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It
was
now
dark
,
and
the
hour
must
have
been
nearly
ten
.
The
only
way
to
accomplish
her
purpose
was
to
give
up
her
idea
of
visiting
Liddy
at
Yalbury
,
return
to
Weatherbury
Farm
,
put
the
horse
into
the
gig
,
and
drive
at
once
to
Bath
.
The
scheme
seemed
at
first
impossible
:
the
journey
was
a
fearfully
heavy
one
,
even
for
a
strong
horse
,
at
her
own
estimate
;
and
she
much
underrated
the
distance
.
It
was
most
venturesome
for
a
woman
,
at
night
,
and
alone
.
But
could
she
go
on
to
Liddy
’
s
and
leave
things
to
take
their
course
?
No
,
no
;
anything
but
that
.
Bathsheba
was
full
of
a
stimulating
turbulence
,
beside
which
caution
vainly
prayed
for
a
hearing
.
She
turned
back
towards
the
village
.
Her
walk
was
slow
,
for
she
wished
not
to
enter
Weatherbury
till
the
cottagers
were
in
bed
,
and
,
particularly
,
till
Boldwood
was
secure
.
Her
plan
was
now
to
drive
to
Bath
during
the
night
,
see
Sergeant
Troy
in
the
morning
before
he
set
out
to
come
to
her
,
bid
him
farewell
,
and
dismiss
him
:
then
to
rest
the
horse
thoroughly
(
herself
to
weep
the
while
,
she
thought
)
,
starting
early
the
next
morning
on
her
return
journey
By
this
arrangement
she
could
trot
Dainty
gently
all
the
day
,
reach
Liddy
at
Yalbury
in
the
evening
,
and
come
home
to
Weatherbury
with
her
whenever
they
chose
—
so
nobody
would
know
she
had
been
to
Bath
at
all
.
Such
was
Bathsheba
’
s
scheme
.
But
in
her
topographical
ignorance
as
a
late
comer
to
the
place
,
she
misreckoned
the
distance
of
her
journey
as
not
much
more
than
half
what
it
really
was
.
This
idea
she
proceeded
to
carry
out
,
with
what
initial
success
we
have
already
seen
.
A
week
passed
,
and
there
were
no
tidings
of
Bathsheba
;
nor
was
there
any
explanation
of
her
Gilpin
’
s
rig
.
Then
a
note
came
for
Maryann
,
stating
that
the
business
which
had
called
her
mistress
to
Bath
still
detained
her
there
;
but
that
she
hoped
to
return
in
the
course
of
another
week
.
Another
week
passed
.
The
oat
-
harvest
began
,
and
all
the
men
were
a
-
field
under
a
monochromatic
Lammas
sky
,
amid
the
trembling
air
and
short
shadows
of
noon
.
Indoors
nothing
was
to
be
heard
save
the
droning
of
blue
-
bottle
flies
;
out
-
of
-
doors
the
whetting
of
scythes
and
the
hiss
of
tressy
oat
-
ears
rubbing
together
as
their
perpendicular
stalks
of
amber
-
yellow
fell
heavily
to
each
swath
.
Every
drop
of
moisture
not
in
the
men
’
s
bottles
and
flagons
in
the
form
of
cider
was
raining
as
perspiration
from
their
foreheads
and
cheeks
.
Drought
was
everywhere
else
.
They
were
about
to
withdraw
for
a
while
into
the
charitable
shade
of
a
tree
in
the
fence
,
when
Coggan
saw
a
figure
in
a
blue
coat
and
brass
buttons
running
to
them
across
the
field
.
"
I
wonder
who
that
is
?
"
he
said
.
