"And you would have been a rich lady ready-made, and not have had to

be made rich by marrying a gentleman?"

"O Aby, don't--don't talk of that any more!"

Left to his reflections Abraham soon grew drowsy. Tess was not

skilful in the management of a horse, but she thought that she could

take upon herself the entire conduct of the load for the present and

allow Abraham to go to sleep if he wished to do so. She made him a

sort of nest in front of the hives, in such a manner that he could

not fall, and, taking the reins into her own hands, jogged on as

before. Prince required but slight attention, lacking energy for superfluous

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movements of any sort. With no longer a companion to distract her,

Tess fell more deeply into reverie than ever, her back leaning

against the hives. The mute procession past her shoulders of trees

and hedges became attached to fantastic scenes outside reality, and

the occasional heave of the wind became the sigh of some immense sad

soul, conterminous with the universe in space, and with history in

time. Then, examining the mesh of events in her own life, she seemed to see

the vanity of her father's pride; the gentlemanly suitor awaiting

herself in her mother's fancy; to see him as a grimacing personage,

laughing at her poverty and her shrouded knightly ancestry.

Everything grew more and more extravagant, and she no longer knew how

time passed. A sudden jerk shook her in her seat, and Tess awoke

from the sleep into which she, too, had fallen.

They were a long way further on than when she had lost consciousness,

and the waggon had stopped. A hollow groan, unlike anything she had

ever heard in her life, came from the front, followed by a shout of

"Hoi there!" The lantern hanging at her waggon had gone out, but another was

shining in her face--much brighter than her own had been. Something

terrible had happened. The harness was entangled with an object

which blocked the way.

In consternation Tess jumped down, and discovered the dreadful truth.

The groan had proceeded from her father's poor horse Prince. The

morning mail-cart, with its two noiseless wheels, speeding along

these lanes like an arrow, as it always did, had driven into her slow

and unlighted equipage. The pointed shaft of the cart had entered

the breast of the unhappy Prince like a sword, and from the wound his

life's blood was spouting in a stream, and falling with a hiss into

the road. In her despair Tess sprang forward and put her hand upon the hole,

with the only result that she became splashed from face to skirt with

the crimson drops. Then she stood helplessly looking on. Prince

also stood firm and motionless as long as he could; till he suddenly

sank down in a heap.




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