After this her daily tasks were gone through heavily enough, and brought on the day which was of great import to agriculturists—­the day of the Candlemas Fair.  It was at this fair that new engagements were entered into for the twelve months following the ensuing Lady-Day, and those of the farming population who thought of changing their places duly attended at the county-town where the fair was held.  Nearly all the labourers on Flintcomb-Ash farm intended flight, and early in the morning there was a general exodus in the direction of the town, which lay at a distance of from ten to a dozen miles over hilly country.  Though Tess also meant to leave at the quarter-day, she was one of the few who did not go to the fair, having a vaguely-shaped hope that something would happen to render another outdoor engagement unnecessary.

It was a peaceful February day, of wonderful softness for the time, and one would almost have thought that winter was over.  She had hardly finished her dinner when d’Urberville’s figure darkened the window of the cottage wherein she was a lodger, which she had all to herself to-day.

Tess jumped up, but her visitor had knocked at the door, and she could hardly in reason run away.  D’Urberville’s knock, his walk up to the door, had some indescribable quality of difference from his air when she last saw him.  They seemed to be acts of which the doer was ashamed.  She thought that she would not open the door; but, as there was no sense in that either, she arose, and having lifted the latch stepped back quickly.  He came in, saw her, and flung himself down into a chair before speaking.

“Tess—­I couldn’t help it!” he began desperately, as he wiped his heated face, which had also a superimposed flush of excitement.  “I felt that I must call at least to ask how you are.  I assure you I had not been thinking of you at all till I saw you that Sunday; now I cannot get rid of your image, try how I may!  It is hard that a good woman should do harm to a bad man; yet so it is.  If you would only pray for me, Tess!”

The suppressed discontent of his manner was almost pitiable, and yet Tess did not pity him.

“How can I pray for you,” she said, “when I am forbidden to believe that the great Power who moves the world would alter His plans on my account?”

“You really think that?”

“Yes.  I have been cured of the presumption of thinking otherwise.”

“Cured?  By whom?”

“By my husband, if I must tell.”

“Ah—­your husband—­your husband!  How strange it seems!  I remember you hinted something of the sort the other day.  What do you really believe in these matters, Tess?” he asked.  “You seem to have no religion—­perhaps owing to me.”

“But I have.  Though I don’t believe in anything supernatural.”

D’Urberville looked at her with misgiving.

“Then do you think that the line I take is all wrong?”