Tess shook her head.But d'Urberville persisted; she had seldom seen him so determined; he would not take a negative.
“Please jus t te ll y our mother, ”he said, in e mphatic ton es.“It is h er business to iudge—not y ours.I shall get the hou se swept out and whiten ed tomorrow morning, and fires lit; and it will be dry by the evening, so that y ou can come straight there.Now mind, I shall expect you.”
Tess again shook her head; her thro at swelling with co mplicated emotion.She could not look up at d'Urberville.
“I owe y ou something f or th e p ast, you know, ”he resu med.“And y ou cured me, too, of that craze; so I am glad——”
“I would rather y ou had kept the craze, so th at you had kep t the practicewhich went with it！”
“I am glad o f this oppor tunity of rep aying you a little.Tomorrow I shall expect to hear your mother's goods unloading……Give me your hand on it now—dear, beautiful Tess！”
With the last sentence he had dropped his voice to a murmur, and put his hand in at the ha lf-open casement.With stormy eyes she pu lled the stay-bar quickly, and, in doing so, caught his arm between the casement and the sto ne mullion.
“Damnation—you are very cruel！”he said, snatching out his arm.“No, no！—I know you didn't do it on purpose.Well, I shall expect you, or your mother and the children at least.”
“I shall not come—I have plenty of money！”she cried.
“Where?”
“At my father-in-law's, if I ask for it.”
“If you ask for it.Bu t you won't, Tess; I know you; you'll never ask for it—you'll starve first！”
With these words he rode of f.Just at the co rner of the stree t he met the man with the paint-pot, who asked him if he had deserted the brethren.
“You go to the devil！”said d'Urberville.
Tess remained where she was a long while, till a sudden rebellious sense of injustice caused the region of her eyes to swell with the rush of hot tears thither.Her husband, Angel Clare himself, had, like o thers, dealt o ut hard measure to her, surely he had！She h ad never b efore admitted such a thou ght; but he h ad surely！Never in her life—she could swear it from the bottom of her soul—had she ever intended to do wrong; yet these hard judgments had come.Whatever her sins, they were not sins of intention, but of inadvertence, and why should she have been punished so persistently?
She passion ately seized the f irst pie ce of paper that came to hand, an d scribbled the following lines：
O why have you treated me so monstrously, Angel！I do no t deserve it.I have thought it all over carefully, and I can never, never forgive you！You know that I d id not intend to wrong you—why have y ou so wronged me?You are cruel, cruel indeed！I will try to forget you.It is all injustice I h ave received atyour hands！
T.
She watched till the pos tman passed by, ran out to him with her epistle, and then again took her listless place inside the window-panes.
It was just as well to write like that as to write tenderly.How could he give way to entr eaty?The facts had n ot changed：th ere was no event to a lter his opinion.
It grew darker, the fire-light shining over the room.The two biggest of the younger children had go ne out with their mother; the four s mallest, their ages ranging fro m three-and-a-half y ears to elev en, all in bla ck frocks, were gathered rou nd the hear th babbling their own little sub jects.Tess at length joined them, without lighting a candle.
“This is the last night that we shall sleep here, dears, in the house where we were born, “she said quickly.“We ought to think of it, oughtn't we?”
They all became silent; with the impressibility of their age they were ready to burst into tears at the picture or finality she had conjured up, though all the day hitherto they had been rejoicing in the id ea of a new place.T ess changed the subject.
“Sing to me, dears, ”she said.
“What shall we sing?”
“Anything you know; I don't mind.”
There was a momentary pause; it was br oken, first, by one little ten tative note; then a second voice strengthened it, and a third and a fourth chimed in in unison, with words they had learnt at the Sundayschool—
Here we suffer grief and pain,
Here we meet to part again;
In Heaven we part no more.
The four san g on with th e phlegmatic passivity of persons who had long ago settled the question, and there being no mistake about it, felt that fur ther thought was not required.With features strained hard to enunciate the syllables they continu ed to reg ard the centre of the f lickering f ire, th e notes of the youngest straying over into the pauses of the rest.
Tess turned from them, and went to the window again.Darkn ess had nowfallen without, but she put her face to the pane as though to peer into the gloom.It was really to hide her tears.If she could only believe what the children were singing; if she were only sure, how different all would now be; how confidently she would leave th em to Providence and their futu re kingdom！But, in d efault of that, it behoved her to do something; to be their Providence; for to Tess, as to not a few millions of others, there was ghastly satire in the poet's lines—
Not in utter nakedness
But trailing clouds of glory do we come.
To her and her like, b irth itself was an or deal of d egrading personal compulsion, whose gratuicousness nothing in the result seemed to justify, and at best could only palliate.
In the shad es of the wet road sh e soon discerned her mother with tall'Liza-Lu and Abraham.Mrs.Durbeyfield's pattens clicked up to the door, and Tess opened it.
“I see the tr acks of a ho rse outside the window, ”said Joan.“Hev some-body called?”
“No, “said Tess.
The children by the fire looked gravely at her, and one murmured—
“Why, Tess, the gentleman a-horseback！”
“He didn't call, ”said Tess.“He spoke to me in passing.”
“Who was the gentleman?”asked her mother.“Your husband?”
“No.He'll never, never come, ”answered Tess in stony hopelessness.
“Then who was it?”
“Oh, you needn't ask.You've seen him before, and so have I.”
“Ah！What did he say?”said Joan curiously.
“I will tell you when we are settled in our lodgings at Kingsbere tomorrow—every word.”It was not her husband, she had said.Yet a consciousness that in a phy sical sense this man alone was her husband seemed to weigh o n her more and more.
52
During the small hours of the next morning, while it was still dark, dwellers near the highway s were con scious of a disturbance, of th eir nigh t's rest by rumbling noises, intermittently continuing till daylightnoises as certain to recur in this particular first week of the month as the voice of the cuckoo in the third week of the same.They were the preliminaries of the general removal, the passing of the empty waggons and teams to fetch the goods of the migrating families; for it was alw ays b y the vehicle of the far mer w ho required his services that the hired man was conveyed to his destination.That this might be accomplished within the day was the explanation of the reverberation occurring so soon after midnight, the aim of the carters being to reach the door of the outgoing ho useholds by six o'clock, when the load ing of their movables at once began.
But to T ess and her mother's household no such anxious farmer sent h is team.They were only women; they were not reg ular labourers; they were no t particularly required anywhere; hence they had to hire a waggon at their own expense, and got nothing sent gratuitously.
It was a relief to Tess, when she looked out of the window that morning, to find that though the weather was windy and louring, it did not rain, and that the waggon had co me.A w et Lady-Day was a spectre which r emoving families never for got, dam p furn iture, damp b edding, damp clo thing acco mpanied it, and left a train of ills.
Her m other, 'Liza-Lu, and Abraham were also awake, but the y ounger children wer e let sleep on.The fou r breakfasted by the thin light, and the“house-ridding”was taken in hand.
It proceeded with some cheerfulness, a friendly neighbour or two assisting.When the large articles of furniture had been packed in position a circular nest was made of the beds an d bedding, in which Joan Durbey field and the y oung children were to sit through the jour ney.After loading there was a long delay before th e horses were brought, th ese having b een unharn essed during the ridding; bu t at length, about two o'clock, the whole was under way, the cooking-pot swinging f rom th e axle of the waggon, Mrs.Durbeyfield and family at the top, the matron having in her lap, to prevent injury to its works, the head of the clock, w hich, at any exceptional lurch of th e waggon, stru ck one, or one-and-a-half, in hurt to nes.Tess and the nex t eldest girl walk ed alongside till they were out of the village.
They had called on a few neighbo urs that morning and the prev ious evening, and some came to see them off, all wishing them well, though, in their secret hearts, hardly expecting welfare possible to such a family, harmless as the Durb eyfields wer e to all except themselves.Soon the eq uipage beg an to ascend to higher ground, and th e wind grew keen er with the change of level and soil.
The day being the sixth of April, the Durbeyfield waggon met many other waggons with fam ilies on the su mmit of th e load, which was built o n a wellnigh unvarying principle, as peculiar, probably, to the rur al labourer as the hexagon to the bee.The groundwork of the arrangement was the family dresser, which, with its shin ing handles, and finger-marks, and do mestic ev idences thick upon it, stood importantly in front, over the tails of the shafthorses, in its erect and natural position, like some Ark of the Covenant that they were bound to carry reverently.
Some of the households were lively, some mournful; some were stopping at the doors of wayside inns; where, in due time, the Durb eyfield menagerie also drew up to bait horses and refresh the travellers.
During the halt Tess's e yes fell upo n a thr ee-pint blu e mug, which was ascending and descending through the air to and from the feminine section of a household, sitting on the summit of a load that had also dr awn up at a little distance from the same inn.She fo llowed one of the mug's journeys upward, and perceived it to be clasped by hands whose owner she well knew.Tess went towards the waggon.
“Marian and Izz！”she cried to the girls, for it was they, sitting with the moving family at whose house they had lodged.“Are you house-ridding today, like everybody else?”
They were, they said.I t had been too rough a life for them at Flintcomb-Ash, and th ey had co me away, alm ost w ithout no tice, leaving Groby to prosecute them if he chose.They told Tess their destination, and Tess told them hers.
Marian leant over the load, and lower ed her voice.“Do you know that the gentleman who follows'ee—yon'll guess who I mean—came to ask for'ee at Flintcomb after you had gone?We didn't tell'n where you was, knowing y ou wouldn't wish to see him.”
“Ah—but I did see him！”Tess murmured.“He found me.”
“And do he know where you be going?”
“I think so.”
“Husband come back?”
“No.”
She bade her acquaintan ce good-bye—for the res pective carters had now come ou t fr om the inn—and the two waggons resumed their jo urney in opposite directions; the vehicle whereon sat Mar ian, Izz, and the ploughman's family with whom they had thrown in th eir lot, being br ightly painted, and drawn by three powerful horses with shining brass ornaments on their harness; while th e waggon on which Mrs.Durbey field and her fam ily rode was a creaking erection that w ould scarcely bear the weight of the superincumbent load; on e which had kn own no paint since it was m ade, and drawn by t wo horses only.The contrast well marked the difference between being fetched b y a thriving farmer and conveying oneself whither no hirer waited one's coming.
The distance was great—too great for a day's journey—and it was with the utmost difficulty that the horses performed it.Though they had started so early it was quite late in the afternoon wh en they turned the f lank of an emin ence which formed part of the upland called Greenh ill.While the horses stood to stale and breathe themselves Tess looked around.Under the hill, and just ahead of th em, was the halfdead town let o f the ir pi lgrimage, Kings bere, wh ere lay those an cestors of whom her f ather had spoken and sung to painfu lness：Kingsbere, the spot of all spo ts in the world which cou ld be considered the d'Urbervilles'home, since they had resided there for full five hundred years.
A man could be seen advancing from the outskirts towards them, and when he beheld the nature of their waggon-load he quickened his steps.
“You be the wom an they call Mrs.Durbey field, I reckon?”he said toTess's mother, who had descended to walk the remainder of the way.
She nodded.“Though w idow of the late Sir John d'Urberville, poo r nobleman, if I cared f or my righ ts; and retur ning to the do main o f his forefathers.”
“Oh?Well, I know nothing about that; but if y ou be Mrs.Durbey field, I am sent to tell'ee that the rooms you wanted be let.We didn't know you was coming till we got your letter this morning—when'twas too late.But no doubt you can get other lodgings somewhere.”
The man had noticed the face of Tess, which had beco me ash-pale at h is intelligence, Her m other looked hopelessly at fau lt.“What sh all we do n ow, Tess?”she said bitterly.“Here's a welcome to your ancestors'lands！However, let's try further.”
They moved on in to the town, and tried with all their might, Tess remaining w ith the wag gon to take care of the childr en whilst h er mother and'Liza-Lu made inquiries.At the last return of J oan to the vehicle, an hour later, when her search for accommodation had still been fruitle ss, the driver of the waggon said the goods must be unloaded, as the horses were half-dead, and he was bound to return part of the way at least that night.
“Very we ll—unload it here, ”sa id Joan r ecklessly.“I'll get she lter somewhere.”
The waggon had drawn up under the churchyard wall, in a sp ot screened from view, and the dr iver, noth ing lo th, soon hau led down th e poor heap o f household goods.This d one she paid him, reducing herself to almost her last shilling thereby, and he moved off and left them, only too glad to get ou t of further dealings with such a family.It was a dry night, and he guessed that they would come to no harm.
Tess gazed desperately at the pile o f furniture.The cold sunlight of this spring even ing peered invidious ly upon the cro cks and kettles, upon the bunches of dried herbs shivering in the breeze, u pon the bras s handles of the dresser, upo n the wicker-cradle they had all been rocked in, and upon the well-rubbed clock-case, all of which g ave out the reproachful gleam of indoor articles aban doned to th e vicissitudes of a roofless exposure for which th ey were never made.Round about were deparked hills and slopes—now cut up into little paddocks—and the green foundations that showed where the d'Urberville mansion once had stood; also an ou tlying stretch of Egdon Heath that had alw ays belonged to the estate.Hard by, the aisle of the church called the d'Urberville Aisle looked on imperturbably.
“Isn't y our family vault your own freehold?”said Tess's mother, as s he returned from a reconnoitre of the ch urch and gr aveyard.“Why of course'tis, and that's where we will camp, girls, till the place of your ancestors finds us a roof！Now Tess and'Liza and Abraham, you help m e.We'll make a nes t for these children, and then we'll have another look round.”
Tess listlessly lent a h and, and in a quarter of an hour th e o ld fourpos t bedstead was dissociated from the heap of goods, and erected under the south wall of the church, the part of the building known as the d'Urberville Aisle, beneath which the huge vaults lay.Over the tester of the bedstead was a beautifully traceried window, of many lights, its date being the fifteenth century.It was called th e d'Urberville Window, and in th e upp er part cou ld be discerned heraldic emblems like those on Durbeyfield's old seal and spoon.
Joan drew the curtains round the bed so as to make an excellent tent of it, and put the smaller children inside.“If it comes to the worst we can sleep there too, for one night, ”she s aid.“But let us try further on, and g et something for the dears to eat！O, Tess, what's the use of your playing at marrying gentlemen, if it leaves us like this！”
Accompanied by'Liza-Lu and th e boy she again ascended the little lane which secluded the church from the townlet.As soon as they got into the street they beheld a man on horseback gazing up and d own.“Ah—I'm looking for you！”he sai d, rid ing up to them.“This is ind eed a f amily gather ing on t he historic spot！”
It was Alec d'Urberville.“Where is Tess?”he asked.
Personally Joan had no lik ing for Alec.She cursorily signif ied the direction of the church, and went on, d'Urberville say ing that he would see them again, in case they should be still unsuccessful in their search for shelter, of which he had just heard.When they had gone d'Urberville rode to the inn, and shortly after came out on foot.
In the interim Tess, lef t with th e ch ildren insi de the beds tead, re mained talking with them awhile, till, seeing that no more could be done to make them comfortable just then, she walked ab out the chur chyard, now beginn ing to beembrowned by the shades of nigh tfall.The door of the church was unfastened, and she entered it for the first time in her life.
Within the window under which the bedstead stood were the tombs of the family, cov ering in th eir dates s everal centuries.They were canopied, altar-shaped, and p lain; their carvings being defaced and br oken; their brasses torn fro m t he matrices, the r ivet-holes re maining lik e marten-holes in a sand-cliff.Of all the reminders that she had ever received that her people were socially extinct there was none so forcible as this spoliation.
She drew near to a dark stone on which was inscribed：
Ostium sepulchri antiquce familice d'Urberville.
Tess did not read Church-Latin like a Cardinal, but she knew that th is was the door of her ancestral sepulchre, and that the tall knights of whom her father had chanted in his cups lay inside.
She musingly turned to withdraw, passing near an altar tomb, the oldest of them all, on which was a recu mbent figure.In the dusk she had not noticed it before, and would hard ly have noticed it now b ut for an odd fancy th at th e effigy moved.As soon as she drew close to it she discovered all in a moment that the figure was a living person; and the shock to her sense of not having been alone was so violent that she was quite overcome, and sank down nigh to fainting, not however till she had recognized Alec d'Urberville in the form.
He leapt off the slab and supported her.
“I saw you come in, ”he said s miling, “and got up there not to in terrupt your meditations.A family gathering, is it not, with these o ld fellows under us here?Listen.”
He stamped with his h eel heavily on the floor; w hereupon there arose a hollow echo from below.
“That shook them a bit, I'll warrant！”he continued.“And y ou thought I was the mere stone rep roduction of one of them.But no.The old or der changeth.The little finger of the sh am d'Urberville can do more for you than the whole dynasty of the real und erneath……No w command me.What shall I do?”
“Go away！”she murmured.
“I will—I'll look for your mother, ”said he bland ly.But in pass ing her he whispered：“Mind this; you'll be civil yet！”
When h e was gone she bent down u pon th e entrance to th e vaults, an d said—
“Why am I on the wrong side of this door！”
In th e meantime Mar ian and Izz Hu ett had journeyed onward with the chattels of the ploughman in the direction of their land of Canaan—the Egypt of some other family who had left it only that morning.But the girls did not for a long time think of where they were going.Their talk was of Angel Clare and Tess, and Tess's persistent lover, whose connection with her previous history they had partly heard and partly guessed ere this.
“'Tisn't as though she h ad nev er known him af ore, ”said Marian.“His having won her once makes all the dif ference in th e world.'Twould be a thousand pities if he were to to le h er away again.Mr.Clar e can never be anything to us, Izz; and why should we grudge him to her, and not try to mend this qu arrel?If he could on'y kno w what str aits she's put to, and wh at's hovering round, he might come to take care of his own.”
“Could we let him know?”
They though t of this all the way to their des tination; bu t the bustle o f re-establishment in their new place took up all their attention then.But when they were settled, a month later, th ey heard of Clare's approachin g return, though they had learnt nothing more of Tess.Upon that, agitated anew by their attachment to him, yet honourably disposed to her, Marian uncorked the penny ink-bottle they shared, and a few lines were concocted between the two girls.
HONOU R'D SIR—Look to your Wife if you do not love her as m uch as she do love you.For she is sor e put to by an En emy in the shape of a Friend.Sir, there is one near h er who ought to be Away.A woman should not b e try'd beyond her Strength, and continual dropping will wear away a Stone—ay, more—a Diamond.
From Two Well-Wishers.
This they addressed to Angel C lare at the on ly place they had ever heard him to be connected with, Emminster Vicarage; after which they continued in a mood of emotional exaltation at their own generosity, which made them sing in hysterical snatches and weep at the same time.
