back against the jamb of the waggon-office doorway to which the steps
gave access, the shadow from it conveniently hiding her features. She
forgot her daughter till a touch from Elizabeth-Jane aroused her. "Have
you seen him, mother?" whispered the girl.

"Yes, yes," answered her companion hastily. "I have seen him, and it is
enough for me! Now I only want to go--pass away--die."

"Why--O what?" She drew closer, and whispered in her mother's ear, "Does
he seem to you not likely to befriend us? I thought he looked a generous
man. What a gentleman he is, isn't he? and how his diamond studs shine!
How strange that you should have said he might be in the stocks, or in
the workhouse, or dead! Did ever anything go more by contraries! Why do
you feel so afraid of him? I am not at all; I'll call upon him--he can
but say he don't own such remote kin."

"I don't know at all--I can't tell what to set about. I feel so down."

"Don't be that, mother, now we have got here and all! Rest there where
you be a little while--I will look on and find out more about him."

"I don't think I can ever meet Mr. Henchard. He is not how I thought he
would be--he overpowers me! I don't wish to see him any more."

"But wait a little time and consider."

Elizabeth-Jane had never been so much interested in anything in her life
as in their present position, partly from the natural elation she felt
at discovering herself akin to a coach; and she gazed again at the
scene. The younger guests were talking and eating with animation; their