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"
It
always
comes
on
when
I
have
been
in
a
public
-
house
a
little
time
,
"
said
Joseph
Poorgrass
,
meekly
.
"
Yes
;
I
see
two
of
every
sort
,
as
if
I
were
some
holy
man
living
in
the
times
of
King
Noah
and
entering
into
the
ark
…
Y
-
y
-
y
-
yes
,
"
he
added
,
becoming
much
affected
by
the
picture
of
himself
as
a
person
thrown
away
,
and
shedding
tears
;
"
I
feel
too
good
for
England
:
I
ought
to
have
lived
in
Genesis
by
rights
,
like
the
other
men
of
sacrifice
,
and
then
I
shouldn
’
t
have
b
-
b
-
been
called
a
d
-
d
-
drunkard
in
such
a
way
!
"
"
I
wish
you
’
d
show
yourself
a
man
of
spirit
,
and
not
sit
whining
there
!
"
"
Show
myself
a
man
of
spirit
?
…
Ah
,
well
!
let
me
take
the
name
of
drunkard
humbly
—
let
me
be
a
man
of
contrite
knees
—
let
it
be
!
I
know
that
I
always
do
say
’
Please
God
’
afore
I
do
anything
,
from
my
getting
up
to
my
going
down
of
the
same
,
and
I
be
willing
to
take
as
much
disgrace
as
there
is
in
that
holy
act
.
Hah
,
yes
!
…
But
not
a
man
of
spirit
?
Have
I
ever
allowed
the
toe
of
pride
to
be
lifted
against
my
hinder
parts
without
groaning
manfully
that
I
question
the
right
to
do
so
?
I
inquire
that
query
boldly
?
"
"
We
can
’
t
say
that
you
have
,
Hero
Poorgrass
,
"
admitted
Jan
.
"
Never
have
I
allowed
such
treatment
to
pass
unquestioned
!
Yet
the
shepherd
says
in
the
face
of
that
rich
testimony
that
I
be
not
a
man
of
spirit
!
Well
,
let
it
pass
by
,
and
death
is
a
kind
friend
!
"
Gabriel
,
seeing
that
neither
of
the
three
was
in
a
fit
state
to
take
charge
of
the
waggon
for
the
remainder
of
the
journey
,
made
no
reply
,
but
,
closing
the
door
again
upon
them
,
went
across
to
where
the
vehicle
stood
,
now
getting
indistinct
in
the
fog
and
gloom
of
this
mildewy
time
.
He
pulled
the
horse
’
s
head
from
the
large
patch
of
turf
it
had
eaten
bare
,
readjusted
the
boughs
over
the
coffin
,
and
drove
along
through
the
unwholesome
night
.
It
had
gradually
become
rumoured
in
the
village
that
the
body
to
be
brought
and
buried
that
day
was
all
that
was
left
of
the
unfortunate
Fanny
Robin
who
had
followed
the
Eleventh
from
Casterbridge
through
Melchester
and
onwards
.
But
,
thanks
to
Boldwood
’
s
reticence
and
Oak
’
s
generosity
,
the
lover
she
had
followed
had
never
been
individualized
as
Troy
.
Gabriel
hoped
that
the
whole
truth
of
the
matter
might
not
be
published
till
at
any
rate
the
girl
had
been
in
her
grave
for
a
few
days
,
when
the
interposing
barriers
of
earth
and
time
,
and
a
sense
that
the
events
had
been
somewhat
shut
into
oblivion
,
would
deaden
the
sting
that
revelation
and
invidious
remark
would
have
for
Bathsheba
just
now
.
By
the
time
that
Gabriel
reached
the
old
manor
-
house
,
her
residence
,
which
lay
in
his
way
to
the
church
,
it
was
quite
dark
.
A
man
came
from
the
gate
and
said
through
the
fog
,
which
hung
between
them
like
blown
flour
—
"
Is
that
Poorgrass
with
the
corpse
?
"
