"Do you hear? Clk—Poppet!"
The horse, gig, and Bathsheba moved on.
"How on earth did you come here? I thought you were miles away, or dead! Why didn't you write to me?" said Troy to the woman, in a strangely gentle, yet hurried voice, as he lifted her up.
"I feared to."
"Have you any money?"
"None."
"Good Heaven—I wish I had more to give you! Here's—wretched—the merest trifle. It is every farthing I have left. I have none but what my wife gives me, you know, and I can't ask her now."
The woman made no answer.
"I have only another moment," continued Troy; "and now listen. Where are you going to-night? Casterbridge Union?"
"Yes; I thought to go there."
"You shan't go there: yet, wait. Yes, perhaps for to-night; I can do nothing better—worse luck. Sleep there to-night, and stay there tomorrow. Monday is the first free day I have; and on Monday morning, at ten exactly, meet me on Casterbridge Bridge. I'll bring all the money I can muster. You shan't want—I'll see that, Fanny; then I'll get you a lodging
