Hope Republican, Volume 2, Number 51, Hope, Bartholomew County, 12 April 1894 — Page 6

Til MITII8F USTEISSIBGE BY THOMAS HARDYCHAPTER XLI— Continued.

1 resently he found himself by the ■door of his own dwelling. To his ■surprise, Elizabeth Jane was stand-1 ing there. She came forward, spoke, ! ■called him “father” just as before. I Newson, then, had not even vet re-: "turned. - ' I “I thought , you seemed very sad j this morning,” she said; “so I have come again to see you. Not that I am anything but sad myself. But ■everybody and everything seems ■against you so; and I know you must •be suffering.” How this woman divined things! Yet she had not divined their whole ■extremity. He said to her: “Are miracles still worked, do you think, Elizabeth? I am not a read man. I don’t know so much as I could wish. I have tried to peruse and learn all my life; but the more I try to know, the more Ignorant I seem.” “I don’t quite think there are any miracles nowadays,” she said. “No interference in the case of desperate intentions, for instance? Well, perhaps not, in a direct way. Perhaps not. But will you come and walk with me, and I will show you what I mean.” She agreed willingly, and he took her over the highway, and by the lonely path to Ten Hatches. He walked restlessly, as if some haunting shade, unseen to her, hovered round him and troubled his glance, i She would gladly have talked of j Lucetta, but feared to disturb him. | When they got near the wear he stood still, and asked her to go forward and look into the pool, and tell him what she saw. She went, and soon returned to him. “Nothing,” she said. j “Go again,” said Henchard, “and look narrowly.” She proceeded to the river brink a second time. On her return, after j some delav, she told him that she saw something floating there; but what it was she could not discern. It seemed to be a bundle of old clothes. “Are they like mine?” asked Henchard. “Well —they are. Hear me — I wonder if—father, let us go away.” “Go and look once more; and then we will get home.” She went back, and he could see i her stoop till her head was close to the margin of the pool. She started up. and hastened back to his side. “Well,” said Henchard; “what do you say now?” “Let us go home.” “But tell me—do—what is it float ing there?” “The effigy,” she answered, hastily. “They must have thrown it into the river, higher up amongst the willows, to get rid of it, in their alarm at discovery; and it must have •floated down here.” “Ah —to be sure —the image o’ me! But where is the other? Why that one only? That performance of theirs killed her, but saved me alive!”

Elizabeth Jane thought and thought of these words, “saved me alive,” as they slowly retraced their way to the town; and at length guessed their meaning. "Father, I will not leave you alone like this!” she cried. "May I live with you, and tend upon you as I used to do? I do not mind your being poor. I would have agreed to come this morning, but you did not ask me.” "May you come to me?” he cried, bitterly. "Elizabeth, don’t mock me! If you only would come!'’--"I will,"said she. “How will you forgive all my roughness in former days? You can not?” “I have forgptten it. Talk of that no more.” Thus she assured him, and arranged their plans for reunion; and -at length each went home. Then ■Henchard shaved for the first time ■during many days, and put on clean linen, and combed his hair, and was :as a man resuscitated thenceforward. The next morning the fact turned •out to be as Elizabeth Jane stated: •the-efflgy was discovered by a cowherd, and that of Lucetta a little •higher up in the same stream. But little as possible was said of the matter, and the figures were privately destroyed. Despite this natural solution' of rthe mystery, Henchard no less regarded it as an intervention that the figure should have been floating there. Elizabeth Jane heard him sav "Who is such a reprobate as I? And yet it seems that even I am In .Somebody’s hand! CHAPTER XLII. But the emotional conviction that he was in Somebody’s hand began to ■ die out of Henchard’s breast as time slowly removed into distance the event which had given that feeling .birth. The apparition of Newson

haunted him. He would surely re. turn. Yet Newson did not arrive. Lucetta had been borne along the churchyard path; Casterbridge had for the last time turned its regard upon her, before proceeding to its work as if she had never lived. But Elizabeth Jane remained undisturbed in her belief of her relationship to Henchard, and now shared his home! Perhaps, after all, Newson was gone forever. In due time the bereaved Farfrae had learned the at least proximate cause of Lucetta’s illness and death, and his first impulse was naturally enough to wreak vengeance in the name of the law upon the perpetrators of the mischief. He resolved to wait till the funeral was over ere he moved in the matter. The time having come, he reflected. Disastrous as the result had been, it was obviously in no way foreseen or intended by the thoughtless crew who arranged the motley procession. The tempting prospect of putting to blush the people who stand at the head of affairs that supreme and piquant enjoyment of those who writhe under the heel of the same—had alone animated them, so far as he could see; for he knew nothing of Jopp’s incitements. Other considerations were also involved. Lucetta had confessed everthing to him before her death, and it was not altogether desirable to make much ado about her history, alike for her sake, for Henchard’s, and his own. To regard the event as an untoward accident seemed to Farfrae truest consideration for the dead one’s memory, as ! well as the best philosophy. Henchard an d himself mutually forbore to meet. For Elizabeth Jane’s sake the former had fettered his pride sufficiently to accept the small seed business which some of the Town Council, headed by Far- j frae, had purchased, to’afford him a | new opening. Had he been only personally concerned, Henchard, I without doubt, would have declined assistance even remotely brought about by the man. whom he had so fiercely assailed. But the sympathy of the arirl seemed necessary to his very existence, and on her account pride itself wore the garments of humility. Here they settled themselves; and each day of their lives Henchard anticipated every wish with a watchfulness in which paternal regard was heightened by a burning, jealous dread of rivalry. Yet that Newson woold ever now return to Casterbridge to claim her as a daughter there' was little reason to suppose. Ho was a wanderer and a stranger; almost an alien; he had not seen his daughter for several years; his affection for her could not in the nature of thintrs be keen; other interests would probably soon obscure his recollections of her and prevent any renewal of inquiry into the past as would lead to a discovery that she was still a creature of the present. To satisfy his conscience somewhat Henchard repeated to himself that the lie which had retained for him the coveted treasure had not been deliberately told to that end, but had come from him as the last defiant word of irony which took no thought of consequences. Furthermore, he pleaded with himself that no Newson could love her as he loved her, or would tend her to his life’s extremity as he was prepared to do cheerfully. Thus they lived on in the shop overlooking the churchyard, and nothing occured to mark their days during the remainder of the year. Going out but seldom, and never on a market day, they saw Donald Farfrae only at rarest intervals, and then mostly as a transitory object in the distance of the street, yet he was pursuing his ordinary avoeatios, smiling mechanically to his fellow tradesmen, and arguing with bargainers, as bereaved men do after a time. 1 “Time, in his own gray style,” taught Farfrae how to estimate his j experience of Lucetta—all that it was and all that it was not. There are men whose hearts insist upon a dogged fidelity to some image or cause thrown by chance into their keeping long after judgment has pronounced it no rarity —even the reverse, indeed; and without them the band of the worthy is incomplete. But Farfrae was not of those. It was inevitable that the insight, briskness and rapidity of his nature should take him out of the dead blank which his loss threw about him. He could not perceive that by the death of Lucetta he had exchanged a looming misery for a simple sorrow. After that revelation of her history, which must have come sooner or later under any circumstances, it is hard to believe that life with her would have been productive of further happiness.

But as a memory, notwithstanding such conditions, Lucetta’s image still lived on with him, her weaknesses provoking only the gentlest criticism, and her sufferings attenuating wrath at her concealments to a momentary spark now and then. » » * ♦ * * By the end of a year Henchard’s little retail seed and grain shop, not much larger than a cupboad, had developed its trade considerably, and the stepfather and daughter enjoyed much serenity in the pleasant, sunny corner in which it stood. The quiet bearing of one who brimmed with inner activity characterized Elizabeth Jane at this period. She took long walks into the country two or three times a week, mostly in the direction ofBudmouth. Sometimes it occurred to him when she sat with him in the evening after these invigorating walks she was civil rather than affectionate; and he was troubled, one more bitter regret being added to those he had already experienced as having, by his severe censorship, frozen up her precious affection when originally offered. She had her own way in everything now. In going and coming, in buying and selling, her word was law. “You have got a new muff, Elizabeth,” he said to her one day, quite humbly. “Yes; I bought it,” she said. He looked at it again as it lay on an adjoining table. The fur wlis of glossy brown, and, though he was no judge of such articles, he thought it seemed an unusually good one for her to possess. “Rather costlv, I suppose, my dear, was it not?” he hazarded. “It was rather above my figure,” she said, quietly. “But it is not showy.” “Oh, no,” said the netted lion, anxious not to pique her in the least. Some little time after, when the year had advanced into another spring, he paused opposite her empty bedroom in passing it. He thought of the time when she had cleared out of his then large and handsome house on Corn Street, in consequence of his dislike and harshness, and he had looked into her chamber in the same way. The present room was much humbler, but what struck him about it was the abundance of books lying everywhere. Their number and quality made the meager furniture that supported them seem absurdly disproportionate, Some, indeed many, must have been recently purchased; and though he encouraged her to buy in reason, he had no notion that she indulged her innate passion so extensively in proportion to the narrowness of their income. For the first time he felt a little hurt by what he thought her extravagance and resolved to say a word to her about it. But before he found the Courage to speak an event happened that set his thoughts flying in quite another direction. The busy time of the seed trade was over, and the quiet weeks that preceded they hay making season had come—setting their special stamp upon Casterbrgide by thronging the market with wood rakes, new wagons in yellow, green and red, formidable scythes, and pitchforks of prong sufficient to skewer up a .small family. Henchard, contrary to his wont, went out one Saturday afternoon to the market place, from a curious feeling that he would like to pass a few minutes on the spot of his former triumphs. Parfrae, to whom he was still a comparative stranger, stood a few steps below the Corn Exchange door—a usual position with him at this hour —and he appeared lost in thought about something he was looking at a little way off. Henchard’s eyes followed Farfrae's, and he saw that the object of his gaze was no sample showing farmer, but his own stepdaughter, who had just come out of a shop over the way. She, on her part, was quite unconscions of his attention, and in this was less fortunate than those young women whose very plumes, like those of Juno’s bird, are set with Argus eyes whenever possible admirers are within ken. Henchard went away, thinking that perhaps there was nothing significant after all in Farfrae’s look at Elizabeth Jane at that juncture. Yet he could not forget that the Scotchman had once shown a tender interest in her, of a fleeting kind. Thereupon promptly came to the surface that idiosyncrasy of Henchard’s which had ruled his courses from the beginning, and had mainly made him what he was. Instead of thinking that a union between his cherished stepdaughter and the energetic, thriving Donald was a thing to oe desired for her good and his own, he hated the very possibility. Time had been when such instinctive opposition would have taken in action. But he was hot now the Henchard of i former days. He ■ schooled himself to accept her will in this as in other matters, as absolute and unquestionable. He dreaded lest an antagonistic word should lose for hiia such rsgard as he had regained from her by his devotion, feeling that to retain this

under separation was better than to incur her dislike by keeping- her near. But the mere thought of such separation fevered his spirit piuch, and in the evening he said, with the stillness of suspense, “Have you seen Mr. Farfrae to-day, Elizabeth?” Elizabeth Jane started at thqquestion; and it was with some confusion that she replied, “No.” “Oh—that’s right —that’s right. It was only that I saw him in the street when we both were there.” He was wondering if her embarrassment justified him in *a new suspicion —that the long walks whi-ch she had latterly been taking had anything to do with the young man. She did not enlighten him, and lest silence should allow her to shape thoughts unfavorable to their present friendly relations, he diverted the discourse into another channel. Henchard was, by original make, the last man to act stealthily for good or for evil. But the “solicitius timor” of his love —the dependence upon Elizabeth’s regard into which ho had declined (or, in another sense, to which he had advanced) — denaturalized him. Be would often weigh and consider for hours together the moaning of such and such a deed or phrase of hers, when a blunt settling question would formerly have been his first i-nstinct. And now, uneasy at the thought of a passion for Farfrae which should entirely usurp her mild filial sympathy with himself, he observed her going and coming more narrowly. There was nothing secret in Elizabeth Jane’s movements beyond what habitual reserve induced; and it may at once be owned on her account that she was guilty of occasional conversations with Donald when they chanced to meet. Whatever the origin of her walks on the Budrnouth Road, her return from those walks was often coincident with Farfrae’s emergence from Corn Street for a twenty minutes’ blow on that-rather windy highway,—-just to winnow the seed and chaff out of him before sitting down to tea, as he said. Henchard became aware of this by going to the Ring, and, screened by its inclosure, keeping his eye upon the road till he saw them meet. His face assumed an expression of extreme anguish. “Of her, too, he means to rob me?” he whispered. “Bu the has the right. I do not wish to interfere.” The meeting, in truth, was of a very innocent kind, and matters were by no means so far advanced between the young people as Benchard's jealous grief inferred. Could he have heard such conversation as he passed, he would have been enlightened t-kus much: He—-“You like walking this way. Miss Henchard —and is it not so?” (uttered in his undulatory accent, and with a Scotchman's pondering, world-not-realized gaze at her). She —“No, sir: not more than other ways.” He— “But it’s true that you often do walk here?” She—“Oh, yes; I have chosen this road latterly. I have a reason for it.” S “He —“And that may make a reason for others.” She —(reddening)—“I don’t know : that, sir. My reason, hower, is not | what you may think.” He —“Is it a secret?” She (reluctantly)—“Yes.” He (with the pathos of one of his native ballads)—“Ah, I doubt there wilt be any good in secrets! A secret cast a deep shadow over rny life. And well you know what it was.” Elizabeth Jane admitted that she did; but she refrained from confessing hers; and thus talking they proceeded along the road together till they reached the town and their paths diverged. Henchard vowed that he would leave them to their own devices, put nothing in the way of their courses, whatever they might mean. If he were doomed to be bereft ef her, so it must be. In the situation which their marriage would create he could see no locus standi for himself at all. Fai’frae would never recognize him more than superciliously; his poverty insured that, no less than his past conduct. And so Elizabeth would grow to be a stranger to him, and the end of his life would be friendless solitude. With such a possibility impending he coufd not help watchfulness. Indeed, within certain lines, he had the right to keep an eye upon her as his charge. The meetings seemed to become matters of course with them on special days of the week. Once he was standing beside a wall close to the place at which Farfrae encountered her, and he thought he heard the young man address her as “Dear Elizabeth Jane.” But what struck Elizabeth’s stepfather as odd was the fact that she never allowed Farfrae to intercept her on her homeward journey, which she always performed alone. - The absorbing interest which the courtship—as it evidently now was—had'for Henchard, led him on to a further step. A quarter of a mile from the highway was a prehistoric

earthen fort of huge dimensions and many ramparts, within or upon whose Inclosures a human being, as seen from the road,,v/as but an insignificant speck. Hither Henchard resorted, glass in hand, and scanned the hedgeless ‘ via * —-for it was the original track laid out by the legions of the empire—to a distance of two or three miles. His step-daughter had passed by on her walk some time before, and she presently emerged from a cutting in the hill, bound homeward. Then a figure came from behind the Ring at the other edge of the landscape and advanced to meet her halfway. Applying his glass. Parfrae. was disclosed. They met, shook hands, and Donald kissed her, Elizabeth Jane looking round quickly to assure herself that nobody was wear. When they were gone their way, Henchard came out from the fort and mournfully followed them to Casterbridge. The chief looming trouble in this engagement had not decreased. Both Farfrae and Elizabeth Jane, unlike the rest of the people, supposed Elizabeth Jo be his actual daughter, from his own assertion while he himself had the same belief; and though Farfrae must have so far forgiven him as to have no objection to own him as a father-in-law, intimate they could never be. Thus would the girl, wh» was his only friend, be withdrawn from him by degrees through her husband's influence, and learn to despise him. Had she lost her heart to any other man in the world than the one he had rivaled, cursed, wrestled with . for life, in days before his spirit was broken, Henchard would fc-ave said, ‘Tam content.” But content with the prospect as now depicted was hard to acquire. There is an outer chamber of the brain in which thoughts unknown, unsolicited, and of noxions kind are sometimes allowed to wander for a moment prior to being sent oil whence they came. One of these thoughts sailed into Henchard’sjcen now. ... Suppose he were to communicate to Farfrae the fact that his betrothed was not the child of Michael Henchard at all—legally, nobody’s child; how would that correct and leading townsman receive the information? He might possibly forsake. Elizabeth Jane, and then she would be her stop-sire’s own again. Henchard shuddered, and exclaimed. “God forbid such a thing! Why should I still be subject to these visitations of the devil, when I try so hard to keep him away!” CHAPTER XLIII. What Henchard saw thus early was, naturally enough, seen at a little later date by other people. That Mr. Farfrae “walked with that reprobate Henchard’s stepdaughter, of all women,” became a common topic in the town, the simple perambulating term being used thereabouts to signify a wooing; and the nineteen superior young ladies of Casterbridge, who had each looked upon herself as the only woman capable of making the merchant councilman happy, indignantly left off going to the church Farfrae attended, left off conscious mannerisms, left off putting him in their prayers at night among their blood relations; in short, reverted to their natural courses. Perhaps the only inhabitants of the town to whom this looming choice of the Scotchman’s gave unmixed satisfaction were the members of the philosophic party, which included Longways, Christopher Coney, Billy Wills. Mr. Buzzford and the like. The King of Prussia having been, not many years before, the house in which they had witnessed the young man and woman’s first humble appearance on the Casterbridge stage, they took a kindly interest in their career, not unconnected, perhaps. with visions of. festive treatment at their hands hereafter.* Not a hint of the matter was thrown out to her stepfather by Elizabeth herself, or by Farfrae either. Reasoning on the cause of their reticence, he concluded that, estimating him by his past, the throbbing pair were afraid to broach the subject, and looked upon him as a lion in the path whom they tfould be-hearthv glad to get out of the way. Imbittered as he was against society, this moody view of himself took deeper and deeper hold of Henchard, till the daily necessity of facing mankind, and of them particularly Elizabeth Jane, became more than he could endure. He determined to got out of the way of those who did not want him, and hide his head forever. With this in view he took his measures; and one morning surprised the young woman whom he had looked upon as his all in this world by saying to her, as it hedid not care about her more: “I am going to leave Casterbridge, Elizabeth Jane. This little, shop can be managed by you alone as well as by us both; I don't care about shop's, and streets, and folks —I would rather get into the country by myself out of sight, and follow my own ways, and leave ytA to yours.” I “I am sorry you have decidaf <* ,