Looking at her silently for a long time; 'She is a dear dear Tess,'
he thought to himself, as one deciding on the true construction of
a difficult passage. 'Do I realize solemnly enough how utterly and
irretrievably this little womanly thing is the creature of my good
or bad faith and fortune? I think not. I think I could not, unless
I were a woman myself. What I am in worldly estate, she is. What I
become, she must become. What I cannot be, she cannot be. And shall
I ever neglect her, or hurt her, or even forget to consider her? God
forbid such a crime!'
They sat on over the tea-table waiting for their luggage, which the
dairyman had promised to send before it grew dark. But evening began
to close in, and the luggage did not arrive, and they had brought
nothing more than they stood in. With the departure of the sun the
calm mood of the winter day changed. Out of doors there began noises
as of silk smartly rubbed; the restful dead leaves of the preceding
autumn were stirred to irritated resurrection, and whirled about
unwillingly, and tapped against the shutters. It soon began to rain.
'That cock knew the weather was going to change,' said Clare.
The woman who had attended upon them had gone home for the night, but
she had placed candles upon the table, and now they lit them. Each
candle-flame drew towards the fireplace.
'These old houses are so draughty,' continued Angel, looking at the
flames, and at the grease guttering down the sides. 'I wonder where
that luggage is. We haven't even a brush and comb.'
'I don't know,' she answered, absent-minded.
'Tess, you are not a bit cheerful this evening--not at all as you
used to be. Those harridans on the panels upstairs have unsettled
you. I am sorry I brought you here. I wonder if you really love me,
after all?'
He knew that she did, and the words had no serious intent; but she
was surcharged with emotion, and winced like a wounded animal.
Though she tried not to shed tears, she could not help showing one
or two.
'I did not mean it!' said he, sorry. 'You are worried at not having
your things, I know. I cannot think why old Jonathan has not come
with them. Why, it is seven o'clock? Ah, there he is!'
A knock had come to the door, and, there being nobody else to answer
it, Clare went out. He returned to the room with a small package in
his hand.
'It is not Jonathan, after all,' he said.
'How vexing!' said Tess.
The packet had been brought by a special messenger, who had arrived
at Talbothays from Emminster Vicarage immediately after the departure
of the married couple, and had followed them hither, being under
injunction to deliver it into nobody's hands but theirs. Clare
brought it to the light. It was less than a foot long, sewed up in
canvas, sealed in red wax with his father's seal, and directed in his
father's hand to 'Mrs Angel Clare.'
'It is a little wedding-present for you, Tess,' said he, handing it
