The spread of the epidemic was so rapid that many left the town and took lodgings in the villages and farms.  Mr. Maumbry’s house was close to the most infected street, and he himself was occupied morn, noon, and night in endeavours to stamp out the plague and in alleviating the sufferings of the victims.  So, as a matter of ordinary precaution, he decided to isolate his wife somewhere away from him for a while.

She suggested a village by the sea, near Budmouth Regis, and lodgings were obtained for her at Creston, a spot divided from the Casterbridge valley by a high ridge that gave it quite another atmosphere, though it lay no more than six miles off.

Thither she went.  While she was rusticating in this place of safety, and her husband was slaving in the slums, she struck up an acquaintance with a lieutenant in the —–­st Foot, a Mr. Vannicock, who was stationed with his regiment at the Budmouth infantry barracks.  As Laura frequently sat on the shelving beach, watching each thin wave slide up to her, and hearing, without heeding, its gnaw at the pebbles in its retreat, he often took a walk that way.

The acquaintance grew and ripened.  Her situation, her history, her beauty, her age—­a year or two above his own—­all tended to make an impression on the young man’s heart, and a reckless flirtation was soon in blithe progress upon that lonely shore.

It was said by her detractors afterwards that she had chosen her lodging to be near this gentleman, but there is reason to believe that she had never seen him till her arrival there.  Just now Casterbridge was so deeply occupied with its own sad affairs—­a daily burying of the dead and destruction of contaminated clothes and bedding—­that it had little inclination to promulgate such gossip as may have reached its ears on the pair.  Nobody long considered Laura in the tragic cloud which overhung all.

Meanwhile, on the Budmouth side of the hill the very mood of men was in contrast.  The visitation there had been slight and much earlier, and normal occupations and pastimes had been resumed.  Mr. Maumbry had arranged to see Laura twice a week in the open air, that she might run no risk from him; and, having heard nothing of the faint rumour, he met her as usual one dry and windy afternoon on the summit of the dividing hill, near where the high road from town to town crosses the old Ridge-way at right angles.

He waved his hand, and smiled as she approached, shouting to her:  ’We will keep this wall between us, dear.’ (Walls formed the field-fences here.) ’You mustn’t be endangered.  It won’t be for long, with God’s help!’

’I will do as you tell me, Jack.  But you are running too much risk yourself, aren’t you?  I get little news of you; but I fancy you are.’

‘Not more than others.’

Thus somewhat formally they talked, an insulating wind beating the wall between them like a mill-weir.