"What makes you draw off in that way, Tess?" said he. "Are you
afraid?"
"Oh no, sir--not of outdoor things; especially just now when the
apple-blooth is falling, and everything is so green."
"But you have your indoor fears--eh?"
"Well--yes, sir."
"What of?"
"I couldn't quite say."
"The milk turning sour?"
"No."
"Life in general?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ah--so have I, very often. This hobble of being alive is rather
serious, don't you think so?"
"It is--now you put it that way."
"All the same, I shouldn't have expected a young girl like you to see
it so just yet. How is it you do?"
She maintained a hesitating silence.
"Come, Tess, tell me in confidence."
She thought that he meant what were the aspects of things to her, and
replied shyly--
"The trees have inquisitive eyes, haven't they?--that is, seem as
if they had. And the river says,--'Why do ye trouble me with your
looks?' And you seem to see numbers of to-morrows just all in a
line, the first of them the biggest and clearest, the others getting
smaller and smaller as they stand farther away; but they all seem
very fierce and cruel and as if they said, 'I'm coming! Beware of
me! Beware of me!' .
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