expectations.
The house in which Tess had passed the years of her childhood was
now inhabited by another family who had never known her. The new
residents were in the garden, taking as much interest in their own
doings as if the homestead had never passed its primal time in
conjunction with the histories of others, beside which the histories
of these were but as a tale told by an idiot. They walked about the
garden paths with thoughts of their own concerns entirely uppermost,
bringing their actions at every moment in jarring collision with the
dim ghosts behind them, talking as though the time when Tess lived
there were not one whit intenser in story than now. Even the spring
birds sang over their heads as if they thought there was nobody
missing in particular.
On inquiry of these precious innocents, to whom even the name of
their predecessors was a failing memory, Clare learned that John
Durbeyfield was dead; that his widow and children had left Marlott,
declaring that they were going to live at Kingsbere, but instead of
doing so had gone on to another place they mentioned. By this time
Clare abhorred the house for ceasing to contain Tess, and hastened
away from its hated presence without once looking back.
His way was by the field in which he had first beheld her at the
dance. It was as bad as the house--even worse. He passed on through
the churchyard, where, amongst the new headstones, he saw one of a
somewhat superior design to the rest. The inscription ran thus:
In memory of John Durbeyfield, rightly d'Urberville, of
the once powerful family of that Name, and Direct
Descendant through an illustrious Line from Sir Pagan
d'Urberville, one of the Knights of the Conqueror. Died
March 10th, 18--
HOW ARE THE MIGHTY FALLEN.
Some man, apparently the sexton, had observed Clare standing there,
and drew nigh. 'Ah, sir, now that's a man who didn't want to lie
here, but wished to be carried to Kingsbere, where his ancestors be.'
'And why didn't they respect his wish?'
'Oh--no money. Bless your soul, sir, why--there, I wouldn't wish to
say it everywhere, but--even this headstone, for all the flourish
wrote upon en, is not paid for.'
'Ah, who put it up?'
The man told the name of a mason in the village, and, on leaving the
churchyard, Clare called at the mason's house. He found that the
statement was true, and paid the bill. This done, he turned in the
direction of the migrants.
The distance was too long for a walk, but Clare felt such a strong
desire for isolation that at first he would neither hire a conveyance
nor go to a circuitous line of railway by which he might eventually
reach the place. At Shaston, however, he found he must hire; but
the way was such that he did not enter Joan's place till about seven
o'clock in the evening, having traversed a distance of over twenty
miles since leaving Marlott.
The village being small he had little difficulty in finding Mrs
