Gabriel could not bear to see Bathsheba so upset. He kept remembering Troy's words to Bathsheba when he saw Fanny in the coffin next to her baby.

"Even in death Fanny means more to me than you ever could."

Bathsheba had looked stricken, staring distractedly around the room as if she could not bear to meet Gabriel's eyes. Troy had kissed Fanny as she lay there, the final act of insult.

"Am I not your wife?" Bathsheba pleaded.

Troy just laughed.

Gabriel was glad that Troy had gone, feared drowned, his uniform found by the shore. He continued with his work, trying to hide his feelings. Bathsheba was in mourning, her black widow's weeds accentuating her pale skin, the dark shadows under her eyes. Gabriel resisted the urge to go to her and tell her how he felt, he knew it wouldn't be right, not yet. With Troy gone, nothing stood in his way anymore, but he could not persuade himself to ask her to marry him. He feared her rejection. He lay in his bad at night and dreamt of holding her and kissing her. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't stop the images that raced through his mind. As the man next to him lay snoring only feet away, Gabriel shifted on his thin mattress, unable to quench the fire that burned within him. He wanted her so badly.

He imagined them together in a hay field after the harvest, lying together beneath a cart, in the shade. He smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her gently, feeling her warm soft body beneath him. He allowed himself to imagine his fingers caressing the buttons on the front of her gown, teasing her, just like she had done to him. Unlike her however, he would be bolder, he would undo those buttons one by one, pushing his fingers under the material of her gown, caressing her. "Oh Gabriel," she would sigh. He would make her want him, the same way that he wanted her, until she would be clinging to him, begging him to love her. And he would love her, he would love her so passionately that she would never want another man.

Gabriel moaned and the man stirred. Gabriel froze, but soon he heard familiar snores as he turned onto his back. He knew that what he was doing was wrong. At church on Sunday, the priest preached from the altar about chastity and innocence. There was no innocence in Gabriel's thoughts. The release he longed for could not come quick enough.

The next day he was summoned to Boldwood's house, to be surprised by his offer to be his new Bailiff.

"It would be a good partnership," Boldwood said in his amicable manner, patting Gabriel on the shoulder, "and the farm will be saved when the two properties are joined together."

"Thank you for your offer, but I must think upon it."

"Very well."

"Has Bathsheba agreed to this?" Gabriel enquired, flattered by Boldwood's belief in him, but also suspicious of his motives.

"I have asked her to marry me, she promises to give me an answer."

Gabriel turned away, not wanting to hear more. If Boldwood had proposed to Bathsheba again, this time she would not find it so easy to refuse him. The farm had been almost bankrupted by Troy's excesses.

"I am to throw a Christmas party here at the house. I hope you will attend."

Boldwood's words were kind, but Gabriel did not answer. He knew he must appear surly and ill-mannered, but he picked up his hat and bowed his head slightly. His only thought was to get out of the house, ride away across the fields and try to clear his head.

"Goodbye Gabriel, I hope you will agree to my offer, it will be in your own best interest."

"Will it?"

Boldwood smiled at him a little ruefully.

"I think so. Bathsheba has had a difficult marriage, but now she is free from that man. My only desire is to make her happy. I think you will agree with me that she deserves that?"

"Yes, she deserves that, but she is an independent woman, you might find it hard to work with her."

"My wife will not work. Bathsheba will not want for anything."

Boldwood gestured to the room around him, adorned with expensive antiques and pictures, high-backed velvet chairs and an ornately carved oak table. Gabriel knew that he could not begin to compete, but he also knew that Boldwood underestimated Bathsheba's willingness to relinquish her interest in the farm.

"Good day to you Sir," Gabriel said cordially, not wishing to say more in case he offended him.

"Good day."

Outside in the fresh morning air, Gabriel took deep lungfuls of air, striding across to his horse. The stable boy handed him the reins and Gabriel put his foot into the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle. He dug his heels into the horse's flanks harder than he intended to and she reared up, almost throwing him to the ground. Gabriel calmed her, patting her neck and speaking gently to her. He hadn't meant to startle her, it was his frustration getting the better of him.

"Good girl," he said, as she trotted out of the courtyard and down the tree-lined driveway.

He was glad to get away from the opulence and finery of that house and back to the more austere surroundings that he was used to. He wondered if Bathsheba felt that way too. If so, there was still hope that she might refuse Boldwood.