Questions of procedure， such as thes e arose an d passed， and the day， the incredible day， on which she was to become his， loomed large in the near future.The thirtyfirst of Dece mber， New Year's Eve， was the date.His wife， she said to herself.Could it ever be？Their two selves together， nothing to divide them， every incident shared by them； why not？And yet why？
One Sunday morning Izz Huett returned from church， and spoke privately to Tess.
“You was not called home this morning.”
“What？”
“It should ha'been th e first time of asking today， ”she answered， loo king quietly at Tess.“You meant to be married New Year's Eve， deary？”
The other returned a quick affirmative.
“And there m ust be thr ee times of asking.And now there b e only two Sundays left between.”
Tess felt her cheek paling； lzz was r ight； of course there must be three.Perhaps he had forgotten！If so， there must be a week's postponement， and that was unlucky.How could she remind her lover？She who had been so backwardwas suddenly fired with im patience and alar m lest she shou ld lose her d ear prize.
A natural incident relieved her anxiety.Izz mentioned the omission of the banns to Mrs.Crick and Mrs.Crick assumed a matron's privilege of speaking to Angel on the point.
“Have ye forgot'em， Mr.Clare？The banns， I mean.”
“No， I have not forgot'em， ”says Clare.
As soon as he caught Tess alone he assured her：
“Don't let them tease you about the banns.A licence will be quieter for us， and I have decided on a licence without consulting you.So if you go to church on Sunday morning you will not hear your own name， if you wished to.”
“I didn't wish to hear it， dearest， ”she said proudly.
But to kno w that thi ngs were in train was an i mmense rel ief to T ess notwithstanding， who had welln igh feared that somebody would stand u p and forbid the banns on the ground of her history.How events were favouring her！
“I don't quite feel easy， ”she said to herself.“All this good fortune may be scourged out of me afterwards by a lot of ill.That's how Heaven mostly does.I wish I could have had common banns！”
But everything went smoothly.She wondered whether he would like her to be married in her present best white frock， or if she ought to buy a new one.The qu estion was set at rest by his forethought， disclosed b y.the arr ival o f some large packages addressed to her.Inside them she found a whole-stock of clothing， from bonnet to shoes， inclu ding a perfect morning costume， such as would well suit the ****** wedding， they planned.He entered the house shortly after the arrival of the packages， and heard her upstairs undoing them.
A minute la ter she ca me down with a flush on h er face an d tears in her eyes.
“How thoug htful y ou've been！”she m urmured， her cheek upon h is shoulder.“Even to the g loves and h andkerchief！My own lo ve—how good， how kind！”
“No， no， Tess； jus t an order to a tradeswo man in London—nothing more.”
And to divert her from thinking too highly of him he told her to go upstairs， and tak e he r ti me， and see if i t al l fit ted； and， if not， to get th e vi llage sempstress to make a few alterations.
She did retu rn upstairs， and put on the gown.Alone， she stood for a moment before the g lass looking at the effect of her silk attire； and then there came into her head her mother's ballad of the mystic robe—
That never would become that wife
That had once done amiss，
which Mrs.Durbeyfield hsd used to sing to her as a child， so blithely and so archly， her foot on the cradle， which she rocked to the tune.Suppose this robe should betray her b y changing colour， as h er robe had betrayed Queen Guénever.Since she hsd been at the dairy she had not once thought of the lines till now.
33
Angel felt that he would like to spend a day with her before， the wedding， somewhere away from the dairy， as a last jaunt in her company while they were y et mere lover and mistress； a ro mantic day， in c ircumstances that would never be repeated； with that other and greater day beaming close ahead of them.Du ring the pr eceding week， ther efore， he suggested ****** a few purchases in the nearest town， and they started together.
Clare's life at the dairy had been that of a recluse in respect to the world of his own class.For months he had never gone near a town， and， requiring no vehicle， had never kep t one， hir ing the dairy man's cob or gig if he rode or drove.They went in the gig that day.
And then for the first time in their lives they shopped as partners in one concern.It was Christmas Eve， with its loads of holly and mistletoe， and the town was very full of str angers who had come in from all parts of the cou ntry on account of the day.Tess paid the p enalty of wa lking about with happiness superadded to b eauty o n her coun tenance by b eing much stared at as she moved amid them on his arm.
In the evening they returned to the inn at which they had put up， and Tess waited in the entry while Angel wen t to see the horse and gig brought to the door.The general sitting-room was full of guests， who were continually going in and out.As the door opened and shut each time for the p assage of these， the light with in the parlo ur fell fu ll up on T ess's face.T wo me n ca me ou t and passed by her am ong the rest.One of them had stared h er up and dow n in surprise， and she fancied he was a Trantridge man， though that village lay so many miles off that Trantridge folk were rarities here.
“A comely maid that， ”said the other.
“True， co mely enough.But unless I m ake a great mistake—”And he negatived the remainder of the definition forthwith.
Clare had just returned from the stable-yard， and， confronting the man on the threshold， heard the words， and saw the shrinking of Tess.The insult to her stung him to the quick， and before he had considered any thing at all he str uck the man on the ch in with the fu ll fo rce of his f ist， sending him stagger ing backwards into the passage.
The man recovered himself， and seemed inclined to come on， and Clar e， stepping outside the door， put himself in a posture of defence.But his opponent began to th ink better of the matter.He looked anew at Tess as he passed her， and said to Clare—
“I beg pardon， sir； 'twas a co mplete mistake.I thought she w as another woman， forty miles from here.”
Clare， feeling then that h e had been too hasty， and that he was， m oreover， to blame for leaving her standing in an inn-passage， did what he usually did in such cases， gave the man five shillings to plaster the blow； and thus they parted， bidding each other a pacific go od night.As soon as Clare h ad taken the reins from the ostler， and the young couple had driven off， the two men went in the other direction.
“And was it a mistake？”said the second one.
Not a bit of it.But I didn't want to hurt the gentleman's feelings—not I.”
In the meantime the lovers were driving onward.
“Could we put off our wedding till a little later？”Tess asked in a dry dull voice.“I mean if we wished？”
“No， my love， Calm yourself.Do you mean that the fellow may have time to summon me for assault？”he asked goodhumouredly.
“No—I only meant—if it should have to be put off.”
What she meant was no t very clear， and he directed her to dismiss suc h fancies from her mind， which she obediently did as well as she could.But s he was grave， very grave， all the way home； till she thought， “We shall go away， a very long distonce， h undreds of miles from these parts， and such as th is can never happen again， and no ghost of the past reach there.”
They parted tenderly that nigh t on the landing， and Clare ascended to h is attic.Tess sat up getting on with some little requisites， lest the few re maining days should not af ford sufficient time.While s he sat she h eard a no ise in Angel's room overhead， a sound of thumping and struggling.Everybody else in the house was asleep， and in her anxiety lest Clare should be ill she ran up and knocked at his door， and asked him what was the matter.
“Oh， nothing， dear， ”he s aid from within.“I am s o sorry I d isturbed you！But the reason is rath er an amusing one：I fe ll asleep and dreamt that I was fighting that fellow again who insulted y ou and the noise y ou heard was m y pummelling away with my fists at my portmanteau， which I pulled ou t today for packing.I am occasionally liable to these freaks in my sleep.Go to bed and think of it no more.”
This was th e last drachm r equired to turn the scale of her indecision.Declare the past to him by word of mouth she co uld not； but there was anotherway.She sat down and wrote on the four pag es of a notesheet a succinct narrative of those events of three or four years ago， put it into an envelope， and directed it to Clare：Then， lest the flesh should again be weak， she crept upstairs without any shoes and slipped the note under his door.
Her night was a broken， one， as it well might be， and she listened for th e first fa int n oise overh ead.It came， as usual； h e descended， as usual.S he descended.He met her at the bo ttom of the stairs and kissed her.Surely it was as warmly as ever！
He looked a little disturbed and worn， she thought.But he said not a word to her about her revelation， even when they were alone.Could he have h ad it？Unless he b egan the sub ject she f elt that she co uld say noth ing.So the day passed， and it was evident th at w hatever he thought he meant to keep to himself.Yet he was frank and affectionate as before.Could it be that her doubts were childish？that he fo rgave her； th at he lov ed her for what she was， just as she was， and smiled at her disquiet as at a foo lish nightmare？Had he real ly received her note？She glanced in to his room， and could s ee nothing of it.It might be th at h e for gave her.But even if he had not receiv ed it sh e h ad a sudden enthusiastic trust that he surely would forgive her.
Every morning and night he was the same， and thus New Year's Eve broke—the wedding-day.
The lovers did not rise at milking-time， having through the whole of this last week of their sojourn at the dairy been accorded something of the position of guests， T ess being ho noured with a room of her own.When they arrived downstairs at breakfast-time they were surprised to see what e ffects had been produced in the large kitchen for their glory since they had last beheld it At some unnatu ral hour of the morning the dairy man had caus ed the y awning chimney-corner to be wh itened， and the brick hearth redd ened， and a blazing yellow damask blower to be hung across the arch in place of the old grimy blue cotton one with a black sprig pattern which had formerly done duty here.This renovated aspect of what was the focus indeed of the r oom on a du ll winter morning， threw a smiling demeanour over the whole apartment.
“I was determined to do summat in honour o't， ”said the dairyman.“And as y ou wouldn't hear o f my gieing a r attling good randy wi'fiddles andbass-viols complete， as w e should ha'done in old times， this was all I could think o'as a noiseless thing.”
Tess's friends lived so far of f that n one could conveniently have been present at th e ceremony， even had any been asked； but as a f act nobody was invited from Mnrlott.As for Angel's family， he had written an d duly informed them of the time， and assured them that he would be glad to see one at least o f them there for the day if he would like to come.His brothers had not replied at all， seeming to be indignant with him； while his father and mother had written a rather sad letter， deplor ing his precipitancy in rushing in to m arriage， but ****** the best of the matter by saying that， though a dairywoman was the last daughter-in-law they could have expected， their son had arrived at an ag e at which he might be supposed to be the best judge.
This coolness in his relations distressed Clare less than it would have done had he been without the grand card with which he mean t to surprise them ere long.To produce Tess， fresh from the dairy， as a d'Urberville and a lady， he had felt to be temerar ious and risky； hence， he had concealed her lineage till such time as， familiarized with worldly ways by a few m onths'travel and r eading with him， he could tak e her on a visit to his parents， and impart the knowledge while triumphantly producing her as worthy of su ch an ancient line.It was a pretty lov er's drea m， if no more.Pe rhaps Tess's lin eage had more v alue for himself than for anybody in the world besides.
Her perception that Angel's bearing towards her still remained in no whi t altered by her own， co mmunication rendered Tess guiltily doubtful if he could have received it.She ros e from breakfast before he had finished， and hastened upstairs.It had occurred to her to loo k once more into th e queer gaunt room which had b een Clar e's den， or rath er ey rie， for so long， and climbing the ladder she stood at the o pen door of the apar tment， regarding and pondering.She stooped to the threshold of the doorway， where she had pushed in the note two or three days earlier in such excitement.The carpet reached close to the sill， and under the edge of the carpet she discerned the fain t white margin of the envelope co ntaining her letter to him， which he obvious ly， had nev er s een， owing to her having in her haste thrust it beneath the carpet as well as beneath the door.
With a fee ling of fain tness she with drew the letter.There it was—sealed up， just as it had left h er hands.The mountain had not y et been removed.She could not let him read it now， the house being in full bustle of preparations； and descending to her own room she destroyed the letter there.
She was so pale when h e saw her again that he felt qu ite anxious.The incident of the misplaced letter sh e had ju mped a t as if it pr evented a confession； but she knew in her conscience that it need not； there was still ume.Yet everything was in a stir； there was coming and going； all had to dress， the dairyman and Mrs.Crick having been asked to accompany them as witnesses； and reflection or deliberate talk was wellnigh impossible.The only minute Tess could get to be alone with Clare was when they met upon the landing.
“I am so a nxious to talk to y ou—I want to confess all my faults and blunders！”she said with attempted lightness.
“No， no—we can't have faults talked of—you m ust be d eemed perf ect today at least， my Sweet！”he cried， “We shall have plenty of time， hereafter， I hope， to talk over our failings.I will confess mine at the same time.”
“But it would be better f or me to do it now， I think， so that y ou could not say——
“Well， my quixotic one， you shall tell me anything—say， as soon as we are settled in our lodging； not now.I， too， will tell you my faults then.But do n ot let us spoil the day with them； they will be excellent matter for a dull time.”
“Then you don't wish me to， dearest？”
“I do not， Tessy， really.”
The hurry of dressing an d starting lef t no time for more than this.Those words of his seem ed to reassure h er on fur ther reflection.S he was whir led onward through the next couple of critical hours by the mastering tide of her devotion to him， which closed up further meditation.Her on e desire， so long resisted， to make herself his， to call hem her lord， her own—then， if necessary， to die—had at las t lif ted her up from h er plo dding ref lective p athway.In dressing， she m oved ab out in a mental cloud o f many-coloured idealities， which eclipsed all sinister contingencies by its brightness.
The church was a long way of f， and they were oblig ed to drive， particularly as it was win ter.A close carriage was ordered from a roadside inn， a vehicle which had been kept ther e ever s ince the o ld day s of post-ch aise travelling.I t had stout wheel-spokes， and heavy fello es， a g reat cu rved bed， immense straps and springs， and a pole like a batteringram.The postilion was a venerable“boy”of sixty—a martyr to rheu matic gout， the result of excessiv e exposure in youth， counteracted by strong liquors—who had stood at inn-doors doing nothin g for the wh ole five-and-twenty y ears that had elapsed since h e had no longer been required to ride professionally， as if expecting the old times to come back again.He had a per manent running wound on the outside of his right leg， or iginated by the constant bruisings o f aris tocratic carr iage-poles during the many y ears he had b een in regu lar employ at the King's Arm s， Casterbridge.
Inside th is cumbrous a nd creak ing structur e， a nd behind this decay ed conductor， the partie carrée took their seats—the bride and bridegroom and Mr.and Mrs.Cr ick.Angel would have liked one at leas t of h is brothers to be present as g roomsman， but their silence after his gentle hint to tha t effect by letter had signified that they did not care to co me.They disapproved o f the marriage， and could not be expected to countenance it.Perhaps it was as well that th ey could no t be present.They were not wordly y oung fellows， but fraternizing with dairy-folk would have struck unpleasantly upon their biassed niceness， apart from their views of the match.
Upheld by the momentum of the time Tess knew nothing of this； did not see anything； did not know the road they were taking to the church.She knew that Angel was close to her； all the rest was a luminous mist.She was a sort o f celestial person， who owed her being to poe try-one of those classical d ivinities Clare was accustomed to talk to her about when they took their walks together.
The marriage being by licence there were only a dozen or so of people in the church； had there been a th ousand th ey would h ave pr oduced no more effect upon her.They were at stellar distances from her present world.I n the ecstatic so lemnity wi th which she swore h er fai th to hi m th e o rdinary sensibilities of *** seemed a flippancy.At a pause in the service， while they were kneeling together， she unconsciously inclined herself towards him， so that her shoulder touched h is arm； she had been frigh tened by a passing thoug ht， and the movement had been automatic， to assure herself that he was really there， and to fortify her belief that his fidelity would be proof against all things.
Clare knew that she loved him—every curve of her form showed that—but he did no t know at th at tim e the f ull d epth of her devo tion， its s ingle-mindedness， its meekness； what lo ng-suffering it guaranteed， what honesty， what endurance， what good faith.
As they came out of church the ringers swung the bells off their rests， and a modest peal of three n otes broke f orth—that limited a mount of expr ession having been deemed suf ficient by the church builders， for the joys of su ch a small parish.Passing by the tower with her husban d on the path to the gate she could feel th e vibran t air humming r ound them f rom the louvred belfry in a circle of sound， and it matched the highly-charged mental atmosphere in which she was living.
This condition of mind， wherein she felt glorified by an irradiation not her own， like th e angel who m St.John s aw in th e sun， lasted till the sound of the church bells had died away， and the em otions of the wedd ing-service had calmed down.Her ey es could-dwell upon de tails more clearly now， and Mr.and Mrs.Crick having directed their own gig to be sent for them， to leave the carriage to the y oung couple， she o bserved the build and character of that conveyance for the first time.Sitting in silence she regarded it long.
“I fancy you seem oppressed， Tessy， ”said Clare.
“Yes， ”she answered， pu tting her han d to her bro w.“I trem ble at many things.It is all so serious， Angel.Among other things I seem to hav e seen this carriage before， to be very well acquainted with it.It is very odd—I must have seen it in a dream.”
“Oh—you must have h eard th e leg end of the d'Urberville Coach—that well-known superstition of this county about your family when they were very popular here； and this lumbering old thing reminds you of it.”
“I have never heard of it to my knowledge， ”said she.“What is the legend—may I know it？”
“Well—I would rather not tell it in detail just now.A certain d'Urberville of the six teenth o r sev enteenth cen tury co mmitted a dr eadful cr ime i n his family coach； and since that time members of the family see or hear the old coach whenever—But I'll tell you another day—it is rather gloomy.Evidentlysome dim knowledge of it has b een brought back to your mind by the sight of this venerable caravan.”
“I don't remember， hearing it befo re”she murmured.“Is it wh en we ar e going to d ie， Angel， that members of my family see i t， or is it when we hav e committed a crime？”
“Now， Tess！”
He silenced her by a kiss.
By the tim e they reached home she was contrite and spir itless.She wa s Mrs.Angel Clare， indeed， but had she any moral right to the name？Was she not more truly Mrs.Alexan der d'Urberville？Could intensity of love jus tify what might be considered in upright souls as culpable reticence？She knew not what was expected of women in such cases； and she had no counsellor.
However， when she found herself alone in her room for a few minute—the last day this on which she was ever to enter it—she knelt down and prayed.She tried to pr ay to God， but it was her h usband who really had her supplication.Her ido latry of this man was such tha t sh e h erself almost fear ed it to b e ill-omened.She was conscious of the notion expressed by Friar Laurence：“These violent delights have violent ends.”It might be too desperate for human conditions—too rank， toowild， too deadly.
“O my love， my love， w hy do I love y ou so！”sh e whispered there alone， “for she you love is not my real self， but one in my image； the one I might have been！”
