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She
was
recognizing
how
light
was
the
touch
of
events
the
most
oppressive
upon
Mrs
Durbeyfield
’
s
elastic
spirit
.
Her
mother
did
not
see
life
as
Tess
saw
it
.
That
haunting
episode
of
bygone
days
was
to
her
mother
but
a
passing
accident
.
But
perhaps
her
mother
was
right
as
to
the
course
to
be
followed
,
whatever
she
might
be
in
her
reasons
.
Silence
seemed
,
on
the
face
of
it
,
best
for
her
adored
one
’
s
happiness
:
silence
it
should
be
.
Thus
steadied
by
a
command
from
the
only
person
in
the
world
who
had
any
shadow
of
right
to
control
her
action
,
Tess
grew
calmer
.
The
responsibility
was
shifted
,
and
her
heart
was
lighter
than
it
had
been
for
weeks
.
The
days
of
declining
autumn
which
followed
her
assent
,
beginning
with
the
month
of
October
,
formed
a
season
through
which
she
lived
in
spiritual
altitudes
more
nearly
approaching
ecstasy
than
any
other
period
of
her
life
.
There
was
hardly
a
touch
of
earth
in
her
love
for
Clare
.
To
her
sublime
trustfulness
he
was
all
that
goodness
could
be
—
knew
all
that
a
guide
,
philosopher
,
and
friend
should
know
.
She
thought
every
line
in
the
contour
of
his
person
the
perfection
of
masculine
beauty
,
his
soul
the
soul
of
a
saint
,
his
intellect
that
of
a
seer
.
The
wisdom
of
her
love
for
him
,
as
love
,
sustained
her
dignity
;
she
seemed
to
be
wearing
a
crown
.
The
compassion
of
his
love
for
her
,
as
she
saw
it
,
made
her
lift
up
her
heart
to
him
in
devotion
.
He
would
sometimes
catch
her
large
,
worshipful
eyes
,
that
had
no
bottom
to
them
looking
at
him
from
their
depths
,
as
if
she
saw
something
immortal
before
her
.
She
dismissed
the
past
—
trod
upon
it
and
put
it
out
,
as
one
treads
on
a
coal
that
is
smouldering
and
dangerous
.
She
had
not
known
that
men
could
be
so
disinterested
,
chivalrous
,
protective
,
in
their
love
for
women
as
he
.
Angel
Clare
was
far
from
all
that
she
thought
him
in
this
respect
;
absurdly
far
,
indeed
;
but
he
was
,
in
truth
,
more
spiritual
than
animal
;
he
had
himself
well
in
hand
,
and
was
singularly
free
from
grossness
.
Though
not
cold
-
natured
,
he
was
rather
bright
than
hot
—
less
Byronic
than
Shelleyan
;
could
love
desperately
,
but
with
a
love
more
especially
inclined
to
the
imaginative
and
ethereal
;
it
was
a
fastidious
emotion
which
could
jealously
guard
the
loved
one
against
his
very
self
.
This
amazed
and
enraptured
Tess
,
whose
slight
experiences
had
been
so
infelicitous
till
now
;
and
in
her
reaction
from
indignation
against
the
male
sex
she
swerved
to
excess
of
honour
for
Clare
.
They
unaffectedly
sought
each
other
’
s
company
;
in
her
honest
faith
she
did
not
disguise
her
desire
to
be
with
him
.
The
sum
of
her
instincts
on
this
matter
,
if
clearly
stated
,
would
have
been
that
the
elusive
quality
of
her
sex
which
attracts
men
in
general
might
be
distasteful
to
so
perfect
a
man
after
an
avowal
of
love
,
since
it
must
in
its
very
nature
carry
with
it
a
suspicion
of
art
.
The
country
custom
of
unreserved
comradeship
out
of
doors
during
betrothal
was
the
only
custom
she
knew
,
and
to
her
it
had
no
strangeness
;
though
it
seemed
oddly
anticipative
to
Clare
till
he
saw
how
normal
a
thing
she
,
in
common
with
all
the
other
dairy
-
folk
,
regarded
it
.
Thus
,
during
this
October
month
of
wonderful
afternoons
they
roved
along
the
meads
by
creeping
paths
which
followed
the
brinks
of
trickling
tributary
brooks
,
hopping
across
by
little
wooden
bridges
to
the
other
side
,
and
back
again
.
They
were
never
out
of
the
sound
of
some
purling
weir
,
whose
buzz
accompanied
their
own
murmuring
,
while
the
beams
of
the
sun
,
almost
as
horizontal
as
the
mead
itself
,
formed
a
pollen
of
radiance
over
the
landscape
.
They
saw
tiny
blue
fogs
in
the
shadows
of
trees
and
hedges
,
all
the
time
that
there
was
bright
sunshine
elsewhere
.
The
sun
was
so
near
the
ground
,
and
the
sward
so
flat
,
that
the
shadows
of
Clare
and
Tess
would
stretch
a
quarter
of
a
mile
ahead
of
them
,
like
two
long
fingers
pointing
afar
to
where
the
green
alluvial
reaches
abutted
against
the
sloping
sides
of
the
vale
.
Men
were
at
work
here
and
there
—
for
it
was
the
season
for
“
taking
up
”
the
meadows
,
or
digging
the
little
waterways
clear
for
the
winter
irrigation
,
and
mending
their
banks
where
trodden
down
by
the
cows
.
The
shovelfuls
of
loam
,
black
as
jet
,
brought
there
by
the
river
when
it
was
as
wide
as
the
whole
valley
,
were
an
essence
of
soils
,
pounded
campaigns
of
the
past
,
steeped
,
refined
,
and
subtilized
to
extraordinary
richness
,
out
of
which
came
all
the
fertility
of
the
mead
,
and
of
the
cattle
grazing
there
.
