, whoever he might be, should pass them where they stood in the
wider area of the Cross.

In half a minute the light of the lanterns fell upon a hired fly, drawn
by a steaming and jaded horse. It reached the hand-post, when a voice
from the inside cried, 'Stop here!' The driver pulled rein. The
carriage door was opened from within, and there leapt out a private
soldier in the uniform of some line regiment. He looked around, and was
apparently surprised to see the musicians standing there.

'Have you buried a man here?' he asked.

'No. We bain't Sidlinch folk, thank God; we be Newton choir. Though a
man is just buried here, that's true; and we've raised a carrel over the
poor mortal's natomy. What--do my eyes see before me young Luke Holway,
that went wi' his regiment to the East Indies, or do I see his spirit
straight from the battlefield? Be you the son that wrote the letter--'

'Don't--don't ask me. The funeral is over, then?'

'There wer no funeral, in a Christen manner of speaking. But's buried,
sure enough. You must have met the men going back in the empty cart.'

'Like a dog in a ditch, and all through me!'

He remained silent, looking at the grave, and they could not help pitying
him. 'My friends,' he said, 'I understand better now. You have, I
suppose, in neighbourly charity, sung peace to his soul? I thank you,
from my heart, for your kind pity. Yes; I am Sergeant Holway's miserable
son--I'm the son who has brought about his father's death, as truly as if
I had done it with my own hand!'

'No, no. Don't ye take on so, young man. He'd been naturally low for a
good while, off and on, so we hear.'

'We were out in the East when I wrote to him. Everything had seemed to
go wrong with me. Just after my letter had gone we were ordered home.
That's how it is you see me here. As soon as we got into barracks at
Casterbridge I heard o' this . . . Damn me! I'll dare to follow my
father, and make away with myself, too. It is the only thing left to
do!'

'Don't ye be rash, Luke Holway, I say again; but try to make amends by
your future life. And maybe your father will smile a smile down from
heaven upon 'ee for 't.'

He shook his head. 'I don't know about that!' he answered bitterly.

'Try and be worthy of your father at his best. 'Tis not too late.'

'D'ye think not? I fancy it is! . . . Well, I'll turn it over. Thank
you for your good counsel. I'll live for one thing, at any rate.