s of his young manhood, discarding for ever the
shabby-genteel suit of cloth and rusty silk hat that since his decline
had characterized him in the Casterbridge street as a man who had seen
better days.

He went secretly and alone, not a soul of the many who had known him
being aware of his departure. Elizabeth-Jane accompanied him as far as
the second bridge on the highway--for the hour of her appointment with
the unguessed visitor at Farfrae's had not yet arrived--and parted from
him with unfeigned wonder and sorrow, keeping him back a minute or two
before finally letting him go. She watched his form diminish across the
moor, the yellow rush-basket at his back moving up and down with each
tread, and the creases behind his knees coming and going alternately
till she could no longer see them. Though she did not know it Henchard
formed at this moment much the same picture as he had presented when
entering Casterbridge for the first time nearly a quarter of a century
before; except, to be sure, that the serious addition to his years
had considerably lessened the spring to his stride, that his state
of hopelessness had weakened him, and imparted to his shoulders, as
weighted by the basket, a perceptible bend.

He went on till he came to the first milestone, which stood in the bank,
half way up a steep hill. He rested his basket on the top of the stone,
placed his elbows on it, and gave way to a convulsive twitch, which was
worse than a sob, because it was so hard and so dry.

"If I had only got her with me--if I only had!" he said. "Hard work
would be nothing to me then! But that was not to be. I--Cain--go alone
as I deserve--an outcast and a vagabond. But my punishment is not
greater than I can bear!"

He sternly subdued his anguish, shouldered his basket, and went on.

Elizabeth, in the meantime, had breathed him a sigh, recovered her
equanimity, and turned her face to Casterbridge. Before she had reached
the first house she was met in her walk by Donald Farfrae. This was
evidently not their first meeting that day; they joined hands without
ceremony, and Farfrae anxiously asked, "And is he gone--and did you tell
him?--I mean of the other matter--not of ours."

"He is gone; and I told him all I knew of your friend. Donald, who is
he?"

"Well, well, dearie; you will know soon about that. And Mr. Henchard
will hear of it if he does not go far."

"He will go far--he's bent upon getting out of sight and sound!"

Sh