CONCURRITUR—HORÆ MOMENTO

Outside the front of Boldwood’s house a group of men stood in the dark, with their faces towards the door, which occasionally opened and closed for the passage of some guest or servant, when a golden rod of light would stripe the ground for the moment and vanish again, leaving nothing outside but the glowworm shine of the pale lamp amid the evergreens over the door.

“He was seen in Casterbridge this afternoon—so the boy said,” one of them remarked in a whisper. “And I for one believe it. His body was never found, you know.”

“’Tis a strange story,”