"'d rather try to get work," she murmured."Durbeyfield, you can settle it," said his wife, turning to where he sat in the background. "If you say sheoughtto go, shewill go.""I don't like my children going and making themselves beholden to strange kin," murmured he."T'm thehead of the noblestbranch o'thefamily,and I ought to live up to it."His reasons for staying away were worse to Tess than her own objections to going."Well, as I killed thehorse, mother," she said mournfully,"I suppose I ought to do something. I don't mind going and seeingher, but you must leave it to me about asking for help. And don't go thinking about her making a matchfor me--it is silly." "Very well said, Tess!" observed her father sententiously."Who said I had such a thought?" asked Joan."I fancy it is in your mind, mother. But 'll go."Rising early next day she walked to the hill-town called Shaston,and there took advantage of a vanwhich twice in the week ranfrom Shaston eastward to Chaseborough,passing near Trantridge,the parishin which the vague and mysterious Mrs d'Urberville had her residence.Tess Durbeyfield's route on this memorable morning lay amid the north-eastern undulations of the Valein which she had been born,and in which her life had unfolded.TheVale of Blackmoor was to her theworld, and its inhabitants theracesthereof.From thegates and stilesof Marlott shehad looked down itslength inthewonderingdays of infancy,and what had beenmysterytoher thenwas notmuch less thanmystery to her now. She had seen daily from her chamber-window towers, villages, faint white mansions;above all the town of Shaston standing majestically on its height; its windows shining like lamps in theevening sun. She had hardly ever visited the place, only a small tract even of the Vale and its environsbeing known to her by close inspection. Much less had she been far outside the valley. Every contour ofthe surrounding hills was as personal to her as that of her relatives'faces, but for what lay beyond herjudgment was dependent on the teaching of the village school, where she had held a leading place at thetime of her leaving, a year or two before this date.In those early days she had been much loved by others of her own sex and age, and had used to be seenabout the village as one of three--all nearly of the same year--walking home from school side by side:Tess the middle one--in a pink print pinafore,of a finely reticulated pattern, worn over a stuff frock thathad lost its original colour for a nondescript tertiary--marching on upon long stalky legs, in tightstockings which had little ladder-like holes at theknees,torn by kneeling in the roads and banks in searchof vegetable and mineral treasures:her then earth-coloured hair handing like pot-hooks:the arms of thetwo outside girls resting round the waist of Tess; her arms on the shoulders of the two supporters.As Tess grew older, and began to see how matters stood, she felt quite a Malthusian towards her motherfor thoughtlessly giving her so many little sisters and brothers,when it was such a trouble to nurse andprovide for them. Her mother's intelligence was that of a happy child: Joan Durbeyfield was simply anadditional one,and thatnottheeldest,toher own longfamilyof waitersonProvidence.However,Tessbecamehumanelybeneficenttowardsthe small ones,and tohelpthemas much aspossiblesheused,assoonas sheleft school,to lend ahand athaymaking orharvestingonneighbouringfarms;or,bypreference,atmilking orbutter-makingproce,which shehad learntwhen herfatherhadowned cows;andbeingdeft-fingereditwasakindofworkinwhichsheexcelled-21-
- 21 - "I'd rather try to get work," she murmured. "Durbeyfield, you can settle it," said his wife, turning to where he sat in the background. "If you say she ought to go, she will go." "I don't like my children going and making themselves beholden to strange kin," murmured he. "I'm the head of the noblest branch o' the family, and I ought to live up to it." His reasons for staying away were worse to Tess than her own objections to going. "Well, as I killed the horse, mother," she said mournfully, "I suppose I ought to do something. I don't mind going and seeing her, but you must leave it to me about asking for help. And don't go thinking about her making a match for me-it is silly." "Very well said, Tess!" observed her father sententiously. "Who said I had such a thought?" asked Joan. "I fancy it is in your mind, mother. But I'll go." Rising early next day she walked to the hill-town called Shaston, and there took advantage of a van which twice in the week ran from Shaston eastward to Chaseborough, passing near Trantridge, the parish in which the vague and mysterious Mrs d'Urberville had her residence. Tess Durbeyfield's route on this memorable morning lay amid the north-eastern undulations of the Vale in which she had been born, and in which her life had unfolded. The Vale of Blackmoor was to her the world, and its inhabitants the races thereof. From the gates and stiles of Marlott she had looked down its length in the wondering days of infancy, and what had been mystery to her then was not much less than mystery to her now. She had seen daily from her chamber-window towers, villages, faint white mansions; above all the town of Shaston standing majestically on its height; its windows shining like lamps in the evening sun. She had hardly ever visited the place, only a small tract even of the Vale and its environs being known to her by close inspection. Much less had she been far outside the valley. Every contour of the surrounding hills was as personal to her as that of her relatives' faces; but for what lay beyond her judgment was dependent on the teaching of the village school, where she had held a leading place at the time of her leaving, a year or two before this date. In those early days she had been much loved by others of her own sex and age, and had used to be seen about the village as one of three-all nearly of the same year-walking home from school side by side; Tess the middle one-in a pink print pinafore, of a finely reticulated pattern, worn over a stuff frock that had lost its original colour for a nondescript tertiary-marching on upon long stalky legs, in tight stockings which had little ladder-like holes at the knees, torn by kneeling in the roads and banks in search of vegetable and mineral treasures; her then earth-coloured hair handing like pot-hooks; the arms of the two outside girls resting round the waist of Tess; her arms on the shoulders of the two supporters. As Tess grew older, and began to see how matters stood, she felt quite a Malthusian towards her mother for thoughtlessly giving her so many little sisters and brothers, when it was such a trouble to nurse and provide for them. Her mother's intelligence was that of a happy child: Joan Durbeyfield was simply an additional one, and that not the eldest, to her own long family of waiters on Providence. However, Tess became humanely beneficent towards the small ones, and to help them as much as possible she used, as soon as she left school, to lend a hand at haymaking or harvesting on neighbouring farms; or, by preference, at milking or butter-making processes, which she had learnt when her father had owned cows; and being deft-fingered it was a kind of work in which she excelled
Every day seemed to throw upon her young shoulders more of the family burdens, and that Tess shouldbe the representativeof the Durbeyfields at the d'Urberville mansion came as a thing of course.In thisinstance it must beadmitted thattheDurbeyfieldswereputtingtheirfairest sideoutward.She alighted from the van at Trantridge Cross, and ascended on foot a hill in the direction of the districtknown as The Chase, on the borders of which, as shehad been informed, Mrs d'Urberville's seat,TheSlopes,would befound. It was not a manorial home in the ordinary sense,with fields, and pastures,and agrumbling farmer, out of whom the owner had to squeeze an income for himself and his family by hookor by crook. It was more, far more; a country-house built for enjoyment pure and simple, with not an acreof troublesome land attached to it beyond what was required for residential purposes, and for a littlefancyfarmkept in handbytheowner, andtended byabailiff.The crimson brick lodge came first in sight, up to its eaves in dense evergreens. Tess thought this was themansion itself tll, passing through the side wicket with some trepidation, and onward to a point at whichthe drive took a turn,the house proper stood in full view.It was of recent erection--indeed almost newand of the same rich red colour that formed such a contrast with the evergreens of the lodge.Far behindthe corner of the house--which rose like a geranium bloom against the subdued colours around--stretchedthe soft azure landscape of The Chase--a truly venerabletract of forest land,one ofthefewremainingwoodlands in England of undoubted primaeval date,wherein Druidical mistletoewas still found on agedoaks, and where enormous yew-trees, not planted by the hand ofman grew as they had grown when theywere pollarded for bows. All this sylvan antiquity, however, though visible from The Slopes, was outsidethe immediate boundaries of the estate.Everything on this snug property was bright, thriving, and well kept, acres of glass-houses stretcheddown the inclines to the copses at their feet. Everything looked like money--like the last coin issued fromthe Mint. The stables, partly screened by Austrian pines and evergreen oaks, and fitted with every lateappliance,were as dignified as Chapels-of-Ease. On the extensivelawn stood an ornamental tent, its doorbeing towards her.Simple Tess Durbeyfield stood at gaze, in a half-alarmed attitude, on the edge of the gravel sweep. Herfeet had brought her onward to this point before she had quite realized where she was; and now all wascontrarytoherexpectation"I thought we were an old family; but this is all new!" she said, in her artlessness. She wished that shehad not fallen in so readily with hermother's plans for"claiming kin,"and had endeavoured to gainassistancenearerhomeThe d'Urbervilles--or Stoke-d'Urbervilles, as they at first called themselves--who owned all this, were asomewhat unusual family to find in such an old-fashioned part of the country.Parson Tringhamhadspoken truly when he said that our shambling John Durbeyfield was the only really lineal representativeof the old d'Urberville family existing in the county,or near it, he might have added, what heknew verywell, that the Stoke-d'Urbervilles were no more d'Urbervilles of the true tree then he was himself. Yet itmust be admitted that this family formed a very good stock whereon to regraft a name which sadlywanted such renovation.When old Mr Simon Stoke, latterly deceased, had made his fortune as an honest merchant (some saidmoney-lender)in the North,hedecided to settle as a countyman in the South of England, out of hail ofhisbusiness district,and indoingthishefeltthe necessityofrecommencingwitha namethat would nottooreadilyidentifyhimwiththesmarttradesmanofthepast.andthatwouldbelesscommonplacetharthe original bald stark words.Conningforan hour in theBritish Museum thepages of worksdevoted to-22-
- 22 - Every day seemed to throw upon her young shoulders more of the family burdens, and that Tess should be the representative of the Durbeyfields at the d'Urberville mansion came as a thing of course. In this instance it must be admitted that the Durbeyfields were putting their fairest side outward. She alighted from the van at Trantridge Cross, and ascended on foot a hill in the direction of the district known as The Chase, on the borders of which, as she had been informed, Mrs d'Urberville's seat, The Slopes, would be found. It was not a manorial home in the ordinary sense, with fields, and pastures, and a grumbling farmer, out of whom the owner had to squeeze an income for himself and his family by hook or by crook. It was more, far more; a country-house built for enjoyment pure and simple, with not an acre of troublesome land attached to it beyond what was required for residential purposes, and for a little fancy farm kept in hand by the owner, and tended by a bailiff. The crimson brick lodge came first in sight, up to its eaves in dense evergreens. Tess thought this was the mansion itself till, passing through the side wicket with some trepidation, and onward to a point at which the drive took a turn, the house proper stood in full view. It was of recent erection-indeed almost new- and of the same rich red colour that formed such a contrast with the evergreens of the lodge. Far behind the corner of the house-which rose like a geranium bloom against the subdued colours around-stretched the soft azure landscape of The Chase-a truly venerable tract of forest land, one of the few remaining woodlands in England of undoubted primaeval date, wherein Druidical mistletoe was still found on aged oaks, and where enormous yew-trees, not planted by the hand of man grew as they had grown when they were pollarded for bows. All this sylvan antiquity, however, though visible from The Slopes, was outside the immediate boundaries of the estate. Everything on this snug property was bright, thriving, and well kept; acres of glass-houses stretched down the inclines to the copses at their feet. Everything looked like money-like the last coin issued from the Mint. The stables, partly screened by Austrian pines and evergreen oaks, and fitted with every late appliance, were as dignified as Chapels-of-Ease. On the extensive lawn stood an ornamental tent, its door being towards her. Simple Tess Durbeyfield stood at gaze, in a half-alarmed attitude, on the edge of the gravel sweep. Her feet had brought her onward to this point before she had quite realized where she was; and now all was contrary to her expectation. "I thought we were an old family; but this is all new!" she said, in her artlessness. She wished that she had not fallen in so readily with her mother's plans for "claiming kin," and had endeavoured to gain assistance nearer home. The d'Urbervilles-or Stoke-d'Urbervilles, as they at first called themselves-who owned all this, were a somewhat unusual family to find in such an old-fashioned part of the country. Parson Tringham had spoken truly when he said that our shambling John Durbeyfield was the only really lineal representative of the old d'Urberville family existing in the county, or near it; he might have added, what he knew very well, that the Stoke-d'Urbervilles were no more d'Urbervilles of the true tree then he was himself. Yet it must be admitted that this family formed a very good stock whereon to regraft a name which sadly wanted such renovation. When old Mr Simon Stoke, latterly deceased, had made his fortune as an honest merchant (some said money-lender) in the North, he decided to settle as a county man in the South of England, out of hail of his business district; and in doing this he felt the necessity of recommencing with a name that would not too readily identify him with the smart tradesman of the past, and that would be less commonplace than the original bald stark words. Conning for an hour in the British Museum the pages of works devoted to
extinct, half-extinct, obscured, and ruined families appertaining to the quarter of England in which heproposed to settle, he considered that D'URBERVILLE looked and sounded as well as any of them: andd'Urbervilleaccordinglywas annexed to his own name for himself and his heirs eternally.Yet he was notan extravagant-minded man in this, and in constructing his family tree on the new basis was dulyreasonable in framing his inter-marriages and aristocratic links, never inserting a single title above a rankof strict moderation.Of this work of imagination poor Tess and her parents were naturally in ignorance--much to theirdiscomfiture; indeed, the very possibility of such annexations was unknown to them; who supposed that,thoughto be well-favoured might be the gift of fortune, a family name came by nature.Tess still stood hesitating likea batheraboutto make his plunge,hardlyknowingwhether to retreat or topersevere, when a figure came forth from the dark triangular door of the tent. It was that of a tall youngman, smoking.He had an almost swarthy complexion, with full lips, badlymoulded, though red and smooth, abovewhich was a well-groomed black moustache with curled points, though his age could not be more thanthree-or four-and-twenty.Despite the touches of barbarism in his contours, there was a singular force inthe gentleman's face, and in his bold rolling eye."Well, myBeauty,what canI do for you?"said he, coming forward.And perceiving that she stood quiteconfounded: "Never mind me. I am Mr d'Urberville. Have you come to see me or my mother?"This embodiment of a d'Urberville and a namesake differed even morefrom what Tess had expected thanthehouse and grounds had differed.She had dreamed of an aged and dignifiedface,the sublimation of allthe d'Urberville lineaments, furrowed with incarmate memories representing in hieroglyphic the centuriesof her family's and England's history.But she screwed herselfup to the work in hand, since she could notget out of it, and answered--"I came to see your mother, sir.""I am afraid you cannot see her--she is an invalid," replied the present representative of the spurioushouse; for this was Mr Alec, the only son of the lately deceased gentleman."Cannot I answer yourpurpose? What is the business you wish to see her about?""It isn't business--it is--I can hardly say what!""Pleasure?""Oh no. Why, sir, if I tell you, it will seem--"Tess's sense of a certain ludicrousness in her errand was now so strong that, notwithstanding her awe ofhim, and her general discomfort at being here, her rosy lips curved towards a smile, much to theattraction oftheswarthyAlexander."It is so very foolish," she stammered; "I fear can't tell you!""Never mind, I like foolish things. Try again, my dear," said he kindly.-23-
- 23 - extinct, half-extinct, obscured, and ruined families appertaining to the quarter of England in which he proposed to settle, he considered that D'URBERVILLE looked and sounded as well as any of them: and d'Urberville accordingly was annexed to his own name for himself and his heirs eternally. Yet he was not an extravagant-minded man in this, and in constructing his family tree on the new basis was duly reasonable in framing his inter-marriages and aristocratic links, never inserting a single title above a rank of strict moderation. Of this work of imagination poor Tess and her parents were naturally in ignorance-much to their discomfiture; indeed, the very possibility of such annexations was unknown to them; who supposed that, though to be well-favoured might be the gift of fortune, a family name came by nature. Tess still stood hesitating like a bather about to make his plunge, hardly knowing whether to retreat or to persevere, when a figure came forth from the dark triangular door of the tent. It was that of a tall young man, smoking. He had an almost swarthy complexion, with full lips, badly moulded, though red and smooth, above which was a well-groomed black moustache with curled points, though his age could not be more than three-or four-and-twenty. Despite the touches of barbarism in his contours, there was a singular force in the gentleman's face, and in his bold rolling eye. "Well, my Beauty, what can I do for you?" said he, coming forward. And perceiving that she stood quite confounded: "Never mind me. I am Mr d'Urberville. Have you come to see me or my mother?" This embodiment of a d'Urberville and a namesake differed even more from what Tess had expected than the house and grounds had differed. She had dreamed of an aged and dignified face, the sublimation of all the d'Urberville lineaments, furrowed with incarnate memories representing in hieroglyphic the centuries of her family's and England's history. But she screwed herself up to the work in hand, since she could not get out of it, and answered- "I came to see your mother, sir." "I am afraid you cannot see her-she is an invalid," replied the present representative of the spurious house; for this was Mr Alec, the only son of the lately deceased gentleman. "Cannot I answer your purpose? What is the business you wish to see her about?" "It isn't business-it is-I can hardly say what!" "Pleasure?" "Oh no. Why, sir, if I tell you, it will seem-" Tess's sense of a certain ludicrousness in her errand was now so strong that, notwithstanding her awe of him, and her general discomfort at being here, her rosy lips curved towards a smile, much to the attraction of the swarthy Alexander. "It is so very foolish," she stammered; "I fear can't tell you!" "Never mind; I like foolish things. Try again, my dear," said he kindly
"Mother asked me to come," Tess continued; "and, indeed, I was in the mind to do so myself likewise.But I did not think it would be like this. I came, sir, to tell you that we are of the same family as you.""Ho!Poorrelations?""Yes.""Stokes?""No, d'Urbervilles.""Ay, ay, I mean d'Urbervilles.""Our names are worn away to Durbeyfield; but we have several proofs that we are d'Urbervilles.Antiquarians hold we are,--and--and we have an old seal, marked with a ramping lion on a shield, and acastle over him. And we have a very old silver spoon, round in the bowl like a lttle ladle, and markedwith the same castle.But it is so worn thatmother uses it to stirthe pea-soup.""A castle argent is certainly my crest," said he blandly. "And my arms a lion rampant.'"And so mother said we ought to make ourselves beknown to you--as we've lost our horse by a badaccident,and aretheoldestbrancho'thefamily.""Very kind of your mother, I'm sure. And I, for one, don't regret her step." Alec looked at Tess as hespoke, in a way that made her blush a lttle. "And so, my pretty girl, you've come on a friendly visit to us,as relations?""I suppose Ihave,"faltered Tess, lookinguncomfortableagain"Well--there's no harm in it. Where do you live? What are you?"She gave him brief particulars; and responding to further inquiries told him that she was intending to goback by the same carrier whohad brought her"It is a long while before he returns past Trantridge Cross. Supposing we walk round the grounds to passthe time, my pretty Coz?"Tess wished to abridge her visit as much as possible; but the young man was pressing, and she consentedto accompany him. He conducted her about the lawns, and flower-beds, and conservatories; and thence tothe fruit-garden and greenhouses, where he asked her if she liked strawberries."Yes,"said Tess, "when they come.""They are already here." D'Urberville began gathering specimens of the fruit for her, handing them backto her as he stooped; and, presently, selecting a specially fine product of the "British Queen" variety, hestood up and held it by the stem to her mouth."No--no!" she said quickly, putting her fingers between his hand and her lips."I would rather take it inmy own hand."- 24 -
- 24 - "Mother asked me to come," Tess continued; "and, indeed, I was in the mind to do so myself likewise. But I did not think it would be like this. I came, sir, to tell you that we are of the same family as you." "Ho! Poor relations?" "Yes." "Stokes?" "No; d'Urbervilles." "Ay, ay; I mean d'Urbervilles." "Our names are worn away to Durbeyfield; but we have several proofs that we are d'Urbervilles. Antiquarians hold we are,-and-and we have an old seal, marked with a ramping lion on a shield, and a castle over him. And we have a very old silver spoon, round in the bowl like a little ladle, and marked with the same castle. But it is so worn that mother uses it to stir the pea-soup." "A castle argent is certainly my crest," said he blandly. "And my arms a lion rampant." "And so mother said we ought to make ourselves beknown to you-as we've lost our horse by a bad accident, and are the oldest branch o' the family." "Very kind of your mother, I'm sure. And I, for one, don't regret her step." Alec looked at Tess as he spoke, in a way that made her blush a little. "And so, my pretty girl, you've come on a friendly visit to us, as relations?" "I suppose I have," faltered Tess, looking uncomfortable again. "Well-there's no harm in it. Where do you live? What are you?" She gave him brief particulars; and responding to further inquiries told him that she was intending to go back by the same carrier who had brought her. "It is a long while before he returns past Trantridge Cross. Supposing we walk round the grounds to pass the time, my pretty Coz?" Tess wished to abridge her visit as much as possible; but the young man was pressing, and she consented to accompany him. He conducted her about the lawns, and flower-beds, and conservatories; and thence to the fruit-garden and greenhouses, where he asked her if she liked strawberries. "Yes," said Tess, "when they come." "They are already here." D'Urberville began gathering specimens of the fruit for her, handing them back to her as he stooped; and, presently, selecting a specially fine product of the "British Queen" variety, he stood up and held it by the stem to her mouth. "No-no!" she said quickly, putting her fingers between his hand and her lips. "I would rather take it in my own hand
"Nonsense!" he insisted; and in a slight distress she parted her lips and took it in.They had spent some time wandering desultorily thus, Tess eating in a half-pleased, half-reluctant statewhatever d'Urberville offered her.When she could consume no more of the strawberries he filled herlittlebasket with them,and then the two passed round to the rose trees, whence hegathered blossoms andgave her to put in her bosom. She obeyed like one in a dream, and when she could affix no more hehimself tucked a bud or two intoher hat, and heaped her basket with others in the prodigality of hisbounty.At last, looking at his watch, he said, "Now, by the time you have had something to eat, it will betimefor you to leave, ifyou want to catch the carrier to Shaston.Comehere, and I'll see whatgrub I canfind."Stoke d'Urberville took her back to the lawn and into the tent, where he left her, soon reappearing with abasket of lightluncheon,which he put before her himself. It was evidentlythegentleman's wish not to bedisturbed in this pleasant TETE-A-TETE by the servantry."Do you mind my smoking?" he asked."Oh, not at all, sir."He watched her pretty and unconscious munching through the skeins of smoke that pervaded the tent, andTess Durbeyfield did not divine, as she innocently looked down at the roses in her bosom, that therebehind the blue narcotic haze was potentially the"tragic mischief" of her drama--one who stood fair to bethe blood-red ray in the spectrum of her young life.She had an attribute which amounted to adisadvantage just now, and it was this that caused Alec d'Urberville's eyes to rivet themselves upon her. Itwas a luxuriance of aspect, a fulness of growth, which made her appear more of a woman than she reallywas. She had inherited the feature from her mother without the quality it denoted. It had troubled hermind occasionally,till her companions had said that it was a fault which time would cure.She soon had finished her lunch."Now I am going home, sir," she said, rising."And what do they call you?" he asked, as he accompanied her along the drive till they were out of sightofthehouse."Tess Durbeyfield, down at Marlott.""And you say your people have lost their horse?""l--killed him!" she answered, her eyes flling with tears as she gave particulars of Prince's death."And Idon'tknowwhat to dofor father on account of it!""I must think if I cannot do something. My mother must find a berth for you. But, Tess, no nonsenseabout'd'Urberville';--'Durbeyfield' only, you know--quite another name.""I wish for no better, sir," said she with something of dignityFor a moment--only for a moment--when they were in the turning of the drive, between the tallrhododendrons and conifers, before the lodge became visible, he inclined his face towards her as if--but,no:he thoughtbetterof it, and let hergo-25-
- 25 - "Nonsense!" he insisted; and in a slight distress she parted her lips and took it in. They had spent some time wandering desultorily thus, Tess eating in a half-pleased, half-reluctant state whatever d'Urberville offered her. When she could consume no more of the strawberries he filled her little basket with them; and then the two passed round to the rose trees, whence he gathered blossoms and gave her to put in her bosom. She obeyed like one in a dream, and when she could affix no more he himself tucked a bud or two into her hat, and heaped her basket with others in the prodigality of his bounty. At last, looking at his watch, he said, "Now, by the time you have had something to eat, it will be time for you to leave, if you want to catch the carrier to Shaston. Come here, and I'll see what grub I can find." Stoke d'Urberville took her back to the lawn and into the tent, where he left her, soon reappearing with a basket of light luncheon, which he put before her himself. It was evidently the gentleman's wish not to be disturbed in this pleasant TETE-A-TETE by the servantry. "Do you mind my smoking?" he asked. "Oh, not at all, sir." He watched her pretty and unconscious munching through the skeins of smoke that pervaded the tent, and Tess Durbeyfield did not divine, as she innocently looked down at the roses in her bosom, that there behind the blue narcotic haze was potentially the "tragic mischief" of her drama-one who stood fair to be the blood-red ray in the spectrum of her young life. She had an attribute which amounted to a disadvantage just now; and it was this that caused Alec d'Urberville's eyes to rivet themselves upon her. It was a luxuriance of aspect, a fulness of growth, which made her appear more of a woman than she really was. She had inherited the feature from her mother without the quality it denoted. It had troubled her mind occasionally, till her companions had said that it was a fault which time would cure. She soon had finished her lunch. "Now I am going home, sir," she said, rising. "And what do they call you?" he asked, as he accompanied her along the drive till they were out of sight of the house. "Tess Durbeyfield, down at Marlott." "And you say your people have lost their horse?" "I-killed him!" she answered, her eyes filling with tears as she gave particulars of Prince's death. "And I don't know what to do for father on account of it!" "I must think if I cannot do something. My mother must find a berth for you. But, Tess, no nonsense about 'd'Urberville';-'Durbeyfield' only, you know-quite another name." "I wish for no better, sir," said she with something of dignity. For a moment-only for a moment-when they were in the turning of the drive, between the tall rhododendrons and conifers, before the lodge became visible, he inclined his face towards her as if-but, no: he thought better of it, and let her go