 ever disposed of by this closing in of Newson on the scene. 
 Henchard was not the man to stand the certainty of con- 
 demnation on a matter so near his heart. And being an old 
 hand at bearing anguish in silence, and haughty withal, he 
 resolved to make as light as he could of his intention, while 
 immediately taking his measures. 
 
 He surprised the young woman, whom he had looked upon 
 as his all in this world, by saying to her, as if he did not 
 care about her more: "I am going to leave Casterbridge, 
 Elizabeth- Jane." 
 
 "Leave Casterbridge!" she cried, "and leave — ^me?" 
 
 "Yes, this little shop can be managed by you alone as 
 well as by us both; I don-'t care about shops and streets and 
 folk — I would rather get into the country by myself, out of 
 sight, and follow my own ways, and leave you to yours." 
 
 She looked down, and her tears fell silently. It naturally 
 seemed to her that this resolve of his had come on account 
 of her attachment, and its probable result. She showed her 
 
296 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 devotion to Farfrae, however, by mastering her emotion and 
 speaking out. 
 
 "I am sorry you have decided on this," she said with dif- 
 ficult firmness. "For I thought it probable — possible — that 
 I might marry Mr. Farfrae some little time hence, and I did 
 not know that you disapproved of the step!" 
 
 "I approve of anything you desire to do, Izzy," said 
 Henchard huskily. "If I did not approve, it would be no 
 matter! I wish to go away. My presence might make 
 things awkward in the future; and, in short, it is best that I 
 go." 
 
 Nothing that her affection could urge would induce him 
 to reconsider his determination; for she could not urge what 
 she did not know — that when she should learn he was not 
 related to her other than as a step-parent she would refrain 
 from despising him, and that when she knew what he had 
 done to keep her in ignorance she would refrain from hat- 
 ing him. It was his conviction that she would not so re- 
 frain; and there existed as yet neither word nor event which 
 could argue it away. 
 
 "Then," she said at last, "you will not be able to come to 
 my wedding; and that is not as it ought to be." 
 
 "I don't want to see it — I don't want to see it!" he ex- 
 claimed; adding more softly, "but think of me sometimes 
 in your future life — ^you'll do that, Izzy? — think of me 
 when you are living as the wife of the richest, the foremost 
 man in the town, and don't let my sins, when you know 
 them all, cause 'ee to quite forget that though I loved 'ee 
 late I loved 'ee well." 
 
 "It is because of Donald!" she sobbed. 
 
 "I don't forbid you to marry him," said Henchard. 
 
 "Promise not to quite forget me when " He meant 
 
 when Newson should come. 
 
 She promised mechanically, in her agitation; and the 
 same evening at dusk Henchard left the town, to whose de- 
 velopment he had been one of the chief stimulants for many 
 years. During the day he had bought a new tool-basket, 
 cleaned up his old hay-knife and wimble, set himself up in 
 fresh leggings, knee-naps and corduroys, and in other ways 
 gone back to the working clothes of his young manhood, dis- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 297 
 
 carding for ever the shabby-genteel suit of cloth and rusty 
 silk hat that since his decline had characterized him in the 
 Casterbridge street as a man who had seen better days. 
 
 He went secretly and alone, not a soul of the many who 
 had known him being aware of his departure. Elizabeth- 
 Jane accompanied him as far as the second bridge on the 
 highway — for the hour of her appointment with the un- 
 guessed visitor at Farfrae's had not yet arrived — and parted 
 from him with unfeigned wonder and sorrow — keeping him 
 back a minute or two before finally letting him go. She 
 watched his form diminish across the moor, the yellow straw 
 basket at his back moving up and down with each tread, 
 and the creases behind his knees coming and going alter- 
 nately till she could no longer see them. Though she did 
 not know it, Henchard formed at this moment much the 
 same picture as he had presented when entering Caster- 
 bridge for the first time nearly a quarter of a century be- 
 fore; except, to be sure, that the serious addition to his years 
 had considerably lessened the spring of his stride, that his 
 state of hopelessness had weakened him, and imparted to 
 his shoulders, as weighted by the basket, a perceptible 
 bend. 
 
 He went on till he came to the first milestone, which 
 stood in the bank, half way up a steep hill. He rested his 
 basket on the top of the stone, placed his elbows on it, and 
 gave way to a convulsive twitch, which was worse than a 
 sob, because it was so hard and so dry. 
 
 "If I had only got her with me — if I only had!" he said. 
 "Hard work would be nothing to me then! But that was 
 not to be. I — Cain — go alone as I deserve — an outcast and 
 a vagabond. But my punishment is not greater than I can 
 bear! " 
 
 He sternly subdued his anguish, shouldered his basket, 
 and went on. 
 
 Elizabeth, in the meantime, had breathed him a sigh, re- 
 covered her equanimity, and turned her face to Caster- 
 bridge. Before she had reached the first house she was 
 met in her walk by Donald Farfrae. This was evidently 
 not their first meeting that day; they joined hands without 
 ceremony, and Farfrae anxiously asked, "And is he gone— 
 
298 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and did you tell him? — ^I mean of the other matter — ^not of 
 ours." 
 
 "He is gone; and I told him all I knew of your friend. 
 Donald, who is he?" 
 
 "Well, well, dearie; you will know soon about that. And 
 Mr. Henchard will hear of it if he does not go far." 
 
 "He will go far — ^he's bent upon getting out of sight and 
 sound!" 
 
 She walked beside her lover, and when they reached the 
 Town Pump turned with him into Corn Street, instead of 
 going straight on to her own door. At Farfrae's house they 
 sfopped and went in. 
 
 Farfrae flung open the door of the ground-floor sitting- 
 room, saying, "There he is waiting for you," and Elizabeth 
 entered. In the arm-chair sat the broad-faced genial man 
 who had called on Henchard on a memorable morning be- 
 tween one and two years before this time, and whom the 
 latter had seen mount the coach and depart within half-an- 
 hour of his arrival. It was Richard Newson. The meeting 
 with the light-hearted father from whom she had been sep- 
 arated half-a-dozen years, as if by death, need hardly be 
 detailed. It was an affecting one, apart from the question 
 of paternity. Henchard's departure was in a moment ex- 
 plained. When the true facts came to be handled, the diffi- 
 culty of restoring her to her old belief in Newson was not 
 so great as might have seemed likely, for Henchard's con- 
 duct itself was a proof that those facts were true. More- 
 over, she had grown up under Newson 's paternal care; and 
 even had Henchard been her father in nature, this father 
 in early domiciliation might almost have carried the point 
 against him, when the incidents of her parting with Hen- 
 chard had a little worn off. 
 
 Newson's pride in what she had grown up to be was more 
 than he could express. He kissed her again and again. 
 
 "I've saved you the trouble to. come and meet me — ha- 
 ha!" said Newson. "The fact is that Mr. Farfrae here, he 
 said, 'Come up and stop with me for a day or two, Cap- 
 tain Newson, and I'll bring her round.' 'Faith,' says I, 'so 
 I will; ' and here I am." 
 
 "Well, Henchard is gone," said Farfrae, shutting the door. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 299 
 
 "He has done it all voluntarily, and, as I gather from Eliza- 
 beth, he has been vesry nice with her. I was got rather un- 
 easy; but all is as it should be, and we will have no more 
 difficulties at all." 
 
 "Now, that's very much as I thought," said Newson, look- 
 ing into the face of each by turns. "I said to myself, ay, a 
 hundred times, when I tried to get a peep at her unknown 
 to herself — 'Depend upon it, 'tis best that I should live on 
 quiet for a few days like this till something turns up for 
 the better.' I now know you are all right, and what can 
 I wish for more?" 
 
 "Well, Captain Newson, I will be glad to see ye here every 
 day now, since it can do no harm," said Farfrae. "And 
 what I've been thinking is, that the wedding may as well be 
 kept under my own roof, the house being large, and you 
 being in lodgings by yourself — so that a great deal of trou- 
 ble and expense would be saved ye? — and 'tis a convenience 
 when a couple's married not to hae far to go to get home!" 
 
 "With all my heart," said Captain Newson; "since, as ye 
 say, it can do no harm, now poor Henchard's gone; though I 
 wouldn't have done it otherwise, or put myself in his way 
 at all; for I've already in my lifetime been an intruder into 
 his family quite as far as politeness can be expected to put 
 up with. But what do the young woman say herself about 
 it? Elizabeth, my child, come and hearken to what we 
 be talking about, and not bide staring out o' the window as 
 if ye didn't hear." 
 
 "Donald and you must settle it," murmured Elizabeth, 
 still keeping up a scrutinizing gaze at some small object in 
 the street. 
 
 "Well, then," continued Newson, turning anew to Far- 
 frae with a face expressing thorough entry into the subject, 
 "that's how we'll have it. And, Mr. Farfrae, as you pro- 
 vide so much, and houseroom, and all that, I'll do my part 
 in the drinkables, and see to the rum and schiedam — maybe 
 a dozen jars will be sufficient, as many of the folk will be 
 ladies, and perhaps they won't drink hard enough to make a 
 high average in the reckoning? But you know best. I've 
 provided for men and shipmates times enough, but I'm as 
 ignorant as a child how many glasses of grog a woman, 
 
300 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 that's not a drinking woman^ is expected to consume at 
 these ceremonies?" 
 
 "Oh, none — we'll no want much of that — oh no!" said 
 Farfrae, shaking his head with appalled gravity. "Do you 
 leave all to me." 
 
 When they had gone a little further in these particulars 
 Newson, leaning back in his chair and smiling reflectively 
 at the ceiling, said, "I've never told ye, or have I, Mr. Far- 
 frae, how Henchard put me off the scent that time?" 
 
 He expressed ignorance of what the Captain alluded 
 to. 
 
 "Ah, I thought I hadn't. I resolved that I would not, I 
 remember, not to hurt the man's name. But now he's gone 
 I can tell ye. Why, I came to Casterbridge nine or ten 
 months before that day last week that I found ye out. I 
 had been here twice before then. The first time I passed 
 through the town on my way westward, not knowifig Eliza- 
 beth lived here. Then hearing at some place — I forget 
 where — that a man of the name of Henchard had been 
 mayor here, I came back, and called at his house one morn- 
 ing. The joker! — ^he said Elizabeth- Jane had died years 
 ago." 
 
 Elizabeth now gave earnest heed to his story. 
 
 "Now, it never crossed my mind that the man was sell- 
 ing me a packet," continued Newson. "And, if you'll be- 
 lieve me, I was that upset, that I went back to the coach 
 that had brought me, and took passage onward without ly- 
 ing in the town half-an-hour. Ha-ha! — 'twas a good joke, 
 and well carried out, and I give the man credit for't!" 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane was amazed at the intelligence. "A joke? 
 ■ — oh, no!" she cried. "Then he kept you from me, father, 
 all those months, when you might have been here?" 
 
 The father admitted that such was the case. 
 
 "He ought not to have done it!" said Farfrae. 
 
 Elizabeth sighed. "I said I would never forget him. But 
 oh! I think I ought to forget him now!" 
 
 Newson, like a good many rovers and sojourners among 
 strange men and strange moralities, failed to perceive the 
 enormity of Henchard's crime, notwithstanding that he him- 
 self had been the chief sufferer therefrom. Indeed, the at- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 301 
 
 tack upon the absent culprit waxing sorious, he began to 
 take Henchard's part. 
 
 "Well, 'twas not ten words that he said, after all," New- 
 son pleaded. "And how could he know that I should be 
 such a simpleton as to believe him? 'Twas as much my 
 fault as his, poor fellow!" 
 
 "No," said Elizabeth-Jane firmly, in her revulsion of 
 feeling. "He knew your disposition — ^you always were so 
 trusting, father; I've heard my mother say so hundreds of 
 times — and he did it to wrong you. After weaning me from 
 you these five years by saying he was my father, he should 
 not have done this." 
 
 Thus they conversed; and there was nobody to set be- 
 fore Elizabeth any extenuation of the absent one's deceit. 
 Even had he been present Henchard might scarce have 
 pleaded it, so little did he value himself or his good name. 
 
 "Well, well — never mind — it is all over and past," said 
 Newson good-naturedly. "Now, about this wedding again." 
 
 XLIV 
 
 Meanmthile, the man of their talk had pursued his solitary 
 way eastward till weariness overtook him, and he looked 
 about for a place of rest. His heart was so exacerbated 
 at parting from the girl that he could not face an inn, or 
 even a household of the most humble kind; and entering a 
 field he lay down under a wheatrick, feeling no want of food. 
 The very heaviness of his soul caused him to sleep pro- 
 foundly. 
 
 The bright autumn sun shining into his eyes across the 
 stubble awoke him the next morning early. He opened his 
 basket, and ate for his breakfast what he had packed for 
 his supper; and in doing so overhauled the remainder of his 
 kit. Although everything he brought necessitated carriage 
 at his own back, he had secreted among his tools a few of 
 Elizabeth- Jane's cast-off belongings, in the shape of gloves, 
 shoes, a scrap of her handwriting, and the like; and in his 
 pocket he carried a curl of her hair. Having looked at these 
 things he closed them up again, and went onward. 
 
302 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 During five consecutive days Henchard's rush basket rode 
 along upon his shoulder between the highway hedges, the 
 new yellow of the rushes catching the eye of an occasional 
 field-labourer as he glanced over the quickset, together with 
 the wayfarer's hat and head, and down-turned face, over 
 which the twig shadows moved in endless procession. It 
 now became apparent that the direction of his journey was 
 Weydon Priors, which he reached on the afternoon of the 
 sixti day. 
 
 The renowned hill, whereon the annual fair had been held 
 for so many generations, was now bare of human beings, 
 and almost of aught besides. A few sheep grazed there- 
 about, but these ran off when Henchard halted upon the 
 summit. He deposited his basket upon the turf, and looked 
 about with sad curiosity; till he discovered the road by 
 which his wife and himself had entered, on the upland so 
 memorable to both, two or three-and-twenty years before. 
 
 "Yes, we came up that way," he said, after ascertaining 
 his bearings. "She was carrying the baby, and I was read- 
 ing a ballet-sheet. Then we crossed about here — she so sad 
 and weary, and I speaking to her hardly at all, because of 
 my cursed pride and mortification at being poor. Then we 
 saw the tent — that must have stood more this way." He 
 walked to another spot; it was not really where the tent 
 had stood, but it seemed so to him. "Here we went in, and 
 here we sat down. I faced this way. Then I drank, and 
 committed my crime. It must have been just on that very 
 pixy-ring that she was standing when she said her last 
 words to me before going off with him; I can hear their 
 sound now, and the sound of her sobs 'O Mike! I've lived 
 with thee all this while, and had nothing but temper. Now 
 I'm no more to 'e& — I'll try my luck elsewhere.' " 
 
 He experienced not only the bitterness of a man who finds, 
 in looking back upon an ambitious course, that what he has 
 sacrificed in sentiment was worth as much as what he has 
 gained in substance; but the superadded bitterness of seeing 
 his very recantation nullified. He had been sorry for all 
 this long ago; but his attempts to replace ambition by love 
 had been as fully foiled as his ambition itself. His wronged 
 wife had foiled them by a fraud so grandly simple as to be 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 303 
 
 almost a virtue. It was an odd sequence that out of all this 
 wronging of social law came that flower of Nature, Eliza- 
 beth. Part of his wish to wash his hands of life arose from 
 his perceptions of its contrarious inconsistencies — of Na- 
 ture's jaunty readiness to support unorthodox soi^ial prin- 
 ciples. 
 
 He intended to go on from this place — ^visited as an act 
 of penance — into another part of the country altogether. 
 But he could not help thinking of Elizabeth, and the quarter 
 of the horizon in which she lived. Out of this it happened 
 that the centrifugal tendency imparted by weariness of the 
 world was counteracted by the centripetal influence of his 
 love for his stepdaughter. As a consequence, instead of fol- 
 lowing a straight course yet further away from Casterbridge, 
 Henchard gradually, almost unconsciously, deflected from 
 that right line of his first intention; till, by degrees, his 
 path, like that of the Canadian woodsman, became part of 
 a circle, of which Casterbridge formed the centre. In ascend- 
 ing any particular hill, he ascertained the bearings as nearly 
 as he could by means of the sun, moon, or stars, and set- 
 tled in his mind the exact direction in which Casterbridge 
 and Elizabeth- Jane lay. Sneering at himself for his weak- 
 ness, he yet every hour — nay, every few minutes — conjec- 
 tured her actions for the time being — her sitting down and 
 rising up, her goings and comings, till thought of Newson's 
 and Farfrae's counter-influence would pass like a cold blast 
 over a pool, and efface her image. And then he would say 
 of himself, "O you fool! All this about a daughter who is 
 no daughter of thine!" 
 
 At length he obtained emplojrment at his own occupation 
 of hay-trusser, work of that sort being in demand at thi& 
 autumn time. The scene of his hiring was a pastoral farm 
 near the old western highway, whose course was the chan- 
 nel of all such communications as passed between the busy 
 centres of novelty and the remote Wessex boroughs. He 
 had chosen the neighbourhood of this artery from a sense 
 that, situated here, though at a distance of fifty miles, he 
 was virtually nearer to her whose welfare was so dear than 
 he would be at a roadless spot only half as remote. 
 
 And thus Henchard found himself again on the precis*; 
 
304 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE \ 
 
 standing which he had occupied five-and-twenty years be- 
 fore. Externally there was nothing to hinder his making 
 another start on the upward slope, and by his new lights 
 achieving higher things than his soul in its half-formed 
 state had been able to accompUsh. But the ingenious ma- 
 chinery contrived by the Gods for reducing human possibili- 
 ties of amelioration to a minimum — ^which arranges that 
 wisdom to do shall come pari passu with the departure of 
 zest for doing — stood in the way of all that. He had no 
 wish to make an arena a second time of a world that had 
 become a mere painted scene to him. 
 
 Very often, as his hay-knife crunched down among the 
 sweet-smelling grassy stems, he would survey mankind and 
 say to himself: "Here and everywhere be folk dying before 
 their time like frosted leaves, though wanted by their fami- 
 lies, the country, and the world; while I, an outcast, an 
 encumberer of the ground, wanted by nobody, and despised 
 by all, live on against my will!" 
 
 He often kept an eager ear upon the conversation of those 
 who passed along the road — not from a general curiosity 
 by any means — but in the hope that among these travellers 
 to and from Casterbridge some would, sooner or later, speak 
 of that place. The distance, however, was too great to lend 
 much probability to his desire; and the highest result of 
 his attention to wayside words was that he did indeed hear 
 the name "Casterbridge" uttered one day by the driver of a 
 road-waggon. Henchard ran to the gate of the field he 
 worked in, and hailed the speaker, who was a stranger. 
 
 "Yes — I've come from there, maister," he said, in answer 
 to Henchard 's inquiry. "I trade up and down, ye know; 
 though, what with this travelling without horses that's get- 
 ting so common, my work will soon be done." 
 
 "Anything moving in the old place, mid I ask?" 
 
 "All the same as usual." 
 
 "I've heard that Mr. Farfrae, the late Mayor, is thinking 
 of getting married. Now is that true or not?" 
 
 "I couldn't say for the life o' me. Oh no, I should think 
 
 BOt." 
 
 "But yes, John — ^you forget," said a woman inside the 
 waggon-tilt. "What were them packages we carr'd there 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 305 
 
 at the beginning o' the week? Surely they said a wedding 
 was coming off soon — on Martin's Day?" 
 
 The man declared he remembered nothing about it; and 
 the waggon went on jangling over the hill. 
 
 Henchard was convinced that the woman's memory served 
 her well. The date was an extremely probable one, there 
 being no reason for delay on either side. He might, for 
 ihat matter, write and inquire of Elizabeth; but his instinct 
 for sequestration had made the course difficult. Yet before 
 he left her, she had said that for him to be absent from her 
 wedding was not as she wished it to be. 
 
 The remembrance would continually revive in him now 
 that it was not Eli.?abeth and Farfrae who had driven him 
 away from them, but his own haughty sense that his pres- 
 ence was no longer desired. He had assumed the return 
 of Newson, without absolute proof that the Captain meant 
 to return; still less that Elizabeth- Jane would welcome him; 
 and with no proof whatever that if he did return he would 
 stay. What if he had been mistaken in his view; if there 
 had been no necessity that his own absolute separation from 
 her he loved should be involved in these untoward incidents? 
 To make one more attempt to be near her: to go back; to 
 see her, to plead his cause before her, to ask forgiveness for 
 his fraud, to endeavour strenuously to hold his own in her 
 love; it was worth the risk of repulse, ay, of life itself. 
 
 But how to initiate this reversal of all his former resolves, 
 without causing husband and wife to despise him for his in- 
 consistency, was a question which made him tremble and 
 brood. 
 
 He cut and cut his trusses two days more, and then he 
 concluded his hesitancies by a sudden reckless determina- 
 tion to go to the wedding festivity. Neither writing nor 
 message would be expected of him. She had regretted his 
 decision to be absent — his unanticipated presence would fill 
 the little unsatisfied corner that would probably have place 
 in her just heart without him. 
 
 To intrude as little of his personality as possible upon 
 a gay event with which that personality could show nothing 
 in keeping, he decided not to make his appearance till eve- 
 ning — ^when stiffness would have worn off, and a gentle wish 
 
3o6 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 to let bygones be bygones would exercise its sway in all 
 hearts. 
 
 He started on foot, two mornings before St. Martin's-tide, 
 allowing himself about sixteen miles to perform for each of 
 the three days' journey, reckoning the wedding-day as one. 
 There was only one town, Shottsford, of any importance 
 along his course, and here he stopped on the second night, 
 not only to rest, but to prepare himself for the next eve- 
 ning. 
 
 Possessing no clothes but the working suit he stood in — 
 now stained and distorted by their two months of hard 
 usage, he entered a shop to make some purchases which 
 should put him, externally at any rate, a. little in harmony 
 with the prevailing tone of the morrow. A rough yet re- 
 spectable coat and hat, a new shirt and neck-cloth, were the 
 chief of these; and having satisfied himself that in appear- 
 ance at least he would not now offend her, he proceeded to 
 the more interesting particular of buying her some present. 
 
 What should that present be? He walked up and down 
 the street, regarding dubiously the display in the shop win- 
 dows, from a gloomy sense that what he might most like to 
 give her would be beyond his miserable pocket. At length 
 a caged goldfinch met his eye. The cage was a plain and 
 small one, the shop humble, and on inquiry he concluded 
 he could afford the modest sum asked. A sheet of news- 
 paper was tied round the little creature's wire prison, and 
 with the wrapped up cage in his hand Henchard sought a 
 lodging for the night. 
 
 Next day he set out upon the last stage, and was soon 
 within the district which had been his trading-ground in 
 bygone years. Part of the distance he travelled by carrier, 
 seating himself in the darkest corner at the back of that 
 trader's van; and as the other passengers, mainly women 
 going short journeys, mounted and alighted in front of 
 Henchard, they talked over much local news, not the least 
 portion of this being the wedding then in course of celebra- 
 tion at the town they were nearing. It appeared from their 
 accounts that the town band had been hired for the evening 
 party, and, lest the convivial instincts of that body should 
 get the better of their skill, the further step had been taken 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 307 
 
 of engaging the string band from Budmouth, so that there 
 would be a reserve of harmony to fall back upon in case 
 of need. 
 
 He heard, however, but few particulars beyond those 
 known to him already, the incident of the deepest interest 
 on the journey being the soft pealing of the Casterbridge 
 bells, which reached the travellers' ears while the van paused 
 on the top of Yalbury Hill to have the drag lowered. The 
 time was just after twelve o'clock. 
 
 Those notes were a signal that all had gone well; that 
 there had been no slip 'twixt cup and lip in this case; that 
 Elizabeth- Jane and Donald Farfrae were man and wife. 
 
 Henchard did not care to ride any further with his chat- 
 tering companions after hearing this sound. Indeed, it 
 quite unmanned him; and in pursuance of his plan of not 
 showing himself in Casterbridge street till evening, lest he 
 should mortify Farfrae and his bride, he alighted here, with 
 his bundle and bird-cage, and was soon left as a lonely figure 
 on the broad white highway. 
 
 It was the hill near which he had waited to meet Farfrae, 
 almost two years earlier, to tell him of the serious illness 
 of his wife Lucetta. The place was unchanged, the same 
 larches sighed the same notes; but Farfrae had another 
 wife — and, as Henchard knew, a better one. He only 
 hoped that Elizabeth- Jane had obtained a better home than 
 had been hers at the former time. 
 
 He passed the remainder of the afternoon in a curious 
 high-strung condition, unable to do much but think of the 
 approaching meeting with her, and sadly satirize himself for 
 his emotions thereon, as a Samson shorn. Such an innova- 
 tion on Casterbridge customs as a flitting of bridegroom and 
 bride from the town immediately after the ceremony, was 
 not likely, but if it should have taken place he would wait 
 till *hek return. To assure himself on this point he asked 
 a market-man when near the borough if the newly-married 
 couple had gone away, and was promptly informed that thes/ 
 had not; they were at that hour, according to all accounts, 
 entertaining a houseful of guests at their home in Cora 
 
 Street. ,:,,.. ^ j_ . .,. • 
 
 Henchard dusted his boots, washed his hands at the nver- 
 
3o8 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 side, and proceeded up the town under the feeble lamps. 
 He need have made no inquiries beforehand, for on draw- 
 ing near Farfrae's residence it was plain to the least ob- 
 servant that festivity prevailed within, and that Donald 
 himself shared it, his voice being distinctly audible in the 
 street, giving strong expression to a song of his dear na- 
 tive country, that he loved so well as never to have revisited 
 it. Idlers were standing on the pavement in front; and 
 wishing to escape the notice of these Henchard passed quick- 
 ly on to the door. 
 
 It was wide open; the hall was lighted extravagantly, and 
 people were going up and down the stairs. His courage 
 failed him; to enter footsore, laden, and poorly dressed into 
 the midst of such resplendency, was to bring needless hu- 
 miliation upon her he loved, if not to court repulse from her 
 husband. Accordingly he went round into the street at the 
 back that he knew so well, entered the garden, and came 
 quietly into the house through the kitchen, temporarily de- 
 positing the bird and cage under a bush outside, to lessen 
 the awkwardness of his arrival. 
 
 Solitude and sadness had so emoUiated Henchard that he 
 now feared circumstances he would formerly have scorned, 
 and he began to wish that he had not taken upon himself 
 to arrive at such a juncture. However, his progress was 
 made unexjjectedly easy by his discovering alone in the 
 kitchen an elderly woman who seemed to be acting as pro- 
 visional housekeeper during the convulsions from which Far- 
 frae's establishment was just then suffering. She was one 
 of those people whom nothing surprises, and though to her, 
 a total stranger, his request must have seemed odd, she will- 
 ingly volunteered to go up and inform the master and mis- 
 tress of the house that "a humble old friend had come." 
 
 On second thoughts she said that he had better not wait 
 in the kitchen, but come up into the little back-parlour, 
 which was empty. He thereupon followed her thither, and 
 she left him. Just as she had got across the landing to the 
 door of the best parlour a dance was struck up, and she 
 returned to say that she would wait till that was over be- 
 fore announcing him — Mr. and Mrs. .Farfrae having both 
 joined in the figure. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 309 
 
 The door of the front room had been taken off its hinges 
 to give more space, and that of the room Henchard sat in 
 being ajar, he could see fractional parts of the dancers when- 
 ever their gyrations brought them near the doorway, chiefly 
 in the shape of the skirts of dresses and streaming curls, 
 of hair; together with about three-fifths of the band, in pro- 
 file, including the restless shadow of a fiddler's elbow, and 
 the tip of the bass-viol bow. 
 
 The gaiety jarred upon Henchard's spirits; and he could 
 not quite understand why Farfrae, a much-sobered man, and 
 a widower, who had had his trials, should have cared for 
 it all, notwithstanding the fact that he was quite a young 
 man still, and quickly kindled to enthusiasm by dance and 
 song. That the quiet Elizabeth, who had long ago appraised 
 life at a moderate value, and who knew, in spite of her maid- 
 enhood, that marriage was as a rule no dancing matter, 
 should have had zest for this revelry surprised him still 
 more. However, young people could not be quite old people, 
 he concluded, and custom was omnipotent. 
 
 With the progress of the dance the performers spread out 
 somewhat, and then for the first time he caught a glimpae 
 of the once despised daughter who had mastered him, and 
 made his heart ache. She was in a dress of white silk or 
 satin, he was not near enough to say which — snowy white, 
 without a tinge of milk or cream; and the expression of her 
 face was one of nervous pleasure rather than of gaiety. 
 Presently Farfrae came round, his exuberant Scotch move- 
 ment making him conspicuous in a moment. The pair were 
 not dancing together, but Henchard could discern that 
 whenever the changes of the figure made them the partners 
 of a moment, their emotions breathed a much subtler essence 
 than at other times. 
 
 By degrees Henchard became aware that the measure was 
 trod by some one who out-Farfraed Farfrae in saltatory in- 
 tenseness. This was strange, and it was stranger to find 
 that the eclipsing personage was Elizabeth- Jane's partner. 
 The first time that Henchard saw him he was sweeping 
 grandly round, his head quivering and low down, his legs 
 in the form of an X and his back towards the door. The 
 next time he came round in the other direction, his white 
 
310 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 waistcoat preceding his face, and his toes preceding his white 
 waistcoat. That happy face — Henchard's complete discom- 
 fiture lay in it. It was Newson's, who had indeed come and 
 supplanted him. 
 
 Henchard pushed to the door, and for some seconds made 
 no other movement. He rose to his feet, and stood like a 
 dark ruin, obscured by "the shade from his own soul up- 
 thrown." 
 
 But he was no longer the man to stand these reverses un- 
 moved. His agitation was great, and he would fain have 
 been gone, but before he could leave the dance had ended, 
 the housekeeper had informed Elizabeth- Jane of the stran- 
 ger who awaited her, and she entered the room immediately. 
 
 "Oh — it is — Mr. Henchard!" she said, starting back. 
 
 "What; Elizabeth?" he cried, as he seized her hand. 
 "What do you say? — Mr. Henchard? Don't, don't scourge 
 me like that! Call me worthless old Henchard — anything — 
 but don't 'ee be so cold as this! Oh, my maid — I see you 
 have another — a real father in my place. Then you know 
 all; but don't give all your thought to him! Do ye save a 
 little room for me!" 
 
 • She flushed up, and gently drew her hand away. "I could 
 have loved you always — I would have, gladly," said she. 
 "But how can I when I know you have deceived me so — so 
 bitterly deceived me! You persuaded me that my father 
 was not my father — allowed me to live on in ignorance of 
 the truth for years; and then when he, my warm-hearted 
 real father, came to find me, cruelly sent him away with 
 a wicked invention of my death, which nearly broke his 
 heart. Oh how can I love, or do anything more for, a man 
 who has served us like this!" 
 
 Henchard's lips half parted to begin an explanation. But 
 he shut them up like a vice, and uttered not a sound. How 
 should he, there and then, set before her with any effect 
 the palliatives of his great faults — that he had himself been 
 deceived in her identity at first, till informed by her moth- 
 er's letter that his own child had died; that, in the second 
 accusation, his lie had been the last desperate throw of a 
 gamester who loved her affection better than his own hon- 
 our? Among the many hindrances to such a pleading, not 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 311 
 
 the least W£is this, that he did not sufficiently value him- 
 self to lessen his sufferings by strenuous appeal or elaborate 
 argument. 
 
 Waiving, therefore, his privilege of self-defence, he re- 
 garded only her discomposure. "Don't ye distress yourself 
 on my account," he said, with proud superiority. "I would 
 not wish it — at such a time, too^ as this. I have done 
 wrong in coming to 'ee — I see my error. But it is only for 
 once, so forgive it. I'll never trouble 'ee again, Elizabeth- 
 Jane — no, not to my dying day! Good-night. Good-bye!" 
 
 Then, before she could collect her thoughts, Henchard 
 went out from her rooms, and departed from the house by 
 the back way as he had come; and she saw him no more. 
 
 XLV 
 
 It was about a month after the day which closed as in the 
 last chapter. Elizabeth-Jane had grown accustomed to 
 the novelty of her situation, and the only difference between 
 Donald's movements now and formerly was, that he has- 
 tened indoors rather more quickly after business hours than 
 he had been in the habit of doing for some time. 
 
 Newson had stayed in Casterbridge three days after the 
 wedding party (whose gaiety, as might have been surmised, 
 was of his making rather than of the married couple's), and 
 was stared at and honoiured as became the returned Crusoe 
 of the hour. But whether or not because Casterbridge was 
 difficult to excite by dramatic returns and disappearances, 
 through having been for centuries an assize town, in which 
 sensational exits from the world, antipodean absences, and 
 such like, were half-yearly occurrences, the inhabitants did 
 not altogether lose their equanimity on his account. _ On 
 the fourth morning he was discovered disconsolately climb- 
 ing a hill, in his craving to get a glimpse of the sea from 
 somewhere or other. The contiguity of salt water proved 
 to be such a necessity of his existence that he preferred Bud- 
 mouth as a place of residence, notwithstanding the society 
 of his daughter in the other town. Thither he went, and 
 
312 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 settled in lodgings in a green-shuttered cottage which had 
 a bow-window, jutting out sufficiently to afford glimpses 
 of a vertical strip of blue sea to any one opening the sash, 
 and leaning forward far enough to look through a narrow 
 lane of tall intervening houses. 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane was standing in the middle of her upstairs 
 parlour, critically surveying some re-arrangement of articles, 
 with her head to one side, when the housemaid came in with 
 the annoimcement, "Oh, please ma'am, we know now how 
 that bird-cage came there." 
 
 In exploring her new domain during the first week of resi- 
 dence, gazing with critical satisfaction on this cheerful room 
 and that, penetrating cautiously into dark cellars, sallying 
 forth with gingerly tread to the garden, now leaf-strewn with 
 autumn winds, and thus, like a wise field-marshal, estimating 
 the capabilities of the site whereon she was about to open 
 her housekeeping campaign — ^Mrs. Donald Farfrae had dis- 
 covered in a screened corner a new bird-cage, shrouded in 
 newspaper, and at the bottom of the cage a little ball of 
 feathers — the dead body of a goldfinch. Nobody could tell 
 her how the bird and cage had come there; though that the 
 poor little songster had been starved to death was evident. 
 The sadness of the incident had made an impression on 
 her. She had not been able to forget it for days, despite 
 Farfrae's tender banter; and now when the matter had been 
 nearly forgotten it was again revived. 
 
 "Oh, please ma'am, we know how that bird-cage came 
 ithere. That farmer's man who called on the evening of the 
 wedding — he was seen wi' it in his hand as he came up the 
 street; and 'tis thoughted that he put it down while he came 
 in with his message, and then went away forgetting where 
 8ie had left it." 
 
 This was enough to set Elizabeth thinking, and in think- 
 ing she seized hold of the idea, at one feminine bound, that 
 the caged bird had been brought by Henchard for her, as 
 A wedding gift and token of repentance. He had not ex- 
 pressed to her any regrets or excuses for what he had done 
 in the past; but it was a part of his nature to extenuate 
 nothing, and live on as one of his own worst accusers. She 
 went out, looked at the cage, buried the starved little singer, 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 313 
 
 and from that hour her heart softened towards the self-alien- 
 ated man. 
 
 When her husband came in she told him her solution of 
 the bird-cage mystery; and begged Donald to help her in 
 finding out, as soon as possible, whither Henchard had ban- 
 ished himself, that she might make her peace with him; try 
 to do something to render his life less that of an outcast, 
 and more tolerable to him. Although Farfrae had never so 
 passionately liked Henchard as Henchard had liked him, he 
 had, on the other hand, never so passionately hated in the 
 same direction as his former friend had done; and he was 
 therefore not the least indisposed to assist Elizabeth- Jane 
 in her laudable plan. 
 
 But it was by no means easy to set about discovering 
 Henchard. He had apparently sunk into the earth on leav- 
 ing Mr. and Mrs. Farfrae's door. Elizabeth- Jane remem- 
 bered what he had once attempted; and trembled. 
 
 But though she did not know it, Henchard had become a 
 changed man since then — as far, tliat is, as change of emo- 
 tional basis can justify such a radical phrase; and ^e need- 
 ed not to fear. In a few days Farfrae's inquiries elicited 
 that Henchard had been seen, by one who knew him, walk- 
 ing steadily along the Melchester highway eastward, at 
 twelve o'clock at night — ^in other words, retracing his steps 
 on the road by which he had come. 
 
 This was enough; and the next morning Farfrae might 
 have been discovered driving his gig out of Casterbridge in 
 that direction, Elizabeth- Jane sitting beside him, wrapped in 
 a thick flat fur — the victorine of the period — ^her complex- 
 ion somewhat richer than formerly, and an incipient ma- 
 tronly dignity, which the serene Minerva-eyes of one "whose 
 gestures beamed with mind" made becoming, settling on her 
 face. Having herself arrived at a promising haven frcxn 
 at least the grosser troubles of her life, her object was to 
 place Henchard in some similar quietude before he should 
 sink into that lower stage of existence which was only too 
 possible to him now. 
 
 After driving along the highway for a few miles they made 
 further inquiries, and learnt of a road-mender, who had 
 been working thereabouts for weeks, that he had observed 
 
314 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 such a man at the time mentioned; he had left the Melches- 
 ter coach-road at Weatherbury by a forking^ highway which 
 skirted the north of Egdon Heath. Into this road they di- 
 rected the horse's head, and soon were bowling across that 
 ancient country, whose surface never had been stirred to a 
 finger's depth, save by the scratchings of rabbits, since 
 brushed by the feet of the eariiest tribes. The tumuli these 
 had left behind, dun and shagged with heather, jutted 
 roundly into the sky from the uplands, as though they were 
 the full breasts of Diana Multimammia supinely extended 
 there. 
 
 They searched Egdon, but found no Henchard. Farfrae 
 drove onward, and by the afternoon reached the neighbour- 
 hood of some extension of the heath to the north of Angle- 
 bury, a prominent feature of which, in the form of a blasted 
 clump of firs on the summit of a hill, they soon passed un- 
 der. That the road they were following had, up to this 
 point, been Henchard's track on foot they were pretty cer- 
 tain; but the ramifications which now began to reveal them- 
 selves in the route made further progress in the right direc- 
 tion a matter of pure guess-work, and Donald strongly ad- 
 vised his wife to give up the search in person, and trust to 
 other means for obtaining news of her stepfather. They 
 were now a score of miles at least from home, but, by rest- 
 ing the horse for a couple of hours at a village they had 
 just traversed, it would be possible to get back to Caster- 
 bridge that same day; while to go much further afield would 
 reduce them to the necessity of camping out for the night; 
 "and that will make a hole in a sovereign," said Farfrae. 
 She pondered the position, and agreed with him. 
 
 He accordingly drew rein, but before reversing their di- 
 rection paused a moment, and looked vaguely round upon 
 the wide country which the elevated position disclosed. 
 While they looked, a solitary human form came from under 
 the clump of trees, and crossed ahead of them. The per- 
 son was some labourer; his gait was shambling, his regard 
 fixed in front of him as absolutely as if he wore blinkers; 
 and in his hand he carried a few sticks. Having crossed 
 the road he descended into a ravine, where a cottage re- 
 vealed itself, which he entered. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 315 
 
 "If it were not so far away from Casterbridge I should 
 say that must be poor Whittle. 'Tis just like him," observed 
 Elizabeth- Jane. 
 
 "And it may be Whittle, for he's never been to the yard 
 these three weeks, going away without sasdng any word 
 at all ; and I owing him for two days' work, without know- 
 ing who to pay it to." 
 
 The possibility led them to alight, and at least make an 
 inquiry at the cottage. Farfrae hitched the reins to the 
 gate-post, and they approached what was of humble dwell- 
 ings surely the humblest. The walls, built of kneaded clay 
 originally faced with a trowel, had been worn by years of 
 rain-washings to a lumpy crumbling surface, channelled and 
 sunken from its plane, its gray rents held together here and 
 there by a leafy strap of ivy which could scarcely find sub- 
 stance enough for the purpose. Leaves from the fence had 
 been blown into the corners of the doorway, and lay there 
 undisturbed. The door was ajar; Farfrae knocked; and he 
 who stood before them was Whittle, as they had conjectured. 
 
 His face showed marks of deep sadness, his eyes lighting 
 on them with an unfocused gaze; and he still held in his 
 hand the few sticks he had been out to gather. As soon as 
 he recognized them he started. 
 
 "What, Abel Whittle; is it that ye are here?" said Far- 
 frae. 
 
 "Ay, yes, sir! You see he was kind-like to mother when 
 she wer here below, though 'a was rough to me." 
 
 "Who are you talking of?" 
 
 "Oh, sir^Mr. Henchet! Didn't ye know it? He's just 
 gone — about half-an-hour ago, by the sun; for I've got no 
 watch to my name." 
 
 "Not— dead?" faltered Elizabeth-Jane. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, he's gone! He was kind-like to mother 
 when she wer here below, sending her the best ship-coal, and 
 hardly any ashes from it at all; and taties, and such-like 
 that were very needful to her. I seed en go down street on 
 the night of your worshipful's wedding to the lady at yer 
 side, and I thought he looked low and faltering. And I fol- 
 lowed en over the road, and he turned and zeed me, and 
 said 'You go back!' But I followed, and he turned 
 
3i6 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRmGE 
 
 again, and said, 'Do you hear, sir? Go back!' But I zeed 
 that he was low, and I followed on still. Then 'a said, 
 'Whittle, what do ye follow me for when I've told ye to go 
 back all these times?' And I said, 'Because, sir, I see things 
 be bad with 'ee, and ye wer kind-like to mother if ye were 
 rough to me, and I would fain be kind-like to you.' Then 
 he walked on, and I followed; and he never complained at 
 me no more. We walked on like that all night; and in the 
 blue o' the morning, when 'twas hardly day, I looked ahead 
 o' me, and I zeed that he wambled, and could hardly drag 
 along. By that time we had got past here, but I had seen 
 that this house was empty as I went by, and I got him to 
 come back; and I took down the boards from the windows, 
 and helped him inside. 'What, Whittle,' he said, 'and can 
 ye really be such a poor fond fool as to care for such a 
 wretch as I! ' Then I went on further, and some neighbour- 
 ly woodmen lent me a bed, and a chair, and a few other 
 traps, and we brought 'em here, and made him as comfort- 
 able as we could. But he didn't gain strength, for you see, 
 ma'am, he couldn't eat — ^no, no appetite at all — and he got 
 weaker; and to-day he died. One of the neighbours have 
 gone to get a man to measure him." 
 
 "Dear me — is that so!" said Farfrae. 
 
 As for Elizabeth, she said nothing. 
 
 "Upon the head of his bed he pinned a piece of paper, 
 with some writing upon it," continued Abel Whittle. "But 
 not being a man o' letters, I can't read writing; so I don't 
 know what it is. I can get it and show ye." 
 
 They stood in silence while he ran into the cottage; re- 
 turning in a moment with a crumpled scrap of paper. On 
 it there was pencilled as follows: — 
 
 "Michael Henchasd's Will. 
 "That Elizabeth-Jane Farfrae be not told of my death, or made 
 to grieve on account of me. 
 "& that I be not bury'd in consecrated ground. 
 "& that no sexton be asked to toll the bell. 
 "& that nobody is wished to see my dead body. 
 "& that no murners walk behind me at my funeral. 
 "& that no flours be planted on my grave. 
 "& that no man remember me. 
 "To this I put my name. Michael Henchard." 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 317 
 
 "What are we to do?" said Donald, when he had handed 
 the paper to her. 
 
 She could not answer distinctly. "0 Donald!" she said 
 at last through her tears, "what bitterness lies there! Oh I 
 would not have minded so much if it had not been for that 
 last parting! . . . But there's no altering — so it must be." 
 
 What Henchard had written in the anguish of his dying 
 was respected as far as practicable by Elizabeth-Jane, 
 though less from a sense of the sacredness of last words, as 
 such, than from her independent knowledge that the man 
 who wrote them meant what he said. She knew the direc- 
 tions to be a piece of the same stuff that his whole life was 
 made of, and hence were not to be tampered with to give 
 herself a mournful pleasure, or her husband credit for 
 large-heartedness. 
 
 All was over at last, even her regrets for having misunder- 
 stood him on his last visit, for not having searched him out 
 sooner, though these were deep and sharp for a good while. 
 From this time forward Elizabeth- Jane found herself in a 
 latitude of calm weather, kindly and grateful in itself, and 
 doubly so after the Caphamaum in which some of her pre- 
 ceding years had been spent. As the lively and sparkling 
 emotions of her early married life cohered into an equable 
 serenity, the finer movements of her nature found scope in 
 discovering to the narrow-lived ones around her the secret 
 (as she had once learnt it) of making limited opportunities 
 endurable; which she deemed to consist in the cunning en- 
 largement, by a species of microscopic treatment, of those 
 minute forms of satisfaction that offer themselves to every- 
 body not in positive pain; which, thus handled, have much 
 of the same inspiriting effect upon life as wider interests cur- 
 sorily embraced. 
 
 Her teaching had a reflex action upon herself, insomuch 
 that she thought she could perceive no great personal dif- 
 ference between being respected in the nether parts of Cas- 
 terbridge, and glorified at the uppermost end of the social 
 world. Her position was, indeed, to a marked degree one 
 that, in the common phrase, afforded much to be thankful 
 for. That she was not demonstratively thankful was no fault 
 
3i8 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 of hers. Her experience had been of a kind to teach her, 
 rightly or wrongly, that the doubtful honour of a brief tran- 
 sit through a sorry world hardly called for effusiveness, even 
 when the path was suddenly irradiated at some half-way 
 point by daybeams rich as hers. But her strong sense that 
 neither she nor any human being deserved less than was 
 given, did not blind her to the fact that there were others 
 receiving less who had deserved much more. And in being 
 forced to class herself among the fortunate she did not cease 
 to wonder at the persistence of the unforeseen, when the 
 one to whom such unbroken tranquillity had been accorded 
 in the adult stage was she whose youth had seemed to teach 
 that happiness was but the occasional episode in a general 
 drama of pain. 
 
 THE END