d had thereupon been led to make inquiries about his
father and grandfather till he had no doubt on the subject.

"At first I resolved not to disturb you with such a useless piece of
information," said he. "However, our impulses are too strong for our
judgement sometimes. I thought you might perhaps know something of
it all the while."

"Well, I have heard once or twice, 'tis true, that my family had seen
better days afore they came to Blackmoor. But I took no notice o't,
thinking it to mean that we had once kept two horses where we now
keep only one. I've got a wold silver spoon, and a wold graven seal
at home, too; but, Lord, what's a spoon and seal? ... And to think
that I and these noble d'Urbervilles were one flesh all the time.
'Twas said that my gr't-granfer had secrets, and didn't care to talk
of where he came from... And where do we raise our smoke, now,
parson, if I may make so bold; I mean, where do we d'Urbervilles
live?"

"You don't live anywhere. You are extinct--as a county family."

"That's bad."

"Yes--what the mendacious family chronicles call extinct in the male
line--that is, gone down--gone under."

"Then where do we lie?"

"At Kingsbere-sub-Greenhill: rows and rows of you in your vaults,
with your effigies under Purbeck-marble canopies."

"And where be our family mansions and estates?"

"You haven't any."

"Oh? No lands neither?"

"None; though you once had 'em in abundance, as I said, for you
family consisted of numerous branches. In this county there was a
seat of yours at Kingsbere, and another at Sherton, and another in
Millpond, and another at Lullstead, and another at Wellbridge."

"And shall we ever come into our own again?"

"Ah--that I can't tell!"

"And what had I better do about it, sir?" asked Durbeyfield, after a
pause.

"Oh--nothing, nothing; except chasten yourself with the thought of
'how are the mighty fallen.' It is a fact of some interest to the
local historian and genealogist, nothing more. There are several
families among the cottagers of this county of almost equal lustre.
Good night."

"But you'll turn back and have a quart of beer wi' me on the strength
o't, Pa'son Tringham? There's a very pretty brew in tap at The Pure
Drop--though, to be sure, not so good as at Rolliver's."

"No, thank you--not this evening, Durbeyfield. You've had enough
already." Concluding thus, the parson rode on his way, with doubts
as to his discretion in retailin