products, the stirring of which by their turbulent feet created the
nebulosity that involved the scene. Through this floating, fusty
_debris_ of peat and hay, mixed with the perspirations and warmth of
the dancers, and forming together a sort of vegeto-human pollen, the
muted fiddles feebly pushed their notes, in marked contrast to the
spirit with which the measure was trodden out. They coughed as
they danced, and laughed as they coughed. Of the rushing couples
there could barely be discerned more than the high lights--the
indistinctness shaping them to satyrs clasping nymphs--a multiplicity
of Pans whirling a multiplicity of Syrinxes; Lotis attempting to
elude Priapus, and always failing.
At intervals a couple would approach the doorway for air, and
the haze no longer veiling their features, the demigods resolved
themselves into the homely personalities of her own next-door
neighbours. Could Trantridge in two or three short hours have
metamorphosed itself thus madly!
Some Sileni of the throng sat on benches and hay-trusses by the wall;
and one of them recognized her.
'The maids don't think it respectable to dance at The Flower-de-Luce,'
he explained. 'They don't like to let everybody see which be their
fancy-men. Besides, the house sometimes shuts up just when their
jints begin to get greased. So we come here and send out for
liquor.'
'But when be any of you going home?' asked Tess with some anxiety.
'Now--a'most directly. This is all but the last jig.'
She waited. The reel drew to a close, and some of the party were in
the mind of starting. But others would not, and another dance was
formed. This surely would end it, thought Tess. But it merged in
yet another. She became restless and uneasy; yet, having waited so
long, it was necessary to wait longer; on account of the fair the
roads were dotted with roving characters of possibly ill intent; and,
though not fearful of measurable dangers, she feared the unknown.
Had she been near Marlott she would have had less dread.
'Don't ye be nervous, my dear good soul,' expostulated, between his
coughs, a young man with a wet face and his straw hat so far back
upon his head that the brim encircled it like the nimbus of a saint.
'What's yer hurry? To-morrow is Sunday, thank God, and we can sleep
it off in church-time. Now, have a turn with me?'
She did not abhor dancing, but she was not going to dance here. The
movement grew more passionate: the fiddlers behind the luminous
pillar of cloud now and then varied the air by playing on the wrong
side of the bridge or with the back of the bow. But it did not
matter; the panting shapes spun onwards.
They did not vary their partners if their inclination were to stick
to previous ones. Changing partners simply meant that a satisfactory
choice had not as yet been arrived at by one or other of the pair,
and by this time every couple had been suitably matched. It was then
that the ecstasy and the dream began, in which emotion was the matter
of the universe, and matter but an adventitious intrusion likely to
hinder you from spinning where you wanted to spin.
