past years.

"I was," said Gabriel. "I am one of the bass singers, you know. I
have sung bass for several months."

"Indeed: I wasn't aware of that. I'll leave you, then."

Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile,

sang the children.

"Don't let me drive you away, mistress. I think I won't go in
to-night."

"Oh no--you don't drive me away."

Then they stood in a state of some embarrassment, Bathsheba trying to
wipe her dreadfully drenched and inflamed face without his noticing
her. At length Oak said, "I've not seen you--I mean spoken to
you--since ever so long, have I?" But he feared to bring distressing
memories back, and interrupted himself with: "Were you going into
church?"

"No," she said. "I came to see the tombstone privately--to see if
they had cut the inscription as I wished. Mr. Oak, you needn't mind
speaking to me, if you wish to, on the matter which is in both our
minds at this moment."

"And have they done it as you wished?" said Oak.

"Yes. Come and see it, if you have not already."

So together they went and read the tomb. "Eight months ago!" Gabriel
murmured when he saw the date. "It seems like yesterday to me."

"And to me as if it were years ago--long years, and I had been dead
between. And now I am going home, Mr. Oak."

Oak walked after her. "I wanted to name a small matter to you as
soon as I could," he said, with hesitation. "Merely about business,
and I think I may just mention it now, if you'll allow me."

"Oh yes, certainly."

It is that I may soon have to give up the management of your farm,
Mrs. Troy. The fact is, I am thinking of leaving England--not yet,
you know--next spring."

"Leaving England!" she said, in surprise and genuine disappointment.
"Why, Gabriel, what are you going to do that for?"

"Well, I've thought it best," Oak stammered out. "California is the
spot I've had in my mind to try."

"But it is understood everywhere that you are going to take poor Mr.
Boldwood's farm on your own account."

"I've had the refusal o' it 'tis true; but nothing is settled yet,
and I have reasons for giving up. I shall finish out my year there
as manager for the trustees, but no more."

"And what shall I do without you? Oh, Gabriel, I don't think you
ought to go away. You've been with me so long--through bright times
and dark times--such old friends as we are--that it seems unkind
almost. I had fancied that if you leased the other far