Elizabeth turned the handle; and there stood before her, bending over some sample-bags on a table, not the corn-merchant, but the young Scotchman Mr. Farfrae—­in the act of pouring some grains of wheat from one hand to the other.  His hat hung on a peg behind him, and the roses of his carpet-bag glowed from the corner of the room.

Having toned her feelings and arranged words on her lips for Mr. Henchard, and for him alone, she was for the moment confounded.

“Yes, what it is?” said the Scotchman, like a man who permanently ruled there.

She said she wanted to see Mr. Henchard.

“Ah, yes; will you wait a minute?  He’s engaged just now,” said the young man, apparently not recognizing her as the girl at the inn.  He handed her a chair, bade her sit down and turned to his sample-bags again.  While Elizabeth-Jane sits waiting in great amaze at the young man’s presence we may briefly explain how he came there.

When the two new acquaintances had passed out of sight that morning towards the Bath and Bristol road they went on silently, except for a few commonplaces, till they had gone down an avenue on the town walls called the Chalk Walk, leading to an angle where the North and West escarpments met.  From this high corner of the square earthworks a vast extent of country could be seen.  A footpath ran steeply down the green slope, conducting from the shady promenade on the walls to a road at the bottom of the scarp.  It was by this path the Scotchman had to descend.

“Well, here’s success to ’ee,” said Henchard, holding out his right hand and leaning with his left upon the wicket which protected the descent.  In the act there was the inelegance of one whose feelings are nipped and wishes defeated.  “I shall often think of this time, and of how you came at the very moment to throw a light upon my difficulty.”

Still holding the young man’s hand he paused, and then added deliberately:  “Now I am not the man to let a cause be lost for want of a word.  And before ye are gone for ever I’ll speak.  Once more, will ye stay?  There it is, flat and plain.  You can see that it isn’t all selfishness that makes me press ’ee; for my business is not quite so scientific as to require an intellect entirely out of the common.  Others would do for the place without doubt.  Some selfishness perhaps there is, but there is more; it isn’t for me to repeat what.  Come bide with me—­and name your own terms.  I’ll agree to ’em willingly and ’ithout a word of gainsaying; for, hang it, Farfrae, I like thee well!”

The young man’s hand remained steady in Henchard’s for a moment or two.  He looked over the fertile country that stretched beneath them, then backward along the shaded walk reaching to the top of the town.  His face flushed.

“I never expected this—­I did not!” he said.  “It’s Providence!  Should any one go against it?  No; I’ll not go to America; I’ll stay and be your man!”