"Two notes and a sovereign. But before I leave you I must have a paper signed -- -- "
"Pay me the money, and we'll go straight to her parlour, and make any arrangement you please to secure my compliance with your wishes. But she must know nothing of this cash business."
"Nothing, nothing." said Boldwood, hastily. "Here is the sum, and if you'll come to my house we'll write out the agreement for the remainder, and the terms also."
"First we'll call upon her."
"But why? Come with me to-night, and go with me to-morrow to the surrogate's."
"But she must be consulted; at any rate informed."
"Very well; go on."
They went up the hill to Bathsheba's house. When they stood at the entrance, Troy said, "Wait here a moment." Opening the door, he glided inside, leaving the door ajar.
Boldwood waited. In two minutes a light appeared in the passage. Boldwood then saw that the chain had been fastened across the door. Troy appeared inside, carrying a bedroom candlestick.
"What, did you think I should break in?" said Boldwood, contemptuously.
"Oh, no, it is merely my humour to secure things.
Will you read this a moment? I'll hold the light."
Troy handed a folded newspaper through the slit between door and doorpost, and put the candle close.
"That's the paragraph." he said, placing his finger on a line.
Boldwood looked and read -"MARRIAGES.
"On the 17th inst., at St. Ambrose's Church, Bath, by the Rev. G. Mincing, B.A., Francis Troy, only son of the late Edward Troy, Esq., H.D., of Weatherbury, and sergeant with Dragoon Guards, to Bathsheba, only surviving daughter of the late Mr, John Everdene, of Casterbridge."
"This may be called Fort meeting Feeble, hey, Boldwood?" said Troy. A low gurgle of derisive laughter followed the words.
The paper fell from Boldwood's hands. Troy continued -"Fifty pounds to marry Fanny, Good. Twenty-one pounds not to marry Fanny, but Bathsheba. Good.
Finale: already Bathsheba's husband. Now, Boldwood, yours is the ridiculous fate which always attends interference between a man and his wife. And another word. Bad as I am, I am not such a villain as to make the marriage or misery of any woman a matter of huckster and sale. Fanny has long ago left me.
don't know where she is. I have searched everywhere.
Another word yet. You say you love Bathsheba; yet on the merest apparent evidence you instantly believe in her dishonour. A fig for such love! Now that I've taught you a lesson, take your money back again."
"I will not; I will not!" said Boldwood, in a hiss.