He listened.  The wind, playing upon the edifice, produced a booming tune, like the note of some gigantic one-stringed harp.  No other sound came from it, and lifting his hand and advancing a step or two, Clare felt the vertical surface of the structure.  It seemed to be of solid stone, without joint or moulding.  Carrying his fingers onward he found that what he had come in contact with was a colossal rectangular pillar; by stretching out his left hand he could feel a similar one adjoining.  At an indefinite height overhead something made the black sky blacker, which had the semblance of a vast architrave uniting the pillars horizontally.  They carefully entered beneath and between; the surfaces echoed their soft rustle; but they seemed to be still out of doors.  The place was roofless.  Tess drew her breath fearfully, and Angel, perplexed, said—­

“What can it be?”

Feeling sideways they encountered another tower-like pillar, square and uncompromising as the first; beyond it another and another.  The place was all doors and pillars, some connected above by continuous architraves.

“A very Temple of the Winds,” he said.

The next pillar was isolated; others composed a trilithon; others were prostrate, their flanks forming a causeway wide enough for a carriage; and it was soon obvious that they made up a forest of monoliths grouped upon the grassy expanse of the plain.  The couple advanced further into this pavilion of the night till they stood in its midst.

“It is Stonehenge!” said Clare.

“The heathen temple, you mean?”

“Yes.  Older than the centuries; older than the d’Urbervilles!  Well, what shall we do, darling?  We may find shelter further on.”

But Tess, really tired by this time, flung herself upon an oblong slab that lay close at hand, and was sheltered from the wind by a pillar.  Owing to the action of the sun during the preceding day, the stone was warm and dry, in comforting contrast to the rough and chill grass around, which had damped her skirts and shoes.

“I don’t want to go any further, Angel,” she said, stretching out her hand for his.  “Can’t we bide here?”

“I fear not.  This spot is visible for miles by day, although it does not seem so now.”

“One of my mother’s people was a shepherd hereabouts, now I think of it.  And you used to say at Talbothays that I was a heathen.  So now I am at home.”

He knelt down beside her outstretched form, and put his lips upon hers.

“Sleepy are you, dear?  I think you are lying on an altar.”

“I like very much to be here,” she murmured.  “It is so solemn and lonely—­after my great happiness—­with nothing but the sky above my face.  It seems as if there were no folk in the world but we two; and I wish there were not—­except ’Liza-Lu.”

Clare though she might as well rest here till it should get a little lighter, and he flung his overcoat upon her, and sat down by her side.