dry, and her dark eyes
fixed vacantly upon him, as if she wondered whether it were not all
a terrible illusion.

Then Troy spoke. "Bathsheba, I come here for you!"

She made no reply.

"Come home with me: come!"

Bathsheba moved her feet a little, but did not rise. Troy went
across to her.

"Come, madam, do you hear what I say?" he said, peremptorily.

A strange voice came from the fireplace--a voice sounding far off
and confined, as if from a dungeon. Hardly a soul in the assembly
recognized the thin tones to be those of Boldwood. Sudden dispaire
had transformed him.

"Bathsheba, go with your husband!"

Nevertheless, she did not move. The truth was that Bathsheba was
beyond the pale of activity--and yet not in a swoon. She was in a
state of mental _gutta serena_; her mind was for the minute totally
deprived of light at the same time no obscuration was apparent from
without.

Troy stretched out his hand to pull her her towards him, when she
quickly shrank back. This visible dread of him seemed to irritate
Troy, and he seized her arm and pulled it sharply. Whether his grasp
pinched her, or whether his mere touch was the cause, was never
known, but at the moment of his seizure she writhed, and gave a
quick, low scream.

The scream had been heard but a few seconds when it was followed by
sudden deafening report that echoed through the room and stupefied
them all. The oak partition shook with the concussion, and the place
was filled with grey smoke.

In bewilderment they turned their eyes to Boldwood. At his back,
as stood before the fireplace, was a gun-rack, as is usual in
farmhouses, constructed to hold two guns. When Bathsheba had cried
out in her husband's grasp, Boldwood's face of gnashing despair had
changed. The veins had swollen, and a frenzied look had gleamed in
his eye. He had turned quickly, taken one of the guns, cocked it,
and at once discharged it at Troy.

Troy fell. The distance apart of the two men was so small that
the charge of shot did not spread in the least, but passed like a
bullet into his body. He uttered a long guttural sigh--there was
a contraction--an extension--then his muscles relaxed, and he lay
still.

Boldwood was seen through the smoke to be now again engaged with the
gun. It was double-barrelled, and he had, meanwhile, in some way
fastened his hand-kerchief to the trigger, and with his foot on the
other end was in the act of turning the second barrel