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 somehow vanished; and yet there was no enmity or malice between them. They were generous young souls; they had been reared in the lonely country nooks where fatalism is a strong sentiment, and they did not blame her. Such supplanting was to be.

Tess’s heart ached. There was no concealing from herself the fact that she loved Angel Clare, perhaps all the more passionately from knowing that the others had also lost their hearts to him. There is contagion in this sentiment, especially among women. And yet that same hungry heart of hers compassionated her friends. Tess’s honest nature had fought against this, but too feebly, and the natural result had followed.

‘I will never stand in your way, nor in the way of either of ’ee!’ she declared to Retty that night in the bedroom (her tears running down). ‘I can’t help this, my dear! I don’t think marrying is in his mind at all; but if he were even to ask me I should refuse him, as I should refuse any man.’

‘Oh! would you? Why?’ said wondering Retty.

‘It cannot be! But I will be plain. Putting