COMING HOME -- A CRY
ON the turnpike road, between Casterbridge andWeatherbury, and about three miles from the formerwhich pervade the highways of this undulating part ofSouth Wessex. I returning from market it is usualfor the farmers and other gig-gentry to alight at thebottom and walk up.One Saturday evening in the month of OctoberBathsheba's vehicle was duly creeping up this incline.She was sitting listlessly in the second seat of the gig,whilst walking beside her in farmer's marketing suitof unusually fashionable cut was an erect, well-madeyoung man. Though on foot, he held the reins andwhip, and occasionally aimed light cuts at the horse'sear with the end of the lash, as a recreation. Thisman was her husband, formerly Sergeant Troy, who,having bought his discharge with Bathsheba's money,was gradually transforming himself into a farmer of aspirited and very modern school. People of unalter-able ideas still insisted upon calling him Sergeanthen they met him, which was in some degree owingto his having still retained the well-shaped moustacheof his military days, and the soldierly bearing insepar-able from his form and training.Yes, if it hadn't been for that wretched rain Ishould have cleared two hundred as easy as looking,my love. he was saying. Don't you see, it alteredall the chances? To speak like a book I once read,wet weather is the narrative, and fine days are theepisodes, of our country's history; now, isn't thattrue?But the time of year is come for changeable weather.Well, yes. The fact is, these autumn races are theruin of everybody. Never did I see such a day as 'twas!'Tis a wild open place, just out of Budmouth, and adrab sea rolled in towards us like liquid misery. Windand rain -- good Lord! Dark? Why, 'twas as blackas my hat before the last race was run. 'Twas fiveo'clock, and you couldn't see the horses till they werealmost in, leave alone colours. The ground was asheavy as lead, and all judgment from a fellow's experi-ence went for nothing. Horses, riders, people, wereall blown about like ships at sea. Three booths wereblown over, and the wretched folk inside crawled outupon their hands and knees; and in the next fieldwere as many as a dozen hats at one time. Aye,Pimpernel regularly stuck fast, when about sixty yardsoff, and when I saw Policy stepping on, it did knockmy heart against the lining of my ribs, I assure you,my love!And you mean, Frank. said Bathsheba, sadly --her voice was painfully lowered from the fulness andvivacity of the previous summer -- that you have lostmore than a hundred pounds in a month by thisdreadful horse-racing? O, Frank, it is cruel; it isfoolish of you to take away my money so. We shallhave to leave the farm; that will be the end of it!Humbug about cruel. Now, there 'tis again --turn on the waterworks; that's just like you.But you'll promise me not to go to Budmouthsecond meeting, won't you? she implored. Bathshebawas at the full depth for tears, but she maintained adry eye.I don't see why I should; in fact, if it turns out tobe a fine day, I was thinking of taking you.Never, never! I'll go a hundred miles the otherway first. I hate the sound of the very word!But the question of going to see the race or stayingat home has very little to do with the matter. Bets areall booked safely enough before the race begins, youmay depend. Whether it is a bad race for me or agood one, will have very little to do with our goingthere next Monday.But you don't mean to say that you have riskedanything on this one too! she exclaimed, with anagonized look.There now, don't you be a little fool. Wait till youare told. Why, Bathsheba, you have lost all the pluckand sauciness you formerly had, and upon my life if Ihad known what a chicken-hearted creature you wereunder all your boldness, I'd never have-i know what.A flash of indignation might have been seen inBathsheba's dark eyes as she looked resolutely aheadafter this reply. They moved on without furtherspeech, some early-withered leaves from the trees whichhooded the road at this spot occasionally spinningdownward across their path to the earth.A woman appeared on the brow of the hill. Theridge was in a cutting, so that she was very near thehusband and wife before she became visible. Troy hadturned towards the gig to remount, and whilst puttinghis foot on the step-the woman passed behind him.Though the overshadowing trees and the approachof eventide enveloped them in gloom, Bathsheba couldsee plainly enough to discern the extreme poverty ofthe woman's garb, and the sadness of her face.Please, sir, do you know at what time CasterbridgeUnion-house closes at night?The woman said these words to Troy over hisshoulder.Troy started visibly at the sound of the voice; yethe seemed to recover presence of mind sufficient toprevent himself from giving way to his impulse tosuddenly turn and face her. He said, slowly --I don't know.The woman, on hearing him speak, quickly lookedup, examined the side of his face, and recognized thesoldier under the yeoman's garb. Her face was drawninto an expression which had gladness and agony bothamong its elements. She uttered an hysterical cry,and fell down.O, poor thing! exclaimed Bathsheba, instantlypreparing to alight.Stay where you are, and attend to the horse!said Troy, peremptorily throwing her the reins andthe whip. Walk the horse to the top: I'll see tothe woman.But I -- Do you hear? Clk -- Poppet!The horse, gig, and Bathsheba moved on.How on earth did you come here? I thoughtyou were miles away, or dead! Why didn't youwrite to me? said Troy to the woman, in a strangelygentle, yet hurried voice, as he lifted her up.I feared to.Have you any money?None.Good Heaven -- I wish I had more to give you!Here's -- wretched -- the merest trifle. It is everyfarthing I have left. I have none but what my wifegives me, you know, and I can't ask her now.he woman made no answer.I have only another moment. continued Troy;and now listen. Where are you going to-night?Casterbridge Union?Yes; I thought to go there.You shan't go there; yet, wait. Yes, perhaps forto-night; I can do nothing better -- worse luck! Sleepthere to-night, and stay there to-morrow. Monday isthe first free day I have; and on Monday morning,at ten exactly, meet me on Grey's Bridge just out of thetown. I'll bring all the money I can muster. Youshan't want-i'll see that, Fanny; then I'll get you alodging somewhere. Good-bye till then. I am a brute -- but good-bye!After advancing the distance which completed theascent of the hill, Bathsheba turned her head. Thewoman was upon her feet, and Bathsheba saw herwithdrawing from Troy, and going feebly down thehill by the third milestone from Casterbridge. Troythen came on towards his wife, stepped into the gig,took the reins from her hand, and without making anyobservation whipped the horse into a trot. He wasrather agitated.Do you know who that woman was? said Bath-sheba, looking searchingly into his face.I do. he said, looking boldly back into hers.I thought you did. said she, with angry hauteur,and still regarding him. Who is she?He suddenly seemed to think that frankness wouldbenefit neither of the women.Nothing to either of us. he said. I know herby sight.What is her name?How should I know her name?I think you do.Think if you will, and be -- -- The sentence wascompleted by a smart cut of the whip round Poppet'sflank, which caused the animal to start forward at awild pace. No more was said.
CHAPTER XL