path the man had taken led, among other places, to Tolchurch, where
Cytherea was living.

If Mrs. Manston was murdered, as some said, on the night of the fire,
Cytherea was the steward's lawful wife. Manston at bay, and reckless of
results, might rush to his wife and harm her.

It was a horrible supposition for a man who loved Cytherea to entertain;
but Springrove could not resist its influence. He started off for
Tolchurch.

2. ONE TO TWO O'CLOCK P.M.

On that self-same mid-day, whilst Edward was proceeding to Tolchurch by
the footpath across the fields, Owen Graye had left the village and
was riding along the turnpike road to the county-town, that he might
ascertain the exact truth of the strange rumour which had reached him
concerning Manston. Not to disquiet his sister, he had said nothing to
her of the matter.

She sat by the window reading. From her position she could see up the
lane for a distance of at least a hundred yards. Passers-by were so rare
in this retired nook, that the eyes of those who dwelt by the wayside
were invariably lifted to every one on the road, great and small, as to
a novelty.

A man in a brown smock-frock turned the corner and came towards the
house. It being market-day at Casterbridge, the village was nearly
deserted, and more than this, the old farm-house in which Owen and his
sister were staying, stood, as has been stated, apart from the body of
cottages. The man did not look respectable; Cytherea arose and bolted
the door.

Unfortunately he was near enough to see her cross the room. He advanced
to the door, knocked, and, receiving no answer, came to the window; he
next pressed his face against the glass, peering in.

Cytherea's experience at that moment was probably as trying a one as
ever fell to the lot of a gentlewoman to endure. She recognized in the
peering face that of the man she had married.

But not a movement was made by her, not a sound escaped her. Her fear
was great; but had she known the truth--that the man outside, feeling
he had nothing on earth to lose by any act, was in the last stage of
recklessness, terrified nature must have given way.

'Cytherea,' he said, 'let me come in: I am your husband.'

'No,' she replied, still not realizing the magnitude of her peril. 'If
you want to speak to us, wait till my brother comes.'

'O, he's not at home? Cytherea, I can't live without you! All my sin has
been because I love you so! Will you fly with me? I have mon