is so long ago, and not your Fault at all. J shall answer the same if you ask me fifty times. Besides, you must bear in mind that, knowing it to be your Childish Nature to tell all that’s in your heart—so simple!—J made you promise me never to let it out by Word or Deed, having your welfare in my Mind; and you solemnly did promise going from this Door. J have not mentioned either that Question or your coming Marriage to your Father, as he would blab it everywhere, poor Simple Man.
Dear Tess, keep up your Spirits, and we mean to send you a Hogshead of Cider for your Wedding, knowing there is not much in your parts, and thin Sour Stuff what there is. 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.
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