The historic interest of her family--that masterful line of

d'Urbervilles--whom he had despised as a spent force, touched his

sentiments now. Why had he not known the difference between the

political value and the imaginative value of these things? In

the latter aspect her d'Urberville descent was a fact of great

dimensions; worthless to economics, it was a most useful ingredient

to the dreamer, to the moralizer on declines and falls. It was a

fact that would soon be forgotten--that bit of distinction in poor

Tess's blood and name, and oblivion would fall upon her hereditary

link with the marble monuments and leaded skeletons at Kingsbere. So

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does Time ruthlessly destroy his own romances. In recalling her face

again and again, he thought now that he could see therein a flash of

the dignity which must have graced her grand-dames; and the vision

sent that aura through his veins which he had formerly felt, and

which left behind it a sense of sickness.

Despite her not-inviolate past, what still abode in such a woman as

Tess outvalued the freshness of her fellows. Was not the gleaning

of the grapes of Ephraim better than the vintage of Abiezer?

So spoke love renascent, preparing the way for Tess's devoted

outpouring, which was then just being forwarded to him by his father;

though owing to his distance inland it was to be a long time in

reaching him.

Meanwhile the writer's expectation that Angel would come in response

to the entreaty was alternately great and small. What lessened it

was that the facts of her life which had led to the parting had

not changed--could never change; and that, if her presence had not

attenuated them, her absence could not. Nevertheless she addressed

her mind to the tender question of what she could do to please him

best if he should arrive. Sighs were expended on the wish that she

had taken more notice of the tunes he played on his harp, that she

had inquired more curiously of him which were his favourite ballads

among those the country-girls sang. She indirectly inquired of Amby

Seedling, who had followed Izz from Talbothays, and by chance Amby

remembered that, amongst the snatches of melody in which they had

indulged at the dairyman's, to induce the cows to let down their

milk, Clare had seemed to like "Cupid's Gardens", "I have parks, I

have hounds", and "The break o' the day"; and had seemed not to care

for "The Tailor's Breeches" and "Such a beauty I did grow", excellent

ditties as they were. To perfect the ballads was now her whimsical desire. She practised

them privately at odd moments, especially




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