She alighted from the van at Trantridge Cross， and ascended on foot a hill in the direction of the district known as The Chase， on the borders of which， as she had been informed， Mrs.d'Urberville's seat， The Slopes， would be fo und.It was not a manorial home in the ordinary sense， with fields， and pastures， and a gru mbling farmer， out of whom the owner had to squeeze an inco me for himself and his family by hook or by crook.It was more， far more； a country-house built for enjoyment p ure and simple， w ith n ot an acre of troublesome land attach ed to it bey ond what was required for residentia l purposes， and for a little fancy farm kept in hand by the owner， and tended by a bailiff.
The cr imson brick lodge cam e f irst in sigh t， up to its eav es in dens e evergreens.Tess thought this was th e mansion itself till， pass ing through the side wicket with some trepidation， and onward to a point at which the drive took a turn， the house， proper stood in full view.It was of r ecent erection—indeed almo st new—and of the sa me ric h red colour that for med suc h a contrast with the evergreens of the lodge.Far behind the corner of the house—which rose like a geran ium b loom against th e subdued co lours around—stretched th e soft azure landscape of The Chase—a truly venerable tract of forest land， one of th e f ew rem aining woodlands in Eng land of undoubted primaval date， wherein Druidical mistletoe was s till found on aged o aks， and where enormous yew-trees， not plan ted by the hand of m an， grew as they had grown when they were pollarded for bows.All this sylvan antiquity， however， though visible from The Slopes， was outside the immediate boundaries of the estate.
Everything on this snug property was bright， thriving， and well kept； acres of glass-hou ses stretched down the inclines to the co pses at their feet.Everything looked lik e money—like the last coin issued from the Mint.The stables， partly screened b y Austrian p ines and evergreen oaks， and f itted with every late a ppliance， were as dig nified as Chap els-of-Ease.On the ex tensive lawn stood an ornamental tent， its door being towards her.
Simple Tess Durbeyfield stood at gaze， in a half-alar med attitude， on the edge of the gravel sweep.Her feet had brought her onward to this point before she had quite realized where she was； and n ow all was contrary to her expectation.
“I thought we were an old family； but this is all n ew！”she said， in her artlessness.She wished that she had not fallen in so readily with her mother's plans for“claiming kin， ”and had endeavoured to gain assistance nearer home.
The d'Urbervilles—or Stoke-d'Urbervilles， as they at first c alled themselves—who owned all th is， were a somewhat unusual family to find in such an old-fashioned part of the cou ntry.Parson Tringham had spoken tru ly when he s aid that o ur shambling John Durbeyfield was the only really lineal representative of the o ld d'Urberville family existing in the county， or near it； he might have added， w hat he kn ew very well， that th e Stok e-d'Urbervilles were no more d'Urbervilles of the true tree than he was himself.Yet it must be admitted that this family formed a ve ry good stock whereon to regraft a name which sadly wanted such renovation.
When old Mr.Simon Stoke， latterly deceased， had made his fortune as an honest merchant（some said money-lender）in the North， he decided to settle as a county man in the South of England， out of hail of his business district； and in doing this he felt the necessity of r ecommencing with a n ame that would not too readily identify him with the smart tradesman of the past， and that would be less commonplace than the original bald stark words.Conning for an hour in the British Museum th e pages of works devoted to ex tinct， half-extinct， obscured， and ruined families apper taining to the quarter of England in which he proposed to settle， he considered that d'Urberville looked and sounded as well as any of the m：an d d'Urberville a ccordingly was annexed to h is o wn name for himself and his heirs eternally.Yet he was not an extravagant-minded man in th is， and in con structing his family tree on the new basis was duly reasonable in framing his intermarriages and aristocratic links， never inserting asingle title above a rank of strict moderation.
Of this work of imagin ation poor Tess and her parents were n aturally in ignorance—much to their d iscomfiture； indeed， the very p ossibility of suc h annexations was unkn own to them； who su pposed that， though to be wellfavoured might be the gift of fortune， a family name came by nature.
Tess still s tood hesitating like a bather about to make his plunge， hardly knowing whether to retreat or to persevere， when a figure came forth fro m the dark triangular door of the tent.It was that of a tall young man， smoking.
He had an almost swarthy com plexion， with full lips， bad ly moulded， though red and smooth， above which was a wellgroomed black moustache with curled points， though his age could not be more than three-or four-and-twenty.Despite the touches of barbarism in his contours， there was a singular force in the gentleman's face， and in his bold rolling eye.
“Well， my Beauty， what can I do for you？”said he， coming forward.And perceiving that she s tood quite co nfounded：“Never mind me.I am Mr.d'Urberville.Have you come to see me or my mother？”
This e mbodiment of a d'Urberville a nd a na mesake differ ed even more from what Tess had expected than the house and grounds had differed.She had dreamed of an aged and dignified face， the sub limation of all the d'Urberville lineaments， furrowed with incarnate memories representing in hieroglyphic the centuries of her family's and England's history.But she scr ewed herself up to the work in hand， since she could not get out of it， and answered—
“I came to see your mother， sir.”
“I am afraid you cannot see her—she is an invalid， ”replied the presen t representative of the spurious house； for this was Mr.Alec， th e only son of the lately deceased gentleman.“Cannot I answer y our purpose？What is th e business you wish to see her about？”
“It isn't business—it is—I can hardly say what！”
“Pleasure？”
“Oh no.Why， sir， if I tell you， it will seem—”
Tess's sense of a certain ludicrousness in her errand was now so strong that， notwithstanding her awe of him， and her general discomfort at being here， her rosy lips curved tow ards a s mile， much to the attrac tion of the swarthyAlexander.
“It is so very foolish， ”she stammered； “I fear I can't tell you！”
“Never mind； I like foolish things.Try again， my dear， ”said he kindly.
“Mother asked me to come， ”Tess continued； “and， ind eed， I was in the mind to do so myself likewise.But I did not think it would be like this.I came， sir， to tell you that we are of the same family as you.”
“Ho！Poor relations？”
“Yes.”
“Stokes？”
“No； d'Urbervilles.”
“Ay， ay； I mean d'Urbervilles.”
“Our names are worn away to Durb eyfield； bu t we have sev eral proofs that we ar e d'Urbervilles.Antiqu arians hold we are， —and—and we have an old seal， marked with a ramping lion on a shield， and a castle over him.And we have a very old s ilver spoon， round in th e bowl like a little ladle， and marked with the same castle.But it is so worn that mother uses it to stir the pea-soup.”
“A castle argent is certainly my crest， ”sa id he blandly.“And my arms a lion rampant.”
“And so m other s aid we ought to make ours elves beknown to y ou—as we've lost our horse by a bad accident， and a re the old est branch o'the family.”