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Barnet nodded； and smiled again； but his smile was sadder than hers。
'Because I married Charles？' she asked。
'Yes； solely because you married him on the day I was free to ask
you to marry me。 My wife died four…and…twenty hours before you went
to church with Downe。 The fixing of my journey at that particular
moment was because of her funeral； but once away I knew I should
have no inducement to come back； and took my steps accordingly。'
Her face assumed an aspect of gentle reflection； and she looked up
and down his form with great interest in her eyes。 'I never thought
of it！' she said。 'I knew； of course； that you had once implied
some warmth of feeling towards me； but I concluded that it passed
off。 And I have always been under the impression that your wife was
alive at the time of my marriage。 Was it not stupid of me！But you
will have some tea or something？ I have never dined late； you know；
since my husband's death。 I have got into the way of making a
regular meal of tea。 You will have some tea with me； will you not？'
The travelled man assented quite readily； and tea was brought in。
They sat and chatted over the meal； regardless of the flying hour。
'Well； well！' said Barnet presently； as for the first time he
leisurely surveyed the room； 'how like it all is； and yet how
different！ Just where your piano stands was a board on a couple of
trestles； bearing the patterns of wall…papers； when I was last here。
I was choosing themstanding in this way； as it might be。 Then my
servant came in at the door； and handed me a note； so。 It was from
Downe； and announced that you were just going to be married to him。
I chose no more wall…paperstore up all those I had selected； and
left the house。 I never entered it again till now。'
'Ah； at last I understand it all；' she murmured。
They had both risen and gone to the fireplace。 The mantel came
almost on a level with her shoulder； which gently rested against it；
and Barnet laid his hand upon the shelf close beside her shoulder。
'Lucy；' he said； 'better late than never。 Will you marry me now？'
She started back； and the surprise which was so obvious in her
wrought even greater surprise in him that it should be so。 It was
difficult to believe that she had been quite blind to the situation；
and yet all reason and common sense went to prove that she was not
acting。
'You take me quite unawares by such a question！' she said； with a
forced laugh of uneasiness。 It was the first time she had shown any
embarrassment at all。 'Why；' she added； 'I couldn't marry you for
the world。'
'Not after all this！ Why not？'
'It isI wouldI really think I may say itI would upon the whole
rather marry you； Mr。 Barnet； than any other man I have ever met； if
I ever dreamed of marriage again。 But I don't dream of itit is
quite out of my thoughts； I have not the least intention of marrying
again。'
'Buton my accountcouldn't you alter your plans a little？ Come！'
'Dear Mr。 Barnet；' she said with a little flutter； 'I would on your
account if on anybody's in existence。 But you don't know in the
least what it is you are askingsuch an impracticable thingI
won't say ridiculous； of course； because I see that you are really
in earnest； and earnestness is never ridiculous to my mind。'
'Well； yes；' said Barnet more slowly； dropping her hand； which he
had taken at the moment of pleading； 'I am in earnest。 The resolve；
two months ago； at the Cape； to come back once more was； it is true；
rather sudden； and as I see now； not well considered。 But I am in
earnest in asking。'
'And I in declining。 With all good feeling and all kindness； let me
say that I am quite opposed to the idea of marrying a second time。'
'Well； no harm has been done；' he answered； with the same subdued
and tender humorousness that he had shown on such occasions in early
life。 'If you really won't accept me； I must put up with it； I
suppose。' His eye fell on the clock as he spoke。 'Had you any
notion that it was so late？' he asked。 'How absorbed I have been！'
She accompanied him to the hall； helped him to put on his overcoat；
and let him out of the house herself。
'Good…night；' said Barnet； on the doorstep； as the lamp shone in his
face。 'You are not offended with me？'
'Certainly not。 Nor you with me？'
'I'll consider whether I am or not；' he pleasantly replied。 'Good…
night。'
She watched him safely through the gate； and when his footsteps had
died away upon the road； closed the door softly and returned to the
room。 Here the modest widow long pondered his speeches； with eyes
dropped to an unusually low level。 Barnet's urbanity under the blow
of her refusal greatly impressed her。 After having his long period
of probation rendered useless by her decision； he had shown no
anger； and had philosophically taken her words as if he deserved no
better ones。 It was very gentlemanly of him； certainly； it was more
than gentlemanly； it was heroic and grand。 The more she meditated；
the more she questioned the virtue of her conduct in checking him so
peremptorily； and went to her bedroom in a mood of dissatisfaction。
On looking in the glass she was reminded that there was not so much
remaining of her former beauty as to make his frank declaration an
impulsive natural homage to her cheeks and eyes； it must undoubtedly
have arisen from an old staunch feeling of his； deserving tenderest
consideration。 She recalled to her mind with much pleasure that he
had told her he was staying at the Black…Bull Hotel； so that if；
after waiting a day or two； he should not； in his modesty； call
again； she might then send him a nice little note。 To alter her
views for the present was far from her intention； but she would
allow herself to be induced to reconsider the case； as any generous
woman ought to do。
The morrow came and passed； and Mr。 Barnet did not drop in。 At
every knock； light youthful hues flew across her cheek； and she was
abstracted in the presence of her other visitors。 In the evening
she walked about the house； not knowing what to do with herself； the
conditions of existence seemed totally different from those which
ruled only four…and…twenty short hours ago。 What had been at first
a tantalizing elusive sentiment was getting acclimatized within her
as a definite hope； and her person was so informed by that emotion
that she might almost have stood as its emblematical representative
by the time the clock struck ten。 In short； an interest in Barnet
precisely resembling that of her early youth led her present heart
to belie her yesterday's words to him； and she longed to see him
again。
The next day she walked out early； thinking she might meet him in
the street。 The growing beauty of her romance absorbed her； and she
went from the street to the fields； and from the fields to the
shore； without any consciousness of distance； till reminded by her
weariness that she could go no further。 He had nowhere appeared。
In the evening she took a step which under the circumstances seemed
justifiable； she wrote a note to him at the hotel； inviting him to
tea with her at six precisely； and signing her note 'Lucy。'
In a quarter of an hour the messenger came back。 Mr。 Barnet had
left the hotel early in the morning of the day before； but he had
stated that he would probably return in the course of the week。
The note was sent back； to be given to him immediately on his
arrival。
There was no sign from the inn that this desired event had occurred；
either on the next day or the day following。 On both nights she had
been restless； and had scarcely slept half…an…hour。
On the Saturday； putting off all diffidence； Lucy went herself to
the Black…Bull； and questioned the staff closely。
Mr。 Barnet had cursorily remarked when leaving that he might return
on the Thursday or Friday； but they were directed not to reserve a
room for him unless he should write。
He had left no address。
Lucy sorrowfully took back her note went home； and resolved to wait。
She did waityears and yearsbut Barnet never reappeared。
April 1880。
INTERLOPERS AT THE KNAP
CHAPTER I
The north road from Casterbridge is tedious and lonely； especially
in winter…time。 Along a part of its course it connects with Long…
Ash Lane； a monotonous track without a village or hamlet for many
miles； and with very seldom a turning。 Unapprized wayfarers who are
too old； or too young； or in other respects too weak for the
distance to be traversed； but who； nevertheless； have to walk it；
say； as they look wistfully ahead； 'Once at the top of that hill；
and I must surely see the end of Long…Ash Lane！' But they reach the
hilltop； and Long…Ash Lane stretches in front as mercilessly as
before。
Some few years ago a certain farmer was riding through this lane in
the gloom of a winter evening。 The farmer's friend； a dairyman； was
riding beside him。 A few paces in the rear rode the farmer's man。
All three were well horsed on strong； round…barrelled cobs； and to
be well horsed was to be in better spirits about Long…Ash Lane than
poor pedestrians could attain to during its passage。
But the farmer did not talk much to hi