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Tess of the d'Urbervilles
On
an
evening
in
the
latter
part
of
May
a
middle
-
aged
man
was
walking
homeward
from
Shaston
to
the
village
of
Marlott
,
in
the
adjoining
Vale
of
Blakemore
or
Blackmoor
.
The
pair
of
legs
that
carried
him
were
rickety
,
and
there
was
a
bias
in
his
gait
which
inclined
him
somewhat
to
the
left
of
a
straight
line
.
He
occasionally
gave
a
smart
nod
,
as
if
in
confirmation
of
some
opinion
,
though
he
was
not
thinking
of
anything
in
particular
.
An
empty
egg
-
basket
was
slung
upon
his
arm
,
the
nap
of
his
hat
was
ruffled
,
a
patch
being
quite
worn
away
at
its
brim
where
his
thumb
came
in
taking
it
off
.
Presently
he
was
met
by
an
elderly
parson
astride
on
a
gray
mare
,
who
,
as
he
rode
,
hummed
a
wandering
tune
.
“
Good
night
t
’
ee
,
”
said
the
man
with
the
basket
.
“
Good
night
,
Sir
John
,
”
said
the
parson
.
The
pedestrian
,
after
another
pace
or
two
,
halted
,
and
turned
round
.
“
Now
,
sir
,
begging
your
pardon
;
we
met
last
market
-
day
on
this
road
about
this
time
,
and
I
said
“
Good
night
,
”
and
you
made
reply
‘
GOOD
NIGHT
,
SIR
JOHN
,
’
as
now
.
”
“
I
did
,
”
said
the
parson
.
“
And
once
before
that
—
near
a
month
ago
.
”
“
I
may
have
.
”
“
Then
what
might
your
meaning
be
in
calling
me
‘
Sir
John
’
these
different
times
,
when
I
be
plain
Jack
Durbeyfield
,
the
haggler
?
”
The
parson
rode
a
step
or
two
nearer
.
