There is no other that I have
noticed."
Elizabeth-Jane had been thinking of the door in the alley.
"Perhaps, as you have not mentioned your destination, you may as well
keep silent upon it till you are clear off. Who knows but that he may
alter his mind?"
Elizabeth-Jane shook her head. "On consideration I don't fear it," she
said sadly. "He has grown quite cold to me."
"Very well. Six o'clock then."
When they had emerged upon the open road and parted, they found enough
to do in holding their bowed umbrellas to the wind. Nevertheless the
lady looked in at the corn-yard gates as she passed them, and paused on
one foot for a moment. But nothing was visible there save the ricks, and
the humpbacked barn cushioned with moss, and the granary rising against
the church-tower behind, where the smacking of the rope against the
flag-staff still went on.
Now Henchard had not the slightest suspicion that Elizabeth-Jane's
movement was to be so prompt. Hence when, just before six, he
reached home and saw a fly at the door from the King's Arms, and his
step-daughter, with all her little bags and boxes, getting into it, he
was taken by surprise.
"But you said I might go, father?" she explained through the carriage
window.
"Said!--yes. But I thought you meant next month, or next year. 'Od,
seize it--you take time by the forelock! This, then, is how you be going
to treat me for all my trouble about ye?"
"O father! how can you speak like that? It is unjust of you!" she said
with spirit.
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