gh, went with the rest of the maidens, for 'a was
a good runner afore she got so heavy. When she came home I said--we
were then just beginning to walk together--'What have ye got, my
honey?' 'I've won--well, I've won--a gown-piece,' says she, her
colours coming up in a moment. 'Tis a smock for a crown, I thought;
and so it turned out. Ay, when I think what she'll say to me now
without a mossel of red in her face, it do seem strange that 'a
wouldn't say such a little thing then... However, then she went on,
and that's what made me bring up the story. 'Well, whatever clothes
I've won, white or figured, for eyes to see or for eyes not to see'
('a could do a pretty stroke of modesty in those days), 'I'd sooner
have lost it than have seen what I have. Poor Mr. Yeobright was took
bad directly he reached the fair ground, and was forced to go home
again.' That was the last time he ever went out of the parish."

"'A faltered on from one day to another, and then we heard he was
gone."

"D'ye think he had great pain when 'a died?" said Christian.

"O no: quite different. Nor any pain of mind. He was lucky enough to
be God A'mighty's own man."

"And other folk--d'ye think 'twill be much pain to 'em, Mister
Fairway?"

"That depends on whether they be afeard."

"I bain't afeard at all, I thank God!" said Christian strenuously.
"I'm glad I bain't, for then 'twon't pain me... I don't think I be
afeard--or if I be I can't help it, and I don't deserve to suffer. I
wish I was not afeard at all!"

There was a solemn silence, and looking from the window, which was
unshuttered and unblinded, Timothy said, "Well, what a fess little
bonfire that one is, out by Cap'n Vye's! 'Tis burning just the same
now as ever, upon my life."

All glances went through the window, and nobody noticed that Wildeve
disguised a brief, telltale look. Far away up the sombre valley of
heath, and to the right of Rainbarrow, could indeed be seen the light,
small, but steady and persistent as before.

"It was lighted before ours was," Fairway continued; "and yet every
one in the country round is out afore 'n."

"Perhaps there's meaning in it!" murmured Christian.

"How meaning?" said Wildeve sharply.

Christian was too scattered to reply, and Timothy helped him.

"He means, sir, that the lonesome dark-eyed creature up there that
some say is a witch--ever I should call a fine young woman such a
name--is always up to some odd conceit or other; and so perh