`Jump on the bay mare, and ride across, and say he must return instantly - that I say so.
Tall scrambled off to the field, and in two minutes was on Poll, the bay, bare-backed, and with only a halter by way of rein. He diminished down the hill.
Bathsheba watched. So did all the rest. Tall cantered along the bridle path through Sixteen Acres, Sheeplands, Middle Field, The Flats, Cappels Piece, shrank almost to a point, crossed the bridge, and ascended from the valley through Springmead and Whitepits on the other side. The cottage to which Gabriel had retired before taking his final departure from the locality was visible as a white spot on the opposite hill, backed by blue firs. Bathsheba walked up and down. The men entered the field and endeavoured to ease the anguish of the dumb creatures by rubbing them. Nothing availed.
Bathsheba continued walking. The horse was seen descending the hill, and the wearisome series had to be repeated in reverse order: Whitepits, Springmead, Cappel's Piece, The Flats, Middle Field, Sheeplands, Sixteen Acres. She hoped Tall had had presence of mind enough to give the mare up to Gabriel, and return himself on foot. The rider neared them. It was Tall.
`O what folly!' said Bathsheba.
Gabriel was not visible anywhere.
`Perhaps he is already gone!' she said.
Tall came into the inclosure, and leapt off his face tragic as Morton's after the battle of Shrewsbury.
`Well?' said Bathsheba, unwilling to believe that her verbal lettre-de-cachet could possibly have miscarried.
`He says beggars mustn't be choosers ,' replied Laban.
`What!' said the young farmer, opening her eyes and drawing in her breath for an outburst. Joseph Poorgrass retired a few steps behind a hurdle.
`He says he shall not come onless you request en to come civilly and in a proper manner, as becomes any 'ooman begging a favour.'
`Oh, oh, that's his answer! Where does he get his airs? Who am I, then, to be treated like that? Shall I beg to a man who has begged to me?'
Another of the flock sprang into the air, and fell dead.
The men looked grave, as if they suppressed opinion.
Bathsheba turned aside, her eyes full of tears. The strait she was in through pride and shrewishness could not be disguised longer: she burst out crying bitterly; they all saw it; and she attempted no further concealment.
`I wouldn't cry about it, miss,' said William Smallbury compassionately.
`Why not ask him softer like? I'm sure he'd come then. Gable is a true man in that way.
Bathsheba checked her grief and wiped her eyes. `O, it is a wicked cruelty to me - it is - it is!' she murmured. `And he drives me to do what I wouldn't; yes, he does! - Tall, come indoors.'
