He was still intently thinking, and her companionship had now insufficient power
to break or divert the strain of thought. What a weak thing her presence must have
become to him! She could not help addressing Clare.
''What have I done-what HAVE I done! I have not told of anything that interferes
with or belies my love for you. You don't think I planned it, do you? It is in your
own mind what you are angry at, Angel; it is not in me. O, it is not in me, and
I am not that deceitful woman you think me!''
''H'm-well. Not deceitful, my wife; but not the same. No, not the same. But do
not make me reproach you. I have sworn that I will not; and I will do everything
to avoid it.''
But she went on pleading in her distraction; and perhaps said things that would
have been better left to silence.
''Angel!-Angel! I was a child-a child when it happened! I knew nothing of men.''
''You were more sinned against than sinning, that I admit.''
''Then will you not forgive me?''
''I do forgive you, but forgiveness is not all.''
''And love me?''
To this question he did not answer.
''O Angel-my mother says that it sometimes happens so!-she knows several cases
where they were worse than I, and the husband has not minded it much-has got over
it at least. And yet the woman had not loved him as I do you!''
''Don't, Tess; don't argue. Different societies, different manners. You almost
make me say you are an unapprehending peasant woman, who have never been initiated
into the proportions of social things. You don't know what you say.''
''I am only a peasant by position, not by nature!''
She spoke with an impulse to anger, but it went as it came.
''So much the worse for you. I think that parson who unearthed your pedigree
would have done better if he had held his tongue. I cannot help associating your
decline as a family with this other fact-of your want of firmness. Decrepit families
imply decrepit wills, decrepit conduct. Heaven, why did you give me a handle for
despising you more by informing me of your descent! Here was I thinking you a new-sprung
child of nature; there were you, the belated seedling of an effete aristocracy!''
''Lots of families are as bad as mine in that! Retty's family were once large
landowners, and so were Dairyman Billett's. And the Debbyhouses, who now are carters,
were once the De Bayeux family. You find such as I everywhere; 'tis a feature of
our county, and I can't help it.''
''So much the worse for the county.''
She took these reproaches in their bulk simply, not in their particulars; he
did not love her as he had loved her hitherto, and to all else she was indifferent.
They wandered on again in silence. It was said afterwards that a cottager of
Wellbridge, who went out late that night for a doctor, met two lovers in the pastures,
walking very slowly, without converse, one behind the other, as in a funeral procession,
and the glimpse that he obtained of their faces seemed to denote that they were
anxious and sad. Returning later, he passed them again in the same field, progressing
just as slowly, and as regardless of the hour and of the cheerless night as before.
It was only on account of his preoccupation with his own affairs, and the illness
in his house, that he did not bear in mind the curious incident, which, however,
he recalled a long while after.
During the interval of the cottager's going and coming, she had said to her husband-
''I don't see how I can help being the cause of much misery to you all your life.
The river is down there. I can put an end to myself in it. I am not afraid.''
''I don't wish to add murder to my other follies,'' he said.
''I will leave something to show that I did it myself-on account of my shame.
They will not blame you then.''
''Don't speak so absurdly-I wish not to hear it. It is nonsense to have such
thoughts in this kind of case, which is rather one for satirical laughter than for
tragedy. You don't in the least understand the quality of the mishap. It would be
viewed in the light of a joke by nine-tenths of the world if it were known. Please
oblige me by returning to the house, and going to bed.''
''I will,'' said she dutifully.
They had rambled round by a road which led to the well-known ruins of the Cistercian
abbey behind the mill, the latter having, in centuries past, been attached to the
monastic establishment. The mill still worked on, food being a perennial necessity;
the abbey had perished, creeds being transient. One continually sees the ministration
of the temporary outlasting the ministration of the eternal. Their walk having been
circuitous they were still not far from the house, and in obeying his direction
she only had to reach the large stone bridge across the main river, and follow the
road for a few yards. When she got back everything remained as she had left it,
the fire being still burning. She did not stay downstairs for more than a minute,
but proceeded to her chamber, whither the luggage had been taken. Here she sat down
on the edge of the bed, looking blankly around, and presently began to undress.
In removing the light towards the bedstead its rays fell upon the tester of white
dimity; something was hanging beneath it, and she lifted the candle to see what
it was. A bough of mistletoe. Angel had put it there; she knew that in an instant.
This was the explanation of that mysterious parcel which it had been so difficult
to pack and bring; whose contents he would not explain to her, saying that time
would soon show her the purpose thereof. In his zest and his gaiety he had hung
it there. How foolish and inopportune that mistletoe looked now.
Having nothing more to fear, having scarce anything to hope, for that he would
relent there seemed no promise whatever, she lay down dully. When sorrow ceases
to be speculative sleep sees her opportunity. Among so many happier moods which
forbid repose this was a mood which welcomed it, and in a few minutes the lonely
Tess forgot existence, surrounded by the aromatic stillness of the chamber that
had once, possibly, been the bride-chamber of her own ancestry.
Later on that night Clare also retraced his steps to the house. Entering softly
to the sitting-room he obtained a light, and with the manner of one who had considered
his course he spread his rugs upon the old horse-hair sofa which stood there, and
roughly shaped it to a sleeping-couch. Before lying down he crept shoeless upstairs,
and listened at the door of her apartment. Her measured breathing told that she
was sleeping profoundly.
''Thank God!'' murmured Clare; and yet he was conscious of a pang of bitterness
at the thought-approximately true, though not wholly so-that having shifted the
burden of her life to his shoulders she was now reposing without care.
He turned away to descend; then, irresolute, faced round to her door again. In
the act he caught sight of one of the d'Urberville dames, whose portrait was immediately
over the entrance to Tess's bedchamber. In the candlelight the painting was more
than unpleasant. Sinister design lurked in the woman's features, a concentrated
purpose of revenge on the other sex-so it seemed to him then. The Caroline bodice
of the portrait was low-precisely as Tess's had been when he tucked it in to show
the necklace; and again he experienced the distressing sensation of a resemblance
The check was sufficient. He resumed his retreat and descended.
His air remained calm and cold, his small compressed mouth indexing his powers
of self-control; his face wearing still that terrible sterile expression which had
spread thereon since her disclosure. It was the face of a man who was no longer
passion's slave, yet who found no advantage in his enfranchisement. He was simply
regarding the harrowing contingencies of human experience, the unexpectedness of
things. Nothing so pure, so sweet, so virginal as Tess had seemed possible all the
long while that he had adored her, up to an hour ago; but
The little less, and what worlds away!
He argued erroneously when he said to himself that her heart was not indexed
in the honest freshness of her face; but Tess had no advocate to set him right.
Could it be possible, he continued, that eyes which as they gazed never expressed
any divergence from what the tongue was telling, were yet ever seeing another world
behind her ostensible one, discordant and contrasting?
He reclined on his couch in the sitting-room, and extinguished the light. The
night came in, and took up its place there, unconcerned and indifferent; the night
which had already swallowed up his happiness, and was now digesting it listlessly;
and was ready to swallow up the happiness of a thousand other people with as little
disturbance or change of mien.
Clare arose in the light of a dawn that was ashy and furtive, as though associated
with crime. The fireplace confronted him with its extinct embers; the spread supper-table,
whereon stood the two full glasses of untasted wine, now flat and filmy; her vacated
seat and his own; the other articles of furniture, with their eternal look of not
being able to help it, their intolerable inquiry what was to be done? From above
there was no sound; but in a few minutes there came a knock at the door. He remembered
that it would be the neighbouring cottager's wife, who was to minister to their
wants while they remained here.
The presence of a third person in the house would be extremely awkward just now,
and, being already dressed, he opened the window and informed her that they could
manage to shift for themselves that morning. She had a milk-can in her hand, which
he told her to leave at the door. When the dame had gone away he searched in the
back quarters of the house for fuel, and speedily lit a fire. There was plenty of
eggs, butter, bread, and so on in the larder, and Clare soon had breakfast laid,
his experiences at the dairy having rendered him facile in domestic preparations.
The smoke of the kindled wood rose from the chimney without like a lotus-headed
column; local people who were passing by saw it, and thought of the newly-married
couple, and envied their happiness.
Angel cast a final glance round, and then going to the foot of the stairs, called
in a conventional voice-
''Breakfast is ready!''
He opened the front door, and took a few steps in the morning air. When, after
a short space, he came back she was already in the sitting-room mechanically readjusting
the breakfast things. As she was fully attired, and the interval since his calling
her had been but two or three minutes, she must have been dressed or nearly so before
he went to summon her. Her hair was twisted up in a large round mass at the back
of her head, and she had put on one of the new frocks– a pale blue woollen garment
with neck-frillings of white. Her hands and face appeared to be cold, and she had
possibly been sitting dressed in the bedroom a long time without any fire. The marked
civility of Clare's tone in calling her seemed to have inspired her, for the moment,
with a new glimmer of hope. But it soon died when she looked at him.
The pair were, in truth, but the ashes of their former fires. To the hot sorrow
of the previous night had succeeded heaviness; it seemed as if nothing could kindle
either of them to fervour of sensation any more.
He spoke gently to her, and she replied with a like undemonstrativeness. At last
she came up to him, looking in his sharply-defined face as one who had no consciousness
that her own formed a visible object also.
''Angel!'' she said, and paused, touching him with her fingers lightly as a breeze,
as though she could hardly believe to be there in the flesh the man who was once
her lover. Her eyes were bright, her pale cheek still showed its wonted roundness,
though half-dried tears had left glistening traces thereon; and the usually ripe
red mouth was almost as pale as her cheek. Throbbingly alive as she was still, under
the stress of her mental grief the life beat so brokenly, that a little further
pull upon it would cause real illness, dull her characteristic eyes, and make her
She looked absolutely pure. Nature, in her fantastic trickery, had set such a
seal of maidenhood upon Tess's countenance that he gazed at her with a stupefied
''Tess! Say it is not true! No, it is not true!''
''It is true.''
He looked at her imploringly, as if he would willingly have taken a lie from
her lips, knowing it to be one, and have made of it, by some sort of sophistry,
a valid denial. However, she only repeated-
''It is true.''
''Is he living?'' Angel then asked.
''The baby died.''
''But the man?''
''He is alive.''
A last despair passed over Clare's face.
''Is he in England?''
He took a few vague steps.
''My position-is this,'' he said abruptly. ''I thought– any man would have thought-that
by giving up all ambition to win a wife with social standing, with fortune, with
knowledge of the world, I should secure rustic innocence as surely as I should secure
pink cheeks; but-However, I am no man to reproach you, and I will not.''
Tess felt his position so entirely that the remainder had not been needed. Therein
lay just the distress of it; she saw that he had lost all round.
''Angel-I should not have let it go on to marriage with you if I had not known
that, after all, there was a last way out of it for you; though I hoped you would
Her voice grew husky.
''A last way?''
''I mean, to get rid of me. You CAN get rid of me.''