CONCURRITUR -- HORAE MOMENTO
OUTSIDE the front of Boldwood's house a group ofmen stood in the dark, with their faces towards the door,which occasionally opened and closed for the passage ofsome guest or servant, when a golden rod of light wouldstripe the ground for the moment and vanish again,leaving nothing outside but the glowworm shine of thepale lamp amid the evergreens over the door.He was seen in Casterbridge this afternoon -- so theboy said. one of them remarked in a whisper. And lfor one believe it. His body was never found, you know.'Tis a strange story. said the next. You maydepend upon't that she knows nothing about it.Not a word.Perhaps he don't mean that she shall. said anotherman.If he's alive and here in the neighbourhood, hemeans mischief. said the first. Poor young thing:I do pity her, if 'tis true. He'll drag her to the dogs.O no; he'll settle down quiet enough. said onedisposed to take a more hopeful view of the case.What a fool she must have been ever to have hadanything to do with the man! She is so self-willed andindependent too, that one is more minded to say itserves her right than pity her.No, no. I don't hold with 'ee there. She was nootherwise than a girl mind, and how could she tell whatthe man was made of? If 'tis really true, 'tis too harda punishment, and more than she ought to hae. -- Hullo,who's that? This was to some footsteps that wereheard approaching.William Smallbury. said a dim figure in the shades,coming up and joining them. Dark as a hedge, to-night, isn't it? I all but missed the plank over the riverath'art there in the bottom -- never did such a thingbefore in my life. Be ye any of Boldwood's workfolk?He peered into their faces.Yes -- all o' us. We met here a few minutes ago.Oh, I hear now -- that's Sam Samway: thought Iknowed the voice, too. Going in?Presently. But I say, William. Samway whispered,have ye heard this strange tale?What -- that about Sergeant Troy being seen, d'yemean, souls? said Smallbury, also lowering his voice.Ay: in Casterbridge.Yes, I have. Laban Tall named a hint of it to mebut now -- but I don't think it. Hark, here Labancomes himself, 'a b'lieve. A footstep drew near.Laban?Yes, 'tis I. said Tall.Have ye heard any more about that?No. said Tall, joining the group. And I'm in-clined to think we'd better keep quiet. If so be 'tis nottrue, 'twill flurry her, and do her much harm to repeatit; and if so be 'tis true, 'twill do no good to forestallher time o' trouble. God send that it mid be a lie, forthough Henery Fray and some of 'em do speak againsther, she's never been anything but fair to me. She'shot and hasty, but she's a brave girl who'll never tell alie however much the truth may harm her, and I've nocause to wish her evil.She never do tell women's little lies, that's true; and'tis a thing that can be said of very few. Ay, all theharm she thinks she says to yer face: there's nothingunderhand wi' her.They stood silent then, every man busied with hisown thoughts, during which interval sounds of merri-ment could be heard within. Then the front door againopened, the rays streamed out, the wellknown form ofBoldwood was seen in the rectangular area of light, thedoor closed, and Boldwood walked slowly down the path.'Tis master. one of the men whispered, as he nearedthem. We'd better stand quiet -- he'll go in againdirectly. He would think it unseemly o' us to beloitering here.Boldwood came on, and passed by the men withoutseeing them, they being under the bushes on the grass.He paused, leant over the gate, and breathed a longbreath. They heard low words come from him.I hope to God she'll come, or this night will benothing but misery to me! O my darling, my darling,why do you keep me in suspense like this?He said this to himself, and they all distinctly heardit. Boldwood remained silent after that, and the noisefrom indoors was again just audible, until, a few minuteslater, light wheels could be distinguished coming downthe hill. They drew nearer, and ceased at the gate.Boldwood hastened back to the door, and opened it;and the light shone upon Bathsheba coming up thepath.Boldwood compressed his emotion to mere welcome:the men marked her light laugh and apology as she methim: he took her into the house; and the door closedagain.Gracious heaven, I didn't know it was like that withhim! said one of the men. I thought that fancy ofhis was over long ago.You don't know much of master, if you thoughtthat. said Samway.I wouldn't he should know we heard what 'a saidfor the world. remarked a third.I wish we had told of the report at once. the firstuneasily continued. More harm may come of this thanwe know of. Poor Mr. Boldwood, it will, be hard uponen. I wish Troy was in -- -- Well, God forgive mefor such a wish! A scoundrel to play a poor wife suchtricks. Nothing has prospered in Weatherbury since hecame here. And now I've no heart to go in. Let'slook into Warren's for a few minutes first, shall us,neighbours?Samway, Tall, and Smallbury agreed to go to Warren's,and went out at the gate, the remaining ones enteringthe house. The three soon drew near the malt-house,approaching it from the adjoining orchard, and not byway of the street. The pane of glass was illuminatedas usual. Smallbury was a little in advance of the restwhen, pausing, he turned suddenly to his companionsand said, Hist! See there.The light from the pane was now perceived to beshining not upon the ivied wall as usual, but upon someobject close to the glass. It was a human face.Let's come closer. whispered Samway; and theyapproached on tiptoe. There was no disbelieving thereport any longer. Troy's face was almost close to thepane, and he was looking in. Not only was he looking in,but he appeared to have been arrested by a conversationwhich was in progress in the malt-house, the voices ofthe interlocutors being those of Oak and the maltster.The spree is all in her honour, isn't it -- hey? saidthe old man. Although he made believe 'tis onlykeeping up o' Christmas?I cannot say. replied Oak.O 'tis true enough, faith. I cannot understandFarmer Boldwood being such a fool at his time of lifeas to ho and hanker after thik woman in the way 'a do,and she not care a bit about en.The men, after recognizing Troy's features, withdrewacross the orchard as quietly as they had come. Theair was big with Bathsheba's fortunes to-night: everyword everywhere concerned her. When they were quiteout of earshot all by one instinct paused.It gave me quite a turn -- his face. said Tall,breathing.And so it did me. said Samway. What's to bedone?I don't see that 'tis any business of ours. Smallburymurmured dubiously.But it is! 'Tis a thing which is everybody's business,said Samway. We know very well that master's on awrong tack, and that she's quite in the dark, and weshould let 'em know at once. Laban, you know herbest -- you'd better go and ask to speak to her.I bain't fit for any such thing. said Laban, nervously.I should think William ought to do it if anybody. He'soldest.I shall have nothing to do with it. said Smallbury.'Tis a ticklish business altogether. Why, he'll go onto her himself in a few minutes, ye'll see.We don't know that he will. Come, Laban.Very well, if I must I must, I suppose. Tall reluct-antly answered. What must I say?Just ask to see master.O no; I shan't speak to Mr. Boldwood. If I tellanybody, 'twill be mistress.Very well. said Samway.Laban then went to the door. When he opened itthe hum of bustle rolled out as a wave upon a stillstrand -- the assemblage being immediately inside thehall-and was deadened to a murmur as he closed itagain. Each man waited intently, and looked around atthe dark tree tops gently rocking against the sky andoccasionally shivering in a slight wind, as if he tookinterest in the scene, which neither did. One of thembegan walking up and down, and then came to wherehe started from and stopped again, with a sense thatwalking was thing not worth doing now.I should think Laban must have seen mistress bythis time. said Smallbury, breaking the silence. Per-haps she won't come and speak to him.The door opened. Tall appeared, and joined themWell? said both.I didn't like to ask for her after all. Laban falteredout. They were all in such a stir, trying to put a littlespirit into the party. Somehow the fun seems to hangfire, though everything's there that a heart can desire,and I couldn't for my soul interfere and throw dampupon it -- if 'twas to save my life, I couldn't!I suppose we had better all go in together. saidSamway, gloomily. Perhaps I may have a chance ofsaying a word to master.So the men entered the hall, which was the roomselected and arranged for the gathering because of itssize. The younger men and maids were at last justbeginning to dance. Bathsheba had been perplexedhow to act, for she was not much more than a slimyoung maid herself, and the weight of stateliness satheavy upon her. Sometimes she thought she oughtnot to have come under any circumstances; then sheconsidered what cold unkindness that would have been,and finally resolved upon the middle course of stayingfor about an hour only, and gliding off unobserved,having from the first made up her mind that she couldon no account dance, sing, or take any active part inthe proceedings.Her allotted hour having been passed in chattingand looking on, Bathsheba told Liddy not to hurry her-self, and went to the small parlour to prepare fordeparture, which, like the hall, was decorated with hollyand ivy, and well lighted up.Nobody was in the room, but she had hardlybeen there a moment when the master of the houseentered.Mrs. Troy -- you are not going? he said. We'vehardly begun!If you'll excuse me, I should like to go now. Hermanner was restive, for she remembered her promise,and imagined what he was about to say. But as it isnot late. she added, I can walk home, and leave myman and Liddy to come when they choose.I've been trying to get an opportunity of speakingto you. said Boldwood. You know perhaps what Ilong to say?Bathsheba silently looked on the floor.You do give it? he said, eagerly.What? she whispered.Now, that's evasion! Why, the promise. I don'twant to intrude upon you at all, or to let it becomeknown to anybody. But do give your word! Amere business compact, you know, between two peoplewho are beyond the influence of passion. Boldwoodknew how false this picture was as regarded himself;but he had proved that it was the only tone in whichshe would allow him to approach her. A promise tomarry me at the end of five years and three-quarters.You owe it to me!I feel that I do. said Bathsheba; that is, if youdemand it. But I am a changed woman -- an unhappywoman -- and not -- not -- -- You are still a very beautiful woman, said Boldwood.Honesty and pure conviction suggested the remark,unaccompanied by any perception that it might havebeen adopted by blunt flattery to soothe and win her.However, it had not much effect now, for for she said,in a passionless murmur which was in itself a proof ofher words: I have no feeling in the matter at all.And I don't at all know what is right to do in mydiddicult position, and I have nobody to advise me. ButI give my promise, if I must. I give it as the rendering ofa debt, conditionally, of course, on my being a widow.You'll marry me between five and six years hence?Don't press me too hard. I'll marry nobodyelse.But surely you will name the time, or there's nothingin the promise at all?O, I don't know, pray let me go! she said, herbosom beginning to rise. I am afraid what to do!want to be just to you, and to be that seems to be wrong-ing myself, and perhaps it is breaking the commandments.There is considerable doubt of his death, and then itis dreadful; let me ask a solicitor, Mr. Boldwood, if Iought or no!Say the words, dear one, and the subject shall bedismissed; a blissful loving intimacy of six years, andthen marriage -- O Bathsheba, say them! he begged ina husky voice, unable to sustain the forms of merefriendship any longer. Promise yourself to me; Ideserve it, indeed I do, for I have loved you more thananybody in the world! And if I said hasty words andshowed uncalled-for heat of manner towards you, believeme, dear, I did not mean to distress you; I was inagony, Bathsheba, and I did not know what I said.You wouldn't let a dog suffer what I have suffered,could you but know it! Sometimes I shrink from yourknowing what I have felt for you, and sometimes I amdistressed that all of it you never will know. Begracious, and give up a little to me, when I would giveup my life for you!The trimmings of her dress, as they quivered againstthe light, showed how agitated she was, and at last sheburst out crying. 'And you'll not -- press me -- aboutanything more -- if I say in five or six years? shesobbed, when she had power to frame the words.Yes, then I'll leave it to time.Very well. If he does not return, I'll marry youin six years from this day, if we both live. she saidsolemnly.And you'll take this as a token from me.Boldwood had come close to her side, and now heclasped one of her hands in both his own, and lifted itto his breast.What is it? Oh I cannot wear a ring! she ex-claimed, on seeing what he held; besides, I wouldn'thave a soul know that it's an engagement! Perhaps itis improper? Besides, we are not engaged in the usualsense, are we? Don't insist, Mr. Boldwood -- don't!In her trouble at not being able to get her hand awayfrom him at once, she stamped passionately on the floorwith one foot, and tears crowded to her eyes again.It means simply a pledge -- no sentiment -- the sealof a practical compact. he said more quietly, but stillretaining her hand in his firm grasp. Come, now!And Boldwood slipped the ring on her finger.I cannot wear it. she said, weeping as if her heartwould break. You frighten me, almost. So wild ascheme! Please let me go home!Only to-night: wear it just to-night, to please me!Bathsheba sat down in a chair, and buried her facein her handkerchief, though Boldwood kept her handyet. At length she said, in a sort of hopeless whisper --Very well, then, I will to-night, if you wish it soearnestly. Now loosen my hand; I will, indeed I willwear it to-night.And it shall be the beginning of a pleasant secretcourtship of six years, with a wedding at the end?It must be, I suppose, since you will have it so!she said, fairly beaten into non-resistance.Boldwood pressed her hand, and allowed it to dropin her lap. I am happy now. he said. God blessyou!He left the room, and when he thought she mightbe sufficiently composed sent one of the maids to herBathsheba cloaked the effects of the late scene as shebest could, followed the girl, and in a few momentscame downstairs with her hat and cloak on, ready to go.To get to the door it was necessary to pass through thehall, and before doing so she paused on the bottom ofthe staircase which descended into one corner, to takea last look at the gathering.There was no music or dancing in progress just now.At the lower end, which had been arranged for the work-folk specially, a group conversed in whispers, and withclouded looks. Boldwood was standing by the fireplace,and he, too, though so absorbed in visions arising fromher promise that he scarcely saw anything, seemed atthat moment to have observed their peculiar manner,and their looks askance.What is it you are in doubt about, men? he said.One of them turned and replied uneasily: It wassomething Laban heard of, that's all, sir.News? Anybody married or engaged, born ordead? inquired the farmer, gaily. Tell it to us, Tall.One would think from your looks and mysterious waysthat it was something very dreadful indeed.O no, sir, nobody is dead. said Tall.I wish somebody was. said Samway, in a whisper.What do you say, Samway? asked Boldwood, some-what sharply. If you have anything to say, speak out;if not, get up another dance.Mrs. Troy has come downstairs. said Samway toTall. If you want to tell her, you had better do it now.Do you know what they mean? the farmer askedBathsheba, across the room.I don't in the least, said Bathsheba.There was a smart rapping at the door. One ofthe men opened it instantly, and went outside.Mrs. Troy is wanted. he said, on returning.Quite ready. said Bathsheba. Though I didn'ttell them to send.It is a stranger, ma'am. said the man by the door.A stranger? she said.Ask him to come in. said Boldwood.The message was given, and Troy, wrapped up tohis eyes as we have seen him, stood in the doorway.There was an unearthly silence, all looking towardsthe newcomer. Those who had just learnt that hewas in the neighbourhood recognized him instantly;those who did not were perplexed. Nobody notedBathsheba. She was leaning on the stairs. Her browhad heavily contracted; her whole face was pallid, herlips apart, her eyes rigidly staring at their visitor.Boldwood was among those who did not notice thathe was Troy. Come in, come in! he repeated,cheerfully, and drain a Christmas beaker with us,stranger!Troy next advanced into the middle of the room,took off his cap, turned down his coat-collar, and lookedBoldwood in the face. Even then Boldwood did notrecognize that the impersonator of Heaven's persistentirony towards him, who had once before broken inupon his bliss, scourged him, and snatched his delightaway, had come to do these things a second time.Troy began to laugh a mechanical laugh: Boldwoodrecognized him now.Troy turned to Bathsheba. The poor girl's wretched-ness at this time was beyond all fancy or narration.She had sunk down on the lowest stair; and thereshe sat, her mouth blue and dry, and her dark eyesfixed vacantly upon him, as if she wondered whether itwere not all a terrible illusion.Then Troy spoke. Bathsheba, I come here foryou!She made no reply.Come home with me: come!Bathsheba moved her feet a little, but did not rise.Troy went across to her.Come, madam, do you hear what I say? he said,peremptorily.A strange voice came from the fireplace -- a voicesounding far off and confined, as if from a dungeon.Hardly a soul in the assembly recognized the thin tonesto be those of Boldwood. Sudden dispaire had trans-formed him.Bathsheba, go with your husband!Nevertheless, she did not move. The truth wasthat Bathsheba was beyond the pale of activity -- andyet not in a swoon. She was in a state of mental GUTTASERENA; her mind was for the minute totally deprived oflight at the same time no obscuration was apparentfrom without.Troy stretched out his hand to pull her her towards him,when she quickly shrank back. This visible dread ofhim seemed to irritate Troy, and he seized her arm andpulled it sharply. Whether his grasp pinched her, orwhether his mere touch was the 'cause, was never known,but at the moment of his seizure she writhed, and gavea quick, low scream.The scream had been heard but a few seconds Whenit was followed by sudden deafening report thatechoed through the room and stupefied them all. Theoak partition shook with the concussion, and the placewas filled with grey smoke.In bewilderment they turned their eyes to Boldwood.at his back, as stood before the fireplace, was a gun-rack, as is usual in farmhouses, constructed to hold twoguns. When Bathsheba had cried out in her husband'sgrasp, Boldwood's face of gnashing despair had changed.The veins had swollen, and a frenzied look had gleamedin his eye. He had turned quickly, taken one of theguns, cocked it, and at once discharged it at Troy.Troy fell. The distance apart of the two men wasso small that the charge of shot did not spread in theleast, but passed like a bullet into his body. He uttereda long guttural sigh -- there was a contraction -- an exten-sion -- then his muscles relaxed, and he lay still.Boldwood was seen through the smoke to be nowagain engaged with the gun. It was double-barrelled,and he had, meanwhile, in some way fastened his hand-kerchief to the trigger, and with his foot on the otherend was in the act of turning the second barrel uponhimself. Samway his man was the first to see this, andin the midst of the general horror darted up to him.Boldwood had already twitched the handkerchief, andthe gun exploded a second time, sending its contents,by a timely blow from Samway, into the beam whichcrossed the ceiling.Well, it makes no difference! Boldwood gasped.There is another way for me to die.Then he broke from Samway, crossed the room toBathsheba, and kissed her hand. He put on his hat,opened the door, and went into the darkness, nobodythinking of preventing him.
CHAPTER LIV