t told the other of his
application to Farfrae.

"There never will be in Casterbridge," declared Henchard decisively.
"You must roam further afield." He said goodnight to Jopp, and returned
to his own part of the house.

Jopp sat on till his eyes were attracted by the shadow of the
candle-snuff on the wall, and looking at the original he found that it
had formed itself into a head like a red-hot cauliflower. Henchard's
packet next met his gaze. He knew there had been something of the nature
of wooing between Henchard and the now Mrs. Farfrae; and his vague ideas
on the subject narrowed themselves down to these: Henchard had a parcel
belonging to Mrs. Farfrae, and he had reasons for not returning that
parcel to her in person. What could be inside it? So he went on and on
till, animated by resentment at Lucetta's haughtiness, as he thought it,
and curiosity to learn if there were any weak sides to this transaction
with Henchard, he examined the package. The pen and all its relations
being awkward tools in Henchard's hands he had affixed the seals without
an impression, it never occurring to him that the efficacy of such a
fastening depended on this. Jopp was far less of a tyro; he lifted one
of the seals with his penknife, peeped in at the end thus opened, saw
that the bundle consisted of letters; and, having satisfied himself
thus far, sealed up the end again by simply softening the wax with the
candle, and went off with the parcel as requested.

His path was by the river-side at the foot of the town. Coming into
the light at the bridge which stood at the end of High Street he beheld
lounging thereon Mother Cuxsom and Nance Mockridge.

"We be just going down Mixen Lane way, to look into Peter's Finger afore
creeping to bed," said Mrs. Cuxsom. "There's a fiddle and tambourine
going on there. Lord, what's all the world--do ye come along too,
Jopp--'twon't hinder ye five minutes."

Jopp had mostly kept himself out of this company, but present
circumstances made him somewhat more reckless than usual, and without
many words he decided to go to his destination that way.

Though the upper part of Durnover was mainly composed of a curious
congeries of barns and farm-steads, there was a less picturesque side to
the parish. This was Mixen Lane, now in great part pulled down.

Mixen Lane was the Adullam of all the surrounding villages. It was the
hiding-place of those who were in distress, and in debt, and trouble
of ever