“It may seem harsh of me to dictate like this,” he went on; “but it is better that I should not look too often on you.  It might be dangerous.”

“Ssh!” said Tess.

“Well, women’s faces have had too much power over me already for me not to fear them!  An evangelist has nothing to do with such as they; and it reminds me of the old times that I would forget!”

After this their conversation dwindled to a casual remark now and then as they rambled onward, Tess inwardly wondering how far he was going with her, and not liking to send him back by positive mandate.  Frequently when they came to a gate or stile they found painted thereon in red or blue letters some text of Scripture, and she asked him if he knew who had been at the pains to blazon these announcements.  He told her that the man was employed by himself and others who were working with him in that district, to paint these reminders that no means might be left untried which might move the hearts of a wicked generation.

At length the road touched the spot called “Cross-in-Hand.”  Of all spots on the bleached and desolate upland this was the most forlorn.  It was so far removed from the charm which is sought in landscape by artists and view-lovers as to reach a new kind of beauty, a negative beauty of tragic tone.  The place took its name from a stone pillar which stood there, a strange rude monolith, from a stratum unknown in any local quarry, on which was roughly carved a human hand.  Differing accounts were given of its history and purport.  Some authorities stated that a devotional cross had once formed the complete erection thereon, of which the present relic was but the stump; others that the stone as it stood was entire, and that it had been fixed there to mark a boundary or place of meeting.  Anyhow, whatever the origin of the relic, there was and is something sinister, or solemn, according to mood, in the scene amid which it stands; something tending to impress the most phlegmatic passer-by.

“I think I must leave you now,” he remarked, as they drew near to this spot.  “I have to preach at Abbot’s-Cernel at six this evening, and my way lies across to the right from here.  And you upset me somewhat too, Tessy—­I cannot, will not, say why.  I must go away and get strength. ...  How is it that you speak so fluently now?  Who has taught you such good English?”

“I have learnt things in my troubles,” she said evasively.

“What troubles have you had?”

She told him of the first one—­the only one that related to him.

D’Urberville was struck mute.  “I knew nothing of this till now!” he next murmured.  “Why didn’t you write to me when you felt your trouble coming on?”

She did not reply; and he broke the silence by adding:  “Well—­you will see me again.”

“No,” she answered.  “Do not again come near me!”

“I will think.  But before we part come here.”  He stepped up to the pillar.  “This was once a Holy Cross.  Relics are not in my creed; but I fear you at moments—­far more than you need fear me at present; and to lessen my fear, put your hand upon that stone hand, and swear that you will never tempt me—­by your charms or ways.”