opportune a one as she would find in a world where
everything had been so inopportune, for making a desperate effort to
advance Elizabeth. To pocket her pride and search for the first husband
seemed, wisely or not, the best initiatory step. He had possibly drunk
himself into his tomb. But he might, on the other hand, have had too
much sense to do so; for in her time with him he had been given to bouts
only, and was not a habitual drunkard.

At any rate, the propriety of returning to him, if he lived, was
unquestionable. The awkwardness of searching for him lay in enlightening
Elizabeth, a proceeding which her mother could not endure to
contemplate. She finally resolved to undertake the search without
confiding to the girl her former relations with Henchard, leaving it to
him if they found him to take what steps he might choose to that
end. This will account for their conversation at the fair and the
half-informed state at which Elizabeth was led onward.

In this attitude they proceeded on their journey, trusting solely to the
dim light afforded of Henchard's whereabouts by the furmity woman. The
strictest economy was indispensable. Sometimes they might have been seen
on foot, sometimes on farmers' waggons, sometimes in carriers' vans; and
thus they drew near to Casterbridge. Elizabeth-Jane discovered to her
alarm that her mother's health was not what it once had been, and there
was ever and anon in her talk that renunciatory tone which showed that,
but for the girl, she would not be very sorry to quit a life she was
growing thoroughly weary of.

It was on a Friday evening, near the middle of September and just before
dusk, that they reached the summit of a hill within a mile of the place
they sought. There were high banked hedges to the coach-road here,
and they mounted upon the green turf within, and sat down. The spot
commanded a full view of the town and its environs.

"What an old-fashioned place it seems to be!" said Elizabeth-Jane, while
her silent mother mused on other things than topography. "It is huddled
all together; and it is shut in by a square wall of trees, like a plot
of garden ground by a box-edging."

Its squareness was, indeed, the characteristic which most struck the eye
in this antiquated borough, the borough of Casterbridge--at that time,
recent as it was, untouched by the faintest sprinkle of modernism. It
was compact as a box of dominoes. It had no suburbs--in the ordinary
sense. Country an