45
Till this moment she had never seen or heard from d'Urberville sinceher departure from Trantridge.
The rencounter came at a heavy moment, one of all moments calculated to permit its impact with the least em otional sho ck.But su ch w as unreason ing memory that, though he stood there openly and palpably a converted man, who was sorrowing for his past irregular ities, a f ear overcame her, paralyzing her movement so that she neither retreated nor advanced.
To think of what emanated from that countenance when she saw it last, and to behold it now……There was the same handsome unpleasantness of mien, but now he wore neatly trimmed, o ld-fashioned wh iskers, th e sable moustache having disappeared; and his dress was half-cler ical, a modification which h ad changed his expression sufficiently to abstract the dandyism from his features, and to hinder for a second her belief in his identity.
To Tess's sense there was, just at first, a gh astly bizarre rie, a gr im incongruity, in th e march of these solem n word s of Scriptur e out of su ch a mouth.This too familiar intonation, less than four years earlier, had brought to her ears expressions of such divergent purpose that her heart became quite sick at the irony of the contrast.
It was less a refor m than a transfiguration.The former curves of sensuou-sness were now m odulated to lines of devotional passion.The lip-shapes that had meant seductiveness were now made to express supplication; the glow on the c heek that ye sterday c ould be translated as r iotousness was evangelized today into the splendour of pious rhetoric; an imalism had become fanaticism; Pagani** Paulini**; the bold rolling eye that had flashed upon her form in the old time with such m astery now bea med with th e rude ener gy of a theolatry that was almost ferocious.Those black angularities which his face had used to put on when his wishes were thwarted nowdid duty in pictur ing theincorrigible backslider who would insist upon turning again to his wallowing in the mire.
The lineaments, as su ch, seem ed to complain.They had been diver ted from their h ereditary connotation to signi fy impressions for which natur e did not intend them.Strange that their very elevation was a misapplication, that to raise seemed to falsify.
Yet could it be so?She would admit the ung enerous sentiment no longer.D'Urbervill e was no t the fi rst w icked man wh o had turn ed away fro m his wickedness to save his soul alive, and why should she deem it unnatural in him?It was but the usage of thought which had been jarred in her at hearing good new words in bad old notes.The greater the sinner the greater the saint; it was not necessary to dive far into Christian history to discover that.
Such im pressions as these moved her vaguely, and without str ict definiteness.As soon as the nerveless pause of her surprise would allow her tostir, her impulse was to pass on out of his sight.He had obviously not discerned her yet in her position against the sun.
But the moment that she moved again he recognized her, The effect upon her old lover was electric, far s tronger than the effect of his presence upon her.His fire, the tumultuous ring of his eloquence, seemed to go o ut of him.His ip struggled an d trembled under the w ords that lay upon it; bu t deliv er them it could not as long as she faced him.His eyes, after their first glance upon her face, hu ng c onfusedly in every other direc tion b ut hers, bu t came b ack in a desperate leap every few seconds.This paralysis lasted, however, but a short time; for Tess's energies returned with the a trophy of his, and she walked as fast as she was able past the barn and onward.
As soon as she could reflect it appalled her, this change in their relative platforms.He who had wrought her undoing was now on the side of the Spirit, while she remained unregenerate.And, as in the legend, it had resulted that her Cyprian image had sudd enly appeared upon his altar, whereby the fire of the priest had been wellnigh extinguished.
She went on without turning her head.Her back seemed to be endowed with a sensitiveness to ocular beams—even her clothing—so alive was she to a fancied gaze which might be resting upon her from the outside of that barn.All the way along to this point her heart had been heavy with an inactive sorrow; now there was a change in the quality of its trou ble.That hunger for affection too long withheld was for the time displaced by an almost physical sense of an implacable p ast which still engirdled her.It in tensified h er c onsciousness of error to a pr actical despair; the break of continuity between her ear lier and present ex istence, which she had hoped for, had not, after all, taken place.Bygones would never be complete bygones till she was a bygone herself.
Thus absorbed she recr ossed the nor thern part of LongAsh Lane at r ight angles, and presently saw before her the road ascending whitely to the up land along whose margin the rem ainder of her journ ey lay.Its dry pale surf ace stretched severely onward, unbroken by a single f igure, vehicle, or mark, save some occasional brown horse-droppings which dotted its cold aridity here and there.While slowly breasting this ascent Tess became conscious of footsteps behind h er, and turn ing she saw approaching that well-k nown for m—sostrangely accoutred as the Methodist—the one personage in all th e world she wished not to encounter alone on this side of the grave.
There was not much time, however, for thought or elusion, and she yielded as calmly as she could to the necessity of letting him overtake her.She saw that he was excited, less by the speed of his walk than by the feelings within him.
“Tess！”he said.
She slackened speed without looking round.
“Tess！”he repeated.“It is l—Alec d'Urberville.”
She then looked back at him, and he came up.
“I see it is, ”she answered coldly.
“Well—is that all?Yet I deserve no more！Of co urse, ”he added, with a slight laugh, “there is someth ing of the ridiculou s to y our eyes in seeing me like this.But—I must put up with that……I heard you had gon e away, nobody knew where.Tess, you wonder why I have followed you?”
“I do, rather; and I would that you had not, with all my heart！”
“Yes—you may well say it, ”he returned grimly, as they moved onward together, she with unwilling tread.“But don't mistake me; I beg this because you may have been led to do so in noticing—if you did no tice it—how your sudden appearance unnerved me down there.It was but a momentary faltering; and consid ering what y ou had been to me, it was natural en ough.But w ill helped me through it—though perhaps you think me a hu mbug for saying it—and immediately afterwards I felt that, of all persons in the world whom it was my duty and desire to save fro m the wrath to co me—sneer if y ou like—the woman whom I had so grievously wronged was that person.1 have come with that sole purpose in view—nothing more.”
There was the smallest vein of scorn in her words of rejoinder：“Have you saved yourself?Charity begins at home, they say.”
“I have done nothing！”said he indif ferently.“Heaven, as I have been telling my hearers, has d one all.No am ount of contem pt th at y ou can po ur upon me, Tess, will equal what I hav e poured up on myself—the old Adam of my former years！Well, it is a stran ge story; believe it or not; but I can tell you the means by which my conversion was brought about, an d I hope y ou will be interested enough at least to listen.Have you ever heard the name of the parsonof Emm inster—you m ust have don e so?—old Mr.Clare; one of the most earnest of h is school; on e of the few intense men lef t in the Church; no t so intense as the extreme wing of Christian believers with which I have thrown in my lot, but quite an exception among the Es tablished clergy, the y ounger of whom are gradually attenuating the true doctrines by their sophistries, till they are but the shadow of what they were.I only differ from him on the question of Church and State—the interpretation of the text, ‘Come out from among them and be ye separate, saith the Lord'—that's all.He is one who, 1 firmly believe, has been the humble means of saving more souls in this country than any other man you can name.You have heard of him?”
“I have, ”she said.
“He came to Trantridge two or three years ago to preach on behalf of some missionary society; and I, wretched fellow that I was, insulted him when, in his disinterestedness, he tried to reason with me and show me the way.He did not resent my conduct, he simply said that some day I should receive the first-fruits of the Spirit—that those who came to scoff sometimes remained to pray.There was a strange magic in his words.They sank into my mind.But the loss of my mother hit me most; and by degrees I was brought to see daylight.Since then my one desire has been to hand on th e true v iew to others, and that is what I was trying to do to-day; though it is only lately that I have preached hereabout.The firs t months of my minis try have been spe nt in the N orth of Eng land among strangers, where I preferred to make my earliest clumsy attempts, so as to acquire courage before undergoing that severest of all tests of one's sincerity, addressing those who have known one, and have been one's companions in the days of darkness.If you could only know, Tess, the pleasure of having a good slap at yourself, I am sure—”
“Don't go on with it！”she cried passionately, as she turned away from him to a stile by the wayside, on wh ich she bent herself.“1 can't beli eve in such sudden things！I feel ind ignant with y ou for talk ing to me like this, when you know—when you know what harm you've done me！You, and those like you, take your fill of pleasure on earth by ****** the life of such as me bitter and black with sorrow; and then it is a fine thing, when you have had enough ofthat, to think of securing your pleasure in heaven by becoming converted！Out upon such—I don't believe in you—I hate it！”
“Tess, ”he in sisted; “don't speak so！I t came to me like a jolly new idea！And you don't believe me?What don't you believe?”
“Your conversion.Your scheme of religion.”
“Why?”
She dropped her voice.“Because a better man than you does not believe in such.”
“What a woman's reason！Who is this better man?”
“l cannot tell you.”
“Well, ”h e declared, a resentment beneath h is words seem ing ready to spring out at a moment's notice, “God forbid that I should say I am a good man—and you know l don't say any such thing.I am new to good ness, truly; but new comers see furthest sometimes.”
“Yes, ”she replied sadly.“But I cannot believe in your conversion to a new spirit.Such flashes as you feel, Alec, I fear don't last！”
Thus speaking she turned from the stile over which she had been leaning, and faced him; wher eupon his ey es, falling casually upon the familiar
countenance and form, remained contemplating her.The inferior man was quiet in him now; but it was surely not extracted, nor even entirely subdued.
“Don't look at me like that！”he said abrupdy.
Tess, who had been qu ite unconscio us of her action and mien, instantly withdrew the large dark gaze of her ey es, stammering with a flush, “I beg your pardon！”And there was revived in her the wretched sentiment which had often come to her before, that in inhabiting the fleshly tabernacle with which n ature had endowed her she was somehow doing wrong.
“No, no！Don't beg my pardon.But since y ou wear a v eil to hid e y our good looks, why don't you keep it down?”
She pulled d own the veil, say ing hastily, “It was m ostly to k eep off the wind.”
“It may seem harsh of me to dictate like this, ”he went on; “but it is better that I should not look too often on you.It might be dangerous.”
“Ssh！”said Tess.
“Well, women's faces have had too much power over me already for m e not to f ear them！An evangelist has nothing to d o with such as they; an d i t reminds me of the old times that I would forget！”
After this their conversation dwindled to a casu al remark now and then as they rambled onward, Tess inwardly wondering how far he was going with her, and not liking to sen d him back by positive mandate.Frequently, when they came to a gate o r stile they found painte d there on in red or blue letters some text of S cripture, and she asked him if he knew who had been at th e pains to blazon these announcements.He to ld her that the man was employ ed by himself and others who were working with him in that d istrict, to p aint these reminders that no means might be left untried which might move the hearts of a wicked generation.
At length the road touched the spot called“Cross-in-Hand.”Of all spots on the b leached and deso late upland this was the most for lorn.It was so far removed from the charm which is sought in landscape by artists and viewlovers as to reach a new kind of beauty, a negative be auty of tragic tone.The pla ce took its name from a s tone pillar which stood there, a stran ge rude monolith, from a str atum unknown in any local quarry, on which was roughly carved a human hand.Differing accounts were given of its history and purport.S ome authorities stated that a devotional cross had once formed the complete erection thereon, of which the present relic was but the stump; others that the stone as it stood was entire, and th at it had becn fixed there to mark a bo undary or place of meeting.Any how, whatever the orig in of the re lic, there was a nd is something sinister, or solem n, according to mood, in th e scene am id which it stands; something tending to impress the most phlegmatic passer-by.
“I think I must leave you now, ”he remarked, as they drew near to this spot.“I have to preach at Abbot's-Cernel at six this evening, and my way lies across to him self the right fro m h ere.And y ou upset m e so mewhat too, Tessy—I cannot, will not, say why I must go away and get strength……How is it that you speak so fluently now?Who has taught you such good English?”
“I have learnt things in my troubles, ”she said evasively.
“What troubles have you had?”
She told him of the first one—the only one that related to him.
D'Urberville was struck m ute.“I knew nothing of this till now?”he next murmured.“Why didn't y ou write to me when you felt y our trouble coming on?”
She did not reply; and he broke the silence by adding.“Well—you will see me again.”
“No, ”she answered.“Do not again come near me！”
“I will think.But before we part co me here.”He stepped up t o the pi llar.“This was o nce a Holy Cross.Relic s are no t in my cre ed; b ut I f ear y ou at moments—far more than you need fe ar me at pre sent; and to lessen my fear, put your hand upon that stone hand, and swear that you will never tempt me—by your charms or ways.”
“Good God—how can you ask what is so unnecessary！All that is furthest from my thought！”
“Yes—but swear it.”
Tess, half frightened, gave way to his importunity; placed her hand upon the stone and swore.
“I am sorry you are not a believer, ”he continued; “that so me unbeliever should have got ho ld of you and un settled your mind.But no more now.At home at leas t I can pr ay for y ou; and I will; and who knows what may not happen?I'm off.Good-bye！”
He turned to a hunting-gate in the hedge, and without letting his eyes again rest upon her leapt ov er, and struck out across the down in the dir ection of Abbot's-Cernel.As he walked his pace showed perturbation, and by-and-by, as if instigated by a form er thought, h e drew from h is pocket a small book, between the leaves of which was folded a letter, worn and soiled, as from much re-reading.D'Urberville opened th e letter.It was dated sever al months before this time, and was signed by Parson Clare.
The letter began by expressing the writer's unfeigned joy at d'Urberville's conversion, and th anked him for h is kindness in co mmunicating with the parson on th e subject.It expressed Mr.Clarc's warm assurance of forgiveness for d'Urberville's former conduct, and his inter est in the y oung man's pl ans for the future.He, Mr.Clare, would much have liked to see d'Urberville in the Church to Whose ministry he had dev oted so many years of his own life, andwould have helped him to enter a theological college to that end; but s ince his correspondent had poss ibly not car ed to do this on accou nt of the d elay it would have entailed, h e was not the man to insist upo n its p aramount importance.Every man must work as he could b est work, an d in th e method towards which he felt impelled by the Spirit.
D'Urbervill e read and re-read this letter, and s eemed to q uiz hi mself cynically.He also read some passages from memoranda as he walked till his face assumed a calm, and apparently the image o f Tess no longer troubled his mind.
She meanwhile had kept along the edge of the hill by which lay her nearest way home.Within the distance of a mile she met a solitary shepherd.
“What is the meaning of that old stone 1 have passed?”she asked of him.“Was it ever a Holy Cross?”
“Cross—no; 'twer not a cross！'Tis a thing of ill-omen, Miss.It was put up in wuld times by the relations of a malefactor who was tortured there by nailing his hand to a post and afterwards hung.The bones lie underneath.They say he sold his soul to the devil, and that he walks at times.”
She felt the petite mort at this unexpectedly gruesome information, and left the solitary man behind her.It was dusk when she drew near to Flintcomb-Ash, and in the lane at the entrance to the hamlet she approached a girl and her lover without their observing her.Th ey we re talking no secrets, and the clear unconcerned voice of the young woman, in response to the warmer accents of the man, spread into the chilly air as the one soo thing thing within the dus ky horizon, full of a stagn ant obscurity upon which nothing else intruded.For a moment the voices cheered the heart of T ess, till she reasoned that this interview had its orig in, on one side or the oth er, in the sa me attraction which had been the prelude to her own tr ibulation.When she came close the girl turned serenely and reco gnized her, the young man walkin g off in em barrass-ment.The woman was Izz Huett, whose interest in Tess's excursion immediately superseded her own proceedings.Tess did not explain very clearly its results, and lzz, who was a girl of tact, began to speak of her own little affair, a phase of which Tess had just witnessed.
“He is Amby Seedling, the chap who used to sometimes come and help atTalbothays, ”she exp lained indifferently.“He actu ally inquired and found out that I had come here, and has followed me.He say s he's been in love w i'me these two years.But I've hardly answered him.”
46
Several days had pass ed since her futile journey, and Tess was afield.The dry winter wind still blew, but a screen of thatched hurdles erected in the eye of the b last k ept its force away fro m her.On the sheltered sid e was a turnip-slicing machine, whose brigh t b lue hue of new p aint seemed alm ost vocal in the otherwise subdued scene.Opposite its front was a long mound or“grave, ”in which th e ro ots had been preserved s ince early winter.Tess w as standing at the uncover ed end, chop ping of f with a bill-hoo k the f ibres and earth from each root, and throwing it after the operation into the slicer.A man was turning the handle of the machine, and from its trough came the newly-cut swedes, the fresh smell of whose yellow chips was accompanied by the sounds of the snuffling wind, the smart swish of the slicin g-blades, and the choppingsof the hook in Tess's leather-gloved hand.
The wide ac reage of bla nk agricu ltural brownness, apparent where, th e swedes had been pulled, was beginning to be striped in wales of darker brown, gradually br oadening to ribands.Alo ng th e ed ge of each of these so mething crept upon ten legs, moving without haste and without rest up and dow n the whole leng th of the field; it was tw o horses and a man, th e plough go ing between them, turning up the cleared ground for a spring sowing.
For hours n othing relieved th e joyless monotony of things.Then, f ar beyond the ploughing-teams, a b lack speck was seen.I t h ad come fro m th e corner of a f ence, where there was a gap, and its tenden cy was up the inc line, toward the swede-cutters.From the proportions of a mere point it advanced to the shape of a ninepin, and was soon perceived to be a man in black, arriving from the direction of FlintcombAsh.The man at the slicer, having nothing else to do with his ey es, continu ally ob served the comer, but Tess, who was occupied, did not perceive him till h er companion directed her attention to his approach.
It was no t her hard taskmaster, Far mer Groby; it was one in a se-mi-clerical costume, w ho now re presented what had once b een th e freeand-easy Alec d'Urberville.Not being hot at his preaching there was less enthusiasm about him now, and the presen ce of th e gr inder seemed to embarrass him.A pale distress was already on Tess's face, and she pu lled her curtained hood further over it.
D'Urberville came up and said quietly—
“I want to speak to you, Tess.”
“You have refused my last request, not to come near me！”said she.
“Yes, but I have a good reason.”
“Well, tell it.”
“It is more serious than you may think.”
He glanced round to see if he were overheard.They were at some distance from the man who turne d the s licer, and the movement of the machine, too, sufficiently prevented Alec's words reach ing other ears.D'Urberville p laced himself so as to screen Tess from the labourer, turning his back to the latter.
“It is this, ”he continued, with capr icious co mpunction.“In thinking o fyour soul and mine when we last met, I neglected to inquire as to your worldly condition.You were well dressed, and I did not think of it.But I see now that it is hard—harder than it used to be when I—knew you—harder than you deserve.Perhaps a good deal of it is owing to me！”
She did not answer, and he watched her inquiringly, as with bent head, her face completely screened by the hood, she resumed her trimming of the swedes.By going o n with her work she felt better able to keep him outside heremotions.
