would now be; how confidently she would leave them to Providence and their future kingdom! But, in default of that, it behoved her to do something; to be their Providence; for to Tess, as to not a few millions of others, there was ghastly satire in the poet’s lines—
Not in utter nakedness But trailing clouds of glory do we come.
To her and her like, birth itself was an ordeal of degrading personal compulsion, whose gratuitousness nothing in the result seemed to justify, and at best could only palliate.
In the shades of the wet road she soon discerned her mother with tall ’Liza-Lu and Abraham. Mrs. Durbeyfield’s pattens clicked up to the door, and Tess opened it.
“I see the tracks of a horse outside the window,” said Joan. “Hev somebody called?”
“No,” said Tess.
The children by the fire looked gravely at her, and one murmured—
“Why, Tess, the gentleman a-horseback!”
“He didn’t call,” said Tess. “He spoke to me in passing.”
“Who was the gentleman?” asked the mother. “Your husband?”
“No. He’ll never, never come,” answered Tess in stony hopelessness.
“Then who was it?”
“Oh, you needn’t ask. You’ve seen him before, and so have I.”
“Ah! What did he say?” said Joan curiously.