Tess sat up in the coffin.  The night, though dry and mild for the season, was more than sufficiently cold to make it dangerous for him to remain here long, in his half-clothed state.  If he were left to himself he would in all probability stay there till the morning, and be chilled to certain death.  She had heard of such deaths after sleep-walking.  But how could she dare to awaken him, and let him know what he had been doing, when it would mortify him to discover his folly in respect of her?  Tess, however, stepping out of her stone confine, shook him slightly, but was unable to arouse him without being violent.  It was indispensable to do something, for she was beginning to shiver, the sheet being but a poor protection.  Her excitement had in a measure kept her warm during the few minutes’ adventure; but that beatific interval was over.

It suddenly occurred to her to try persuasion; and accordingly she whispered in his ear, with as much firmness and decision as she could summon—­

“Let us walk on, darling,” at the same time taking him suggestively by the arm.  To her relief, he unresistingly acquiesced; her words had apparently thrown him back into his dream, which thenceforward seemed to enter on a new phase, wherein he fancied she had risen as a spirit, and was leading him to Heaven.  Thus she conducted him by the arm to the stone bridge in front of their residence, crossing which they stood at the manor-house door.  Tess’s feet were quite bare, and the stones hurt her, and chilled her to the bone; but Clare was in his woollen stockings, and appeared to feel no discomfort.

There was no further difficulty.  She induced him to lie down on his own sofa bed, and covered him up warmly, lighting a temporary fire of wood, to dry any dampness out of him.  The noise of these attentions she thought might awaken him, and secretly wished that they might.  But the exhaustion of his mind and body was such that he remained undisturbed.

As soon as they met the next morning Tess divined that Angel knew little or nothing of how far she had been concerned in the night’s excursion, though, as regarded himself, he may have been aware that he had not lain still.  In truth, he had awakened that morning from a sleep deep as annihilation; and during those first few moments in which the brain, like a Samson shaking himself, is trying its strength, he had some dim notion of an unusual nocturnal proceeding.  But the realities of his situation soon displaced conjecture on the other subject.

He waited in expectancy to discern some mental pointing; he knew that if any intention of his, concluded over-night, did not vanish in the light of morning, it stood on a basis approximating to one of pure reason, even if initiated by impulse of feeling; that it was so far, therefore, to be trusted.  He thus beheld in the pale morning light the resolve to separate from her; not as a hot and indignant instinct, but denuded of the passionateness which had made it scorch and burn; standing in its bones; nothing but a skeleton, but none the less there.  Clare no longer hesitated.