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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 439 pages of information about Tess of the d'Urbervilles.

She was so pale, so breathless, so quivering in every muscle, that he did not ask her a single question, but seizing her hand, and pulling it within his arm, he led her along.  To avoid meeting any possible wayfarers he left the high road and took a footpath under some fir-trees.  When they were deep among the moaning boughs he stopped and looked at her inquiringly.

“Angel,” she said, as if waiting for this, “do you know what I have been running after you for?  To tell you that I have killed him!” A pitiful white smile lit her face as she spoke.

“What!” said he, thinking from the strangeness of her manner that she was in some delirium.

“I have done it—­I don’t know how,” she continued.  “Still, I owed it to you, and to myself, Angel.  I feared long ago, when I struck him on the mouth with my glove, that I might do it some day for the trap he set for me in my simple youth, and his wrong to you through me.  He has come between us and ruined us, and now he can never do it any more.  I never loved him at all, Angel, as I loved you.  You know it, don’t you?  You believe it?  You didn’t come back to me, and I was obliged to go back to him.  Why did you go away—­why did you—­when I loved you so?  I can’t think why you did it.  But I don’t blame you; only, Angel, will you forgive me my sin against you, now I have killed him?  I thought as I ran along that you would be sure to forgive me now I have done that.  It came to me as a shining light that I should get you back that way.  I could not bear the loss of you any longer—­you don’t know how entirely I was unable to bear your not loving me!  Say you do now, dear, dear husband; say you do, now I have killed him!”

“I do love you, Tess—­O, I do—­it is all come back!” he said, tightening his arms round her with fervid pressure.  “But how do you mean—­you have killed him?”

“I mean that I have,” she murmured in a reverie.

“What, bodily?  Is he dead?”

“Yes.  He heard me crying about you, and he bitterly taunted me; and called you by a foul name; and then I did it.  My heart could not bear it.  He had nagged me about you before.  And then I dressed myself and came away to find you.”

By degrees he was inclined to believe that she had faintly attempted, at least, what she said she had done; and his horror at her impulse was mixed with amazement at the strength of her affection for himself, and at the strangeness of its quality, which had apparently extinguished her moral sense altogether.  Unable to realize the gravity of her conduct, she seemed at last content; and he looked at her as she lay upon his shoulder, weeping with happiness, and wondered what obscure strain in the d’Urberville blood had led to this aberration—­if it were an aberration.  There momentarily flashed through his mind that the family tradition of the coach and murder might have arisen because the d’Urbervilles had been known to do these things.  As well as his confused and excited ideas could reason, he supposed that in the moment of mad grief of which she spoke, her mind had lost its balance, and plunged her into this abyss.

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