carters would have to return for a short time later
on, to feed and litter down the horses. He had reached the granary steps
and was about to ascend, when he said to himself aloud, "I'm stronger
than he."

Henchard returned to a shed, where he selected a short piece of rope
from several pieces that were lying about; hitching one end of this to
a nail, he took the other in his right hand and turned himself bodily
round, while keeping his arm against his side; by this contrivance he
pinioned the arm effectively. He now went up the ladders to the top
floor of the corn-stores.

It was empty except of a few sacks, and at the further end was the door
often mentioned, opening under the cathead and chain that hoisted the
sacks. He fixed the door open and looked over the sill. There was a
depth of thirty or forty feet to the ground; here was the spot on which
he had been standing with Farfrae when Elizabeth-Jane had seen him lift
his arm, with many misgivings as to what the movement portended.

He retired a few steps into the loft and waited. From this elevated
perch his eyes could sweep the roofs round about, the upper parts of the
luxurious chestnut trees, now delicate in leaves of a week's age, and
the drooping boughs of the lines; Farfrae's garden and the green door
leading therefrom. In course of time--he could not say how long--that
green door opened and Farfrae came through. He was dressed as if for a
journey. The low light of the nearing evening caught his head and
face when he emerged from the shadow of the wall, warming them to a
complexion of flame-colour. Henchard watched him with his mouth firmly
set, the squareness of his jaw and the verticality of his profile being
unduly marked.

Farfrae came on with one hand in his pocket, and humming a tune in a way
which told that the words were most in his mind. They were those of the
song he had sung when he arrived years before at the Three Mariners, a
poor young man, adventuring for life and fortune, and scarcely knowing
witherward:--

"And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine."

Nothing moved Henchard like an old melody. He sank back. "No; I can't do
it!" he gasped. "Why does the infernal fool begin that now!"

At length Farfrae was silent, and Henchard looked out of the loft door.
"Will ye come up here?" he said.

"Ay, man," said Farfrae. "I couldn't see ye. What's wrang?"

A minute later Henchard heard his feet on