Tess was woman enough to realize from their avowals
to herself that Angel Clare had the honour of all
the dairymaids in his keeping, and her perception
of his care to avoid compromising the happiness of
either in the least degree bred a tender respect in
Tess for what she deemed, rightly or wrongly, the
self-controlling sense of duty shown by him, a quality
which she had never expected to find in one of the
opposite sex, and in the absence of which more than
one of the simple hearts who were his house-mates
might have gone weeping on her pilgrimage.
The hot weather of July had crept upon them unawares,
and the atmosphere of the flat vale hung heavy as
an opiate over the dairy-folk, the cows, and the trees.
Hot steaming rains fell frequently, making the grass
where the cows fed yet more rank, and hindering the
late hay-making in the other meads.
It was Sunday morning; the milking was done; the outdoor
milkers had gone home. Tess and the other three
were dressing themselves rapidly, the whole bevy having
agreed to go together to Mellstock Church, which lay
some three or four miles distant from the dairy-house.
She had now been two months at Talbothays, and this
was her first excursion.
All the preceding afternoon and night heavy thunderstorms
had hissed down upon the meads, and washed some of
the hay into the river; but this morning the sun shone
out all the more brilliantly for the deluge, and the
air was balmy and clear.
The crooked lane leading from their own parish to
Mellstock ran along the lowest levels in a portion
of its length, and when the girls reached the most
depressed spot they found that the result of the rain
had been to flood the lane over-shoe to a distance
of some fifty yards. This would have been no
serious hindrance on a week-day; they would have clicked
through it in their high patterns and boots quite
unconcerned; but on this day of vanity, this Sun’s-day,
when flesh went forth to coquet with flesh while hypocritically
affecting business with spiritual things; on this
occasion for wearing their white stockings and thin
shoes, and their pink, white, and lilac gowns, on
which every mud spot would be visible, the pool was
an awkward impediment. They could hear the church-bell
calling—as yet nearly a mile off.
“Who would have expected such a rise in the
river in summer-time!” said Marian, from the
top of the roadside bank on which they had climbed,
and were maintaining a precarious footing in the hope
of creeping along its slope till they were past the
pool.
“We can’t get there anyhow, without walking
right through it, or else going round the Turnpike
way; and that would make us so very late!” said
Retty, pausing hopelessly.
“And I do colour up so hot, walking into church
late, and all the people staring round,” said
Marian, “that I hardly cool down again till
we get into the That-it-may-please-Thees.”
