In the meantime Elizabeth had reached the inn.  Her mother, instead of taking the note with the curiosity of a poor woman expecting assistance, was much moved at sight of it.  She did not read it at once, asking Elizabeth to describe her reception, and the very words Mr. Henchard used.  Elizabeth’s back was turned when her mother opened the letter.  It ran thus:—­

“Meet me at eight o’clock this evening, if you can, at the Ring on the Budmouth road.  The place is easy to find.  I can say no more now.  The news upsets me almost.  The girl seems to be in ignorance.  Keep her so till I have seen you.  M. H.”

He said nothing about the enclosure of five guineas.  The amount was significant; it may tacitly have said to her that he bought her back again.  She waited restlessly for the close of the day, telling Elizabeth-Jane that she was invited to see Mr. Henchard; that she would go alone.  But she said nothing to show that the place of meeting was not at his house, nor did she hand the note to Elizabeth.

11.

The Ring at Casterbridge was merely the local name of one of the finest
Roman Amphitheatres, if not the very finest, remaining in Britain.

Casterbridge announced old Rome in every street, alley, and precinct.  It looked Roman, bespoke the art of Rome, concealed dead men of Rome.  It was impossible to dig more than a foot or two deep about the town fields and gardens without coming upon some tall soldier or other of the Empire, who had lain there in his silent unobtrusive rest for a space of fifteen hundred years.  He was mostly found lying on his side, in an oval scoop in the chalk, like a chicken in its shell; his knees drawn up to his chest; sometimes with the remains of his spear against his arm, a fibula or brooch of bronze on his breast or forehead, an urn at his knees, a jar at his throat, a bottle at his mouth; and mystified conjecture pouring down upon him from the eyes of Casterbridge street boys and men, who had turned a moment to gaze at the familiar spectacle as they passed by.

Imaginative inhabitants, who would have felt an unpleasantness at the discovery of a comparatively modern skeleton in their gardens, were quite unmoved by these hoary shapes.  They had lived so long ago, their time was so unlike the present, their hopes and motives were so widely removed from ours, that between them and the living there seemed to stretch a gulf too wide for even a spirit to pass.

The Amphitheatre was a huge circular enclosure, with a notch at opposite extremities of its diameter north and south.  From its sloping internal form it might have been called the spittoon of the Jotuns.  It was to Casterbridge what the ruined Coliseum is to modern Rome, and was nearly of the same magnitude.  The dusk of evening was the proper hour at which a true impression of this suggestive place could be received.  Standing in the middle of the arena at that time there by degrees became apparent its real vastness, which