 coomb to the distance of
a mile or so. It was by one of these avenues that the pedestrians were about to
enter. Before they had risen to proceed two men passed outside the hedge,
engaged in argumentative conversation.
    »Why, surely,« said Elizabeth, as they receded, »those men mentioned the
name of Henchard in their talk - the name of our relative?«
    »I thought so too,« said Mrs. Newson.
    »That seems a hint to us that he is still here.«
    »Yes.«
    »Shall I run after them, and ask them about him --«
    »No, no, no! Not for the world just yet. He may be in the workhouse, or in
the stocks, for all we know.«
    »Dear me - why should you think that, mother?«
    »'Twas just something to say - that's all! But we must make private
inquiries.«
    Having sufficiently rested they proceeded on their way at evenfall. The
dense trees of the avenue rendered the road dark as a tunnel, though the open
land on each side was still under a faint daylight; in other words, they passed
down a midnight between two gloamings. The features of the town had a keen
interest for Elizabeth's mother, now that the human side came to the fore. As
soon as they had wandered about they could see that the stockade of gnarled
trees which framed in Casterbridge was itself an avenue, standing on a low green
bank or escarpment, with a ditch yet visible without. Within the avenue and bank
was a wall more or less discontinuous, and within the wall were packed the
abodes of the burghers.
    Though the two women did not know it these external features were but the
ancient defences of the town, planted as a promenade.
    The lamplights now glimmered through the engirdling trees, conveying a sense
of great snugness and comfort inside, and rendering at the same time the
unlighted country without strangely solitary and vacant in aspect, considering
its nearness to life. The difference between burgh and champaign was increased,
too, by sounds which now reached them above others - the notes of a brass band.
The travellers returned into the High Street, where there were timber houses
with overhanging stories, whose small-paned lattices were screened by dimity
curtains on a drawing-string, and under whose barge-boards old cobwebs waved in
the breeze. There were houses of brick-nogging, which derived their chief
support from those adjoining. There were slate roofs patched with tiles, and
tile roofs patched with slate
