be Casterbridge people; and the
trick would be discovered.

This probability threw Henchard into a defensive attitude, and instead
of considering how best to right the wrong, and acquaint Elizabeth's
father with the truth at once, he bethought himself of ways to keep the
position he had accidentally won. Towards the young woman herself his
affection grew more jealously strong with each new hazard to which his
claim to her was exposed.

He watched the distant highway expecting to see Newson return on foot,
enlightened and indignant, to claim his child. But no figure appeared.
Possibly he had spoken to nobody on the coach, but buried his grief in
his own heart.

His grief!--what was it, after all, to that which he, Henchard, would
feel at the loss of her? Newson's affection cooled by years, could not
equal his who had been constantly in her presence. And thus his jealous
soul speciously argued to excuse the separation of father and child.

He returned to the house half expecting that she would have vanished.
No; there she was--just coming out from the inner room, the marks of
sleep upon her eyelids, and exhibiting a generally refreshed air.

"O father!" she said smiling. "I had no sooner lain down than I napped,
though I did not mean to. I wonder I did not dream about poor Mrs.
Farfrae, after thinking of her so; but I did not. How strange it is that
we do not often dream of latest events, absorbing as they may be."

"I am glad you have been able to sleep," he said, taking her hand with
anxious proprietorship--an act which gave her a pleasant surprise.

They sat down to breakfast, and Elizabeth-Jane's thoughts reverted to
Lucetta. Their sadness added charm to a countenance whose beauty had
ever lain in its meditative soberness.

"Father," she said, as soon as she recalled herself to the outspread
meal, "it is so kind of you to get this nice breakfast with your own
hands, and I idly asleep the while."

"I do it every day," he replied. "You have left me; everybody has left
me; how should I live but by my own hands."

"You are very lonely, are you not?"

"Ay, child--to a degree that you know nothing of! It is my own fault.
You are the only one who has been near me for weeks. And you will come
no more."

"Why do you say that? Indeed I will, if you would like to see me."

Henchard signified dubiousness. Though he had so lately hoped that
Elizabeth-Jane might again live in his house as daughter, he would
not ask