uld
not believe him, taking his words but as the frothy utterances of
recklessness. Though Lucetta's life seemed at that moment to depend upon
her husband's return (she being in great mental agony lest he should
never know the unexaggerated truth of her past relations with Henchard),
no messenger was despatched towards Weatherbury. Henchard, in a state of
bitter anxiety and contrition, determined to seek Farfrae himself.

To this end he hastened down the town, ran along the eastern road over
Durnover Moor, up the hill beyond, and thus onward in the moderate
darkness of this spring night till he had reached a second and almost
a third hill about three miles distant. In Yalbury Bottom, or Plain,
at the foot of the hill, he listened. At first nothing, beyond his own
heart-throbs, was to be heard but the slow wind making its moan among
the masses of spruce and larch of Yalbury Wood which clothed the heights
on either hand; but presently there came the sound of light wheels
whetting their felloes against the newly stoned patches of road,
accompanied by the distant glimmer of lights.

He knew it was Farfrae's gig descending the hill from an indescribable
personality in its noise, the vehicle having been his own till bought
by the Scotchman at the sale of his effects. Henchard thereupon retraced
his steps along Yalbury Plain, the gig coming up with him as its driver
slackened speed between two plantations.

It was a point in the highway near which the road to Mellstock branched
off from the homeward direction. By diverging to that village, as he had
intended to do, Farfrae might probably delay his return by a couple of
hours. It soon appeared that his intention was to do so still, the
light swerving towards Cuckoo Lane, the by-road aforesaid. Farfrae's off
gig-lamp flashed in Henchard's face. At the same time Farfrae discerned
his late antagonist.

"Farfrae--Mr. Farfrae!" cried the breathless Henchard, holding up his
hand.

Farfrae allowed the horse to turn several steps into the branch lane
before he pulled up. He then drew rein, and said "Yes?" over his
shoulder, as one would towards a pronounced enemy.

"Come back to Casterbridge at once!" Henchard said. "There's something
wrong at your house--requiring your return. I've run all the way here on
purpose to tell ye."

Farfrae was silent, and at his silence Henchard's soul sank within him.
Why had he not, before this, thought of what was only too obvious? He
who, four