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So
little
are
instinctive
guesses
the
fruit
of
a
legitimate
induction
that
,
at
this
moment
,
as
he
stood
with
the
door
in
his
hand
,
Troy
never
once
thought
of
Fanny
in
connection
with
what
he
saw
.
His
first
confused
idea
was
that
somebody
in
the
house
had
died
.
"
Well
—
what
?
"
said
Troy
,
blankly
.
"
I
must
go
!
I
must
go
!
"
said
Bathsheba
,
to
herself
more
than
to
him
.
She
came
with
a
dilated
eye
towards
the
door
,
to
push
past
him
.
"
What
’
s
the
matter
,
in
God
’
s
name
?
who
’
s
dead
?
"
said
Troy
.
"
I
cannot
say
;
let
me
go
out
.
I
want
air
!
"
she
continued
.
"
But
no
;
stay
,
I
insist
!
"
He
seized
her
hand
,
and
then
volition
seemed
to
leave
her
,
and
she
went
off
into
a
state
of
passivity
.
He
,
still
holding
her
,
came
up
the
room
,
and
thus
,
hand
in
hand
,
Troy
and
Bathsheba
approached
the
coffin
’
s
side
.
The
candle
was
standing
on
a
bureau
close
by
them
,
and
the
light
slanted
down
,
distinctly
enkindling
the
cold
features
of
both
mother
and
babe
.
Troy
looked
in
,
dropped
his
wife
’
s
hand
,
knowledge
of
it
all
came
over
him
in
a
lurid
sheen
,
and
he
stood
still
.
So
still
he
remained
that
he
could
be
imagined
to
have
left
in
him
no
motive
power
whatever
.
The
clashes
of
feeling
in
all
directions
confounded
one
another
,
produced
a
neutrality
,
and
there
was
motion
in
none
.
"
Do
you
know
her
?
"
said
Bathsheba
,
in
a
small
enclosed
echo
,
as
from
the
interior
of
a
cell
.
"
I
do
,
"
said
Troy
.
