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She turned desultorily hither and thither, until she heard another tread without, and there came a second knocking at the door. She did not respond to it; and Nicholas–for it was he–thinking that he was not heard by reason of a concentration on to-morrow’s proceedings, opened the door softly, and came on to the door of her room, which stood unclosed, just as it had been left by the Casterbridge porter.

Nicholas uttered a blithe greeting, cast his eye round the parlour, which with its tall candles, blazing fire, snow-white cloth, and prettily-spread table, formed a cheerful spectacle enough for a man who had been walking in the dark for an hour.

‘My bride–almost, at last!’ he cried, encircling her with his arms.

Instead of responding, her figure became limp, frigid, heavy; her head fell back, and he found that she had fainted.

It was natural, he thought. She had had many little worrying matters to attend to, and but slight assistance. He ought to have seen more effectually to her affairs; the closeness of the event had over-excited her. Nicholas kissed her unconscious face–more than once, little thinking what news it was that had changed its aspect. Loth to call Mrs. Wake, he carried Christine to a couch and laid her down. This had the effect of reviving her. Nicholas bent and whispered in her ear, ‘Lie quiet, dearest, no hurry; and dream, dream, dream of happy days. It is only I. You will soon be better.’ He held her by the hand.

‘No, no, no!’ she said, with a stare. ‘O, how can this be?’

Nicholas was alarmed and perplexed, but the disclosure was not long delayed. When she had sat up, and by degrees made the stunning event known to him, he stood as if transfixed.

‘Ah–is it so?’ said he. Then, becoming quite meek, ‘And why was he so cruel as to–delay his return till now?’

She dutifully recited the explanation her husband had given her through the messenger; but her mechanical manner of telling it showed how much she doubted its truth. It was too unlikely that his arrival at such a dramatic moment should not be a contrived surprise, quite of a piece with his previous dealings towards her.

‘But perhaps it may be true–and he may have become kind now–not as he used to be,’ she faltered. ‘Yes, perhaps, Nicholas, he is an altered man–we’ll hope he is. I suppose I ought not to have listened to my legal advisers, and assumed his death so surely! Anyhow, I am roughly received back into–the right way!’

Nicholas burst out bitterly: ‘O what too, too honest fools we were!–to so court daylight upon our intention by putting that announcement in the papers! Why could we not have married privately, and gone away, so that he would never have known what had become of you, even if he had returned? Christine, he has done it to . . . But I’ll say no more. Of course we–might fly now.’

‘No, no; we might not,’ said she hastily.

‘Very well. But this is hard to bear! “When I looked for good then evil came unto me, and when I waited for light there came darkness.” So once said a sorely tried man in the land of Uz, and so say I now! . . . I wonder if he is almost here at this moment?’

She told him she supposed Bellston was approaching by the path across the fields, having sent on his great-coat, which he would not want walking.

‘And is this meal laid for him, or for me?’

‘It was laid for you.’

‘And it will be eaten by him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Christine, are you sure that he is come, or have you been sleeping over the fire and dreaming it?’

She pointed anew to the portmanteau with the initials ‘J. B.,’ and to the coat beside it.

‘Well, good-bye–good-bye! Curse that parson for not marrying us fifteen years ago!’

It is unnecessary to dwell further upon that parting. There are scenes wherein the words spoken do not even approximate to the level of the mental communion between the actors. Suffice it to say that part they did, and quickly; and Nicholas, more dead than alive, went out of the house homewards.