by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER LIII
CONCURRITUR--HORAE MOMENTO
Outside the front of Boldwood's house a group of men stood in thedark, with their faces towards the door, which occasionally openedand closed for the passage of some guest or servant, when a goldenrod of light would stripe the ground for the moment and vanish again,leaving nothing outside but the glowworm shine of the pale lamp amidthe evergreens over the door.
"He was seen in Casterbridge this afternoon--so the boy said," one ofthem remarked in a whisper. "And I for one believe it. His body wasnever found, you know."
"'Tis a strange story," said the next. "You may depend upon't thatshe knows nothing about it."
"Not a word."
"Perhaps he don't mean that she shall," said another man.
"If he's alive and here in the neighbourhood, he means 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 one disposed to take amore hopeful view of the case.
"What a fool she must have been ever to have had anything to do withthe man! She is so self-willed and independent too, that one is moreminded to say it serves her right than pity her."
"No, no. I don't hold with 'ee there. She was no otherwise than agirl mind, and how could she tell what the man was made of? If 'tisreally true, 'tis too hard a punishment, and more than she ought tohae.--Hullo, who's that?" This was to some footsteps that were heardapproaching.
"William Smallbury," said a dim figure in the shades, coming up andjoining them. "Dark as a hedge, to-night, isn't it? I all but missedthe plank over the river ath'art there in the bottom--never did sucha thing before in my life. Be ye any of Boldwood's workfolk?" Hepeered into their faces.
"Yes--all o' us. We met here a few minutes ago."
"Oh, I hear now--that's Sam Samway: thought I knowed the voice, too.Going in?"
"Presently. But I say, William," Samway whispered, "have ye heardthis strange tale?"
"What--that about Sergeant Troy being seen, d'ye mean, souls?" saidSmallbury, also lowering his voice.
"Ay: in Casterbridge."
"Yes, I have. Laban Tall named a hint of it to me but now--but Idon't think it. Hark, here Laban comes himself, 'a b'lieve." Afootstep drew near.
"Laban?"
"Yes, 'tis I," said Tall.
"Have ye heard any more about that?"
"No," said Tall, joining the group. "And I'm inclined to think we'dbetter keep quiet. If so be 'tis not true, 'twill flurry her, and doher much harm to repeat it; and if so be 'tis true, 'twill do no goodto forestall her time o' trouble. God send that it mid be a lie, forthough Henery Fray and some of 'em do speak against her, she's neverbeen anything but fair to me. She's hot and hasty, but she's a bravegirl who'll never tell a lie however much the truth may harm her, andI've no cause to wish her evil."
"She never do tell women's little lies, that's true; and 'tis a thingthat can be said of very few. Ay, all the harm she thinks she saysto yer face: there's nothing underhand wi' her."
They stood silent then, every man busied with his own thoughts,during which interval sounds of merriment could be heard within.Then the front door again opened, the rays streamed out, thewell-known form of Boldwood was seen in the rectangular area oflight, the door closed, and Boldwood walked slowly down the path.
"'Tis master," one of the men whispered, as he neared them. "We'dbetter stand quiet--he'll go in again directly. He would think itunseemly o' us to be loitering here."
Boldwood came on, and passed by the men without seeing them, theybeing under the bushes on the grass. He paused, leant over the gate,and breathed a long breath. They heard low words come from him.
"I hope to God she'll come, or this night will be nothing but miseryto me! Oh my darling, my darling, why do you keep me in suspenselike this?"
He said this to himself, and they all distinctly heard it. Boldwoodremained silent after that, and the noise from indoors was againjust audible, until, a few minutes later, light wheels could bedistinguished coming down the hill. They drew nearer, and ceased atthe gate. Boldwood hastened back to the door, and opened it; and thelight shone upon Bathsheba coming up the path.
Boldwood compressed his emotion to mere welcome: the men marked herlight laugh and apology as she met him: he took her into the house;and the door closed again.
"Gracious heaven, I didn't know it was like that with him!" said oneof the men. "I thought that fancy of his was over long ago."
"You don't know much of master, if you thought that," said Samway.
"I wouldn't he should know we heard what 'a said for the world,"remarked a third.
"I wish we had told of the report at once," the first uneasilycontinued. "More harm may come of this than we know of. Poor Mr.Boldwood, it will be hard upon en. I wish Troy was in--Well, Godforgive me for such a wish! A scoundrel to play a poor wife suchtricks. Nothing has prospered in Weatherbury since he came here.And now I've no heart to go in. Let's look into Warren's for a fewminutes first, shall us, neighbours?"
Samway, Tall, and Smallbury agreed to go to Warren's, and went out atthe gate, the remaining ones entering the house. The three soon drewnear the malt-house, approaching it from the adjoining orchard, andnot by way of the street. The pane of glass was illuminated asusual. Smallbury was a little in advance of the rest when, pausing,he turned suddenly to his companions and said, "Hist! See there."
The light from the pane was now perceived to be shining not upon theivied wall as usual, but upon some object close to the glass. It wasa human face.
"Let's come closer," whispered Samway; and they approached on tiptoe.There was no disbelieving the report any longer. Troy's face wasalmost close to the pane, and he was looking in. Not only was helooking in, but he appeared to have been arrested by a conversationwhich was in progress in the malt-house, the voices of theinterlocutors being those of Oak and the maltster.
"The spree is all in her honour, isn't it--hey?" said the old man."Although he made believe 'tis only keeping up o' Christmas?"
"I cannot say," replied Oak.
"Oh 'tis true enough, faith. I cannot understand Farmer Boldwoodbeing such a fool at his time of life as to ho and hanker after thiswoman in the way 'a do, and she not care a bit about en."
The men, after recognizing Troy's features, withdrew acrossthe orchard as quietly as they had come. The air was big withBathsheba's fortunes to-night: every word everywhere concerned her.When they were quite out 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 be done?"
"I don't see that 'tis any business of ours," Smallbury murmureddubiously.
"But it is! 'Tis a thing which is everybody's business," saidSamway. "We know very well that master's on a wrong tack, and thatshe's quite in the dark, and we should let 'em know at once. Laban,you know her best--you'd better go and ask to speak to her."
"I bain't fit for any such thing," said Laban, nervously. "I shouldthink William ought to do it if anybody. He's oldest."
"I shall have nothing to do with it," said Smallbury. "'Tis aticklish business altogether. Why, he'll go on to her himself in afew minutes, ye'll see."
"We don't know that he will. Come, Laban."
"Very well, if I must I must, I suppose," Tall reluctantly answered."What must I say?"
"Just ask to see master."
"Oh no; I shan't speak to Mr. Boldwood. If I tell anybody, 'twill bemistress."
"Very well," said Samway.
Laban then went to the door. When he opened it the hum of bustlerolled out as a wave upon a still strand--the assemblage beingimmediately inside the hall--and was deadened to a murmur as heclosed it again. Each man waited intently, and looked around atthe dark tree tops gently rocking against the sky and occasionallyshivering in a slight wind, as if he took interest in the scene,which neither did
. One of them began walking up and down, and thencame to where he started from and stopped again, with a sense thatwalking was a thing not worth doing now.
"I should think Laban must have seen mistress by this time," saidSmallbury, breaking the silence. "Perhaps she won't come and speakto him."
The door opened. Tall appeared, and joined them.
"Well?" said both.
"I didn't like to ask for her after all," Laban faltered out. "Theywere all in such a stir, trying to put a little spirit into theparty. Somehow the fun seems to hang fire, though everything's therethat a heart can desire, and I couldn't for my soul interfere andthrow damp upon it--if 'twas to save my life, I couldn't!"
"I suppose we had better all go in together," said Samway, gloomily."Perhaps I may have a chance of saying a word to master."
So the men entered the hall, which was the room selected and arrangedfor the gathering because of its size. The younger men and maidswere at last just beginning to dance. Bathsheba had been perplexedhow to act, for she was not much more than a slim young maid herself,and the weight of stateliness sat heavy upon her. Sometimes shethought she ought not to have come under any circumstances; then sheconsidered what cold unkindness that would have been, and finallyresolved upon the middle course of staying for about an hour only,and gliding off unobserved, having from the first made up her mindthat she could on no account dance, sing, or take any active part inthe proceedings.
Her allotted hour having been passed in chatting and looking on,Bathsheba told Liddy not to hurry herself, and went to the smallparlour to prepare for departure, which, like the hall, was decoratedwith holly and ivy, and well lighted up.
Nobody was in the room, but she had hardly been there a moment whenthe master of the house entered.
"Mrs. Troy--you are not going?" he said. "We've hardly begun!"
"If you'll excuse me, I should like to go now." Her manner wasrestive, for she remembered her promise, and imagined what he wasabout to say. "But as it is not late," she added, "I can walk home,and leave my man and Liddy to come when they choose."
"I've been trying to get an opportunity of speaking to you," saidBoldwood. "You know perhaps what I long 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't want to intrudeupon you at all, or to let it become known to anybody. But do giveyour word! A mere business compact, you know, between two people whoare beyond the influence of passion." Boldwood knew how false thispicture was as regarded himself; but he had proved that it was theonly tone in which she would allow him to approach her. "A promiseto marry me at the end of five years and three-quarters. You owe itto me!"
"I feel that I do," said Bathsheba; "that is, if you demand it. ButI am a changed woman--an unhappy woman--and not--not--"
"You are still a very beautiful woman," said Boldwood. Honesty andpure conviction suggested the remark, unaccompanied by any perceptionthat it might have been adopted by blunt flattery to soothe and winher.
However, it had not much effect now, for she said, in a passionlessmurmur which was in itself a proof of her words: "I have no feelingin the matter at all. And I don't at all know what is right to doin my difficult position, and I have nobody to advise me. But Igive my promise, if I must. I give it as the rendering of a 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 nobody else."
"But surely you will name the time, or there's nothing in the promiseat all?"
"Oh, I don't know, pray let me go!" she said, her bosom beginning torise. "I am afraid what to do! I want to be just to you, and to bethat seems to be wronging myself, and perhaps it is breaking thecommandments. There is considerable doubt of his death, and then itis dreadful; let me ask a solicitor, Mr. Boldwood, if I ought or no!"
"Say the words, dear one, and the subject shall be dismissed;a blissful loving intimacy of six years, and then marriage--OBathsheba, say them!" he begged in a husky voice, unable to sustainthe forms of mere friendship any longer. "Promise yourself to me; Ideserve it, indeed I do, for I have loved you more than anybody inthe world! And if I said hasty words and showed uncalled-for heatof manner towards you, believe me, dear, I did not mean to distressyou; I was in agony, Bathsheba, and I did not know what I said. Youwouldn't let a dog suffer what I have suffered, could you but knowit! Sometimes I shrink from your knowing what I have felt for you,and sometimes I am distressed that all of it you never will know. Begracious, and give up a little to me, when I would give up my lifefor you!"
The trimmings of her dress, as they quivered against the light,showed how agitated she was, and at last she burst out crying. "Andyou'll not--press me--about anything more--if I say in five or sixyears?" she sobbed, when she had power to frame the words.
"Yes, then I'll leave it to time."
She waited a moment. "Very well. I'll marry you in six years fromthis day, if we both live," she said solemnly.
"And you'll take this as a token from me."
Boldwood had come close to her side, and now he clasped one of herhands in both his own, and lifted it to his breast.
"What is it? Oh I cannot wear a ring!" she exclaimed, on seeingwhat he held; "besides, I wouldn't have a soul know that it's anengagement! Perhaps it is improper? Besides, we are not engaged inthe usual sense, are we? Don't insist, Mr. Boldwood--don't!" In hertrouble at not being able to get her hand away from him at once, shestamped passionately on the floor with one foot, and tears crowded toher eyes again.
"It means simply a pledge--no sentiment--the seal of a practicalcompact," he said more quietly, but still retaining her hand inhis firm grasp. "Come, now!" And Boldwood slipped the ring on herfinger.
"I cannot wear it," she said, weeping as if her heart would break."You frighten me, almost. So wild a scheme! 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 face in herhandkerchief, though Boldwood kept her hand yet. At length shesaid, in a sort of hopeless whisper--
"Very well, then, I will to-night, if you wish it so earnestly. Nowloosen my hand; I will, indeed I will wear it to-night."
"And it shall be the beginning of a pleasant secret courtship of sixyears, with a wedding at the end?"
"It must be, I suppose, since you will have it so!" she said, fairlybeaten into non-resistance.
Boldwood pressed her hand, and allowed it to drop in her lap. "I amhappy now," he said. "God bless you!"
He left the room, and when he thought she might be sufficientlycomposed sent one of the maids to her. Bathsheba cloaked the effectsof the late scene as she best could, followed the girl, and in a fewmoments came downstairs with her hat and cloak on, ready to go. Toget to the door it was necessary to pass through the hall, and beforedoing so she paused on the bottom of the staircase which descendedinto one corner, to take a last look at the gathering.
There was no music or dancing in progress just now. At the lowerend, which had been arranged for the work-folk specially, a groupconversed in whispers, and with clouded looks. Boldwood was standingby the fireplace, and he, too, though so absorbed in visions arisingfrom her promise that he scarcely saw anything, seemed at that momentto 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 was something Labanheard of, that's all, sir."
"News? Anybody married or engaged, born or dead?" inquired thefarmer, gaily. "Tell it to us, Tall. One would think from yourlooks and mysterious ways that it was something very dreadfulindeed."
"Oh no, sir, nobody is dead," said Tall.
"I wish somebody was," said Samway, in a whisper.
"What do you say,
Samway?" asked Boldwood, somewhat sharply. "If youhave anything to say, speak out; if not, get up another dance."
"Mrs. Troy has come downstairs," said Samway to Tall. "If you wantto tell her, you had better do it now."
"Do you know what they mean?" the farmer asked Bathsheba, across theroom.
"I don't in the least," said Bathsheba.
There was a smart rapping at the door. One of the men opened itinstantly, and went outside.
"Mrs. Troy is wanted," he said, on returning.
"Quite ready," said Bathsheba. "Though I didn't tell 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 to his eyes as we haveseen him, stood in the doorway.
There was an unearthly silence, all looking towards the newcomer.Those who had just learnt that he was in the neighbourhood recognizedhim instantly; those who did not were perplexed. Nobody notedBathsheba. She was leaning on the stairs. Her brow had heavilycontracted; her whole face was pallid, her lips apart, her eyesrigidly staring at their visitor.
Boldwood was among those who did not notice that he was Troy. "Comein, come in!" he repeated, cheerfully, "and drain a Christmas beakerwith us, stranger!"
Troy next advanced into the middle of the room, took off his cap,turned down his coat-collar, and looked Boldwood in the face. Eventhen Boldwood did not recognize that the impersonator of Heaven'spersistent irony towards him, who had once before broken in upon hisbliss, scourged him, and snatched his delight away, had come to dothese things a second time. Troy began to laugh a mechanical laugh:Boldwood recognized him now.
Troy turned to Bathsheba. The poor girl's wretchedness at this timewas beyond all fancy or narration. She had sunk down on the loweststair; and there she sat, her mouth blue and dry, and her dark eyesfixed vacantly upon him, as if she wondered whether it were not alla terrible illusion.
Then Troy spoke. "Bathsheba, I come here for you!"
She made no reply.
"Come home with me: come!"
Bathsheba moved her feet a little, but did not rise. Troy wentacross to her.
"Come, madam, do you hear what I say?" he said, peremptorily.
A strange voice came from the fireplace--a voice sounding far offand confined, as if from a dungeon. Hardly a soul in the assemblyrecognized the thin tones to be those of Boldwood. Sudden despairhad transformed him.
"Bathsheba, go with your husband!"
Nevertheless, she did not move. The truth was that Bathsheba wasbeyond the pale of activity--and yet not in a swoon. She was in astate of mental _gutta serena_; her mind was for the minute totallydeprived of light at the same time no obscuration was apparent fromwithout.
Troy stretched out his hand to pull her her towards him, when shequickly shrank back. This visible dread of him seemed to irritateTroy, and he seized her arm and pulled it sharply. Whether his grasppinched her, or whether his mere touch was the cause, was neverknown, but at the moment of his seizure she writhed, and gave aquick, low scream.
The scream had been heard but a few seconds when it was followed bysudden deafening report that echoed through the room and stupefiedthem all. The oak 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 infarmhouses, constructed to hold two guns. When Bathsheba had criedout in her husband's grasp, Boldwood's face of gnashing despair hadchanged. The veins had swollen, and a frenzied look had gleamed inhis eye. He had turned quickly, taken one of the guns, cocked it,and at once discharged it at Troy.
Troy fell. The distance apart of the two men was so small thatthe charge of shot did not spread in the least, but passed like abullet into his body. He uttered a long guttural sigh--there wasa contraction--an extension--then his muscles relaxed, and he laystill.
Boldwood was seen through the smoke to be now again engaged with thegun. It was double-barrelled, and he had, meanwhile, in some wayfastened his hand-kerchief to the trigger, and with his foot on theother end was in the act of turning the second barrel upon himself.Samway his man was the first to see this, and in the midst of thegeneral horror darted up to him. Boldwood had already twitchedthe handkerchief, and the gun exploded a second time, sending itscontents, by a timely blow from Samway, into the beam which crossedthe ceiling.
"Well, it makes no difference!" Boldwood gasped. "There is anotherway for me to die."
Then he broke from Samway, crossed the room to Bathsheba, and kissedher hand. He put on his hat, opened the door, and went into thedarkness, nobody thinking of preventing him.