It was a point in the highway near which the road to Mellstock branched
off from the homeward direction. By diverging to that village, as he had
intended to do, Farfrae might probably delay his return by a couple of
hours. It soon appeared that his intention was to do so still, the
light swerving towards Cuckoo Lane, the by-road aforesaid. Farfrae's off
gig-lamp flashed in Henchard's face. At the same time Farfrae discerned
his late antagonist.
"Farfrae--Mr. Farfrae!" cried the breathless Henchard, holding up his
hand.
Farfrae allowed the horse to turn several steps into the branch lane
before he pulled up. He then drew rein, and said "Yes?" over his
shoulder, as one would towards a pronounced enemy.
"Come back to Casterbridge at once!" Henchard said. "There's something
wrong at your house--requiring your return. I've run all the way here on
purpose to tell ye."
Farfrae was silent, and at his silence Henchard's soul sank within him.
Why had he not, before this, thought of what was only too obvious? He
who, four hours earlier, had enticed Farfrae into a deadly wrestle stood
now in the darkness of late night-time on a lonely road, inviting him
to come a particular way, where an assailant might have confederates,
instead of going his purposed way, where there might be a better
opportunity of guarding himself from attack.
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