and. 'I
began at the wrong end of them,' she murmured. 'My God--that did I!'

'What?' said he.

'A trifle,' said she. 'I spoke to myself only.'

It was somewhat strange that after this day, while she went about the
house with even a sadder face than usual, her churlish husband grew
worse; and what was more, to the surprise of all, though to the regret of
few, he died a fortnight later. Sir William had not called upon him as
he had promised, having received a private communication from Lady
Penelope, frankly informing him that to do so would be inadvisable, by
reason of her husband's temper.

Now when Sir John was gone, and his remains carried to his family burying-
place in another part of England, the lady began in due time to wonder
whither Sir William had betaken himself. But she had been cured of
precipitancy (if ever woman were), and was prepared to wait her whole
lifetime a widow if the said Sir William should not reappear. Her life
was now passed mostly within the walls, or in promenading between the
pleasaunce and the bowling-green; and she very seldom went even so far as
the high road which then skirted the grounds on the north, though it has
now, and for many years, been diverted to the south side. Her patience
was rewarded (if love be in any case a reward); for one day, many months
after her second husband's death, a messenger arrived at her gate with
the intelligence that Sir William Hervy was again in Casterbridge, and
would be glad to know if it were her pleasure that he should wait upon
her.

It need hardly be said that permission was joyfully granted, and within
two hours her lover stood before her, a more thoughtful man than
formerly, but in all essential respects the same man, generous, modest to
diffidence, and sincere. The reserve which womanly decorum threw over
her manner was but too obviously artificial, and when he said 'the ways
of Providence are strange,' and added after a moment, 'and merciful
likewise,' she could not conceal her agitation, and burst into tears upon
his neck.

'But this is too soon,' she said, starting back.

'But no,' said he. 'You are eleven months gone in widowhood, and it is
not as if Sir John had been a good husband to you.'

His visits grew pretty frequent now, as may well be guessed, and in a
month or two he began to urge her to an early union. But she counselled
a little longer delay.

'Why?' said he. 'Surely I have waited long! Life is short; we