“And ruin her.”
“Save her.”
“Oh, how can she be saved now, unless I marry her?”
Boldwood groaned. He reluctantly released the soldier, and flung him back against the hedge. “Devil, you torture me!” said he.
Troy rebounded like a ball, and was about to make a dash at the farmer; but he checked himself, saying lightly—
“It is not worth while to measure my strength with you. Indeed it is a barbarous way of settling a quarrel. I shall shortly leave the army because of the same conviction. Now after that revelation of how the land lies with Bathsheba, ’twould be a mistake to kill me, would it not?”
“’Twould be a mistake to kill you,” repeated Boldwood, mechanically, with a bowed head.
“Better kill yourself.”
“Far better.”
“I’m glad you see it.”