Page:Tess of the D'Urbervilles (1891 Volume 2).pdf/210

 —too painful as it is for the occasion—and talk of something lighter.’

‘Oh, Angel—I am almost glad—because now you can forgive me! I have not made my confession, I have a confession, too—remember, I said so.’

‘Ah, to be sure! Now then for it, wicked little one.’

‘Perhaps, although you smile, it is as serious as yours, or more so.’

‘It can hardly be more serious, dearest.’

‘It cannot—O no, it cannot!’ She jumped up joyfully at the hope. ‘No, it cannot be more serious, certainly,’ she cried. ‘I will tell you now,’

She sat down again.

Their hands were still joined. The ashes under the grate were lit by the fire vertically, like a torrid waste. Her imagination beheld a Last Day luridness in this red-coaled glow, which fell on his face and hand, and on hers, peering into the loose hair about her brow, and firing the delicate skin underneath. A large shadow of her shape rose upon the wall and ceiling. She bent forward, at which each diamond on her neck gave