to have observed their peculiar manner, and their looks askance.

"What is it you are in doubt about, men?" he said.

One of them turned and replied uneasily: "It was something Laban
heard of, that's all, sir."

"News? Anybody married or engaged, born or dead?" inquired the
farmer, gaily. "Tell it to us, Tall. One would think from your
looks and mysterious ways that it was something very dreadful
indeed."

"Oh no, sir, nobody is dead," said Tall.

"I wish somebody was," said Samway, in a whisper.

"What do you say, Samway?" asked Boldwood, somewhat sharply. "If you
have anything to say, speak out; if not, get up another dance."

"Mrs. Troy has come downstairs," said Samway to Tall. "If you want
to tell her, you had better do it now."

"Do you know what they mean?" the farmer asked Bathsheba, across the
room.

"I don't in the least," said Bathsheba.

There was a smart rapping at the door. One of the men opened it
instantly, and went outside.

"Mrs. Troy is wanted," he said, on returning.

"Quite ready," said Bathsheba. "Though I didn't tell them to send."

"It is a stranger, ma'am," said the man by the door.

"A stranger?" she said.

"Ask him to come in," said Boldwood.

The message was given, and Troy, wrapped up to his eyes as we have
seen him, stood in the doorway.

There was an unearthly silence, all looking towards the newcomer.
Those who had just learnt that he was in the neighbourhood recognized
him instantly; those who did not were perplexed. Nobody noted
Bathsheba. She was leaning on the stairs. Her brow had heavily
contracted; her whole face was pallid, her lips apart, her eyes
rigidly staring at their visitor.

Boldwood was among those who did not notice that he was Troy. "Come
in, come in!" he repeated, cheerfully, "and drain a Christmas beaker
with us, stranger!"

Troy next advanced into the middle of the room, took off his cap,
turned down his coat-collar, and looked Boldwood in the face. Even
then Boldwood did not recognize that the impersonator of Heaven's
persistent irony towards him, who had once before broken in upon his
bliss, scourged him, and snatched his delight away, had come to do
these things a second time. Troy began to laugh a mechanical laugh:
Boldwood recognized him now.

Troy turned to Bathsheba. The poor girl's wretchedness at this time
was beyond all fancy or narration. She had sunk down on the lowest
stair; and there she sat, her mouth blue and