"Troy," said Boldwood, imploringly, "I'll do anything for you, only don't desert her; pray don't desert her, Troy."
"Which, poor Fanny?"
"No; Bathsheba Everdene. Love her best! Love her tenderly! How shall I get you to see how advantageous it will be to you to secure her at once?"
"I don't wish to secure her in any new way."
Boldwood's arm moved spasmodically towards Troy's person again. He repressed the instinct, and his form drooped as with pain.
Troy went on,—
"I shall soon purchase my discharge, and then———"
"But I wish you to hasten on this marriage. It will be better for you both. You love each other, and you must let me help you to do it."
"How?"
"Why, by settling the five hundred on Bathsheba instead of Fanny, to enable you to marry at once. No; she wouldn't have it of me. I'll pay it down to you on the wedding-day."
Troy paused in secret amazement at Boldwood's wild and purblind infatuation. He carelessly said, "And am I to have anything now?"
"Yes, if you wish to. But I have not much additional money with me. I did not expect this; but all I have is yours."
