Part 38 (2/2)

”Ah, my boys, you've sung it,” said Henchard triumphantly. ”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 company 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 quant.i.ty as yet he was inclined to acquiesce. She took his arm, and together they went on. Henchard walked blankly, like a blind man, repeating to himself the last words of the singers--

”And the next age his hated name Shall utterly deface.”

At length he said to her, ”I am a man to my word. I have kept my oath for twenty-one years; and now I can drink with a 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!”

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 Lucetta might have been seen flitting about the town like two b.u.t.terflies--or rather like a bee and a b.u.t.terfly 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 indoors waiting for the time to pa.s.s 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 answered 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.

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 hesitation, it being obvious that he had no suspicion whatever of any antecedents in common between her and the now journeyman 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 rivel, led him to keep away from the hay-barn where Henchard and his daughter were working, and to go on to the corn department. Meanwhile Lucetta, never having been informed that Henchard had entered her husband's service, rambled straight on to the barn, 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 afternoon,” she faltered.

”O yes, good afternoon, ma'am,” he replied, touching his hat again. ”I am glad to see you, ma'am.” Lucetta looked embarra.s.sed, 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 bitter, too unendurable.

”Can you tell me the time, ma'am?” he asked.

”Yes,” she said hastily; ”half-past four.”

”Thank 'ee. An hour and a half longer before we are released from work.

Ah, ma'am, we of the lower cla.s.ses 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 pa.s.sing Henchard again. That she had been taken by surprise was obvious. The result of this casual rencounter was that the next morning a note was put into Henchard's hand by the postman.

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