“I didn’t wish to hear it, dearest,”
she said proudly.
But to know that things were in train was an immense
relief to Tess notwithstanding, who had well-nigh
feared that somebody would stand up and forbid the
banns on the ground of her history. How events
were favouring her!
“I don’t quite feel easy,” she said
to herself. “All this good fortune may
be scourged out of me afterwards by a lot of ill.
That’s how Heaven mostly does. I wish
I could have had common banns!”
But everything went smoothly. She wondered whether
he would like her to be married in her present best
white frock, or if she ought to buy a new one.
The question was set at rest by his forethought,
disclosed by the arrival of some large packages addressed
to her. Inside them she found a whole stock of
clothing, from bonnet to shoes, including a perfect
morning costume, such as would well suit the simple
wedding they planned. He entered the house shortly
after the arrival of the packages, and heard her upstairs
undoing them.
A minute later she came down with a flush on her face
and tears in her eyes.
“How thoughtful you’ve been!” she
murmured, her cheek upon his shoulder. “Even
to the gloves and handkerchief! My own love—how
good, how kind!”
“No, no, Tess; just an order to a tradeswoman
in London—nothing more.”
And to divert her from thinking too highly of him,
he told her to go upstairs, and take her time, and
see if it all fitted; and, if not, to get the village
sempstress to make a few alterations.
She did return upstairs, and put on the gown.
Alone, she stood for a moment before the glass looking
at the effect of her silk attire; and then there came
into her head her mother’s ballad of the mystic
robe—
That never would become
that wife
That had
once done amiss,
which Mrs Durbeyfield had used to sing to her as a
child, so blithely and so archly, her foot on the
cradle, which she rocked to the tune. Suppose
this robe should betray her by changing colour, as
her robe had betrayed Queen Guinevere. Since
she had been at the dairy she had not once thought
of the lines till now.
Angel felt that he would like to spend a day with
her before the wedding, somewhere away from the dairy,
as a last jaunt in her company while there were yet
mere lover and mistress; a romantic day, in circumstances
that would never be repeated; with that other and
greater day beaming close ahead of them. During
the preceding week, therefore, he suggested making
a few purchases in the nearest town, and they started
together.
Clare’s life at the dairy had been that of a
recluse in respect the world of his own class.
For months he had never gone near a town, and, requiring
no vehicle, had never kept one, hiring the dairyman’s
cob or gig if he rode or drove. They went in
the gig that day.
