She went away, and he left his seat and paced the room with a wild look of distress on his face, and bitter anxiety and fear in his heart. Once he snatched up his hat and advanced to the door, but hesitated and resumed his agitated walk. His feelings were those of a man just awakened to consciousness from the effects of a blow that had stunned him. His body trembled, his lips worked, and he held his hands squeezed tightly together. His sufferings were indeed terrible. He looked back upon the blank of five years and recoiled before the conjectures his heart prompted as to the things which had happened in that time. Sometimes his impulse was to rush forth and cry aloud for Dolly, and then a deadly chill came over him, and he shut his eyes and beat aside his thoughts, as though they were something tangible and apart from him, with his hand. When the door opened, he bit his lip to control himself, and kept his back turned upon the woman in feigned inspection of a print upon the wall. As she was about to withdraw, he looked at her and said: “Have you lived long in Southbourne?” “Yes, sir, many years.” He seated himself and drank a glass of wine. “How many years?” “Oh, twelve, thirteen. Ah, more like fifteen years, sir!” “So long! Then you know all the people here?” “Yes, sir, I daresay I do,” answered the woman, putting her hands under her apron, and examining Holdsworth’s face and clothes with great curiosity. “Who last lived in that house at the bottom of the street?” “You mean the one you was askin’ my husband about?” “Yes.” “Mr. Fairchild, the butcher, after he sold his business about two years ago.” “Who before Mr. Fairchild?” “It stood empty awhile after Mrs. Holdsworth left it.” “Where is she now?” “Livin’ at Hanwitch, along with her husband, Mr. Conway, the dentist.” The woman’s eyes, when she made this answer, were on the garden; when she looked again at Holdsworth, his face was turned from her. “Did you know any of the parties, sir, as you’re asking about?” she inquired. He did not answer her, and she, thinking that he had not heard her, continued: “I was servant along with poor Mr. Newcome before the old gentleman died, and saw a good deal of Mrs. Holdsworth, as I always call her; for, somehow, I can never bear to think of her as Mrs. Conway, for her heart never went with her hand when she married that gentleman, as I can bear witness to, for I was at the wedding, and never saw a poor body cry as she did. She and her grandmother, old Mrs. Flemming, was often at the rectory ... but I beg pardon, sir; you was speaking of the house. I can’t remember who had it before Mrs. Holdsworth. It’s a long time ago.” Holdsworth raised his head.