The letter began by expressing the writer's unfeigned joy at d'Urberville's conversion, and thanked him for his kindness in communicating with the parson on the subject.It expressed Mr Clare's warm assurance of forgiveness for d'Urberville's former conduct, and his interest in the young man's plans for the future.He, Mr Clare, would much have liked to see d'Urberville in the Church to whose ministry he had devoted so many years of his own life, and would have helped him to enter a theological college to that end; but since his correspondent had possibly not cared to do this on account of the delay it would have entailed, he was not the man to insist upon its paramount importance.Every man must work as he could best work, and in the method towards which he felt impelled by the Spirit.
D'Urberville read and re-read this letter, and seemed to quiz himself cynically.He also read some passages from memoranda as he walked till his face assumed a calm, and apparently the image of 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 I 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.They were 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 soothing thing within the dusky horizon, full of a stagnant obscurity upon which nothing else intruded.For a moment the voices cheered the heart of Tess, till she reasoned that this interview had its origin, on one side or the other, in the same attraction which had been the prelude to her own tribulation.When she came close the girl turned serenely and recognized her, the young man walking off in embarrassment.The woman was Izz Huett, whose interest in Tess's excursion immediately superseded her own proceedings.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 Izz, 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 at Talbothays,' she explained indifferently.`He actually inquired and found out that I had come here, and has followed me.He says he's been in love wi' me these two years.But I've hardly answered him.'
Chapter 46 Several days had passed 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 blast kept its force away from her.On the sheltered side was a turnip-slicing machine, whose bright blue hue of new paint seemed almost vocal in the otherwise subdued scene.Opposite its front was a long mound or `grave', in which the roots had been preserved since early winter.
Tess was standing at the uncovered end, chopping off with a bill-hook the fibres 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 slicing-blades, and the choppings of the hook in Tess's leather-gloved hand.
The wide acreage of blank agricultural brownness, apparent where the swedes had been pulled, was beginning to be striped in wales of darker brown, gradually broadening to ribands.Along the edge of each of these something crept upon ten legs, moving without haste and without rest up and down the whole length of the field; it was two horses and a man, the plough going between them, turning up the cleared ground for a spring sowing.
For hours nothing relieved the joyless monotony of things.Then, far beyond the ploughing-teams, a black speck was seen.It had come from the corner of a fence, where there was a gap, and its tendency was up the incline, towards 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 Flintcomb-Ash.The man at the slicer, having nothing else to do with his eyes, continually observed the comer, but Tess, who was occupied, did not perceive him till her companion directed her attention to his approach.
It was not her hard taskmaster, Farmer Groby; it was one in a semi-clerical costume, who now represented what had once been the free-and-easy Alec d'Urberville.Not being hot at his preaching there was less enthusiasm about him now, and the presence of the grinder seemed to embarrass him.
A pale distress was already on Tess's face, and she pulled 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 turned the slicer, and the movement of the machine, too, sufficiently prevented Alec's words reaching other ears.D'Urberville placed himself so as to screen Tess from the labourer, turning his back to the latter.
