But the moment that she moved again he recognized her.  The effect upon her old lover was electric, far stronger than the effect of his presence upon her.  His fire, the tumultuous ring of his eloquence, seemed to go out of him.  His lip struggled and trembled under the words that lay upon it; but deliver them it could not as long as she faced him.  His eyes, after their first glance upon her face, hung confusedly in every other direction but hers, but came back in a desperate leap every few seconds.  This paralysis lasted, however, but a short time; for Tess’s energies returned with the atrophy of his, and she walked as fast as she was able past the barn and onward.

As soon as she could reflect, it appalled her, this change in their relative platforms.  He who had wrought her undoing was now on the side of the Spirit, while she remained unregenerate.  And, as in the legend, it had resulted that her Cyprian image had suddenly appeared upon his altar, whereby the fire of the priest had been well nigh extinguished.

She went on without turning her head.  Her back seemed to be endowed with a sensitiveness to ocular beams—­even her clothing—­so alive was she to a fancied gaze which might be resting upon her from the outside of that barn.  All the way along to this point her heart had been heavy with an inactive sorrow; now there was a change in the quality of its trouble.  That hunger for affection too long withheld was for the time displaced by an almost physical sense of an implacable past which still engirdled her.  It intensified her consciousness of error to a practical despair; the break of continuity between her earlier and present existence, which she had hoped for, had not, after all, taken place.  Bygones would never be complete bygones till she was a bygone herself.

Thus absorbed, she recrossed the northern part of Long-Ash Lane at right angles, and presently saw before her the road ascending whitely to the upland along whose margin the remainder of her journey lay.  Its dry pale surface stretched severely onward, unbroken by a single figure, vehicle, or mark, save some occasional brown horse-droppings which dotted its cold aridity here and there.  While slowly breasting this ascent Tess became conscious of footsteps behind her, and turning she saw approaching that well-known form—­so strangely accoutred as the Methodist—­the one personage in all the world she wished not to encounter alone on this side of the grave.

There was not much time, however, for thought or elusion, and she yielded as calmly as she could to the necessity of letting him overtake her.  She saw that he was excited, less by the speed of his walk than by the feelings within him.

“Tess!” he said.

She slackened speed without looking round.

“Tess!” he repeated.  “It is I—­Alec d’Urberville.”

She then looked back at him, and he came up.

“I see it is,” she answered coldly.