So no more at present, and with kind love
to your Young Man.--From your affectte. Mother,
J. DURBEYFIELD
"O mother, mother!" murmured Tess.
She was recognizing how light was the touch of events the most
oppressive upon Mrs Durbeyfield's elastic spirit. Her mother did not
see life as Tess saw it. That haunting episode of bygone days was
to her mother but a passing accident. But perhaps her mother was
right as to the course to be followed, whatever she might be in her
reasons. Silence seemed, on the face of it, best for her adored
one's happiness: silence it should be.
Thus steadied by a command from the only person in the world who had
any shadow of right to control her action, Tess grew calmer. The
responsibility was shifted, and her heart was lighter than it had
been for weeks. The days of declining autumn which followed her
assent, beginning with the month of October, formed a season through
which she lived in spiritual altitudes more nearly approaching
ecstasy than any other period of her life.
There was hardly a touch of earth in her love for Clare. To her
sublime trustfulness he was all that goodness could be--knew all that
a guide, philosopher, and friend should know.
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