“Nor from mine,” said the first singer.  “But, thought I, as it was made so long ago perhaps there isn’t much in it, so I’ll oblige a neighbour; for there’s nothing to be said against the tune.”

“Ah, my boys, you’ve sung it,” said Henchard triumphantly.  “As for him, it was partly by his songs that he got over me, and heaved me out....I could double him up like that—­and yet I don’t.”  He laid the poker across his knee, bent it as if it were a twig, flung it down, and came away from the door.

It was at this time that Elizabeth-Jane, having heard where her stepfather was, entered the room with a pale and agonized countenance.  The choir and the rest of the company moved off, in accordance with their half-pint regulation.  Elizabeth-Jane went up to Henchard, and entreated him to accompany her home.

By this hour the volcanic fires of his nature had burnt down, and having drunk no great quantity as yet he was inclined to acquiesce.  She took his arm, and together they went on.  Henchard walked blankly, like a blind man, repeating to himself the last words of the singers—­

       “And the next age his hated name
          Shall utterly deface.”

At length he said to her, “I am a man to my word.  I have kept my oath for twenty-one years; and now I can drink with a good conscience....If I don’t do for him—­well, I am a fearful practical joker when I choose!  He has taken away everything from me, and by heavens, if I meet him I won’t answer for my deeds!”

These half-uttered words alarmed Elizabeth—­all the more by reason of the still determination of Henchard’s mien.

“What will you do?” she asked cautiously, while trembling with disquietude, and guessing Henchard’s allusion only too well.

Henchard did not answer, and they went on till they had reached his cottage.  “May I come in?” she said.

“No, no; not to-day,” said Henchard; and she went away; feeling that to caution Farfrae was almost her duty, as it was certainly her strong desire.

As on the Sunday, so on the week-days, Farfrae and Lucetta might have been seen flitting about the town like two butterflies—­or rather like a bee and a butterfly in league for life.  She seemed to take no pleasure in going anywhere except in her husband’s company; and hence when business would not permit him to waste an afternoon she remained indoors waiting for the time to pass till his return, her face being visible to Elizabeth-Jane from her window aloft.  The latter, however, did not say to herself that Farfrae should be thankful for such devotion, but, full of her reading, she cited Rosalind’s exclamation:  “Mistress, know yourself; down on your knees and thank Heaven fasting for a good man’s love.”

She kept her eye upon Henchard also.  One day he answered her inquiry for his health by saying that he could not endure Abel Whittle’s pitying eyes upon him while they worked together in the yard.  “He is such a fool,” said Henchard, “that he can never get out of his mind the time when I was master there.”