In the meantime Alec d'Urberville had pushed on up the slope to clear his genuine doubt as to the quarter of The Chase they were in.He had, in fact, ridden quite at random for over an hour, taking any turning that came to hand in order to prolong companionship with her, and giving far more attention to Tess's moonlit person than to any wayside object.A little rest for the jaded animal being desirable, he did not hasten his search for landmarks.A clamber over the hill into the adjoining vale brought him to the fence of a highway whose contours he recognized, which settled the question of their whereabouts.D'Urberville thereupon turned back;but by this time the moon had quite gone down, and partly on account of the fog The Chase was wrapped in thick darkness, although morning was not far off.He was obliged to advance with outstretched hands to avoid contact with the boughs, and discovered that to hit the exact spot from which he had started was at first entirely beyond him.Roaming up and down, round and round, he at length heard a slight movement of the horse close at hand;and the sleeve of his overcoat unexpectedly caught his foot.
`Tess!' said d'Urberville.
There was no answer.The obscurity was now so great that he could see absolutely nothing but a pale nebulousness at his feet, which represented the white muslin figure he had left upon the dead leaves.Everything else was blackness alike.D'Urberville stooped; and heard a gentle regular breathing.
He knelt and bent lower, till her breath warmed his face, and in a moment his cheek was in contact with hers.She was sleeping soundly, and upon her eyelashes there lingered tears.
Darkness and silence ruled everywhere around.Above them rose the primeval yews and oaks of The Chase, in which were poised gentle roosting birds in their last nap; and about them stole the hopping rabbits and hares.
But, might some say, where was Tess's guardian angel? where was the providence of her simple faith? Perhaps, like that other god of whom the ironical Tishbite spoke, he was talking, or he was pursuing, or he was in a journey, or he was sleeping and not to be awaked.
Why it was that upon this beautiful feminine tissue, sensitive as gossamer, and practically blank as snow as yet, there should have been traced such a coarse pattern as it was doomed to receive; why so often the coarse appropriates the finer thus, the wrong man the woman, the wrong woman the man, many thousand years of analytical philosophy have failed to explain to our sense of order.One may, indeed, admit the possibility of a retribution lurking in the present catastrophe.Doubtless some of Tess d'Urberville's mailed ancestors rollicking home from a fray had dealt the same measure even more ruthlessly towards peasant girls of their time.But though to visit the sins of the fathers upon the children may be a morality good enough for divinities, it is scorned by average human nature; and it therefore does not mend the matter.
As Tess's own people down in those retreats are never tired of saying among each other in their fatalistic way: `It was to be.' There lay the pity of it.An immeasurable social chasm was to divide our heroine's personality thereafter from that previous self of hers who stepped from her mother's door to try her fortune at Trantridge poultry-farm.END OF PHASE THE FIRST PHASE THE SECOND Maiden no More Chapter 12 The basket was heavy and the bundle was large, but she lugged them along like a person who did not find her especial burden in material things.
Occasionally she stopped to rest in a mechanical way by some gate or post;and then, giving the baggage another hitch upon her full round arm, went steadily on again.
It was a Sunday morning in late October, about four months after Tess Durbeyfield's arrival at Trantridge, and some few weeks subsequent to the night ride in The Chase.The time was not long past daybreak, and the yellow luminosity upon the horizon behind her back lighted the ridge towards which her face was set - the barrier of the vale wherein she had of late been a stranger - which she would have to climb over to reach her birthplace.
The ascent was gradual on this side, and the soil and scenery differed much from those within Blakemore Vale.Even the character and accent of the two peoples had shades of difference, despite the amalgamating effects of a roundabout railway; so that, though less than twenty miles from the place of her sojourn at Trantridge, her native village had seemed a far-away spot.The field-folk shut in there traded northward and westward, travelled, courted, and married northward and westward, thought northward and westward;those on this side mainly directed their energies and attention to the east and south.
The incline was the same down which d'Urberville had driven with her so wildly on that day in June.Tess went up the remainder of its length without stopping, and on reaching the edge of the escarpment gazed over the familiar green world beyond, now half-veiled in mist.It was always beautiful from here; it was terribly beautiful to Tess to day, for since her eyes last fell upon it she had learnt that the serpent hisses where the sweet birds sing, and her views of life had been totally changed for her by the lesson.Verily another girl than the simple one she had been at home was she who, bowed by thought, stood still here, and turned to look behind her.She could not bear to look forward into the Vale.
Ascending by the long white road that Tess herself had just laboured up, she saw a two-wheeled vehicle, beside which walked a man, who held up his hand to attract her attention.
She obeyed the signal to wait for him with unspeculative repose, and in a few minutes man and horse stopped beside her.
`Why did you slip away by stealth like this?' said d'Urberville, with upbraiding breathlessness; `on a Sunday morning, too, when people were all in bed! I only discovered it by accident, and I have been driving like the deuce to overtake you.Just look at the mare.Why go off like this?
