The y oung man, thus invited, glan ced th em ov er, and attem pted so me discrimination; but, as the group were all so new to him, he could not very well exercise it.He took alm ost th e f irst that cam e to hand, which was no t th e speaker, as she had expected; n or d id it h appen to b e Tess Durbey field.Pedigree, ancestral skeletons, monumental record, the d'Urberville lineaments, did not he lp Tess in her l ife's battle a s yet, even t o the ex tent of attr acting toher a dancing-partner over the heads of the commonest peasantry.So much for Norman blood unaided by Victorian lucre.
The name of the eclipsing girl, whatever it was, has not been handed down; but she was envied by all as the first who enjoy ed the luxury of a masculine partner that evening.Yet such was th e force of example that the village young men, who had not hasten ed to enter the gate while no intr uder was in the way, now dropped in q uickly, and soon the coup les became leavened with r ustic youth to a marked extent, till at length the plainest woman in the club was no longer compelled to foot it on the masculine side of the figure.
The church clock stru ck, when suddenly the stu dent said that he must leave—he had been forgetting him self—he had to join his companions.As he fell out of the dan ce his eyes lighted on Tess Durbeyfield, whose own large orbs wore, to tell th e tr uth, th e fain test asp ect o f reproach that he had no t chosen her.He, too, was sorry then that, owing to her backwardness, he had not observed her; and with that in his mind he left the pasture.
On accoun t of his long delay he s tarted in a fly ing-run dow n the lan e westward, and had soon passed the h ollow and mounted the next rise.He had not yet overtaken his brothers, but he paused to get breath, and looked back.He could see the white figures of the girls in the green enclosure whirling about as they had w hirled when he was among them.They seem ed to h ave q uite forgotten him already.
All of them, except, p erhaps, one.This white sh ape stood apart by the hedge alone.From her position he knew it to be the pretty maiden with whom he had n ot danced.Trifling as th e matter was, he yet insinctively felt that she was hurt by his oversight.He wished that he had asked her; he wished that he had inquired her nam e.She was so modest, so ex pressive, she had looked so soft in her thin white gown that he felt he had acted stupidly.
However, it could no t be helped, and turning, and bending h imself to a rapid walk; he dismissed the subject from his mind.
3
As for Tess Durbeyfield, she did not so easily dislodge the incident from her consideration. She had no spirit to dance again for a long time, though she might have had plenty of partners; but, ah! they did not speak so nicely as the strange young man had done. It was not till the rays of the sun had absorbed
the young stranger's retreating figure on the hill that she shook off her temporary sadness and answered her would-be partner in the affirmative.
She did not so easily dislodge the in cidentfrom her consideration.She had no spirit to dance again for a long time, though she might have had plenty of partners; but, ah！they did not speak so nicely as the strange young man had done.It was not till the rays of the sun had absorbed the y oung stranger's retreating figur e on th e h ill th at she shook off h er temporary sadness and answered her would-be partner in the affirmative.
She remained with her comrades till dusk, and participated with a certain zest in the dancing; though, being heart-whole as yet, she en joyed treading a measure purely for its own sake; little divining when she saw“the soft torments, the bitter sweets, the pleasing pains, and the agreeable dis tresses”of those girls who had been wooed and won, what she herself was capable of in that k ind.The struggles and wrangles of the lads for her hand in a jig were an amusement to her—no more; and when they became fierce she rebuked them.
She might h ave s tayed even later, b ut the incident o f her f ather's odd appearance and manner returned upon the girl's mind to make her anxious, and wondering what had beco me of him she dropped away from the dancers and bent her steps towards the end of the village at which the parental cottage lay.
While yet many score yards off, other rhy thmic sounds than those he h ad quitted became audible to her; sounds that she knew well—so well.They wereAs for Tess Durbeyfield a regular series of thumpings from the interior of the house, occasioned by the violent rocking of a crad le upon a stone floor, to which movement a f eminine voice kept time by singing, in a vigorous gallopade, the favourite ditty of“The Spotted Cow”—
I saw her lie do'—own in yon'—der green gto'—ove;
“Come, love！'and I'll tell'you where！”
The cr adle-rocking and the song would ce ase sim ultaneously for a moment, and an exclamation at highest vocal pitch would take the place of the melody.
“God bless thy dim ent eyes！And thy waxen cheeks！And thy cherry mouth！And thy Cubit's thighs！And every bit o'thy blessed body！”
After this invocation the rocking and the singing would recommence, and the“Spotted Cow”proceed as before.So matters stood when Tess opened the door, and paused upon the mat within it surveying the scene.
The interior, in spite of the melody, struck upon the girl's senses with an unspeakable drear iness.Fro m the holiday gaie tics of the field—the white gowns, the nosegays, the willow-wands, the whirling movements on the green, the flash of gentle sentiment towards the stranger—to the yellow melancholy of this one-candled spectacle, what a step！Besides the jar of con trast there came to her a chill self-reproach that she had not return ed sooner, to help her mother in these domesticities, instead of indulging herself out-of-doors.
There stood her mother amid the group of ch ildren, as Tess h ad left her, hanging over the Monday washing-tub, which had now, as always, lingered on to the end of the week.O ut of that tub had co me the day before—Tess felt it with a dreadful sting of remorse—the very white frock upon her back wh ich she had so carelessly greened about the skirt on the damping grass—which had been wrung up and ironed by her mother's own hands.
As usual, Mrs.Durbey field was balanced on one foot beside the tub, the other being engaged in the afor esaid business of rocking her youngest child.The cradle-rockers had done hard duty for so m any years, under the weigh t of so many children, on that flagstone floor, that they were worn nearly flat, in consequence of which a huge jerk accompanied each swing of the cot, flinging the baby from side to side like a weaver's shuttle, as Mrs.Durbeyfield, excitcdby her song, trod the rocker with all the spring that was left in her after a long day's seething in the suds.
Nick-knock, nick-knock, went the cradle; the cand leflame stretched itself tall, and beg an jigging u p and down; th e water dribbled fro m the matron's elbows, and the song galloped on to the end of the verse, M rs.Durbey field regarding her daughter the while.Even now, when burdened with a y oung family, Joan Durbeyfield was a pass ionate lover of tune.No ditty floated into Blackmoor Vale from thc outer world but Tess's mother caught up its notation in a week.
There st ill f aintly bea med fro m th e woman's features so mething of th e freshness, and even the prettiness, of her youth; rendering it probable that the personal charms which Tess could boast of were in main part her mother's gift, and therefore unknightly, unhistorical.
“I'll rock the cradle for'ee, mother, ”said the daughter gently.“Or I'll take off my best frock and help you wring up?I thought you had finished long ago.”