"Tess," he added, with a sigh of discontent,--"yours was the very
worst case I ever was concerned in! I had no idea of what had
resulted till you told me. Scamp that I was to foul that innocent
life! The whole blame was mine--the whole unconventional business
of our time at Trantridge. You, too, the real blood of which I am
but the base imitation, what a blind young thing you were as to
possibilities! I say in all earnestness that it is a shame for
parents to bring up their girls in such dangerous ignorance of the
gins and nets that the wicked may set for them, whether their motive
be a good one or the result of simple indifference."
Tess still did no more than listen, throwing down one globular root
and taking up another with automatic regularity, the pensive contour
of the mere fieldwoman alone marking her.
"But it is not that I came to say," d'Urberville went on. "My
circumstances are these. I have lost my mother since you were at
Trantridge, and the place is my own. But I intend to sell it, and
devote myself to missionary work in Africa. A devil of a poor hand
I shall make at the trade, no doubt. However, what I want to ask
you is, will you put it in my power to do my duty--to make the only
reparation I can make for the trick played you: that is, will you be
my wife, and go with me? ... I have already obtained this precious
document. It was my old mother's dying wish."
He drew a piece of parchment from his pocket, with a slight fumbling
of embarrassment. "What is it?" said she. "A marriage licence."
"O no, sir--no!" she said quickly, starting back. "You will not? Why is that?"
And as he asked the question a disappointment which was not entirely
the disappointment of thwarted duty crossed d'Urberville's face. It
was unmistakably a symptom that something of his old passion for her
had been revived; duty and desire ran hand-in-hand.
"Surely," he began again, in more impetuous tones, and then looked
round at the labourer who turned the slicer. Tess, too, felt that the argument could not be ended there.
Informing the man that a gentleman had come to see her, with whom she
wished to walk a little way, she moved off with d'Urberville across
the zebra-striped field. When they reached the first newly-ploughed
section he held out his hand to help her over it; but she stepped
forward on the summits of the earth-rolls as if she did not see him.