“By me?” she said, with deep concern.  “What have I done?”

“I can’t tell you now.  But if you’ll stop, and go on living as my daughter, I’ll tell you all in time.”

But the proposal had come ten minutes too late.  She was in the fly—­was already, in imagination, at the house of the lady whose manner had such charms for her.  “Father,” she said, as considerately as she could, “I think it best for us that I go on now.  I need not stay long; I shall not be far away, and if you want me badly I can soon come back again.”

He nodded ever so slightly, as a receipt of her decision and no more.  “You are not going far, you say.  What will be your address, in case I wish to write to you?  Or am I not to know?”

“Oh yes—­certainly.  It is only in the town—­High-Place Hall!”

“Where?” said Henchard, his face stilling.

She repeated the words.  He neither moved nor spoke, and waving her hand to him in utmost friendliness she signified to the flyman to drive up the street.

22.

We go back for a moment to the preceding night, to account for
Henchard’s attitude.

At the hour when Elizabeth-Jane was contemplating her stealthy reconnoitring excursion to the abode of the lady of her fancy, he had been not a little amazed at receiving a letter by hand in Lucetta’s well-known characters.  The self-repression, the resignation of her previous communication had vanished from her mood; she wrote with some of the natural lightness which had marked her in their early acquaintance.

HIGH-PLACE HALL

My dear Mr. Henchard,—­Don’t be surprised.  It is for your good and mine, as I hope, that I have come to live at Casterbridge—­for how long I cannot tell.  That depends upon another; and he is a man, and a merchant, and a Mayor, and one who has the first right to my affections.

Seriously, mon ami, I am not so light-hearted as I may seem to be from this.  I have come here in consequence of hearing of the death of your wife—­whom you used to think of as dead so many years before!  Poor woman, she seems to have been a sufferer, though uncomplaining, and though weak in intellect not an imbecile.  I am glad you acted fairly by her.  As soon as I knew she was no more, it was brought home to me very forcibly by my conscience that I ought to endeavour to disperse the shade which my etourderie flung over my name, by asking you to carry out your promise to me.  I hope you are of the same mind, and that you will take steps to this end.  As, however, I did not know how you were situated, or what had happened since our separation, I decided to come and establish myself here before communicating with you.

You probably feel as I do about this.  I shall be able to see you in a day or two.  Till then, farewell.—­Yours,

Lucetta.

P.S.—­I was unable to keep my appointment to meet you for a moment or two in passing through Casterbridge the other day.  My plans were altered by a family event, which it will surprise you to hear of.