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"
Come
,
madam
,
do
you
hear
what
I
say
?
"
he
said
,
peremptorily
.
A
strange
voice
came
from
the
fireplace
—
a
voice
sounding
far
off
and
confined
,
as
if
from
a
dungeon
.
Hardly
a
soul
in
the
assembly
recognized
the
thin
tones
to
be
those
of
Boldwood
.
Sudden
despair
had
transformed
him
.
"
Bathsheba
,
go
with
your
husband
!
"
Nevertheless
,
she
did
not
move
.
The
truth
was
that
Bathsheba
was
beyond
the
pale
of
activity
—
and
yet
not
in
a
swoon
.
She
was
in
a
state
of
mental
gutta
serena
;
her
mind
was
for
the
minute
totally
deprived
of
light
at
the
same
time
no
obscuration
was
apparent
from
without
.
Troy
stretched
out
his
hand
to
pull
her
her
towards
him
,
when
she
quickly
shrank
back
.
This
visible
dread
of
him
seemed
to
irritate
Troy
,
and
he
seized
her
arm
and
pulled
it
sharply
.
Whether
his
grasp
pinched
her
,
or
whether
his
mere
touch
was
the
cause
,
was
never
known
,
but
at
the
moment
of
his
seizure
she
writhed
,
and
gave
a
quick
,
low
scream
.
The
scream
had
been
heard
but
a
few
seconds
when
it
was
followed
by
sudden
deafening
report
that
echoed
through
the
room
and
stupefied
them
all
.
The
oak
partition
shook
with
the
concussion
,
and
the
place
was
filled
with
grey
smoke
.
In
bewilderment
they
turned
their
eyes
to
Boldwood
.
At
his
back
,
as
stood
before
the
fireplace
,
was
a
gun
-
rack
,
as
is
usual
in
farmhouses
,
constructed
to
hold
two
guns
.
When
Bathsheba
had
cried
out
in
her
husband
’
s
grasp
,
Boldwood
’
s
face
of
gnashing
despair
had
changed
.
The
veins
had
swollen
,
and
a
frenzied
look
had
gleamed
in
his
eye
.
He
had
turned
quickly
,
taken
one
of
the
guns
,
cocked
it
,
and
at
once
discharged
it
at
Troy
.
Troy
fell
.
The
distance
apart
of
the
two
men
was
so
small
that
the
charge
of
shot
did
not
spread
in
the
least
,
but
passed
like
a
bullet
into
his
body
.
He
uttered
a
long
guttural
sigh
—
there
was
a
contraction
—
an
extension
—
then
his
muscles
relaxed
,
and
he
lay
still
.
Boldwood
was
seen
through
the
smoke
to
be
now
again
engaged
with
the
gun
