“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.
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.
