He went towards Durnover. On his way he overtook Farfrae. They walked on together, Henchard looking mostly on the ground.
“You’re no yoursel’ the day?” Donald inquired.
“But ye are a bit down—surely ye are down? Why, there’s nothing to be angry about! ’Tis splendid stuff that we’ve got from Blackmoor Vale. By the by, the people in Durnover want their hay valued.”
As Henchard did not reply Donald practised a piece of music _sotto voce_, till, getting near the bereaved people’s door, he stopped himself with—
“Ah, as their father is dead I won’t go on with such as that. How could I forget?”
“Do you care so very much about hurting folks’ feelings?” observed Henchard with a half sneer. “You do, I know—especially mine!”
“I am sorry if I have hurt yours, sir,” replied Donald, standing still, with a second expression of the same sentiment in the regretfulness of his face. “Why should you say it—think it?”
The cloud lifted from Henchard’s brow, and as Donald finished the corn-merchant turned to him, regarding his breast rather than his face.
“I have been hearing things that vexed me,” he said. “’Twas that made me short in my manner—made me overlook what you really are. Now, I don’t want to go in here about this hay—Farfrae, you can do it better than I. They sent for ’ee, too. I have to attend a meeting of the Town Council at eleven, and ’tis drawing on for’t.”
They parted thus in renewed friendship, Donald forbearing to ask Henchard for meanings that were not very plain to him. On Henchard’s part there was now again repose; and yet, whenever he thought of Farfrae, it was with a dim dread; and he often regretted that he had told the young man his whole heart, and confided to him the secrets of his life.
On this account Henchard’s manner towards Farfrae insensibly became more reserved. He was courteous—too courteous—and Farfrae was quite surprised at the good breeding which now for the first time showed itself among the qualities of a man he had hitherto thought undisciplined, if warm and sincere. The corn-factor seldom or never again put his arm upon the young man’s shoulder so as to nearly weigh him down with the pressure of mechanized friendship. He left off coming to Donald’s lodgings and shouting into the passage. “Hoy, Farfrae, boy, come and have some dinner with us! Don’t sit here in solitary confinement!” But in the daily routine of their business there was little change.