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In
less
than
five
months
his
term
here
would
have
ended
,
and
after
a
few
additional
months
spent
upon
other
farms
he
would
be
fully
equipped
in
agricultural
knowledge
,
and
in
a
position
to
start
on
his
own
account
.
Would
not
a
farmer
want
a
wife
,
and
should
a
farmer
’
s
wife
be
a
drawing
-
room
wax
-
figure
,
or
a
woman
who
understood
farming
?
Notwithstanding
the
pleasing
answer
returned
to
him
by
the
silence
he
resolved
to
go
his
journey
.
One
morning
when
they
sat
down
to
breakfast
at
Talbothays
Dairy
some
maid
observed
that
she
had
not
seen
anything
of
Mr
Clare
that
day
.
“
O
no
,
”
said
Dairyman
Crick
.
“
Mr
Clare
has
gone
hwome
to
Emminster
to
spend
a
few
days
wi
’
his
kinsfolk
.
”
For
four
impassioned
ones
around
that
table
the
sunshine
of
the
morning
went
out
at
a
stroke
,
and
the
birds
muffled
their
song
.
But
neither
girl
by
word
or
gesture
revealed
her
blankness
.
“
He
’
s
getting
on
towards
the
end
of
his
time
wi
’
me
,
”
added
the
dairyman
,
with
a
phlegm
which
unconsciously
was
brutal
;
“
and
so
I
suppose
he
is
beginning
to
see
about
his
plans
elsewhere
.
”
“
How
much
longer
is
he
to
bide
here
?
”
asked
Izz
Huett
,
the
only
one
of
the
gloom
-
stricken
bevy
who
could
trust
her
voice
with
the
question
.
The
others
waited
for
the
dairyman
’
s
answer
as
if
their
lives
hung
upon
it
;
Retty
,
with
parted
lips
,
gazing
on
the
tablecloth
,
Marian
with
heat
added
to
her
redness
,
Tess
throbbing
and
looking
out
at
the
meads
.
“
Well
,
I
can
’
t
mind
the
exact
day
without
looking
at
my
memorandum
-
book
,
”
replied
Crick
,
with
the
same
intolerable
unconcern
.
“
And
even
that
may
be
altered
a
bit
.
He
’
ll
bide
to
get
a
little
practice
in
the
calving
out
at
the
straw
-
yard
,
for
certain
.
He
’
ll
hang
on
till
the
end
of
the
year
I
should
say
.
”
Four
months
or
so
of
torturing
ecstasy
in
his
society
—
of
“
pleasure
girdled
about
with
pain
”
.
After
that
the
blackness
of
unutterable
night
.
At
this
moment
of
the
morning
Angel
Clare
was
riding
along
a
narrow
lane
ten
miles
distant
from
the
breakfasters
,
in
the
direction
of
his
father
’
s
Vicarage
at
Emminster
,
carrying
,
as
well
as
he
could
,
a
little
basket
which
contained
some
black
-
puddings
and
a
bottle
of
mead
,
sent
by
Mrs
Crick
,
with
her
kind
respects
,
to
his
parents
.
The
white
lane
stretched
before
him
,
and
his
eyes
were
upon
it
;
but
they
were
staring
into
next
year
,
and
not
at
the
lane
.
He
loved
her
;
ought
he
to
marry
her
?
Dared
he
to
marry
her
?
What
would
his
mother
and
his
brothers
say
?
What
would
he
himself
say
a
couple
of
years
after
the
event
?
That
would
depend
upon
whether
the
germs
of
staunch
comradeship
underlay
the
temporary
emotion
,
or
whether
it
were
a
sensuous
joy
in
her
form
only
,
with
no
substratum
of
everlastingness
.
