In about ten minutes they returned to the house by a circuitous route, entering at the rear. Bathsheba glided up the back stairs to a disused attic, and her companion followed.
`Liddy,' she said, with a lighter heart, for youth and hope had begun to reassert themselves; `you are to be my confidante for the present - somebody must be - and I choose you. Well, I shall take up my abode here for a while. Will you get a fire lighted, put down a piece of carpet, and help me to make the place comfortable? Afterwards, I want you and Maryann to bring up that little stump bedstead in the small room, and the bed belonging to it, and a table, and some other things. What shall I do to pass the heavy time away?'
`Hemming handkerchiefs is a very good thing,' said Liddy.
`O no, no! I hate needlework - I always did.'
`Knitting?'
`And that too.'
`You might finish your sampler. Only the carnations and peacocks want filling in; and then it could be framed and glazed, and hung beside your aunt's, ma'am.'
`Samplers are out of date - horribly countrified. No, Liddy, I'll read.
Bring up some books - not new ones. I haven't heart to read anything new.'
`Some of your uncle's old ones, ma'am?'
`Yes. Some of those we stowed away in boxes.' A faint gleam of humour passed over her face as she said: `Bring Beaumont and Fletcher's Maid's Tragedy ; and the Mourning Bride ; and - let me see - Night Thoughts ; and the Vanity of Human Wishes .'
`And that story of the black man, who murdered his wife Desdemona? It is a nice dismal one that would suit you excellent just now.
`Now, Lidd, you've been looking into my books, without telling me; and I said you were not to! How do you know it would suit me? It wouldn't suit me at all.'
`But if the others do--'
`No, they don't; and I won't read dismal books. Why should I read dismal books, indeed? Bring me Love in a Village , and the Maid of the Mill ; and Doctor Syntax ; and some volumes of the Spectator .'
All that day Bathsheba and Liddy lived in the attic in a state of barricade; a precaution which proved to be needless as against Troy, for he did not appear in the neighbourhood or trouble them at all. Bathsheba sat at the window till sunset, sometimes attempting to read, at other times watching every movement outside without much purpose, and listening without much interest to every sound.
The sun went down almost blood-red that night, and a livid cloud received its rays in the east. Up against this dark background the west front of the church tower - the only part of the edifice visible from the farm-house windows - rose distinct and lustrous, the vane upon the summit bristling with rays. Hereabouts, at six o'clock, the young men of the village gathered, as was their custom, for a game of Prisoners' base. The spot had been consecrated to this ancient diversion from time immemorial, the old stocks conveniently forming a base facing the boundary of the churchyard, in front of which the ground was trodden hard and bare as a pavement by the players. She could see the brown and black heads of the young lads darting about right and left, their white shirt-sleeves gleaming in the sun; whilst occasionally a shout and a peal of hearty laughter varied the stillness of the evening air. They continued playing for a quarter of an hour or so, when the game concluded abruptly, and the players leapt over the wall and vanished round to the other side behind a yew-tree, which was also half behind a beech, now spreading in one mass of golden foliage, on which the branches traced black lines.
`Why did the base-players finish their game so suddenly?' Bathsheba inquired, the next time that Liddy entered the room.
`I think 'twas because two men came just then from Casterbridge and began putting up a grand carved tombstone,' said Liddy. `The lads went to see whose it was.'
`Do you know?' Bathsheba asked.
`I don't,' said Liddy.
