festoons cast in relief thereon, and the chairs were of
the kind which, since that day, has cast lustre upon the names of
Chippendale and Sheraton, though, in point of fact, their patterns may
have been such as those illustrious carpenters never saw or heard of.

"Sit down--Elizabeth-Jane--sit down," he said, with a shake in his voice
as he uttered her name, and sitting down himself he allowed his hands
to hang between his knees while he looked upon the carpet. "Your mother,
then, is quite well?"

"She is rather worn out, sir, with travelling."

"A sailor's widow--when did he die?"

"Father was lost last spring."

Henchard winced at the word "father," thus applied. "Do you and she come
from abroad--America or Australia?" he asked.

"No. We have been in England some years. I was twelve when we came here
from Canada."

"Ah; exactly." By such conversation he discovered the circumstances
which had enveloped his wife and her child in such total obscurity that
he had long ago believed them to be in their graves. These things being
clear, he returned to the present. "And where is your mother staying?"

"At the Three Mariners."

"And you are her daughter Elizabeth-Jane?" repeated Henchard. He arose,
came close to her, and glanced in her face. "I think," he said, suddenly
turning away with a wet eye, "you shall take a note from me to your
mother. I should like to see her....She is not left very well off by
her late husband?" His eye fell on Elizabeth's clothes, which, though
a respectable suit of black, and her very best, were decidedly
old-fashioned even to Casterbridge eyes.

"Not very well," she said, glad that he had divined this without her
being obliged to express it.

He sat down at the table and wrote a few lines, next taking from his
pocket-book a five-pound note, which he put in the envelope with the
letter, adding to it, as by an afterthought, five shillings. Sealing the
whole up carefully, he directed it to "Mrs. Newson, Three Mariners Inn,"
and handed the packet to Elizabeth.

"Deliver it to her personally, please," said Henchard. "Well, I am glad
to see you here, Elizabeth-Jane--very glad. We must have a long talk
together--but not just now."

He took her hand at parting, and held it so warmly that she, who had
known so little friendship, was much affected, and tears rose to her
aerial-grey eyes. The instant that she was gone Henchard's state showed
itself more distinctly; having shut the door he sa