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 conversation, the real morning being far from come. Abraham, as he more fully awoke (for he had moved in a sort of trance so far), began to talk of the strange shapes assumed by the various dark objects against the sky; of this tree that looked like a raging tiger springing from a lair; of that which resembled a giant’s head.

When they had passed the little town of Stourcastle, dumbly somnolent under its thick brown thatch, they reached higher ground. Still higher, on their left, the elevation called Bulbarrow or Bealbarrow, well-nigh the highest in South Wessex, swelled into the sky, engirdled by its earthen trenches. From hereabout the long road declined gently for a great distance onward. They mounted in front of the waggon, and Abraham grew reflective.

‘Tess!’ he said in a preparatory tone, after a silence.

‘Yes, Abraham.’

‘Bain’t you glad that we’ve become gentlefolk?’

‘Not particular glad.’

‘But you be glad that you are going to marry a gentleman?’