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on the grass； trembling。 The pool had its wintry depth now： by the
time it got shallow； as she remembered the pools did at Hayslope；
in the summer； no one could find out that it was her body。 But
then there was her basket—she must hide that too。 She must
throw it into the water—make it heavy with stones first； and then
throw it in。 She got up to look about for stones； and soon brought
five or six； which she laid down beside her basket； and then sat
down again。 There was no need to hurry—there was all the night
to drown herself in。 She sat leaning her elbow on the basket。 She
was weary； hungry。 There were some buns in her basket—three；
which she had supplied herself with at the place where she ate her
dinner。 She took them out now and ate them eagerly； and then sat
still again； looking at the pool。 The soothed sensation that came
over her from the satisfaction of her hunger； and this fixed dreamy
attitude； brought on drowsiness； and presently her head sank
down on her knees。 She was fast asleep。
When she awoke it was deep night； and she felt chill。 She was
frightened at this darkness—frightened at the long night before
her。 If she could but throw herself into the water！ No； not yet。 She
began to walk about that she might get warm again； as if she
would have more resolution then。 Oh how long the time was in
that darkness！ The bright hearth and the warmth and the voices of
home； the secure uprising and lying down； the familiar fields； the
familiar people； the Sundays and holidays with their simple joys of
dress and feasting—all the sweets of her young life rushed before
her now； and she seemed to be stretching her arms towards them
across a great gulf。 She set her teeth when she thought of Arthur。
She cursed him； without knowing what her cursing would do。 She
wished he too might know desolation； and cold； and a life of shame
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that he dared not end by death。
The horror of this cold； and darkness； and solitude—out of all
human reach—became greater every long minute。 It was almost as
if she were dead already； and knew that she was dead； and longed
to get back to life again。 But no： she was alive still； she had not
taken the dreadful leap。 She felt a strange contradictory
wretchedness and exultation： wretchedness； that she did not dare
to face death； exultation； that she was still in life—that she might
yet know light and warmth again。 She walked backwards and
forwards to warm herself； beginning to discern something of the
objects around her； as her eyes became accustomed to the night—
the darker line of the hedge； the rapid motion of some living
creature—perhaps a field…mouse—rushing across the grass。 She
no longer felt as if the darkness hedged her in。 She thought she
could walk back across the field； and get over the stile； and then；
in the very next field； she thought she remembered there was a
hovel of furze near a sheepfold。 If she could get into that hovel； she
would be warmer。 She could pass the night there； for that was
what Alick did at Hayslope in lambing…time。 The thought of this
hovel brought the energy of a new hope。 She took up her basket
and walked across the field； but it was some time before she got in
the right direction for the stile。 The exercise and the occupation of
finding the stile were a stimulus to her； however； and lightened
the horror of the darkness and solitude。 There were sheep in the
next field； and she startled a group as she set down her basket and
got over the stile； and the sound of their movement comforted her；
for it assured her that her impression was right—this was the field
where she had seen the hovel； for it was the field where the sheep
were。 Right on along the path； and she would get to it。 She
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reached the opposite gate； and felt her way along its rails and the
rails of the sheep…fold； till her hand encountered the pricking of
the gorsy wall。 Delicious sensation！ She had found the shelter。 She
groped her way； touching the prickly gorse； to the door； and
pushed it open。 It was an ill…smelling close place； but warm； and
there was straw on the ground。 Hetty sank down on the straw with
a sense of escape。 Tears came—she had never shed tears before
since she left Windsor—tears and sobs of hysterical joy that she
had still hold of life； that she was still on the familiar earth； with
the sheep near her。 The very consciousness of her own limbs was
a delight to her： she turned up her sleeves； and kissed her arms
with the passionate love of life。 Soon warmth and weariness lulled
her in the midst of her sobs； and she fell continually into dozing；
fancying herself at the brink of the pool again—fancying that she
had jumped into the water； and then awaking with a start； and
wondering where she was。 But at last deep dreamless sleep came；
her head； guarded by her bonnet； found a pillow against the gorsy
wall； and the poor soul； driven to and fro between two equal
terrors； found the one relief that was possible to it—the relief of
unconsciousness。
Alas！ That relief seems to end the moment it has begun。 It
seemed to Hetty as if those dozen dreams had only passed into
another dream—that she was in the hovel； and her aunt was
standing over her with a candle in her hand。 She trembled under
her aunt’s glance； and opened her eyes。 There was no candle； but
there was light in the hovel—the light of early morning through
the open door。 And there was a face looking down on her； but it
was an unknown face； belonging to an elderly man in a smock…
frock。
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