All this infatuation Gabriel saw, and was troubled thereby from the time of his daily journey a field to the time of his return, and on to the small hours of many a night.
That he was not beloved had hitherto been his great that Bathsheba was getting into the toils was now a sorrow greater than the first, and one which nearly obscured it.
It was a result which paralleled the oft quoted observation of Hippocrates concerning physical pains.
That is a noble though perhaps an unpromising love which not even the fear of breeding aversion in the bosom of the one beloved can deter from combating his or her errors.
Oak determined to speak to his mistress.
He would base his appeal on what he considered her unfair treatment of Farmer Boldwood, now absent from home.
An opportunity occurred one evening when she had gone for a short walk by a path through the neighbouring cornfields.
It was dusk when Oak, who had not been far a field that day, took the same path and met her returning, quite pensively, as he thought.
The wheat was now tall, and the path was narrow; thus the way was quite a sunken groove between the embowing thicket on either side.
Two persons could not walk abreast without damaging the crop, and Oak stood aside to let her pass.
"Oh, is it Gabriel?" she said.
"You are taking a walk too.
Good night."
"I thought I would come to meet you, as it is rather late," said Oak, turning and following at her heels when she had brushed somewhat quickly by him.
"Thank you, indeed, but I am not very fearful."
"O no; but there are bad characters about."
"I never meet them."
Now Oak, with marvellous ingenuity, had been going to introduce the gallant sergeant through the channel of "bad characters."
But all at once the scheme broke down, it suddenly occurring to him that this was rather a clumsy way, and too barefaced to begin with.
He tried another preamble.
"And as the man who would naturally come to meet you is away from home, too — I mean Farmer Boldwood — why, thinks I, I'll go." he said.
"Ah, yes."
She walked on without turning her head, and for many steps nothing further was heard from her quarter than the rustle of her dress against the heavy corn-ears.
Then she resumed rather tartly —
"I don't quite understand what you meant by saying that Mr. Boldwood would naturally come to meet me."
I meant on account of the wedding which they say is likely to take place between you and him, miss.
Forgive my speaking plainly."
"They say what is not true." she returned quickly.
No marriage is likely to take place between us."
Gabriel now put forth his unobscured opinion, for the moment had come.
"Well, Miss Everdene." he said, "putting aside what people say, I never in my life saw any courting if his is not a courting of you."
Bathsheba would probably have terminated the conversation there and then by flatly forbidding the subject, had not her conscious weakness of position allured her to palter and argue in endeavours to better it.
"Since this subject has been mentioned." she said very emphatically, "I am glad of the opportunity of clearing up a mistake which is very common and very provoking.
I didn't definitely promise Mr. Boldwood anything.
I have never cared for him.
I respect him, and he has urged me to marry him.
But I have given him no distinct answer.
As soon as he returns I shall do so; and the answer will be that I cannot think of marrying him."
"People are full of mistakes, seemingly."
"They are."
The other day they said you were trifling with him, and you almost proved that you were not; lately they have said that you be not, and you straightway begin to show — — " That I am, I suppose you mean."
"Well, I hope they speak the truth."
They do, but wrongly applied.
I don't trifle with him; but then, I have nothing to do with him."
Oak was unfortunately led on to speak of Boldwood's rival in a wrong tone to her after all.
"I wish you had never met that young Sergeant Troy, miss." he sighed.
Bathsheba's steps became faintly spasmodic.
"Why?" she asked.
"He is not good enough for 'ee."
"Did any one tell you to speak to me like this?"