together--but not just now."

He took her hand at parting, and held it so warmly that she, who had
known so little friendship, was much affected, and tears rose to her
aerial-grey eyes. The instant that she was gone Henchard's state showed
itself more distinctly; having shut the door he sat in his dining-room
stiffly erect, gazing at the opposite wall as if he read his history
there.

"Begad!" he suddenly exclaimed, jumping up. "I didn't think of that.
Perhaps these are impostors--and Susan and the child dead after all!"

However, a something in Elizabeth-Jane soon assured him that, as
regarded her, at least, there could be little doubt. And a few hours
would settle the question of her mother's identity; for he had arranged
in his note to see her that evening.

"It never rains but it pours!" said Henchard. His keenly excited
interest in his new friend the Scotchman was now eclipsed by this event,
and Donald Farfrae saw so little of him during the rest of the day that
he wondered at the suddenness of his employer's moods.

In the meantime Elizabeth had reached the inn. Her mother, instead of
taking the note with the curiosity of a poor woman expecting assistance,
was much moved at sight of it. She did not read it at once, asking
Elizabeth to describe her reception, and the very words Mr. Henchard
used. Elizabeth's back was turned when her mother opened the letter. It
ran thus:--