The corn grown on the uplands side of the borough was garnered by farmers who lived in an eastern purlieu called Durnover. Here wheat-ricks overhung the old Roman street, and thrust their eaves against the church tower;green-thatched barns, with doorways as high as the gates of Solomon's temple, opened directly upon the main thoroughfare. Barns indeed were so numerous as to alternate with every half-dozen houses along the way. Here lived burgesses who daily walked the fallow; shepherds in an intra-mural squeeze.
A street of farmers' homesteads - a street ruled by a mayor and corporation, yet echoing with the thump of the flail, the flutter of the winnowingfan, and the purr of the milk into the pails - a street which had nothing urban in it whatever - this was the Durnover end of Casterbridge.
Henchard, as was natural, dealt largely with this nursery or bed of small farmers close at hand - and his waggons were often down that way.
One day, when arrangements were in progress for getting home corn from one of the aforesaid farms, Elizabeth-Jane received a note by hand, asking her to oblige the writer by coming at once to a granary on Durnover Hill.
As this was the granary whose contents Henchard was removing, she thought the request had something to do with his business, and proceeded thither as soon as she had put on her bonnet. The granary was just within the farm-yard, and stood on stone staddles, high enough for persons to walk under. The gates were open, but nobody was within. However, she entered and waited.
Presently she saw a figure approaching the gate - that of Donald Farfrae.
He looked up at the church clock, and came in. By some unaccountable shyness, some wish not to meet him there alone, she quickly ascended the step-ladder leading to the granary door, and entered it before he had seen her. Farfrae advanced, imagining himself in solitude; and a few drops of rain beginning to fall he moved and stood under the shelter where she had just been standing.
Here he leant against one of the staddles, and gave himself up to patience.
He, too, was plainly expecting some one; could it be herself? if so, why?
In a few minutes he looked at his watch, and then pulled out a note, a duplicate of the one she had herself received.
The situation began to be very awkward, and the longer she waited the more awkward it became. To emerge from a door just above his head and descend the ladder, and show she had been in hiding there, would look so very foolish that she still waited on. A winnowing machine stood close beside her, and to relieve her suspense she gently moved the handle; whereupon a cloud of wheat husks flew out into her face, and covered her clothes and bonnet, and struck into the fur of her victorine. He must have heard the slight movement for he looked up, and then ascended the steps.
"Ah - it's Miss Newson," he said as soon as he could see into the granary.
