f, 'Never a one of the prizes of life will I come by unless I
undertake it!' 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 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 staircase.

She must have appeared interesting in some way--not-withstanding her
plain dress--or rather, possibly, in consequence 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-flame 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 came 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 pre