Her lover, who had only looked on at the rat-catching, was promptly at her side.
''What-after all-my insulting slap, too!'' said she in an underbreath. She was
so utterly exhausted that she had not strength to speak louder.
''I should indeed be foolish to feel offended at anything you say or do,'' he
answered, in the seductive voice of the Trantridge time. ''How the little limbs
tremble! You are as weak as a bled calf, you know you are; and yet you need have
done nothing since I arrived. How could you be so obstinate? However, I have told
the farmer that he has no right to employ women at steam-threshing. It is not proper
work for them; and on all the better class of farms it has been given up, as he
knows very well. I will walk with you as far as your home.''
''O yes,'' she answered with a jaded gait. ''Walk wi' me if you will! I do bear
in mind that you came to marry me before you knew o' my state. Perhaps-perhaps you
are a little better and kinder than I have been thinking you were. Whatever is meant
by kindness I am grateful for; whatever is meant in any other way I am angered at.
I cannot sense your meaning sometimes.''
''If I cannot legitimize our former relations at least I can assist you. And
I will do it with much more regard for your feelings than I formerly showed. My
religious mania, or whatever it was, is over. But I retain a little good nature;
I hope I do. Now, Tess, by all that's tender and strong between man and woman, trust
me! I have enough and more than enough to put you out of anxiety, both for yourself
and your parents and sisters. I can make them all comfortable if you will only show
confidence in me.''
''Have you seen 'em lately?'' she quickly inquired.
''Yes. They didn't know where you were. It was only by chance that I found you
The cold moon looked aslant upon Tess's fagged face between the twigs of the
garden-hedge as she paused outside the cottage which was her temporary home, d'Urberville
pausing beside her.
''Don't mention my little brothers and sisters-don't make me break down quite!''
she said. ''If you want to help them-God knows they need it-do it without telling
me. But no, no!'' she cried. ''I will take nothing from you, either for them or
He did not accompany her further, since, as she lived with the household, all
was public indoors. No sooner had she herself entered, laved herself in a washing-tub,
and shared supper with the family than she fell into thought, and withdrawing to
the table under the wall, by the light of her own little lamp wrote in a passionate
MY OWN HUSBAND,-Let me call you so-I must-even if it makes you angry to think
of such an unworthy wife as I. I must cry to you in my trouble-I have no one else!
I am so exposed to temptation, Angel. I fear to say who it is, and I do not like
to write about it at all. But I cling to you in a way you cannot think! Can you
not come to me now, at once, before anything terrible happens? O, I know you cannot,
because you are so far away! I think I must die if you do not come soon, or tell
me to come to you. The punishment you have measured out to me is deserved-I do know
that-well deserved-and you are right and just to be angry with me. But, Angel, please,
please, not to be just-only a little kind to me, even if I do not deserve it, and
come to me! If you would come, I could die in your arms! I would be well content
to do that if so be you had forgiven me!
Angel, I live entirely for you. I love you too much to blame you for going away,
and I know it was necessary you should find a farm. Do not think I shall say a word
of sting or bitterness. Only come back to me. I am desolate without you, my darling,
O, so desolate! I do not mind having to work: but if you will send me one little
line, and say, ''I AM COMING SOON,'' I will bide on, Angel-O, so cheerfully!
It has been so much my religion ever since we were married to be faithful to
you in every thought and look, that even when a man speaks a compliment to me before
I am aware, it seems wronging you. Have you never felt one little bit of what you
used to feel when we were at the dairy? If you have, how can you keep away from
me? I am the same women, Angel, as you fell in love with; yes, the very same!-not
the one you disliked but never saw. What was the past to me as soon as I met you?
It was a dead thing altogether. I became another woman, filled full of new life
from you. How could I be the early one? Why do you not see this? Dear, if you would
only be a little more conceited, and believe in yourself so far as to see that you
were strong enough to work this change in me, you would perhaps be in a mind to
come to me, your poor wife.
How silly I was in my happiness when I thought I could trust you always to love
me! I ought to have known that such as that was not for poor me. But I am sick at
heart, not only for old times, but for the present. Think-think how it do hurt my
heart not to see you ever-ever! Ah, if I could only make your dear heart ache one
little minute of each day as mine does every day and all day long, it might lead
you to show pity to your poor lonely one.
People still say that I am rather pretty, Angel (handsome is the word they use,
since I wish to be truthful). Perhaps I am what they say. But I do not value my
good looks; I only like to have them because they belong to you, my dear, and that
there may be at least one thing about me worth your having. So much have I felt
this, that when I met with annoyance on account of the same I tied up my face in
a bandage as long as people would believe in it. O Angel, I tell you all this not
from vanity-you will certainly know I do not-but only that you may come to me!
If you really cannot come to me will you let me come to you? I am, as I say,
worried, pressed to do what I will not do. It cannot be that I shall yield one inch,
yet I am in terror as to what an accident might lead to, and I so defenceless on
account of my first error. I cannot say more about this-it makes me too miserable.
But if I break down by falling into some fearful snare, my last state will be worse
than my first. O God, I cannot think of it! Let me come at once, or at once come
I would be content, ay, glad, to live with you as your servant, if I may not
as your wife; so that I could only be near you, and get glimpses of you, and think
of you as mine.
The daylight has nothing to show me, since you are not here, and I don't like
to see the rooks and starlings in the field, because I grieve and grieve to miss
you who used to see them with me. I long for only one thing in heaven or earth or
under the earth, to meet you, my own dear! Come to me-come to me, and save me from
what threatens me! - Your faithful heartbroken
The appeal duly found its way to the breakfast-table of the quiet Vicarage to the
westward, in that valley where the air is so soft and the soil so rich that the
effort of growth requires but superficial aid by comparison with the tillage at
Flintcomb-Ash, and where to Tess the human world seemed so different (though it
was much the same). It was purely for security that she had been requested by Angel
to send her communications through his father, whom he kept pretty well informed
of his changing addresses in the country he had gone to exploit for himself with
a heavy heart.
''Now,'' said old Mr Clare to his wife, when he had read the envelope, ''if Angel
proposes leaving Rio for a visit home at the end of next month, as he told us that
he hoped to do, I think this may hasten his plans; for I believe it to be from his
wife.'' He breathed deeply at the thought of her; and the letter was redirected
to be promptly sent on to Angel.
''Dear fellow, I hope he will get home safely,'' murmured Mrs Clare. ''To my
dying day I shall feel that he had been ill-used. You should have sent him to Cambridge
in spite of his want of faith, and given him the same chance as the other boys had.
He would have grown out of it under proper influence, and perhaps would have taken
Orders after all. Church or no Church, it would have been fairer to him.''
This was the only wail with which Mrs Clare ever disturbed her husband's peace
in respect to their sons. And she did not vent this often; for she was as considerate
as she was devout, and knew that his mind too was troubled by doubts as to his justice
in this matter. Only too often had she heard him lying awake at night, stifling
sighs for Angel with prayers. But the uncompromising Evangelical did not even now
hold that he would have been justified in giving his son, an unbeliever, the same
academic advantages that he had given to the two others, when it was possible, if
not probable, that those very advantages might have been used to decry the doctrines
which he had made it his life's mission and desire to propagate, and the mission
of his ordained sons likewise. To put with one hand a pedestal under the feet of
the two faithful ones, and with the other to exalt the unfaithful by the same artificial
means, he deemed to be alike inconsistent with his convictions, his position, and
his hopes. Nevertheless, he loved his misnamed Angel, and in secret mourned over
this treatment of him as Abraham might have mourned over the doomed Isaac while
they went up the hill together. His silent self-generated regrets were far bitterer
than the reproaches which his wife rendered audible.
They blamed themselves for this unlucky marriage. If Angel had never been destined
for a farmer he would never have been thrown with agricultural girls. They did not
distinctly know what had separated him and his wife, nor the date on which the separation
had taken place. At first they had supposed it must be something of the nature of
a serious aversion. But in his later letters he occasionally alluded to the intention
of coming home to fetch her; from which expressions they hoped the division might
not owe its origin to anything so hopelessly permanent as that. He had told them
that she was with her relatives, and in their doubts they had decided not to intrude
into a situation which they knew no way of bettering.
The eyes for which Tess's letter was intended were gazing at this time on a limitless
expanse of country from the back of a mule which was bearing him from the interior
of the South-American Continent towards the coast. His experiences of this strange
land had been sad. The severe illness from which he had suffered shortly after his
arrival had never wholly left him, and he had by degrees almost decided to relinquish
his hope of farming here, though, as long as the bare possibility existed of his
remaining, he kept this change of view a secret from his parents.
The crowds of agricultural labourers who had come out to the country in his wake,
dazzled by representations of easy independence, had suffered, died, and wasted
away. He would see mothers from English farms trudging along with their infants
in their arms, when the child would be stricken with fever and would die; the mother
would pause to dig a hole in the loose earth with her bare hands, would bury the
babe therein with the same natural grave-tools, shed one tear, and again trudge
Angel's original intention had not been emigration to Brazil but a northern or
eastern farm in his own country. He had come to this place in a fit of desperation,
the Brazil movement among the English agriculturists having by chance coincided
with his desire to escape from his past existence.
During this time of absence he had mentally aged a dozen years. What arrested
him now as of value in life was less its beauty than its pathos. Having long discredited
the old systems of mysticism, he now began to discredit the old appraisements of
morality. He thought they wanted readjusting. Who was the moral man? Still more
pertinently, who was the moral woman? The beauty or ugliness of a character lay
not only in its achievements, but in its aims and impulses; its true history lay,
not among things done, but among things willed.
How, then, about Tess?
Viewing her in these lights, a regret for his hasty judgement began to oppress
him. Did he reject her eternally, or did he not? He could no longer say that he
would always reject her, and not to say that was in spirit to accept her now.
This growing fondness for her memory coincided in point of time with her residence
at Flintcomb-Ash, but it was before she had felt herself at liberty to trouble him
with a word about her circumstances or her feelings. He was greatly perplexed; and
in his perplexity as to her motives in withholding intelligence he did not inquire.
Thus her silence of docility was misinterpreted. How much it really said if he had
understood!-that she adhered with literal exactness to orders which he had given
and forgotten; that despite her natural fearlessness she asserted no rights, admitted
his judgement to be in every respect the true one, and bent her head dumbly thereto.
In the before-mentioned journey by mules through the interior of the country,
another man rode beside him. Angel's companion was also an Englishman, bent on the
same errand, though he came from another part of the island. They were both in a
state of mental depression, and they spoke of home affairs. Confidence begat confidence.
With that curious tendency evinced by men, more especially when in distant lands,
to entrust to strangers details of their lives which they would on no account mention
to friends, Angel admitted to this man as they rode along the sorrowful facts of
his marriage. The stranger had sojourned in many more lands and among many more
peoples than Angel; to his cosmopolitan mind such deviations from the social norm,
so immense to domesticity, were no more than are the irregularities of vale and
mountain-chain to the whole terrestrial curve. He viewed the matter in quite a different
light from Angel; thought that what Tess had been was of no importance beside what
she would be, and plainly told Clare that he was wrong in coming away from her.
The next day they were drenched in a thunder-storm. Angel's companion was struck
down with fever, and died by the week's end. Clare waited a few hours to bury him,
and then went on his way.