feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/shmoop/Far From the Madding Crowd/section_38_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Far From the Madding Crowd.chapter 39
feat_summary_id: chapter 39
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapter 39", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201219162644/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/far-from-the-madding-crowd/summary/chapter-39", "summary": "Bathsheba and Sergeant Troy are travelling to the local market to deal with some business. Bathsheba is sitting up in a cart, while Sergeant Troy is on the road leading the horses. They argue briefly about how much of Bathsheba's money Troy has been blowing at horse races. Troy tells her that if he'd known she was such a nag he wouldn't have married her. As they travel, a homeless-looking woman walks past them and asks Troy what time the local shelter in Casterbridge closes for the night. Troy is clearly concerned by the sound of this woman's voice, but he pretends to be chill and tells her he's not sure about the closing time. When the woman sees Troy's face, she utters a cry and falls to the ground. Bathsheba tries to help, but Troy orders her to stay where she is. In a hushed voice, Troy asks the woman why she didn't just write to him for money. He then gives her every last penny he has on him. Before they part ways, Troy tells her to meet him at a place called Grey's Bridge on the next Monday. While he's saying this, he calls her Fanny. So we know that this woman is Fanny Robin, Troy's jilted ex-fiance. Finally, Troy hurries Fanny away and returns to his cart and Bathsheba. Bathsheba asks him if he knew the woman, but he denies it, saying he only knows her face from around town. Bathsheba isn't convinced, though, and she's certain that Troy has had some previous contact with this woman. Good call, Bathsheba.", "analysis": ""}
text: 
  
  COMING HOME--A CRY
  
  
  On the turnpike road, between Casterbridge and Weatherbury, and about
  three miles from the former place, is Yalbury Hill, one of those
  steep long ascents which pervade the highways of this undulating
  part of South Wessex.  In returning from market it is usual for the
  farmers and other gig-gentry to alight at the bottom and walk up.
  
  One Saturday evening in the month of October Bathsheba's vehicle was
  duly creeping up this incline.  She was sitting listlessly in the
  second seat of the gig, whilst walking beside her in a farmer's
  marketing suit of unusually fashionable cut was an erect, well-made
  young man.  Though on foot, he held the reins and whip, and
  occasionally aimed light cuts at the horse's ear with the end of the
  lash, as a recreation.  This man was her husband, formerly Sergeant
  Troy, who, having bought his discharge with Bathsheba's money, was
  gradually transforming himself into a farmer of a spirited and very
  modern school.  People of unalterable ideas still insisted upon
  calling him "Sergeant" when they met him, which was in some degree
  owing to his having still retained the well-shaped moustache of his
  military days, and the soldierly bearing inseparable from his form
  and training.
  
  "Yes, if it hadn't been for that wretched rain I should have cleared
  two hundred as easy as looking, my love," he was saying.  "Don't you
  see, it altered all the chances?  To speak like a book I once read,
  wet weather is the narrative, and fine days are the episodes, of our
  country's history; now, isn't that true?"
  
  "But the time of year is come for changeable weather."
  
  "Well, yes.  The fact is, these autumn races are the ruin of
  everybody.  Never did I see such a day as 'twas!  'Tis a wild open
  place, just out of Budmouth, and a drab sea rolled in towards us like
  liquid misery.  Wind and rain--good Lord!  Dark?  Why, 'twas as black
  as my hat before the last race was run.  'Twas five o'clock, and
  you couldn't see the horses till they were almost in, leave alone
  colours.  The ground was as heavy as lead, and all judgment from a
  fellow's experience went for nothing.  Horses, riders, people, were
  all blown about like ships at sea.  Three booths were blown over,
  and the wretched folk inside crawled out upon their hands and knees;
  and in the next field were as many as a dozen hats at one time.  Ay,
  Pimpernel regularly stuck fast, when about sixty yards off, and when
  I saw Policy stepping on, it did knock my heart against the lining
  of my ribs, I assure you, my love!"
  
  "And you mean, Frank," said Bathsheba, sadly--her voice was painfully
  lowered from the fulness and vivacity of the previous summer--"that
  you have lost more than a hundred pounds in a month by this dreadful
  horse-racing?  O, Frank, it is cruel; it is foolish of you to take
  away my money so.  We shall have to leave the farm; that will be the
  end of it!"
  
  "Humbug about cruel.  Now, there 'tis again--turn on the waterworks;
  that's just like you."
  
  "But you'll promise me not to go to Budmouth second meeting, won't
  you?" she implored.  Bathsheba was at the full depth for tears, but
  she maintained a dry eye.
  
  "I don't see why I should; in fact, if it turns out to be a fine day,
  I was thinking of taking you."
  
  "Never, never!  I'll go a hundred miles the other way first. I hate
  the sound of the very word!"
  
  "But the question of going to see the race or staying at home has
  very little to do with the matter.  Bets are all booked safely enough
  before the race begins, you may depend.  Whether it is a bad race for
  me or a good one, will have very little to do with our going there
  next Monday."
  
  "But you don't mean to say that you have risked anything on this one
  too!" she exclaimed, with an agonized look.
  
  "There now, don't you be a little fool.  Wait till you are told.
  Why, Bathsheba, you have lost all the pluck and sauciness you
  formerly had, and upon my life if I had known what a chicken-hearted
  creature you were under all your boldness, I'd never have--I know
  what."
  
  A flash of indignation might have been seen in Bathsheba's dark eyes
  as she looked resolutely ahead after this reply.  They moved on
  without further speech, some early-withered leaves from the trees
  which hooded the road at this spot occasionally spinning downward
  across their path to the earth.
  
  A woman appeared on the brow of the hill.  The ridge was in a
  cutting, so that she was very near the husband and wife before she
  became visible.  Troy had turned towards the gig to remount, and
  whilst putting his foot on the step the woman passed behind him.
  
  Though the overshadowing trees and the approach of eventide enveloped
  them in gloom, Bathsheba could see plainly enough to discern the
  extreme poverty of the woman's garb, and the sadness of her face.
  
  "Please, sir, do you know at what time Casterbridge Union-house
  closes at night?"
  
  The woman said these words to Troy over his shoulder.
  
  Troy started visibly at the sound of the voice; yet he seemed to
  recover presence of mind sufficient to prevent himself from giving
  way to his impulse to suddenly turn and face her.  He said, slowly--
  
  "I don't know."
  
  The woman, on hearing him speak, quickly looked up, examined the side
  of his face, and recognized the soldier under the yeoman's garb.  Her
  face was drawn into an expression which had gladness and agony both
  among its elements.  She uttered an hysterical cry, and fell down.
  
  "Oh, poor thing!" exclaimed Bathsheba, instantly preparing to alight.
  
  "Stay where you are, and attend to the horse!" said Troy,
  peremptorily throwing her the reins and the whip.  "Walk the horse
  to the top: I'll see to the woman."
  
  "But I--"
  
  "Do you hear?  Clk--Poppet!"
  
  The horse, gig, and Bathsheba moved on.
  
  "How on earth did you come here?  I thought you were miles away, or
  dead!  Why didn't you write to me?" said Troy to the woman, in a
  strangely gentle, yet hurried voice, as he lifted her up.
  
  "I feared to."
  
  "Have you any money?"
  
  "None."
  
  "Good Heaven--I wish I had more to give you!  Here's--wretched--the
  merest trifle.  It is every farthing I have left.  I have none but
  what my wife gives me, you know, and I can't ask her now."
  
  The woman made no answer.
  
  "I have only another moment," continued Troy; "and now listen.  Where
  are you going to-night?  Casterbridge Union?"
  
  "Yes; I thought to go there."
  
  "You shan't go there; yet, wait.  Yes, perhaps for to-night; I can
  do nothing better--worse luck!  Sleep there to-night, and stay there
  to-morrow.  Monday is the first free day I have; and on Monday
  morning, at ten exactly, meet me on Grey's Bridge just out of the
  town.  I'll bring all the money I can muster.  You shan't want--I'll
  see that, Fanny; then I'll get you a lodging somewhere.  Good-bye
  till then.  I am a brute--but good-bye!"
  
  After advancing the distance which completed the ascent of the
  hill, Bathsheba turned her head.  The woman was upon her feet, and
  Bathsheba saw her withdrawing from Troy, and going feebly down the
  hill by the third milestone from Casterbridge.  Troy then came on
  towards his wife, stepped into the gig, took the reins from her hand,
  and without making any observation whipped the horse into a trot.  He
  was rather agitated.
  
  "Do you know who that woman was?" said Bathsheba, looking searchingly
  into his face.
  
  "I do," he said, looking boldly back into hers.
  
  "I thought you did," said she, with angry hauteur, and still
  regarding him.  "Who is she?"
  
  He suddenly seemed to think that frankness would benefit neither of
  the women.
  
  "Nothing to either of us," he said.  "I know her by sight."
  
  "What is her name?"
  
  "How should I know her name?"
  
  "I think you do."
  
  "Think if you will, and be--" The sentence was completed by a smart
  cut of the whip round Poppet's flank, which caused the animal to
  start forward at a wild pace.  No more was said.
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapter 39
target: Bathsheba and Sergeant Troy are travelling to the local market to deal with some business. Bathsheba is sitting up in a cart, while Sergeant Troy is on the road leading the horses. They argue briefly about how much of Bathsheba's money Troy has been blowing at horse races. Troy tells her that if he'd known she was such a nag he wouldn't have married her. As they travel, a homeless-looking woman walks past them and asks Troy what time the local shelter in Casterbridge closes for the night. Troy is clearly concerned by the sound of this woman's voice, but he pretends to be chill and tells her he's not sure about the closing time. When the woman sees Troy's face, she utters a cry and falls to the ground. Bathsheba tries to help, but Troy orders her to stay where she is. In a hushed voice, Troy asks the woman why she didn't just write to him for money. He then gives her every last penny he has on him. Before they part ways, Troy tells her to meet him at a place called Grey's Bridge on the next Monday. While he's saying this, he calls her Fanny. So we know that this woman is Fanny Robin, Troy's jilted ex-fiance. Finally, Troy hurries Fanny away and returns to his cart and Bathsheba. Bathsheba asks him if he knew the woman, but he denies it, saying he only knows her face from around town. Bathsheba isn't convinced, though, and she's certain that Troy has had some previous contact with this woman. Good call, Bathsheba.