’January 25.—­Mr. Manston has just seen me for the third time on the subject of his lost wife.  There have been these peculiarities attending the three interviews:—­

’The first.  My visitor, whilst expressing by words his great anxiety to do everything for her recovery, showed plainly by his bearing that he was convinced he should never see her again.

’The second.  He had left off feigning anxiety to do rightly by his first wife, and honestly asked after Cytherea’s welfare.

’The third (and most remarkable).  He seemed to have lost all consistency.  Whilst expressing his love for Cytherea (which certainly is strong) and evincing the usual indifference to the first Mrs. Manston’s fate, he was unable to conceal the intensity of his eagerness for me to advise him to advertise again for her.’

A week after the second, the third advertisement was inserted.  A paragraph was attached, which stated that this would be the last time the announcement would appear.

3.  THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY

At this, the eleventh hour, the postman brought a letter for
Manston, directed in a woman’s hand.

A bachelor friend of the steward’s, Mr. Dickson by name, who was somewhat of a chatterer—­plenus rimarum—­and who boasted of an endless string of acquaintances, had come over from Casterbridge the preceding day by invitation—­an invitation which had been a pleasant surprise to Dickson himself, insomuch that Manston, as a rule, voted him a bore almost to his face.  He had stayed over the night, and was sitting at breakfast with his host when the important missive arrived.

Manston did not attempt to conceal the subject of the letter, or the name of the writer.  First glancing the pages through, he read aloud as follows:—­

’"MY HUSBAND,—­I implore your forgiveness.

’"During the last thirteen months I have repeated to myself a hundred times that you should never discover what I voluntarily tell you now, namely, that I am alive and in perfect health.

’"I have seen all your advertisements.  Nothing but your persistence has won me round.  Surely, I thought, he must love me still.  Why else should he try to win back a woman who, faithful unto death as she will be, can, in a social sense, aid him towards acquiring nothing?—­rather the reverse, indeed.

’"You yourself state my own mind—­that the only grounds upon which we can meet and live together, with a reasonable hope of happiness, must be a mutual consent to bury in oblivion all past differences.  I heartily and willingly forget everything—­and forgive everything.  You will do the same, as your actions show.