Chapter 40 - Page 2

It was a point in the highway near which the road to
Mellstock branched off from the homeward direction. By
diverging to that village, as he had intended to do, Farfrae
might probably delay his return by a couple of hours. It
soon appeared that his intention was to do so still, the
light swerving towards Cuckoo Lane, the by-road aforesaid.
Farfrae's off gig-lamp flashed in Henchard's face. At the
same time Farfrae discerned his late antagonist.

"Farfrae--Mr. Farfrae!" cried the breathless Henchard,
holding up his hand.

Farfrae allowed the horse to turn several steps into the
branch lane before he pulled up. He then drew rein, and
said "Yes?" over his shoulder, as one would towards a
pronounced enemy.

"Come back to Casterbridge at once!" Henchard said.
"There's something wrong at your house--requiring your
return. I've run all the way here on purpose to tell ye."

Farfrae was silent, and at his silence Henchard's soul sank
within him. Why had he not, before this, thought of what
was only too obvious? He who, four hours earlier, had
enticed Farfrae into a deadly wrestle stood now in the
darkness of late night-time on a lonely road, inviting him
to come a particular way, where an assailant might have
confederates, instead of going his purposed way, where there
might be a better opportunity of guarding himself from
attack. Henchard could almost feel this view of things in
course of passage through Farfrae's mind.

"I have to go to Mellstock," said Farfrae coldly, as he
loosened his reins to move on.

"But," implored Henchard, "the matter is more serious than
your business at Mellstock. It is--your wife! She is ill.
I can tell you particulars as we go along."

The very agitation and abruptness of Henchard increased
Farfrae's suspicion that this was a ruse to decoy him on
to the next wood, where might be effectually compassed what,
from policy or want of nerve, Henchard had failed to do
earlier in the day. He started the horse.

"I know what you think," deprecated Henchard running after,
almost bowed down with despair as he perceived the image of
unscrupulous villainy that he assumed in his former friend's
eyes. "But I am not what you think!" he cried hoarsely.
"Believe me, Farfrae; I have come entirely on your own and
your wife's account. She is in danger. I know no more; and
they want you to come. Your man has gone the other way in a
mistake. O Farfrae! don't mistrust me--I am a wretched man;
but my heart is true to you still!"

Farfrae, however, did distrust him utterly. He knew his
wife was with child, but he had left her not long ago in
perfect health; and Henchard's treachery was more credible
than his story. He had