"Welcome to one of your ancestral mansions!" said Clare as he handed
her down. But he regretted the pleasantry; it was too near a satire.
On entering they found that, though they had only engaged a couple
of rooms, the farmer had taken advantage of their proposed presence
during the coming days to pay a New Year's visit to some friends,
leaving a woman from a neighbouring cottage to minister to their
few wants. The absoluteness of possession pleased them, and they
realized it as the first moment of their experience under their own
exclusive roof-tree. But he found that the mouldy old habitation somewhat depressed his
bride. When the carriage was gone they ascended the stairs to wash
their hands, the charwoman showing the way. On the landing Tess
stopped and started.
"What's the matter?" said he. "Those horrid women!" she answered with a smile. "How they
frightened me." He looked up, and perceived two life-size portraits on panels built
into the masonry. As all visitors to the mansion are aware, these
paintings represent women of middle age, of a date some two hundred
years ago, whose lineaments once seen can never be forgotten.
The long pointed features, narrow eye, and smirk of the one, so
suggestive of merciless treachery; the bill-hook nose, large
teeth, and bold eye of the other suggesting arrogance to the point
of ferocity, haunt the beholder afterwards in his dreams.
"Whose portraits are those?" asked Clare of the charwoman.
"I have been told by old folk that they were ladies of the
d'Urberville family, the ancient lords of this manor," she said,
"Owing to their being builded into the wall they can't be moved
away." The unpleasantness of the matter was that, in addition to their
effect upon Tess, her fine features were unquestionably traceable
in these exaggerated forms. He said nothing of this, however, and,
regretting that he had gone out of his way to choose the house for
their bridal time, went on into the adjoining room. The place having
been rather hastily prepared for them, they washed their hands in one
basin. Clare touched hers under the water.
"Which are my fingers and which are yours?" he said, looking up.
"They are very much mixed." "They are all yours," said she, very prettily, and endeavoured
to be gayer than she was. He had not been displeased with her
thoughtfulness on such an occasion; it was what every sensible woman
would show: but Tess knew that she had been thoughtful to excess,
and struggled against it. The sun was so low on that short last afternoon of the year that it
shone in through a small opening and formed a golden staff which
stretched across to her skirt, where it made a spot like a paint-mark
set upon her. They went into the ancient parlour to tea, and
here they shared their first common meal alone. Such was their
childishness, or rather his, that he found it interesting to use the
same bread-and-butter plate as herself, and to brush crumbs from her
lips with his own. He wondered a little that she did not enter into
these frivolities with his own zest. Looking at her silently for a long time;