Over the chimneys he could see the upper part of the gaol entrance, rich and glowing in the afternoon sun, and some moving figures were there.
They were carpenters lifting a post into a vertical position within the parapet.
He withdrew his eyes quickly, and hastened on.
It was dark when he reached home, and half the village was out to meet him.
"No tidings." Gabriel said, wearily.
"And I'm afraid there's no hope.
I've been with him more than two hours."
"Do ye think he REALLY was out of his mind when he did it?" said Smallbury.
"I can't honestly say that I do." Oak replied.
"However, that we can talk of another time.
Has there been any change in mistress this afternoon?"
"None at all."
"Is she downstairs?"
"No.
And getting on so nicely as she was too.
She's but very little better now again than she was at Christmas.
She keeps on asking if you be come, and if there's news, till one's wearied out wi' answering her.
Shall I go and say you've come?"
"No." said Oak.
"There's a chance yet; but I couldn't stay in town any longer — after seeing him too, So Laban — Laban is here, isn't he?"
"Yes." said Tall.
"What I've arranged is, that you shall ride to town the last thing tonight; leave here about nine, and wait a while there, getting home about twelve.
If nothing has been received by eleven tonight, they say there's no chance at all."
"I do so hope his life will be spared." said Liddy.
"If it is not, she'll go out of her mind too.
Poor thing; her sufferings have been dreadful; she deserves anybody's pity."
"Is she altered much?" said Coggan.
"If you haven't seen poor mistress since Christmas, you wouldn't know her." said Liddy.
"Her eyes are so miserable that she's not the same woman.
Only two years ago she was a romping girl, and now she's this!"
Laban departed as directed, and at eleven o'clock that night several of the villagers strolled along the road to Casterbridge and awaited his arrival-among them Oak, and nearly all the rest of Bathsheba's men.
Gabriel's anxiety was great that Boldwood might be saved, even though in his conscience he felt that he ought to die; for there had been qualities in the farmer which Oak loved.
At last, when they all were weary the tramp of a horse was heard in the distance — First dead, as if on turf it trode, Then, clattering on the village road In other pace than forth he yode.
"We shall soon know now, one way or other." said Coggan, and they all stepped down from the bank on which they had been standing into the road, and the rider pranced into the midst of them.
"Is that you, Laban?" said Gabriel.
"Yes — 'tis come.
He's not to die.
'Tis confine- ment during her Majesty's pleasure."
"Hurrah!" said Coggan, with a swelling heart.
"God's above the devil yet!"
CHAPTER LVI
BEAUTY IN LONELINESS — AFTER ALL
BATHSHEBA revived with the spring.
The utter prostration that had followed the low fever from which she had suffered diminished perceptibly when all uncertainty upon every subject had come to an end.
But she remained alone now for the greater part of her time, and stayed in the house, or at furthest went into the garden.
She shunned every one, even Liddy, and could be brought to make no confidences, and to ask for no sympathy.
As the summer drew on she passed more of her time in the open air, and began to examine into farming matters from sheer necessity, though she never rode out or personally superintended as at former times.
One Friday evening in August she walked a little way along the road and entered the village for the first time since the sombre event of the preceding Christmas.
None of the old colour had as yet come to her cheek, and its absolute paleness was heightened by the jet black of her gown, till it appeared preternatural.
When she reached a little shop at the other end of the place, which stood nearly opposite to the churchyard, Bathsheba heard singing inside the church, and she knew that the singers were practising.