from Thomas Hardy Tess of the d'Urbervilles
XXXVII
Midnight came and passed silently, for there was nothing toannounce it in the Valley of the Froom.
Not long after one o'clock there was a slight creak in the darkened
farmhouse once the mansion of the d'Urbervilles. Tess, who used theupper chamber, heard it and awoke. It had come from the corner step of
the staircase, which, as usual, was loosely nailed. She saw the door ofher bedroom open, and the figure of her husband crossed the stream ofmoonlight with a curiously careful tread. He was in his shirt and trousers
only, and her first flush of joy died when she perceived that his eyes
were fixed in an unnatural stare on vacancy. When he reached the
middle of the room he stood still and murmured in tones of indescribablesadness—"Dead! dead! dead!"
Under the influence of any strongly-disturbing force, Clare would
occasionally walk in his sleep, and even perform strange feats, such as
he had done on the night of their return from market just before theirmarriage, when he re-enacted in his bedroom his combat with the man
who had insulted her. Tess saw that continued mental distress had
wrought him into that somnambulistic state now.
Her loyal confidence in him lay so deep down in her heart, that,awake or asleep, he inspired her with no sort of personal fear. If he hadentered with a pistol in his hand he would scarcely have disturbed hertrust in his protectiveness.
Clare came close, and bent over her. "Dead, dead, dead!" hemurmured.
After fixedly regarding her for some moments with the same gaze of
unmeasurable woe, he bent lower, enclosed her in his arms, and rolled
her in the sheet as in a shroud. Then lifting her from the bed with asmuch respect as one would show to a dead body, he carried her acrossthe room, murmuring—"My poor, poor Tess—my dearest, darling Tess! So sweet, so good,so true!"
The words of endearment, withheld so severely in his waking hours,
were inexpressibly sweet to her forlorn and hungry heart. If it had been
to save her weary life she would not, by moving or struggling, have put
an end to the position she found herself in. Thus she lay in absolute
stillness, scarcely venturing to breathe, and, wondering what he wasgoing to do with her, suffered herself to be borne out upon the landing.
"My wife—dead, dead!" he said.
He paused in his labours for a moment to lean with her against thebanister. Was he going to throw her down? Self-solicitude was near
extinction in her, and in the knowledge that he had planned to depart on
the morrow, possibly for always, she lay in his arms in this precarious
position with a sense rather of luxury than of terror. If they could only
fall together, and both be dashed to pieces, how fit, how desirable.
However, he did not let her fall, but took advantage of the support of
the handrail to imprint a kiss upon her lips—lips in the day-time scorned.
Then he clasped her with a renewed firmness of hold, and descended thestaircase. The creak of the loose stair did not awaken him, and theyreached the ground-floor safely. Freeing one of his hands from his graspof her for a moment, he slid back the door-bar and passed out, slightly
striking his stockinged toe against the edge of the door. But this heseemed not to mind, and, having room for extension in the open air, he
lifted her against his shoulder, so that he could carry her with ease, theabsence of clothes taking much from his burden. Thus he bore her off
the premises in the direction of the river a few yards distant.
His ultimate intention, if he had any, she had not yet divined; andshe found herself conjecturing on the matter as a third person might havedone. So easefully had she delivered her whole being up to him that itpleased her to think he was regarding her as his absolute possession, todispose of as he should choose. It was consoling, under the hovering
terror of to-morrow's separation, to feel that he really recognized her
now as his wife Tess, and did not cast her off, even if in that recognition
he went so far as to arrogate to himself the right of harming her.
Ah! now she knew what he was dreaming of—that Sunday morningwhen he had borne her along through the water with the otherdairymaids, who had loved him nearly as much as she, if that werepossible, which Tess could hardly admit. Clare did not cross the bridgewith her, but proceeding several paces on the same side towards theadjoining mill, at length stood still on the brink of the river.
Its waters, in creeping down these miles of meadowland, frequently
divided, serpentining in purposeless curves, looping themselves aroundlittle islands that had no name, returning and re-embodying themselves
as a broad main stream further on. Opposite the spot to which he hadbrought her was such a general confluence, and the river was
proportionately voluminous and deep. Across it was a narrowfoot-bridge; but now the autumn flood had washed the handrail away,
leaving the bare plank only, which, lying a few inches above thespeeding current, formed a giddy pathway for even steady heads; andTess had noticed from the window of the house in the day-time young
men walking across upon it as a feat in balancing. Her husband had
possibly observed the same performance; anyhow, he now mounted theplank, and, sliding one foot forward, advanced along it.
Was he going to drown her? Probably he was. The spot was lonely,
the river deep and wide enough to make such a purpose easy ofaccomplishment. He might drown her if he would; it would be better
than parting to-morrow to lead severed lives.
The swift stream raced and gyrated under them, tossing, distorting,and splitting the moon's reflected face. Spots of froth travelled past, andintercepted weeds waved behind the piles. If they could both fall
together into the current now, their arms would be so tightly clasped
together that they could not be saved; they would go out of the world

almost painlessly, and there would be no more reproach to her, or to him
for marrying her. His last half-hour with her would have been a loving
one, while if they lived till he awoke, his day-time aversion would return,and this hour would remain to be contemplated only as a transient
dream.
The impulse stirred in her, yet she dared not indulge it, to make amovement that would have precipitated them both into the gulf. How shevalued her own life had been proved; but his—she had no right to tamper
with it. He reached the other side with her in safety.
Here they were within a plantation which formed the Abbey grounds,
and taking a new hold of her he went onward a few steps till theyreached the ruined choir of the Abbey-church. Against the north wall
was the empty stone coffin of an abbot, in which every tourist with aturn for grim humour was accustomed to stretch himself. In this Clarecarefully laid Tess. Having kissed her lips a second time he breatheddeeply, as if a greatly desired end were attained. Clare then lay down on
the ground alongside, when he immediately fell into the deep deadslumber of exhaustion, and remained motionless as a log. The spurt ofmental excitement which had produced the effort was now over.
Tess sat up in the coffin. The night, though dry and mild for theseason, was more than sufficiently cold to make it dangerous for him toremain here long, in his half-clothed state. If he were left to himself hewould in all probability stay there till the morning, and be chilled tocertain 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 dosomething, 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 shewhispered 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 thearm to the stone bridge in front of their residence, crossing which theystood at the manor-house door. Tess's feet were quite bare, and thestones 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 ofwood, to dry any dampness out of him. The noise of these attentions she
thought might awaken him, and secretly wished that they might. But theexhaustion 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 hehad not lain still. In truth, he had awakened that morning from a sleep
deep as annihilation; and during those first few moments in which thebrain, like a Samson shaking himself, is trying its strength, he had somedim 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 knewthat if any intention of his, concluded over-night, did not vanish in thelight 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 betrusted. He thus beheld in the pale morning light the resolve to separate
from her; not as a hot and indignant instinct, but denuded of thepassionateness which had made it scorch and burn; standing in its bones;
nothing but a skeleton, but none the less there. Clare no longer hesitated.

At breakfast, and while they were packing the few remaining articles,
he showed his weariness from the night's effort so unmistakeably that
Tess was on the point of revealing all that had happened; but thereflection that it would anger him, grieve him, stultify him, to know that
he had instinctively manifested a fondness for her of which his
common-sense did not approve, that his inclination had compromised his
dignity when reason slept, again deterred her. It was too much likelaughing at a man when sober for his erratic deeds during intoxication.
It just crossed her mind, too, that he might have a faint recollectionof his tender vagary, and was disinclined to allude to it from a convictionthat she would take amatory advantage of the opportunity it gave her of
appealing to him anew not to go.
He had ordered by letter a vehicle from the nearest town, and soonafter breakfast it arrived. She saw in it the beginning of the end—the
temporary end, at least, for the revelation of his tenderness by theincident of the night raised dreams of a possible future with him. The
luggage was put on the top, and the man drove them off, the miller andthe old waiting-woman expressing some surprise at their precipitate
departure, which Clare attributed to his discovery that the mill-work was
not of the modern kind which he wished to investigate, a statement thatwas true so far as it went. Beyond this there was nothing in the mannerof their leaving to suggest a fiasco, or that they were not going together
to visit friends.
Their route lay near the dairy from which they had started with such
solemn joy in each other a few days back, and as Clare wished to wind
up his business with Mr Crick, Tess could hardly avoid paying Mrs
Crick a call at the same time, unless she would excite suspicion of theirunhappy state.

fromLewis Carroll Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

CHAPTER I. Down the Rabbit-HoleAlice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of
having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading,but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought
Alice 'without pictures or conversations?'
So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day madeher feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be
worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit
with pink eyes ran close by her.
There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much outof the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she
thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this,but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually took a watch
out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her
feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either awaistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran acrossthe field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole
under the hedge.
In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world
she was to get out again.
The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dippedsuddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping
herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well.
Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she
went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, shetried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to seeanything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled withcupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs.
She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled 'ORANGEMARMALADE', but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop
the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she
fell past it.
'Well!' thought Alice to herself, 'after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of
tumbling down stairs! How brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say
anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!' (Which was very likely true.)Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end! 'I wonder how many miles I've
fallen by this time?' she said aloud. 'I must be getting somewhere near the centre of theearth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think—' (for, you see, Alice
had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though thiswas not a very good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one tolisten to her, still it was good practice to say it over) '—yes, that's about the right
distance—but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I've got to?' (Alice had no idea
what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.)（中略）
CHAPTER VII. A Mad Tea-Party
There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare andthe Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, andthe other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its
head. 'Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,' thought Alice; 'only, as it's asleep, I
suppose it doesn't mind.'
The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it:'No room! No room!' they cried out when they saw Alice coming. 'There's plenty of room!'
said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.
'Have some wine,' the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. 'I don't see any
wine,' she remarked.
'There isn't any,' said the March Hare.
'Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it,' said Alice angrily.
'It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited,' said the March Hare.
'I didn't know it was your table,' said Alice; 'it's laid for a great many more than three.''Your hair wants cutting,' said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice for some timewith great curiosity, and this was his first speech.
'You should learn not to make personal remarks,' Alice said with some severity; 'it'svery rude.'
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he said was, 'Why is araven like a writing-desk?''Come, we shall have some fun now!' thought Alice. 'I'm glad they've begun asking
riddles.—I believe I can guess that,' she added aloud.
'Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?' said the March Hare.
'Exactly so,' said Alice.

'Then you should say what you mean,' the March Hare went on.
'I do,' Alice hastily replied; 'at least—at least I mean what I say—that's the samething, you know.''Not the same thing a bit!' said the Hatter. 'You might just as well say that "I see what
I eat" is the same thing as "I eat what I see"!''You might just as well say,' added the March Hare, 'that "I like what I get" is thesame thing as "I get what I like"!''You might just as well say,' added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in his
sleep, 'that "I breathe when I sleep" is the same thing as "I sleep when I breathe"!''It is the same thing with you,' said the Hatter, and here the conversation dropped,
and the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice thought over all she could remember
about ravens and writing-desks, which wasn't much.
The Hatter was the first to break the silence. 'What day of the month is it?' he said,
turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily,
shaking it every now and then, and holding it to his ear.
Alice considered a little, and then said 'The fourth.''Two days wrong!' sighed the Hatter. 'I told you butter wouldn't suit the works!' headded looking angrily at the March Hare.
'It was the best butter,' the March Hare meekly replied.
'Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,' the Hatter grumbled: 'you shouldn't
have put it in with the bread-knife.'
The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped it into his
cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of nothing better to say than his
first remark, 'It was the best butter, you know.'
Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. 'What a funny watch!'
she remarked. 'It tells the day of the month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is!''Why should it?' muttered the Hatter. 'Does your watch tell you what year it is?''Of course not,' Alice replied very readily: 'but that's because it stays the same year forsuch a long time together.''Which is just the case with mine,' said the Hatter.
Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter's remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in
it, and yet it was certainly English. 'I don't quite understand you,' she said, as politely
as she could.
'The Dormouse is asleep again,' said the Hatter, and he poured a little hot tea upon its
nose.
The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without opening its eyes, 'Ofcourse, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.''Have you guessed the riddle yet?' the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.
'No, I give it up,' Alice replied: 'what's the answer?''I haven't the slightest idea,' said the Hatter.
'Nor I,' said the March Hare.
Alice sighed wearily. 'I think you might do something better with the time,' she said,'than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.''If you knew Time as well as I do,' said the Hatter, 'you wouldn't talk about wasting it.
It's him.''I don't know what you mean,' said Alice.
'Of course you don't!' the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously. 'I dare say you
never even spoke to Time!''Perhaps not,' Alice cautiously replied: 'but I know I have to beat time when I learnmusic.''Ah! that accounts for it,' said the Hatter. 'He won't stand beating. Now, if you only
kept on good terms with him, he'd do almost anything you liked with the clock. For
instance, suppose it were nine o'clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons: you'd
only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past
one, time for dinner!'('I only wish it was,' the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.)'That would be grand, certainly,' said Alice thoughtfully: 'but then—I shouldn't behungry for it, you know.''Not at first, perhaps,' said the Hatter: 'but you could keep it to half-past one as longas you liked.''Is that the way you manage?' Alice asked.
The Hatter shook his head mournfully. 'Not I!' he replied. 'We quarrelled last
March—just before he went mad, you know—' (pointing with his tea spoon at the MarchHare,) '—it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing"Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you're at!"
You know the song, perhaps?''I've heard something like it,' said Alice.
'It goes on, you know,' the Hatter continued, 'in this way:—"Up above the world you fly,Like a tea-tray in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle—"'