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"
If
I
could
only
get
there
!
"
she
said
.
"
Meet
him
the
day
after
to
-
morrow
:
God
help
me
!
Perhaps
I
shall
be
in
my
grave
before
then
.
"
A
manor
-
house
clock
from
the
far
depths
of
shadow
struck
the
hour
,
one
,
in
a
small
,
attenuated
tone
.
After
midnight
the
voice
of
a
clock
seems
to
lose
in
breadth
as
much
as
in
length
,
and
to
diminish
its
sonorousness
to
a
thin
falsetto
.
Afterwards
a
light
—
two
lights
—
arose
from
the
remote
shade
,
and
grew
larger
.
A
carriage
rolled
along
the
road
,
and
passed
the
gate
.
It
probably
contained
some
late
diners
-
out
.
The
beams
from
one
lamp
shone
for
a
moment
upon
the
crouching
woman
,
and
threw
her
face
into
vivid
relief
.
The
face
was
young
in
the
groundwork
,
old
in
the
finish
;
the
general
contours
were
flexuous
and
childlike
,
but
the
finer
lineaments
had
begun
to
be
sharp
and
thin
.
The
pedestrian
stood
up
,
apparently
with
revived
determination
,
and
looked
around
.
The
road
appeared
to
be
familiar
to
her
,
and
she
carefully
scanned
the
fence
as
she
slowly
walked
along
.
Presently
there
became
visible
a
dim
white
shape
;
it
was
another
milestone
.
She
drew
her
fingers
across
its
face
to
feel
the
marks
.
"
Two
more
!
"
she
said
.
She
leant
against
the
stone
as
a
means
of
rest
for
a
short
interval
,
then
bestirred
herself
,
and
again
pursued
her
way
.
For
a
slight
distance
she
bore
up
bravely
,
afterwards
flagging
as
before
.
This
was
beside
a
lone
copsewood
,
wherein
heaps
of
white
chips
strewn
upon
the
leafy
ground
showed
that
woodmen
had
been
faggoting
and
making
hurdles
during
the
day
.
Now
there
was
not
a
rustle
,
not
a
breeze
,
not
the
faintest
clash
of
twigs
to
keep
her
company
.
The
woman
looked
over
the
gate
,
opened
it
,
and
went
in
.
Close
to
the
entrance
stood
a
row
of
faggots
,
bound
and
un
-
bound
,
together
with
stakes
of
all
sizes
.
For
a
few
seconds
the
wayfarer
stood
with
that
tense
stillness
which
signifies
itself
to
be
not
the
end
,
but
merely
the
suspension
,
of
a
previous
motion
.
Her
attitude
was
that
of
a
person
who
listens
,
either
to
the
external
world
of
sound
,
or
to
the
imagined
discourse
of
thought
.
A
close
criticism
might
have
detected
signs
proving
that
she
was
intent
on
the
latter
alternative
.
Moreover
,
as
was
shown
by
what
followed
,
she
was
oddly
exercising
the
faculty
of
invention
upon
the
speciality
of
the
clever
Jacquet
Droz
,
the
designer
of
automatic
substitutes
for
human
limbs
.
By
the
aid
of
the
Casterbridge
aurora
,
and
by
feeling
with
her
hands
,
the
woman
selected
two
sticks
from
the
heaps
.
These
sticks
were
nearly
straight
to
the
height
of
three
or
four
feet
,
where
each
branched
into
a
fork
like
the
letter
Y
.
She
sat
down
,
snapped
off
the
small
upper
twigs
,
and
carried
the
remainder
with
her
into
the
road
.
She
placed
one
of
these
forks
under
each
arm
as
a
crutch
,
tested
them
,
timidly
threw
her
whole
weight
upon
them
—
so
little
that
it
was
—
and
swung
herself
forward
.
The
girl
had
made
for
herself
a
material
aid
.
The
crutches
answered
well
.
The
pat
of
her
feet
,
and
the
tap
of
her
sticks
upon
the
highway
,
were
all
the
sounds
that
came
from
the
traveller
now
.
She
had
passed
the
last
milestone
by
a
good
long
distance
,
and
began
to
look
wistfully
towards
the
bank
as
if
calculating
upon
another
milestone
soon
.
The
crutches
,
though
so
very
useful
,
had
their
limits
of
power
.
Mechanism
only
transfers
labour
,
being
powerless
to
supersede
it
,
and
the
original
amount
of
exertion
was
not
cleared
away
;
it
was
thrown
into
the
body
and
arms
.
She
was
exhausted
,
and
each
swing
forward
became
fainter
.
At
last
she
swayed
sideways
,
and
fell
.
