Troy Hives the Bees for Bathsheba — Far from the Madding Crowd

The day after the hayfield talk, in the latter part of June, the Weatherbury bees swarm late and unruly and settle on the top of a tall costard tree, where only a ladder will reach them. Everyone is busy at the hay, even Liddy, so Bathsheba decides to hive them herself. She dresses the hive with herbs and honey, fetches a ladder, brush and crook, and covers herself in leather gloves, a straw hat and a gauze veil faded to the colour of snuff. A dozen rungs up she hears a voice that has begun to have a strange power over her. Troy is opening the garden gate.

She slides down the ladder in a flurry. He offers to do the work, and since he must have the hat, veil and gloves or be stung, she puts them on him, tying the veil round his collar. He looks so absurd in her hat that she laughs outright, which Hardy counts as one more stake pulled from the palisade of cold manners. He shakes the bees into the hive while she tidies herself behind his back. Then, as she unties the veil from his neck, she says she has never seen the sword-exercise he spoke of. He says that she shall, that evening, and murmurs a suggestion that makes her blush. She says she could not, and then that she would have to bring Liddy. He says coldly that he does not see why. Her eyes betray her: she has already felt that Liddy would be superfluous.

'Well, I won't bring Liddy, and I'll come,' she says. 'But only for a very short time.' Troy tells her that it will not take five minutes.