Thereupon a strange fire lighted up Boldwood's eye, and his face flushed with the suppressed excitement of an unutterable thought. Everybody's glance was now centred upon him and the unconscious Bathsheba. He lifted her bodily off the ground, and smoothed down the folds of her dress as a child might have taken a storm-beaten bird and arranged its ruffled plumes, and bore her along the pavement to the King's Arms inn. Here he passed with her under the archway into a private room; and by the time he had deposited - so lothly - the precious burden upon a sofa, Bathsheba had opened her eyes. Remembering all that had occurred, she murmured, `I want to go home!'
Boldwood left the room. He stood for a moment in the passage to recover his senses. The experience had been too much for his consciousness to keep up with, and now that he had grasped it it had gone again. For those few heavenly, golden moments she had been in his arms.
What did it matter about her not knowing it? She had been close to his breast; he had been close to hers.
He started onward again, and sending a woman to her, went out to ascertain all the facts of the case. These appeared to be limited to what he had already heard. He then ordered her horse to be put into the gig, and when all was ready returned to inform her. He found that, though still pale and unwell, she had in the meantime sent for the Budmouth man who brought the tidings, and learnt From him all there was to know.
Being hardly in a condition to drive home as she had driven to town, Boldwood, with every delicacy of manner and feeling, offered to get her a driver, or to give her a seat in his phaeton, which was more comfortable than her own conveyance. These proposals Bathsheba gently declined, and the farmer at once departed.
About half an-hour later she invigorated herself by an effort, and took her seat and the reins as usual - in external appearance much as if nothing had happened. She went out of the town by a tortuous back street, and drove slowly along, unconscious of the road and the scene. The first shades of evening were showing themselves when Bathsheba reached home, where, silently alighting and leaving the horse in the bands of the boy, she proceeded at once upstairs. Liddy met her on the landing. The news had preceded Bathsheba to Weatherbury by half an-hour, and Liddy liked inquiringly into her mistress's face. Bathsheba had nothing to say.
She entered her bedroom and sat by the window, and thought and thought till night enveloped her, and the extreme lines only of her shape were visible. Somebody came to the door, knocked, and opened it.
`Well, what is it, Liddy?' she said.
`I was thinking there must be something got for you to wear,' said Liddy, with hesitation.
`What do you mean?'
`No, no, no,' said Bathsheba hurriedly.
`But I suppose there must be something done for poor--'
`Not at present, I think. It is not necessary.
`Why not, ma'am?'
`Because he's still alive.'
`How do you know that?' said Liddy, amazed.
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