feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/novelguide/Tess of the d'Urbervilles/section_7_part_3.txt
feat_book_id: Tess of the d'Urbervilles.chapter lv
feat_summary_id: chapter lv
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapter LV", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210213065711/https://www.novelguide.com/tess-of-the-durbervilles/summaries/phase7-chapter53-59", "summary": "Angel's search finally leads him to an expensive lodging house called The Herons, where he finds Tess expensively dressed and in the company of Alec d'Urberville. He begs her to forgive him but she explains that it is too late: \"he has won me back to him\". She believed that Angel would never return and so left with d'Urberville for the sake of her homeless family. Devastated, Angel leaves", "analysis": ""}
text: 
  
  At eleven o'clock that night, having secured a bed at one of the
  hotels and telegraphed his address to his father immediately on his
  arrival, he walked out into the streets of Sandbourne.  It was too
  late to call on or inquire for any one, and he reluctantly postponed
  his purpose till the morning.  But he could not retire to rest just
  yet.
  
  This fashionable watering-place, with its eastern and its western
  stations, its piers, its groves of pines, its promenades, and its
  covered gardens, was, to Angel Clare, like a fairy place suddenly
  created by the stroke of a wand, and allowed to get a little dusty.
  An outlying eastern tract of the enormous Egdon Waste was close at
  hand, yet on the very verge of that tawny piece of antiquity such a
  glittering novelty as this pleasure city had chosen to spring up.
  Within the space of a mile from its outskirts every irregularity
  of the soil was prehistoric, every channel an undisturbed British
  trackway; not a sod having been turned there since the days of the
  Caesars.  Yet the exotic had grown here, suddenly as the prophet's
  gourd; and had drawn hither Tess.
  
  By the midnight lamps he went up and down the winding way of this new
  world in an old one, and could discern between the trees and against
  the stars the lofty roofs, chimneys, gazebos, and towers of the
  numerous fanciful residences of which the place was composed. It
  was a city of detached mansions; a Mediterranean lounging-place on
  the English Channel; and as seen now by night it seemed even more
  imposing than it was.
  
  The sea was near at hand, but not intrusive; it murmured, and he
  thought it was the pines; the pines murmured in precisely the same
  tones, and he thought they were the sea.
  
  Where could Tess possibly be, a cottage-girl, his young wife, amidst
  all this wealth and fashion?  The more he pondered, the more was he
  puzzled.  Were there any cows to milk here?  There certainly were
  no fields to till. She was most probably engaged to do something in
  one of these large houses; and he sauntered along, looking at the
  chamber-windows and their lights going out one by one, and wondered
  which of them might be hers.
  
  Conjecture was useless, and just after twelve o'clock he entered
  and went to bed.   Before putting out his light he re-read Tess's
  impassioned letter.  Sleep, however, he could not--so near her, yet
  so far from her--and he continually lifted the window-blind and
  regarded the backs of the opposite houses, and wondered behind which
  of the sashes she reposed at that moment.
  
  He might almost as well have sat up all night.  In the morning he
  arose at seven, and shortly after went out, taking the direction of
  the chief post-office.  At the door he met an intelligent postman
  coming out with letters for the morning delivery.
  
  "Do you know the address of a Mrs Clare?" asked Angel.  The postman
  shook his head.
  
  Then, remembering that she would have been likely to continue the use
  of her maiden name, Clare said--
  
  "Of a Miss Durbeyfield?"
  
  "Durbeyfield?"
  
  This also was strange to the postman addressed.
  
  "There's visitors coming and going every day, as you know, sir," he
  said; "and without the name of the house 'tis impossible to find
  'em."
  
  One of his comrades hastening out at that moment, the name was
  repeated to him.
  
  "I know no name of Durbeyfield; but there is the name of d'Urberville
  at The Herons," said the second.
  
  "That's it!" cried Clare, pleased to think that she had reverted to
  the real pronunciation.  "What place is The Herons?"
  
  "A stylish lodging-house.  'Tis all lodging-houses here, bless 'ee."
  
  Clare received directions how to find the house, and hastened
  thither, arriving with the milkman.  The Herons, though an ordinary
  villa, stood in its own grounds, and was certainly the last place
  in which one would have expected to find lodgings, so private was
  its appearance.  If poor Tess was a servant here, as he feared, she
  would go to the back-door to that milkman, and he was inclined to go
  thither also.  However, in his doubts he turned to the front, and
  rang.
  
  The hour being early, the landlady herself opened the door.  Clare
  inquired for Teresa d'Urberville or Durbeyfield.
  
  "Mrs d'Urberville?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  Tess, then, passed as a married woman, and he felt glad, even though
  she had not adopted his name.
  
  "Will you kindly tell her that a relative is anxious to see her?"
  
  "It is rather early.  What name shall I give, sir?"
  
  "Angel."
  
  "Mr Angel?"
  
  "No; Angel.  It is my Christian name.  She'll understand."
  
  "I'll see if she is awake."
  
  He was shown into the front room--the dining-room--and looked out
  through the spring curtains at the little lawn, and the rhododendrons
  and other shrubs upon it.  Obviously her position was by no means so
  bad as he had feared, and it crossed his mind that she must somehow
  have claimed and sold the jewels to attain it.  He did not blame her
  for one moment.  Soon his sharpened ear detected footsteps upon the
  stairs, at which his heart thumped so painfully that he could hardly
  stand firm.  "Dear me! what will she think of me, so altered as I
  am!" he said to himself; and the door opened.
  
  Tess appeared on the threshold--not at all as he had expected to
  see her--bewilderingly otherwise, indeed.  Her great natural beauty
  was, if not heightened, rendered more obvious by her attire.  She
  was loosely wrapped in a cashmere dressing-gown of gray-white,
  embroidered in half-mourning tints, and she wore slippers of the same
  hue.  Her neck rose out of a frill of down, and her well-remembered
  cable of dark-brown hair was partially coiled up in a mass at the
  back of her head and partly hanging on her shoulder--the evident
  result of haste.
  
  He had held out his arms, but they had fallen again to his side;
  for she had not come forward, remaining still in the opening of the
  doorway.  Mere yellow skeleton that he was now, he felt the contrast
  between them, and thought his appearance distasteful to her.
  
  "Tess!" he said huskily, "can you forgive me for going away?  Can't
  you--come to me?  How do you get to be--like this?"
  
  "It is too late," said she, her voice sounding hard through the room,
  her eyes shining unnaturally.
  
  "I did not think rightly of you--I did not see you as you were!" he
  continued to plead.  "I have learnt to since, dearest Tessy mine!"
  
  "Too late, too late!" she said, waving her hand in the impatience of
  a person whose tortures cause every instant to seem an hour.  "Don't
  come close to me, Angel!  No--you must not.  Keep away."
  
  "But don't you love me, my dear wife, because I have been so pulled
  down by illness?  You are not so fickle--I am come on purpose for
  you--my mother and father will welcome you now!"
  
  "Yes--O, yes, yes!  But I say, I say it is too late."
  
  She seemed to feel like a fugitive in a dream, who tries to move
  away, but cannot.  "Don't you know all--don't you know it?  Yet how
  do you come here if you do not know?"
  
  "I inquired here and there, and I found the way."
  
  "I waited and waited for you," she went on, her tones suddenly
  resuming their old fluty pathos.  "But you did not come!  And I wrote
  to you, and you did not come! He kept on saying you would never come
  any more, and that I was a foolish woman.  He was very kind to me,
  and to mother, and to all of us after father's death. He--"
  
  "I don't understand."
  
  "He has won me back to him."
  
  Clare looked at her keenly, then, gathering her meaning, flagged
  like one plague-stricken, and his glance sank; it fell on her hands,
  which, once rosy, were now white and more delicate.
  
  She continued--
  
  "He is upstairs.  I hate him now, because he told me a lie--that you
  would not come again; and you HAVE come!  These clothes are what he's
  put upon me: I didn't care what he did wi' me!  But--will you go
  away, Angel, please, and never come any more?"
  
  They stood fixed, their baffled hearts looking out of their eyes with
  a joylessness pitiful to see.  Both seemed to implore something to
  shelter them from reality.
  
  "Ah--it is my fault!" said Clare.
  
  But he could not get on.  Speech was as inexpressive as silence.  But
  he had a vague consciousness of one thing, though it was not clear
  to him till later; that his original Tess had spiritually ceased to
  recognize the body before him as hers--allowing it to drift, like a
  corpse upon the current, in a direction dissociated from its living
  will.
  
  A few instants passed, and he found that Tess was gone.  His face
  grew colder and more shrunken as he stood concentrated on the moment,
  and a minute or two after, he found himself in the street, walking
  along he did not know whither.
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapter LV
target: Angel's search finally leads him to an expensive lodging house called The Herons, where he finds Tess expensively dressed and in the company of Alec d'Urberville. He begs her to forgive him but she explains that it is too late: "he has won me back to him". She believed that Angel would never return and so left with d'Urberville for the sake of her homeless family. Devastated, Angel leaves