Henchard went off, entered Abel’s house, a little cottage in Back Street, the door of which was never locked because the inmates had nothing to lose.  Reaching Whittle’s bedside the corn-factor shouted a bass note so vigorously that Abel started up instantly, and beholding Henchard standing over him, was galvanized into spasmodic movements which had not much relation to getting on his clothes.

“Out of bed, sir, and off to the granary, or you leave my employ to-day!  ’Tis to teach ye a lesson.  March on; never mind your breeches!”

The unhappy Whittle threw on his sleeve waistcoat, and managed to get into his boots at the bottom of the stairs, while Henchard thrust his hat over his head.  Whittle then trotted on down Back Street, Henchard walking sternly behind.

Just at this time Farfrae, who had been to Henchard’s house to look for him, came out of the back gate, and saw something white fluttering in the morning gloom, which he soon perceived to be part of Abel’s shirt that showed below his waistcoat.

“For maircy’s sake, what object’s this?” said Farfrae, following Abel into the yard, Henchard being some way in the rear by this time.

“Ye see, Mr. Farfrae,” gibbered Abel with a resigned smile of terror, “he said he’d mortify my flesh if so be I didn’t get up sooner, and now he’s a-doing on’t!  Ye see it can’t be helped, Mr. Farfrae; things do happen queer sometimes!  Yes—­I’ll go to Blackmoor Vale half naked as I be, since he do command; but I shall kill myself afterwards; I can’t outlive the disgrace, for the women-folk will be looking out of their winders at my mortification all the way along, and laughing me to scorn as a man ’ithout breeches!  You know how I feel such things, Maister Farfrae, and how forlorn thoughts get hold upon me.  Yes—­I shall do myself harm—­I feel it coming on!”

“Get back home, and slip on your breeches, and come to wark like a man!  If ye go not, you’ll ha’e your death standing there!”

“I’m afeard I mustn’t!  Mr. Henchard said——­”

“I don’t care what Mr. Henchard said, nor anybody else!  ’Tis simple foolishness to do this.  Go and dress yourself instantly Whittle.”

“Hullo, hullo!” said Henchard, coming up behind.  “Who’s sending him back?”

All the men looked towards Farfrae.

“I am,” said Donald.  “I say this joke has been carried far enough.”

“And I say it hasn’t!  Get up in the waggon, Whittle.”

“Not if I am manager,” said Farfrae.  “He either goes home, or I march out of this yard for good.”

Henchard looked at him with a face stern and red.  But he paused for a moment, and their eyes met.  Donald went up to him, for he saw in Henchard’s look that he began to regret this.

“Come,” said Donald quietly, “a man o’ your position should ken better, sir!  It is tyrannical and no worthy of you.”

“’Tis not tyrannical!” murmured Henchard, like a sullen boy.  “It is to make him remember!” He presently added, in a tone of one bitterly hurt:  “Why did you speak to me before them like that, Farfrae?  You might have stopped till we were alone.  Ah—­I know why!  I’ve told ye the secret o’ my life—­fool that I was to do’t—­and you take advantage of me!”