Even to her mother's gaze the girl's young features looked sadly out of place amid the alcoholic vapours which floated here as no unsuitable medium for wrinkled middle-age; and hardly was a reproachful f lash f rom Tess's dark eyes needed to make her father and mother rise from their seats, hastily finish their ale, and descend the stairs behind her, Mrs Rolliver's caution following their footsteps.

`No noise, please, if yell be so good, my dears or I mid lose my license, and be summons'd, and I don't know what all! `Night t'ye!'

They went home together, Tess holding one arm of her father, and Mrs Durbeyfield the other. He had, in truth, drunk very little - not a fourth of the quantity which a systematic tippler could carry to church on a Sunday afternoon without a hitch in his eastings or genuflections; but the weakness of Sir John's constitution made mountains of his petty sins in this kind. On reaching the fresh air he was sufficiently unsteady to incline the row of three at one moment as if they were marching to London, and at another as if they were marching to Bath - which produced a comical effect, frequent enough in families on nocturnal home goings; and, like most comical effects, not quite so comic after all. The two women valiantly disguised these forced excursions and countermarches as well as they could from Durbeyfield their cause, and from Abraham, and from themselves; and so they approached by degrees their own door, the head of the family bursting suddenly into his former refrain as he drew near, as if to fortify his soul at sight of the smallness of his present residence--

`I've got a fam - ily vault at Kingsbere!'

`Hush - don't be so silly, Jacky,' said his wife. `Yours is not the only family that was of `count in wold days. Look at the Anktells, and Horseys, and the Tringhams themselves gone to seed almost as much as you - though you was bigger folks than they, that's true. Thank God, I was never of no family, and have nothing to be ashamed of in that way!'

`Don't you be so sure o' that. From your father `tis my belief you've disgraced yourselves more than any o' us, and was kings and queens outright at one time.'

Tess turned the subject by saying what was far more prominent in her own mind at the moment than thoughts of her ancestry--

`I am afraid father won't be able to take the journey with the beehives tomorrow so early.'

`I? I shall be all right in an hour or two,' said Durbeyfield.

It was eleven o'clock before the family were all in bed, and two o'clock next morning was the latest hour for starting with the beehives if they were to be delivered to the retailers in Caster-bridge before the Saturday market began, the way thither lying by bad roads over a distance of between twenty and thirty miles, and the horse and waggon being of the slowest. At half-past one Mrs Durbeyfield came into the large bedroom where Tess and all her little brothers and sisters slept.

`The poor man can't go,' she said to her eldest daughter, whose great eyes had opened the moment her mother's hand touched the door.

Tess sat up in bed, lost in a vague interspace between a dream and this information.

`But somebody must go,' she replied. `It is late for the hives already. Swarming will soon be over for the year; and if we put off taking `em till next week's market the call for'em will be past, and they'll be thrown on our hands.'

Mrs Durbeyfield looked unequal to the emergency. `Some young feller, perhaps, would go? One of them who were so much after dancing with `ee yesterday,' she presently suggested.