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she thought she had no reason for weeping now； and was vexed
that she was too weak and tired to help it。 She was at Windsor at
last； not far from Arthur。
She looked with eager； hungry eyes at the bread and meat and
beer that the landlady brought her； and for some minutes she
forgot everything else in the delicious sensations of satisfying
hunger and recovering from exhaustion。 The landlady sat opposite
to her as she ate； and looked at her earnestly。 No wonder： Hetty
had thrown off her bonnet； and her curls had fallen down。 Her
face was all the more touching in its youth and beauty because of
its weary look； and the good woman’s eyes presently wandered to
her figure； which in her hurried dressing on her journey she had
taken no pains to conceal； moreover； the stranger’s eye detects
what the familiar unsuspecting eye leaves unnoticed。
“Why； you’re not very fit for travelling；” she said； glancing while
she spoke at Hetty’s ringless hand。 “Have you come far？”
“Yes；” said Hetty； roused by this question to exert more self…
command； and feeling the better for the food she had taken。 “I’ve
come a good long way； and it’s very tiring。 But I’m better now。
Could you tell me which way to go to this place？” Here Hetty took
from her pocket a bit of paper： it was the end of Arthur’s letter on
which he had written his address。
While she was speaking； the landlord had come in and had
begun to look at her as earnestly as his wife had done。 He took up
the piece of paper which Hetty handed across the table； and read
the address。
“Why； what do you want at this house？” he said。 It is in the
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nature of innkeepers and all men who have no pressing business
of their own to ask as many questions as possible before giving any
information。
“I want to see a gentleman as is there；” said Hetty。
“But there’s no gentleman there；” returned the landlord。 “It’s
shut up—been shut up this fortnight。 What gentleman is it you
want？ Perhaps I can let you know where to find him。”
“It’s Captain Donnithorne；” said Hetty tremulously； her heart
beginning to beat painfully at this disappointment of her hope that
she should find Arthur at once。
“Captain Donnithorne？ Stop a bit；” said the landlord； slowly。
“Was he in the Loamshire Militia？ A tall young officer with a
fairish skin and reddish whiskers—and had a servant by the name
o’ Pym？”
“Oh yes；” said Hetty； “you know him—where is he？”
“A fine sight o’ miles away from here。 The Loamshire Militia’s
gone to Ireland； it’s been gone this fortnight。”
“Look there！ She’s fainting；” said the landlady； hastening to
support Hetty； who had lost her miserable consciousness and
looked like a beautiful corpse。 They carried her to the sofa and
loosened her dress。
“Here’s a bad business； I suspect；” said the landlord； as he
brought in some water。
“Ah； it’s plain enough what sort of business it is；” said the wife。
“She’s not a common flaunting dratchell； I can see that。 She looks
like a respectable country girl； and she comes from a good way off；
to judge by her tongue。 She talks something like that ostler we had
that come from the north。 He was as honest a fellow as we ever
had about the house—they’re all honest folks in the north。”
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“I never saw a prettier young woman in my life；” said the
husband。 “She’s like a pictur in a shop…winder。 It goes to one’s
’eart to look at her。”
“It ’ud have been a good deal better for her if she’d been uglier
and had more conduct；” said the landlady； who on any charitable
construction must have been supposed to have more “conduct”
than beauty。 “But she’s coming to again。 Fetch a drop more
water。”
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Chapter XXXVII
The Journey in Despair
etty was too ill through the rest of that day for any
Hquestions to be addressed to her—too ill even to think
with any distinctness of the evils that were to come。 She
only felt that all her hope was crushed； and that instead of having
found a refuge she had only reached the borders of a new
wilderness where no goal lay before her。 The sensations of bodily
sickness； in a comfortable bed； and with the tendance of the good…
natured landlady； made a sort of respite for her； such a respite as
there is in the faint weariness which obliges a man to throw
himself on the sand instead of toiling onward under the scorching
sun。
But when sleep and rest had brought back the strength
necessary for the keenness of mental suffering—when she lay the
next morning looking at the growing light which was like a cruel
task…master returning to urge from her a fresh round of hated
hopeless labour—she began to think what course she must take； to
remember that all her money was gone； to look at the prospect of
further wandering among strangers with the new clearness shed
on it by the experience of her journey to Windsor。 But which way
could she turn？ It was impossible for her to enter into any service；
even if she could obtain it。 There was nothing but immediate
beggary before her。 She thought of a young woman who had been
found against the church wall at Hayslope one Sunday； nearly
dead with cold and hunger—a tiny infant in her arms。 The woman
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was rescued and taken to the parish。 “The parish！” You can
perhaps hardly understand the effect o