he woman, on hearing him speak, quickly looked up, examined the side
of his face, and recognized the soldier under the yeoman's garb. Her
face was drawn into an expression which had gladness and agony both
among its elements. She uttered an hysterical cry, and fell down.

"Oh, poor thing!" exclaimed Bathsheba, instantly preparing to alight.

"Stay where you are, and attend to the horse!" said Troy,
peremptorily throwing her the reins and the whip. "Walk the horse
to the top: I'll see to the woman."

"But I--"

"Do you hear? Clk--Poppet!"

The horse, gig, and Bathsheba moved on.

"How on earth did you come here? I thought you were miles away, or
dead! Why didn't you write to me?" said Troy to the woman, in a
strangely gentle, yet hurried voice, as he lifted her up.

"I feared to."

"Have you any money?"

"None."

"Good Heaven--I wish I had more to give you! Here's--wretched--the
merest trifle. It is every farthing I have left. I have none but
what my wife gives me, you know, and I can't ask her now."

The woman made no answer.

"I have only another moment," continued Troy; "and now listen. Where
are you going to-night? Casterbridge Union?"

"Yes; I thought to go there."

"You shan't go there; yet, wait. Yes, perhaps for to-night; I can
do nothing better--worse luck! Sleep there to-night, and stay there
to-morrow. Monday is the first free day I have; and on Monday
morning, at ten exactly, meet me on Grey's Bridge just out of the
town. I'll bring all the money I can muster. You shan't want--I'll
see that, Fanny; then I'll get you a lodging somewhere. Good-bye
till then. I am a brute--but good-bye!"

After advancing the distance which completed the ascent of the
hill, Bathsheba turned her head. The woman was upon her feet, and
Bathsheba saw her withdrawing from Troy, and going feebly down the
hill by the third milestone from Casterbridge. Troy then came on
towards his wife, stepped into the gig, took the reins from her hand,
and without making any observation whipped the horse into a trot. He
was rather agitated.

"Do you know who that woman was?" said Bathsheba, looking searchingly
into his face.

"I do," he said, looking boldly back into hers.

"I thought you did," said she, with angry hauteur, and still
regarding him. "Who is she?"

He suddenly seemed to think that frankness would benefit neither of
the women.

"Nothing to either of us," he said. "I know her by sight."