"What is in them?"
"Almost either of 'em," she began, "would make--perhaps would
make--a properer wife than I. And perhaps they love you as well
as I--almost." "O, Tessy!"
There were signs that it was an exquisite relief to her to hear the
impatient exclamation, though she had resolved so intrepidly to let
generosity make one bid against herself. That was now done, and she
had not the power to attempt self-immolation a second time then.
They were joined by a milker from one of the cottages, and no more
was said on that which concerned them so deeply. But Tess knew that
this day would decide it.
In the afternoon several of the dairyman's household and assistants
went down to the meads as usual, a long way from the dairy, where
many of the cows were milked without being driven home. The
supply was getting less as the animals advanced in calf, and the
supernumerary milkers of the lush green season had been dismissed.
The work progressed leisurely. Each pailful was poured into tall
cans that stood in a large spring-waggon which had been brought
upon the scene; and when they were milked, the cows trailed away.
Dairyman Crick, who was there with the rest, his wrapper gleaming
miraculously white against a leaden evening sky, suddenly looked
at his heavy watch. "Why, 'tis later than I thought," he said. "Begad! We shan't be
soon enough with this milk at the station, if we don't mind. There's
no time to-day to take it home and mix it with the bulk afore sending
off. It must go to station straight from here. Who'll drive it
across?" Mr Clare volunteered to do so, though it was none of his business,
asking Tess to accompany him. The evening, though sunless, had
been warm and muggy for the season, and Tess had come out with
her milking-hood only, naked-armed and jacketless; certainly not
dressed for a drive. She therefore replied by glancing over her
scant habiliments; but Clare gently urged her. She assented by
relinquishing her pail and stool to the dairyman to take home, and
mounted the spring-waggon beside Clare.
XXX
In the diminishing daylight they went along the level roadway through
the meads, which stretched away into gray miles, and were backed in
the extreme edge of distance by the swarthy and abrupt slopes of
Egdon Heath. On its summit stood clumps and stretches of fir-trees,
whose notched tips appeared like battlemented towers crowning
black-fronted castles of enchantment.
They were so absorbed in the sense of being close to each other that
they did not begin talking for a long while, the silence being broken
only by the clucking of the milk in the tall cans behind them.
The lane they followed was so solitary that the hazel nuts had
remained on the boughs till they slipped from their shells, and the
blackberries hung in heavy clusters. Every now and then Angel would
fling the lash of his whip round one of these, pluck it off, and give
it to his companion.