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 her 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.

`I will tell you when we are settled in our lodgings at Kingsbere to-morrow - every word.'

It was not her husband, she had said. Yet a consciousness that in a physical sense this man alone was her husband seemed to weigh on her more and more.