Chapter 38 - Page 2

entered
the yard.

Nobody was present, for, as he had been aware, the labourers
and carters were enjoying a half-holiday on account of the
events of the morning--though the 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 the lowest ladder.
He heard him land on